Part 16 (1/2)
”So they tell me, sir.” He uncorked a bottle of champagne and placed it in an ice bucket. ”If you require anything else, please use the buzzer.”
He went to the door, and was about to exit, then stopped himself. He turned to us and bowed. ”Miss Regehr, it is a pleasure to meet you, even under these somewhat inconvenient circ.u.mstances.”
”You, too, Henry,” she said, stifling another giggle.
Henry smiled and left us, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
”You hungry?” I asked.
”Are you nuts?”
She laughed and bounded from the bed, now completely at ease with me seeing her scar.
We attacked the food, which turned out to be tournedos of beef grilled to perfection and smothered with a bearnaise sauce, accompanied by asparagus and au gratin potatoes.
”Not exactly for the Lipitor set,” Maddy said, cutting into the beef. She took a bite, her eyes closing in gastronomic ecstasy.
”G.o.d, this is good.”
”It's typical Edwardian fare,” I said, pouring us each some of the cold, dry champagne. ”Their sole reason for living was to enjoy life to the fullest.” I handed her a flute filled with the champagne and she clinked it against mine. ”Here's to a wonderful afternoon and the evening to come.”
”And to many more just like it,” I added.
Maddy's smile dimmed a few degrees when she put the gla.s.s to her lips, but I chose to ignore it at the time.
”How many more interviews are you going to conduct?” she asked, pus.h.i.+ng the conversation into another realm.
”I haven't really given it a lot of thought, to tell you the truth. I sort of take them as they come.”
”Have you decided how you're going to work them into the book?”
I shrugged, taking a bite of the sauce-soaked beef, feeling it melt on my tongue. ”More or less. I'm thinking the best way to approach it is to seed them throughout the ma.n.u.script as interludes and counterpoint to the main narrative. I'll leave them as they are, letting them speak for themselves.”
”That sounds terrific. Have you written anything yet, and can I read it?”
I told her about my dispatches and the first two chapters I'd written. ”I usually don't like people reading my unfinished material, though. It would be like going to the movies and seeing a rough cut without the music and the sound effects. It's not the same.”
”I know what you mean. I went through the same thing with my first job, until I realized my clients had to see and approve things as we went along. I'd really like to see what you've done, and I promise not to be judgmental,” she said, once again holding up her hand, a twinkle in her eyes.
Rather than argue, I went to my dresser and pulled out my MacBook, turning it on as I handed it to her. Standing behind her, I called up my word processor and pulled up the two files. ”When you finish, just close out the program,” I said, moving back to my seat. I watched her eyes scanning the screen for a moment, then turned my attention back to the meal, though my stomach now tightened with apprehension.
What I'd said to her about people reading unfinished material was only half-true. Unfinished material was exactly that-unfinished, and I often changed many things before I considered a piece ”finished.” The other reason I didn't do it was because I couldn't stand watching someone read my writing. It was sheer agony. And this time was worse than most, for I truly cared what Maddy thought of it, more so than the potential millions who'd eventually read it.
I was just finis.h.i.+ng the last of my potatoes when she snapped off the power to the computer, closed its lid and laid it gently on the table.
Her expression was unreadable, and that somehow made it worse than if she wore a visible frown. ”What did you think?” I asked, trying to appear nonchalant while I examined the dessert. It was a pastry confection I couldn't identify, but which under normal circ.u.mstances would have tempted me.
”You want the truth, or the sugar-coated version?”
I collapsed back in to the chair, exhaling a defeated sigh. I then met her gaze head on. ”The truth, and nothing less.”
She continued to stare at me with that same flat expression to the point where I was ready to scream, then cracked a wide grin. ”It's one of the best things I've ever read.”
”Really?” I said, relieved and excited all at once.
”I kept wanting it to go on. When I reached the last page, and it wouldn't scroll any further, I actually got angry with you.”
Well, that explained her initial reaction.
”I'm so glad you feel that way, you've really made my day.”
She shot me a mock-indignant look. ”Oh, and the last couple of hours was just chopped liver, I suppose?”
I grinned. ”Decidedly not. But writers work so d.a.m.ned hard to keep their readers entertained and engrossed in their make-believe worlds, we're starved for any kind of praise. Don't get me wrong, having a best-seller and the money that comes from it is beyond great, but it's not the same as one reader telling you you've made a difference in their lives.”
Maddy refilled our champagne gla.s.ses, then raised hers. ”To your success.”
We drank and then fell silent, both of us unsure what to say next. Maddy finally broke the stalemate. ”So...am I going to be in it?” she asked in a quiet voice, staring down at her hands.
”If you'll let me interview you.”
She shook her head, suddenly angry.
”I can't, I told you that!”
”Why, Maddy? It's not as if we're strangers anymore.”
If I expected her to be reasonable at this point, I was in for a rude awakening. She stood up and began to dress, yanking on her clothes with swift angry moves.
I rose from my chair, went to her, and tried to take her in my arms. She shrugged me off and continued putting on her clothes.
”All right, I'm sorry,” I said, backing off. ”Just forget I mentioned it, okay?”
She looked at me, her eyes clouded with tears. ”I'm sorry, too, Trevor, but you just wouldn't understand how it is.”
I threw up my hands. ”Why don't you try me? If you trust me enough with your heart, you ought to be able to talk about it. It can't be that bad.”
”It's bad,” she said, pulling on her blouse.
”Okay, maybe you're right. Maybe I can't ever understand how it is, but being raped is not the end of the world, you know. People get past it.”
She stopped moving and stared at me, her jacket half on, a look of astonishment on her face, and then, incredibly, she laughed. It was a laugh that sounded more like a sob. ”Is that what you think? That I was raped?”
”How else do I explain what happened on the promenade the other night. When I started to touch your breast, you flipped out.”
Maddy shook her head, another fat tear rolling down her face. ”Oh, Trevor, you really don't understand anything, do you? I'll see you later, okay?”