CHAPTER 10 The same morning, approximately at the same hour, Seymour Birkoff awoke in a bed that wasn't his. He didn't understand at once where he was, but his current nakedness was a fresh reminder of how he spent the previous night. Covering his chest with the sheets previously tangled about his legs, he looked around and saw that he was alone. There was no trace of the girl who owned the little apartment he had spent the night in, but at least he more or less recognized her bedroom. He was embarrassed, and more than a little ashamed to find that he had been too preoccupied with.other things yesterday to really remember any significant details about the room. Since his clothing seemed to have disappeared along with Ginger, he took advantage of his solitude to assess the place he was in, rather than giving free reign to his discomfort. There were many stuffed animals, thick university textbooks occupied the white writing desk to his right, and right before him was a life-size poster of a relatively famous musical group. ''The Whits'' was written in cubical characters above the image. Standing proudly in the foreground was a statuesque blonde beauty, the lead singer Isabel, and beside her was a blue-eyed guy who happened to be the band's leader. Birkoff used to say that ''The Whits'' sounded more like the squeak of a mouse than the name of a trendy group and whenever he did, Gail would get extremely worked up. She detested it when he teased her about her favorite band. Gail thought that the name was nice and original because it was derived from that of their founder and songwriter, Alex Whitman. Birkoff remembered that she had even dragged him to their concert once, using very. conniving arguments. Yes, The Whits were definitely Gail's favorite group, even if he had always thought that she liked the myth behind them more than their music. She loved listening to all those romantic songs knowing that they were written by Alex to be sung by his wife Isabel. Gail was that kind of person. She saw and loved the melodramatic side of the reality. Birkoff would have favored not thinking about her, especially not when he had just made love with someone else, but he had come to accept that he would think of her often and that the sight of her would continue to hurt him as long as he didn't forgive her. It was difficult, if not impossible, to forget someone you once loved so much and now hated with same intensity. There were moments when he really wanted to forgive her. After all, she had been his first girlfriend, the same girl to whom he'd lost his virginity during a stroll in the park on prom night, the same girl he'd lived together with during the six more adventurous months of his life. Yet every time he would remember how carelessly she had stomped on his dignity, his resolve would weaken and all the good memories would fade from his mind replaced by the banished image of her in their bed with Jason. It was almost a year and a half since Gail left after various failed attempts at reconciliation, but he still had not bought any new furniture. All the pieces Gail had chosen for them had been thrown out the window and now his ''home'' was no less blank than his private life . Her betrayal had left a wound so deep that he no longer had the courage to open up to someone like he had with her. No, he wouldn't risk it again. It wasn't just a matter of trust or hurt pride. Far more than this. If Gail had cheated on him with any other man, he could have dealt with it, and maybe even forgiven her. But Seymour Birkoff was born to a teen mother, who gave up one of her identical twin sons at birth, to be able to keep the other. Growing up, Birkoff had become used to a life of sacrifices and was fine with it. His mother Lisa had worked hard to give him a life as close to normal as she possibly could, without informing him of the existence of his twin, so the young Seymour had considered her his only family. When Jason Crawford had knocked at their door, wanting to know his biological relatives, Seymour believed that he had found a missing link to the mystery of his birth, someone with whom he could share that empty place in his soul that he couldn't fill. And seeing the one he had thought of as the love of his life in postcoital bliss with a man with his face, more money, and all the qualities he ardently desired for himself had broken something inside him. It was as if someone had said to him that he had no right to exist. As if in one single moment all the good things in his life lost their color. Birkoff was so intricately immersed in those thoughts that he almost didn't notice Ginger's return. ''Hi, sleepyhead.'' ''Hi.'' Her arrival made his body tingle in a way he couldn't understand. In spite of his best intentions to remain cool, he couldn't prevent his face from becoming suffused with intense, unmistakably visible heat as he looked at her from the top of her head to her toes. He was naked and Ginger was nicely, *fully*, dressed. She was wearing a long green floral skirt, which reached her ankles, and a matching top. Her blonde hair was in a braid and her smiling face was scrubbed clean of any make up. She looked simply feminine, in contrast with the spicy and restless pursuer she had been at Volare's, but more in tune with his lover last night. Making love with her had been sweet and slow, and thinking of it now made him feel more relaxed. ''I went out to get you a croissant.'' She handed him a packet and Birkoff was careful to touch the envelope anywhere but where her fingers were. The maneuver was lost on Ginger, because even she was blushing a deep crimson. ''I don't usually do this. '' she tried to explain. He nodded. ''I don't usually eat croissants either.'' Ginger giggled and Birkoff's eyes became bigger. ''No, I meant I don't.have sex with someone I just met.'' Birkoff almost choked on his mouthful, but managed to assure her that these weren't his parameters for normalcy neither. For two eternal minutes, the young, one-time lovers just stared at each other and then broke into infectious laughter, which revealed their mutual ignorance of the attitude to be assumed. Later, Birkoff would ask what time it was and Ginger's answer would bring an abrupt end to their conversation. It appeared that Mr Birkoff should have already been on his way to the Agency. Ginger had the grace to blush and turn away as she gave him the clothing she had gathered from the floor, folded, and placed in one of her drawers just after she had gotten up; but she managed a good attempt at acting nonchalant as she asked him out to lunch. ''Today, I can't. It's a tough day. Why don't come up for a visit tomorrow?'' It came as the boy's off-the-cuff answer. Birkoff didn't concern himself with stopping to think about why he was so ready to postpone the date. Anaesthetizing his subconscious mind with thoughts of work was an alternative decidedly more appealing. The last thing he needed was to get Michael irritated with him for some banal delay. Little did he know that he wasn't the only one at Samuelle Investigations to come in late that morning