Now, on a hot Tuesday evening, he realized that he hadn't given the matter another thought since Saturday morning. The hangover had been fierce, one of his worst in quite some time, and he remembered that very clearly. But now, try as he might, his mystery woman's true identity remained hidden. Maybe after a quiet evening of crab-shampooing and washing his bed sheets and underwear in very hot water, more details would emerge that would reveal who his Friday one night stand had been. Even if it didn't, watching the dryer tumble for hours would be very restful. Jack sighed. He took the Rid and went into his bedroom where he undressed. He then stepped into the bathroom and turned on a hot shower. Jack studied the instructions on the bottle. "Wet your package thoroughly, apply shampoo, work it into skin vigorously, let stand for several minutes, endure the tingling, rinse, and repeat," he paraphrased the instructions to himself, "Sounds thrilling." He stepped into the shower and got started.
After Jack had lathered up the first time and was letting the suds stand he had the strongest sensation that he was being watched. He slid open the shower curtain a crack and looked into the bathroom. No one was there. He listened for a moment. It was dead quiet. "Did I lock the front door when I came in?" he asked himself. He strained to remember, then vaguely recalled that he had locked it. The feeling of being watched slowly subsided until it slipped below conscious thought. The sense of unease took a little longer, but it too was soon imperceptible.
Twenty minutes later he was out of the shower and drying. He looked at his reflection in the steamed-up mirror. If he got any craggier looking he'd have to get sand-blasted. His eyes drifted down, for no particular reason, and he found himself looking in the direction of the waste basket. After a moment something in the basket caught his attention. It was a small dark shriveled object. He looked closer. It was a dull purple color. "What the hell is that?" he thought to himself, "Goofy Grape's large intestine?" Whatever it was, it was certainly nothing which belonged in his trash. Still, it reminded him of something. When he finished drying he pulled it out of the trash to get a better look. It was a condom, a purple condom, and it was used. "Well, the evidence suggests that the defendant had sex with the witness Friday night," he thought. Wait a minute. Something had just occurred to him. "Days of the Week Condoms," he suddenly recalled. The woman had been going through her purse, while sitting on the armchair, and had dropped a bunch of stuff. There was a wallet sort of thing which was full of condoms. She had called this her "Days of the Week Condoms," or something like that. Maybe she had left something behind when she was fumbling for the contents of her purse. He quickly dressed and went out to look.
First Jack checked the front door. He had not quite shaken the feeling that someone had been watching him. The front door was locked. He then turned his attention to the armchair. He walked around it two or three times and saw nothing unusual in it or on the floor. He stood in front and leaned over, so that he could see back under it a few inches, then repeated this on both sides. Nothing. Well, there was nothing for it but to get down on hands and knees and stick his nose under the armchair. He'd need a flashlight, which he fetched from the kitchen. He got down and shone the light under the armchair. At first all he saw were monster dust bunnies. Next he found another sock he had been missing for a couple of years and a shot glass. Then he found the clue he'd been looking for. It was a laminated ID card, issued by the State Bar Association, with a name and face he knew very well. Serena. Serena Southerlyn. She had been the mystery woman. And she had given him crabs. Jack stood up. He looked at the card for a minute, front and back, then sank down in the armchair. What a revolting development. He almost wished that the crabs had finished him off.
He considered for a moment calling her, but dismissed it immediately. This was something that needed to be dealt with face to face. Tomorrow, in the office, a quickie. No, make that a quick, five minute conversation. That should be enough. He hoped against hope that he could get it over with and let the subject end forever. He didn't remember very much of what happened, which was to be expected, but what about her? She hadn't seemed drunk at Sully's and he could only remember giving her the one drink. Maybe she remembered every nasty little detail. He felt chilled to the bone and shuddered noticeably. She could have said God knows what to God knows whom. It was not for nothing she was known, though not to her face, as the "Ditz Goddess of Hogan Place." Tomorrow was Wednesday, he reminded himself. The fateful event had occurred last Friday. That meant that hot gossip that he had slept with yet another assistant could have been circulating unbeknownst to him for two days. Had anyone acted strangely toward him? He searched his memory, but came up with nothing save a dim, perhaps imagined, recollection that Arthur had winked at him yesterday.