"Who was here?" I'm asking, flinging open the bathroom door.
"Victor, calm down," Chloe says.
"Where is he?" I'm asking, opening a closet door, slamming it shut. "Who was here?"
"Bobby Hughes came over," she says, shivering, sitting down on a high-back chair in front of a desk where she was writing something in a large spiral notebook. She crosses her legs and stares at me sternly.
"What did he want?" I ask, calming down.
"He just wanted to talk." She shrugs. "He wanted to know where you were-"
"What did he say?"
"Victor-"
"Just answer me, goddamnit. What did he say?"
"He wanted to talk," she says, shocked. "He wanted to have some champagne. He brought some by. He said it was to patch things up with you-whatever that means. I said no thank you, of course, and-"
"Did you really?"
A long pause. "I just had half a glass." She sighs. "He wanted me to save it for you. It's over there in the ice bucket."
"And"-I breathe in-"what else?" Relief washes over me so hard that tears blur my vision.
"Nothing. It was fine. He was celebrating-what, I don't know." She pauses, signifying something. "He was sorry he missed you-"
"Yeah, I bet," I mutter.
"Victor, he's..." She sighs, then decides to go with it. "He's worried about you."
"I don't care," I say.
"I said he's worried about you," she exclaims.
"Where is he?"
"He had to go," she says, clutching herself, shivering again.
"Where?"
"I don't know, Victor," she says. "There was a party somewhere. There was another party somewhere;"
"What party? Where?" I ask. "It's very important, Chloe."
"I don't know where he went," she says. "Listen, we had some champagne, we chatted briefly and then he went off to a party. What's wrong with you? Why are you so frightened?"
Silence.
"Who was he with, baby?" I ask.
"He was with a friend," she says. "Someone who looked like Bruce Rhinebeck but I don't think it was Bruce."