by David Zeman
“Karen Embry,” she said.
“This is Kraig.”
She started. She had not heard from Kraig since the day of the Campbell suicide. She had not expected to hear from him again.
“How are you?” she asked.
“Not much different.” He laughed. “Well, somewhat. Nothing stays the same.”
“I guess not.”
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “Not yet.” She looked at herself in the mirror. In her cutoff jeans and tank top she looked like something the cat dragged in. Her hair, unwashed since Saturday, was tied back in an unruly ponytail.
“I could bring over a pizza,” Kraig said.
Karen was at a momentary loss for words.
“I’ve missed you.” Kraig sounded calm, almost happy.
Still Karen couldn’t find words to say. She was unaccustomed to the idea of people missing her. Avoiding her, yes. Missing her, never.
Kraig seemed to understand her silence. “Is that Mozart I hear?” he asked.
“Yes.”
There was a pause. Karen saw the face of Susan Campbell flash across the TV screen. A clip from an old interview. The lush blond hair, the friendly smile, the worried eyes. The face came without context, quite out of place in this broadcast. Since Michael Campbell’s death Susan had dropped out of the media carnival, refusing all interviews.
Oh, well, Karen thought—that face would be a permanent part of the American memory, even if Susan never spoke to another reporter.
“So, what do you like on it?” Kraig asked. “Pepperoni? Mushrooms?”
“Everything,” Karen said.
“Well, I don’t like anchovies.” There was a smile in Kraig’s voice.
Karen thought for a moment. “Tell them to put them on half,” she said.
“I’ve always felt compromise was a good thing,” he said. “All right. It will take me about half an hour. Can you stay sober that long?”
Karen smiled. “I think I can do that.”
“Good girl. See you in a half hour.”
Kraig hung up. Karen stood listening to the silence where his voice had been. Then she moved to the bourbon bottle and capped it. She looked at herself in the mirror again. With a soft smile she took off the tank top and turned toward the bathroom.
There was just time to wash her hair before he came.
PUBLISHED BY DOUBLEDAY
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1745 Broadway, New York, New York 10019
DOUBLEDAY and the portrayal of an anchor with a dolphin are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Zeman, David.
The Pinocchio syndrome : a novel / by David Zeman.
p. cm.
1. Viruses—Fiction. 2. Legislators—Fiction.
3. Women journalists—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3626.E44P66 2003
813' .6—dc21 2003046151
eISBN 0-385-51095-0
Copyright © 2003 by JSL-Productions
All Rights Reserved
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