“You mean buy the house?”
“No. I mean stay.”
“Why would I do that?” he said.
There was a moment’s pause, then, finally, she stepped into the light. “Because I want you to,” she replied.
It was a moment from a movie; timed to perfection. The pause, the move, the line.
And the face, that was from a movie too, in its luxury, in its perfection. Her eyes were large and luminous, green flecked with lilac. Their brightness was enhanced by the darkness of her eyeshadow, and the thickness of her lashes. Neither her nose nor her mouth were delicate; her lips were full, her chin robust, her cheekbones high; almost Slavic. Her hair was black, and fell straight down, framing her face. She wore plenty of jewelry, and it was all exquisite. One necklace lay tightly in the valley of her throat, another — much, much looser — fell between her breasts. Her earrings were gold; her bracelets — several on each wrist — all elaborately wrought. Yet she carried all this effortlessly, as though she’d been wearing a queen’s ransom in jewelry all her life.
“I’m sure you could find plenty of company besides me,” Todd replied.
“I’m sure I could,” she replied. “But I don’t want plenty of company. I want you.”
Todd was totally bewildered now. No part of this puzzle fitted with any other. The woman looked so poised, so exquisite, but she spoke nonsense. She didn’t know him. She hadn’t chosen him. He’d come up here of his own free will, to hide himself away. Yet she seemed to insinuate that he was here at her behest, and that somehow she intended to make him stay. It was all pure invention.
Still she didn’t look crazy; anything but. She looked, in fact, as though she’d just stepped out of her limo at the Pavilion and was about to walk down the red carpet to a roar of adulation from the crowd. He wouldn’t have minded being beside her, either, if she had been taking that walk. They would have made quite a couple.
“You haven’t looked around the house very much,” she said.
“How do you know?”
“Oh … I have eyes everywhere,” she teased. “If you’d been in some of the rooms in this house, I’d know about it, believe me.”
“I don’t find any of this very comforting,” he said. “I don’t like people spying on me.”
“I wasn’t spying,” she said, her tone going from pleasing to fierce in a heartbeat.
“Well what would you call it?”
“I’d call it being a good hostess. Making sure your guest is comfortable.
“I don’t understand.”
“No,” she said, more softly now, “you don’t. But you will. When we’ve had a chance to spend some time with one another you’ll see what’s really going on here.”
“And what’s that?”
She half-turned from him, as though she might leave, which was the last thing he wanted her to do. “You know maybe we’d be better leaving this for another night,” she said.
“No,” he said hurriedly. She halted, but didn’t turn back.
“I’m sorry,” he said. They were rare words from his mouth.
“Truly?” she said. Still she didn’t turn. He found himself longing to feel her gaze on him, as though — absurd as this was — she might go some way to filling the void in him.
“Please,” he said. “I’m truly sorry.”
“All right,” she said, apparently placated. She looked back at him. “You’re forgiven. For now.”
“So tell me what I’ve missed. In the house.”
“Oh, all that can wait.”
“At least give me a clue.”
“Have you been downstairs? I mean all the way down to the bottom?”
“No.”
“Then don’t,” she said, lowering her head and looking up at him with a veiled gaze. “I’ll take you there myself.”
“Take me now,” he said, thinking it would be a good opportunity to find out how real all her claims were.
“No, not tonight.”
“Why not?”
“It’s Oscar Night.”
“So?”
“So it’s got you all stirred up. Look at you. You think you can drink the pain away? It doesn’t work. Everyone here’s tried that at some point or other — “