Chapter 33 Part three/ Pat
Pat lay there feeling frustrated. The sex had been great, up until she had screamed Ben’s name out aloud. The young man, whom she had picked up at the hotel bar because he looked so like Ben had gone, leaving her alone once again.
She looked at the pencil sketch she had done of him earlier. The resemblance of the young man to Ben was really only superficial, the eyes, the mouth, even the fingers, were wrong.
Funny she should think of Ben’s fingers, they were long and slender. She missed him, so much. They had been good together not just for the sex, although he had this special way of touching her that she so enjoyed.
“Damn him to Hell,” she cursed as a tear started rolling down her cheek. She had run away to Washington to get away from Ben, only to find there was no escape.
She had known Ben had sex with men. He had been honest right from the beginning; still it had been quite a shock to come face to face with the reality of finding him in bed with Jason.
She could still picture them lying there together with the sheet barely covering their naked bodies; thankfully, they had been sound asleep at the time. The artistic part of her wanted to stop and sketch them in that pose.
They hadn’t actually had a bust up when she confronted Ben later, but they agreed that a separation was best for both of them.
They had been good friends. Only the other day she saw something and thought she would tell Ben about it and what a good laugh they would have. Then she had remembered about not seeing him ever again and had felt sad.
Pat tried Ben’s London number again; she had contacted the New York agency, only to find he was in London. His friend, Matt, had been involved in a car crash.
To her surprise a woman’s voice eventually answered the phone “Hello you have reached Ben and Matt’s home. Can I help you?”
“Oh,” Pat said. She was rather taken aback as she had expected Ben to answer. “Can I speak with Ben, please?”
“I’m sorry; he’s at the hospital right now. Can I take a message?”
“Yes tell him Pat phoned. That I said ‘Hi’ and that I was sorry to hear about Matt’s accident and I hope everything will turn out okay.”
She was about to end the phone call when the woman’s voice asked. “Are you Ben’s friend the painter?”
“Well yes, I am.”
“You may not remember me,” the voice continued, “but I’m Laura. We met a few time in the lift when you were staying here with Ben.”
“Oh yes, I think so.” Pat certainly did remember the rather butch looking woman in men’s clothing. She had sketched her astride a motorbike more than once.
I’m pleased you phoned. Ben needs you. He can’t stop crying. You see Matt died this morning.