The Follower by Jason Starr Page B

she’d cherish forever.
    It must’ve been a romantic comedy marathon or something, because
Till There Was You
, another of Peter’s all-time favorites, came on next. Another hour went by and he realized he hadn’t eaten since a bran muffin for breakfast, so he decided to go out to have some dinner. He went across the street to a decent Japanese place he’d eaten at several times since he’d been in New York. He sat at the sushi bar and ordered the chirashi, but he was so distracted, thinking about Katie, that he could only manage a few bites. It frustrated him that he couldn’t remember everything Katie had said to him earlier.He could recall most of the conversation, but there were gaps. Next time he saw her he was going to bring a digital recorder so he could record everything to play back later. Although he was happy with most of what he thought he’d said to her, he wished he hadn’t acted so harshly when she offered to set him up with her friend. He thought he’d covered for it well afterward, but his initial reaction might have turned her off. Maybe she thought he was weird, or had a temper, and that’s why she wasn’t returning his call.
    He felt queasy, as if his stomach wasn’t handling the food. He left a twenty-dollar bill next to his plate and rushed back to the hotel across the street, just making it into the bathroom in time. Sitting there, staring at his cell phone, he wondered if it was possible that she somehow didn’t get the message. Maybe the answering system on her phone was broken, or maybe her roommate had played the message and deleted it without telling Katie. Or maybe Katie was just playing games. Some girls didn’t like calling back guys too quickly, thinking it made them seem too desperate.
    No, Katie wasn’t the game-playing type. She didn’t get the message—Peter was convinced of it. He left the bathroom and sat at the foot of the bed. After rehearsing possible conversations in his head for several minutes, he called her cell. Her voice mail picked up right away, meaning the phone was probably off. He ended the call and tried her home number.
    “Hello.”
    “Katie?” He was sweating.
    “No, it’s Susan. Katie’s not here. Can I take a message?”
    She didn’t sound at all like Katie. What was he thinking?
    “Um, no.” Shit, he hadn’t prepared for this. He’d have to wing it and he
hated
winging it. “This is her, um, friend, Peter. Do you know, uh, when she’ll be back?”
    “She didn’t say. I think she went to a movie or something. Can I take a message, or do you want to call back and leave one on her voice mail?”
    Peter didn’t want there to be two messages from him on her voice mail, and a voice mail and written message would be even worse.
    “Oh no, that’s okay, I’ll just talk to her later,” he said. “Thanks.”
    He ended the call and threw his cell phone onto an armchair and watched it bounce onto the rug. What the hell was he thinking, calling her? Now her roommate would tell her that some guy named Peter called but didn’t leave a message and then, when Katie listened to her voice mail, she’d either think it was strange that he’d called twice, or she might think that there was no urgent reason to call back because he’d said he’d “talk to her later.” Peter slapped the top of his head a few times, then realized what he was doing and stopped. He had to come up with a plan, some way out of this. He couldn’t take not hearing from her today, or even tomorrow. He had to hear her voice, talk to her, at least see her.
    He opened a drawer, took out his Yankees cap and cheap sunglasses, and went down to the street and hailed a cab. He knew he might regret this, but he didn’t care.
    He had the driver drop him off on Second and Ninetieth, a few blocks from Katie’s apartment. He walked up the avenue toward her block, looking around to make sure she wasn’t nearby. It pissed him off that he had to do all this sneaking around crap again.