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The elevator doors closed, and so did Murphy's eyes. She had left Fontana to his audition; now only a few floors and a strip of pavement stood between her and Phil's.
The floor jerked beneath her, too soon to be the lobby, and Murphy opened her eyes to find Linda Ellerbee smirking at her. She had lost the pan-cake foundation, but her eyes were still kohled camera-thick. "Well," she said, "if it isn't Annie Hall."
"Hey!" Murphy yelped indignantly. "I've been dressing like this since before that stupid movie came out. I'm not going to change my look just because Diane Keaton thinks that she can put on a tie and have people think she's Murphy Brown. You know what else? 'And so it goes' is mine!"
"No," Linda said calmly, "it's not." She looked Murphy up and down, and smiled. "Diane Keaton doesn't come close. I'm headed to my hotel for a drink. Why don't you join me? I'll get the first round."
At the offer, the fight went out of Murphy. "Yeah, all right," she agreed. "Where are you staying?"
"The Watergate."
"Hah! I think I misjudged you, Ellerbee."
"I hope so, Brown."
There was a nondescript bar off the hotel lobby, and Murphy claimed a booth in the back while Linda ordered two Scotch rocks. Murphy sighed appreciatively at her first swallow, then erupted, "I can't believe that those bastards in Idaho rescinded their ERA ratification!" With that, they were off, careening from the ERA's prospects to the reintroduction of the death penalty before debating terrorism in West Germany and democracy in Spain. By the time they had the bartender bring burgers for dinner, they had shifted into a discussion of their careers. By the time he announced he was closing, their conversation had sprawled further still.
"Oh," Linda said, breaking off her story about pranking the dean at Vanderbilt. "Right." She fished some bills out of her wallet; Murphy did the same and they shuffled into the lobby. "Well," Linda said, looking at her watch, "it's only eleven. We could continue this in my room?"
Murphy smiled and turned toward the elevators. "All right, but only if you tell me how the hell you got the cow upstairs."
"Well, since I couldn't get it drunk—" Linda coughed. "I was in front, pulling on the rope. Begging and cursing was involved."
The elevator deposited them onto Linda's floor and Murphy watched her fumble with her key.
Murphy pulled the door shut behind them as Linda crossed to the mini-bar. "I know what it means," Murphy commented, "when a man invites me up to his hotel room."
Linda flushed, caught mid-crouch with a little bottle of Scotch in each hand. "Then—do you think the same rules should apply here?"
Murphy took the bottles from Linda and pulled her to her feet. "In the interest of equality, you mean?"
"Yes, I mean, if you—"
Murphy pressed her lips against Linda's floundering reply. Stillness, and then one of Linda's hands was sinking into the curly mass of Murphy's hair while the other was gripping her hip.
Later, as Murphy fell asleep, she thought she heard Linda murmur, "And so it goes," but of course she'd had a lot of Scotch.