Later, at the lodge, he sought her out and offered to buy her a drink. She found herself saying yes, and after they had finished playing jet-set geography, trying in vain to determine where they’d met before, he paid her his first compliment: “We’re both crazy, you know,” he said. She laughed and nodded. “You a professional?” she asked, and meant it. He smiled broadly, clearly flattered that she would think so. “Finance.”
She raised her eyebrows, actually amazed. “You might as well have told me you were a scientist,” she laughed. “I almost was,” he said matter-of-factly. Then he seemed lost in thought for a moment, as if he were genuinely fascinated by something he had just glimpsed internally. Then he turned back to her, completely present again. “When I studied physics I never did anything dangerous. Not till I got into high finance. Now that’s where it’s worth putting your neck on the line. Like you do. You in money?” She blinked. In money? What an odd expression. “I’m not that smart.”
“Yeah, right. What’s your IQ, about 140?” She looked at him, realizing she had no idea. “Really, I’m good at this,” he pursued, intrigued. “Never wrong. SATs what, about 1500?” “Never took the SATs,” she admitted.
“No college? I’m shocked,”
“Does that make me a dumb blonde in your book?” He leaned toward her, frowning. “Elizabeth, you know why men call blondes dumb?” he asked, with a boyish solemnity she found hard to resist. “No.”
“Because beautiful blondes make them feel dumb because they can’t express what they feel when they’re faced with a beautiful woman. There was some truth to that, she thought, and it was endearing of him to say so. But it was also completely disingenuous. Looking back now, as she snuggled deeper into the bed and remembered that meeting from a safe distance, she knew beyond a doubt that if Hans Brinkman doubted his abilities in any area, she had never seen the slightest hint. No, the only weakness he had ever displayed since she had known him was an inability to remain close to her long enough for her to take his presence for granted. God, she would love to have that luxury. But instead, there was only the elusive thrill of the unbroken charger-no knight-just the stunning white horse. She had fallen for that mythical energy and had fallen hard to be sure-and now here she was, a year later in the fluorescent glare of reality, blond model in a black book, hotel plaything of an investment banker who barely had time for her. How predictable was that?
She pulled the sheets around her and wondered. Was she afraid to let him go, or just afraid of him? The answer, she suspected ruefully, was both. And that fear, bordering at times on the voluptuous, made Hans all the more intriguing. The fact was that Elizabeth liked risk-yearned for the taste and challenge of it. And deep inside she was even convinced that on the other side of such places and situations lay the reality she so desired. From the slopes of Switzerland to the runways of Paris, she had found everything she treasured most by threading passageways of fear to the other side. Everything she treasured, including Hans. But this infatuation with her fear had, on one horrendous occasion, nearly cost Elizabeth her looks and her livelihood, not to mention her life, so she also developed a healthy sense of caution. At this moment, with anxiety and hunger and blind anticipation all swirling around her, she found herself watching Hans Brinkman with increasing objectivity. You can walk away from this, she was thinking. Put it all behind you, girl! She saw him smile, as though he were reading her thoughts. “What are you brooding about, Elizabeth?” he asked. She stiffened slightly. The faintly patronizing way he always used her full name-why hadn’t that gotten under her skin before? “I was thinking back to when we met,” she said. “Ruing the day,” he teased, and before she could agree, “I lied to you, you know.” She looked at him, suddenly afraid. He grinned. “Well, not an outright lie, a lie of omission. I didn’t tell you I’d been stalking you. By now breathing was difficult. “Stalking me?” “I’d seen your picture in Allureremember that little reading room at the ski lodge? And when I looked up, there you were in the lobby. It was like magic. As if we were fated to be together. Or as if we’d already met before.” “In another life,” she said, trying for flippancy. But it had come out like a statement of fact, and it scared her even more. It sounded so right, even though she had not even thought before saying it. That feeling of deja vu. “Something like that, yes. It threw me. I was almost afraid to approach you-I don’t know why, it never happened before. So I thought, well, I’ll impress her on the slopes, then we’ll have something to talk about.” “It worked,” she said carefully
“You impressed me, too,” he said almost fondly. He touched her hair. “You aren’t starting to regret it, are you?” he asked, and suddenly there was a sadness in his voice that completely unnerved her. “No!”
He smiled again. Was he happy now? Or was he seeing right through her, amused as only a true cynic can be? She raged at herself in frustration. I am regretting it. Come on, Lizzy, in the animal kingdom-which is where Hans definitely lives-a smile is just another show of teeth. “We remind me of that Cole Porter song,” he said amiably. “What’s it called?” “I don’t know any Cole Porter songs,” she lied. She knew exactly the one he was thinking of. “Too hot not to cool down,”‘ he sang off-key. “That what you’re afraid of? The Angel’s Curse?” She looked at him. She knew he would say what it was and he did. “It’s a corollary of the Rule of Blondes: men think they’re not good enough for you, so they act accordingly. They disappear, or fuck it up, and hurt you. That’s what’s always happened, right?” “Whereas you know you’re good enough?” she countered, not caring to answer that one. What on earth was he leading up to? “I know,” he said, his voice dropping into a gentler register. “We were meant to be together.” She took a deep breath. Whether he had meant to or not, he was giving her an opening she could not ignore. “Then why aren’t we?” she heard herself ask. “Are you afraid to upset your home life?” It was the first time she had alluded to his wife, even indirectly. She felt a spasm of regret as she saw his face cloud over, but she pressed on. “I think we should talk about it,” she said, steeling herself for what he might say. And then, when he said nothing, she said, “I’m not really sure I want to go on like this,” He nodded, looking idly toward the window, the distant mountains. “You know, I’m not sure I do either.” Elizabeth’s chest constricted. It was bad enough to consider being the dumper. To be the dumpee was terrifying. “She’s gone off me,” he said darkly. “She finds meeasily distracted. My mind is too much on my work, she says. Not that I blame her. Lately we travel in our separate ruts-our life seems to work better that way.” He shrugged. “Listen, I really don’t want to talk about Yvette. Not today.” He glanced at his watch. “Then when?”
He ignored her question. “And yes, I hate hotels, too,” he said, reading her mind. “Then my place. I could use some home-court advantage.” “No. I don’t want to endanger you.. .”
She looked at him. “Endanger me?”
“The less Yvette knows….” he said, his eyes veiled again. He left the phrase hanging. “Next time we’ll talk. We’ll have it all out. I promise.” Abruptly, he resumed dressing, while Elizabeth tried to sort out her emotions. She watched his body disappear into his charcoal suit until he was just a wealthy chic businessman again. She tried to control her breathing but couldn’t. With real despair she realized that she was still head over heels in love. “Saturday, Elizabeth,” he said, already at the door and blowing her a gentle kiss. “Same time, okay?” He was gone before she had answered, softly, irresolutely, with dismay, “Saturday, yes.” She heard him run to the elevator, heard it whir as it descended. Pulling the sheet around her, suddenly she felt chilled to the bone. She curled into a ball and pulled the duvet over her head until she was hidden in protective darkness. 2
WHITE SANDS, NEW MEXICO-DELTA RANGE
Peter Jance, seventy-six years old and feeling every minute of it, scrambled up the long grade of scrub and hard sand he and his crew had dubbed Mons Venus. His once thick golden hair was a brittle gray mane now, but he was still handsome in a hawk-faced way and, on this project at least, his mind was miles ahead of everyone. As usual, that put him in a hell of a fix. Only a few fellow geniuses conceded that what he was working on was feasible. The rest of the scientific community thought he was out of his mind. And maybe they’re right, Peter said to himself, squinting into the distance. It was easy to feel trepidation and self-doubt today, if he had been capable of either. The sun beat down on the sand and mesquite like a blacksmith’s hammer, and all around him people were cursing the heat. Instead, Peter found himself glorying in it. Like a penitent celebrating the lash, he mused, though it scarcely diminished his love for the landscape. White Sands Missile Range occupied 3,200 square miles of New Mexico desert, an area as big as Rhode Island, Delaware and the District of Columbia combined, and was now his to play in, a paradise of rolling grasslands, sand dunes and lava flows heaving into foothills and ragged canyons. He loved its life-bighorn sheep, pronghorns, mountain lions. There were golden eagles and horned lizards, rattlesnakes, kangaroo rats and tarantulas. Coyotes, bobcats and foxes hunted here at night; mule deer, roadrunners, giant centipedes and wind scorpions were to be found during the day. Even introduced species like African oryx, a fivehundred-pound antelope from the Kalahari region, flourished here by the thousands. This was one of the little-mentioned perks of working on a supersecret, low access base: few people got in, and nature thrived. Except for the part of nature that worked for the U.S. Army. That part inspired less awe, and not a little regret. The soldiers.