Bookmarked

Gina sat in her bed and tried to read High Window. She’d devoured the novel many times before, but familiarity didn’t stop her from rereading her favorite works. Tonight, however, the words blurred in front of her eyes. She could only see the man in the store—his name was Andrew Martin. He’d written that on the bookmark. She toyed with the slim piece of stiff blue

paper. Should she call him? What would she say?

She reached for the phone. Put it down. Picked it up.

She dialed the number, then almost slammed the phone down again when she heard his voice: “Hello?”

Her first word came out as a husky whisper, “Hello,” as if she were auditioning for a part as a 1-800-porn actress.

“Hello?” he said again, and she cleared her throat

and said, “I’m the girl…” but then she didn’t know what to put after that. The girl who masturbated in your store. Jesus, Gina, get a grip. She was a second from disconnecting the line when he said, “Don’t hang up. I’ve been waiting for your call.”

She swall