Watching You Read Free Page B

closer.
    “Would you dance with me?” he blurts.
    “I’m not a very good dancer.”
    “I can show you.”
    Owen stands and holds out his arms. Marnie puts her left hand on his shoulder and feels his hand close around her waist. Next thing they’re dancing, hipbone to hipbone, her long pink fingernails disappearing in his fist. Spinning. Floating. It’s not a big room, but they don’t crash into furniture.
    Marnie feels small in his arms, like a grown-up niece dancing with her uncle.
    “I haven’t danced since my wedding day,” she laughs. “But my father was never this good a dancer.”
    Owen tips her backwards with a flourish, smiling at her smile.
    Marnie straightens and they share a moment, unsure of how to proceed. Marnie lets the straps of her negligee slip from her shoulders, pooling at her ankles. About now she normally gets complimented on her breasts, but Owen hasn’t reacted. Wrinkles seem to enclose his eyes. He turns away. Something has altered between them. His nerve has failed him.
    “Please get dressed.”
    Embarrassed, Marnie covers herself and goes to the mini-bar. She pours herself a drink, a Scotch this time, drinking it neat.
    “You don’t have to stay,” Owen says.
    “You’ve paid.”
    “I know, but you don’t have to stay.”
    “Why don’t you go to the bathroom and splash water on your face? You’ll feel better.”
    When the door closes, Marnie pulls back the bedding. She takes a condom from her purse and puts it on the bedside table. It’s her third night and she’s learning that every client is different. Her first was a businessman from the Midlands in London for a trade fair at the Earl’s Court Exhibition Center. Her second was a posh-sounding thirty-something from the City with a wife and two kids at home in Hertfordshire. Now she has a middle-aged man with a mother fixation, riddled with guilt. Worse still, his guilt has become infectious and increased her own sense of shame.
    She notices a plastic shopping bag tucked beneath the bed. Nudging it open with her toe, she sees a pair of polished black leather shoes and two envelopes. The first is marked: Last Will and Testament. The second: To whom it may concern.
    Both envelopes are unsealed. Marnie opens the flap and can make out a line below the fold.
    I’m sorry to take the coward’s way out, but I have lost someone I love very much and can’t think of any other way out of my suffering. Please look after my children…
    Marnie’s eyes flash around the room. The dry-cleaned suit. The shoes.
    Owen is standing in the bathroom door.
    “What are you doing?”
    Marnie is holding the letter. “Is this a suicide note?”
    “You shouldn’t open other people’s mail. How much did you read?”
    “Enough,” Marnie says, refolding the letter. “Are you going to kill yourself?”
    “That’s none of your business.”
    “This is wrong. Things are never as bad as you think.”
    He laughs wryly. “Now I’m getting emotional advice from a prostitute.”
    Marnie’s body stiffens.
    “You can leave now,” he says.
    “I’m not leaving until you promise me you won’t do it.”
    “You’ve known me less than an hour,” says Owen. “How could you possibly understand?”
    Marnie argues the point, finding the words, telling him that life is a gift and a privilege and it shouldn’t be wasted. Things can change.
    “And tomorrow is another day,” he says sarcastically.
    “What about your children? What sort of message are you sending to them? I’ve felt like you do,” she says. “I’ve thought about suicide.”
    “This isn’t a contest about who has the shittiest life.”
    “I didn’t give up. I survived.”
    She tells him about Daniel disappearing and raising two children on her own. He’s standing at the window with his back to her, looking at the lights of Waterloo Bridge.
    “How?” she asks.
    “The river.”
    “So you were going to fuck me and then jump off a bridge?”
    “No, I was going to wait till