Lisa burst out of the doorway and ran wildly across the plaza, her heels slipping and clattering on the rain-slickened cobblestones. She heard a cry above her and looked up just in time to see a dark shape hurtling toward her. She screamed, and the body slammed into the pavement with a dull thud. She raised her arm across her face in horror.
“Right, cut!”
Instantly the rain stopped and a row of arc lights came on with loud pops. The square quickly filled with people.
“Okay, that was fine,” Trevor called. “Very nice, Lisa. Now, people, we’ve got two arrival scenes and a departure for this same location and I want to get them all tonight if we can. So let’s get this cleared up. Is the car ready for the first arrival?”
A girl from properties hurried up to Lisa and took her coat and scarf. Two men picked up the loose-limbed dummy and carried it away. The camera dollies backed away. Lisa stood in the midst of the activity, feeling dazed. Then she heard someone clapping. She turned in surprise. A young man stood watching from a doorway, applauding slowly and deliberately.
“A very nice performance, Lisa,” he called, coming out toward her. He was a slight, plain-faced young man a few years older than she, wearing a tweed jacket over a dark turtleneck. A strand of dark hair fell across his high forehead, making her think of an intense young poet.
She smiled, flustered. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“It seems a bit anticlimactic, doesn’t it?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I mean, all those years of acting school, all that practice, and now you’ve finally broken into films and no one even acknowledges your performance.”
She blushed, struck by how perfectly his comment had reflected her thoughts.
“Oh, well…” she said with a deprecating smile. “I didn’t really expect a standing ovation. It’s only a small part in a B movie.”
“Oh, don’t let Trevor hear you call Terror in the Night a B movie. He thinks he’s finally going to be nominated for this one.”
With a guilty start she glanced at the director, but he was talking to the continuity girl. She looked back at the young man with a grin. “I take it you don’t think he will?”
He laughed. “Just between you and me, Lisa, I think if this turkey is remembered at all, it will be because it was your first film.”
She laughed to cover her pleased embarrassment. “Is it so obvious this is my first film?”
“Grace told me.”
“Grace?”
“The costume mistress.”
“Oh, yes. You two were talking about me?”
“We were. I asked her, ‘Grace, who is that absolutely stunning young woman in the wet raincoat?’ And she said, ‘Lisa something. It’s her very first scene. She has something, doesn’t she?’”
“Oh, please.”
“It’s true. Are you going to stand there all night?”
“Oh. No. I’m through until tomorrow afternoon.”
“Well, then, would you like some coffee or something?”
She hesitated, and he picked up on it.
“My name’s Ian Walker,” he smiled. “I’m one of the drivers. I assure you I’m quite respectable.”
She laughed. “I’m pleased you’re so considerate about my reputation, sir,” she said with a mock archness. “All right. Give me ten minutes to change and I’ll meet you at the commissary.”
“Wonderful!” he exclaimed, with such obvious boyish pleasure that she hid a smile. “I’ll buy,” he called as she went to her trailer.
She took the time to dry her wet hair, and it was more than twenty minutes before she came into the brightly-lit commissary. It was late, and there were only a few people at the long tables. Ian looked up eagerly when he saw her come in.
“Name your poison, Miss Easton,” he said as she joined him.
“Just black coffee,” she laughed. “And call me Lisa. Only the stars have last names around here.”
He drew two paper cups of strong coffee from the big urns and sat down beside her.
“Did Grace really say I had… something?” she asked after a sip.
“She has a discerning eye.”
“It sounds like I should see a doctor.”
“No, it’s true. You have a rare quality in front of the camera; a… a transparency that let’s who you are flow out, through the camera and into the audience. People feel that they know you.” She blinked in astonishment.
“That’s remarkable that you said transparent,” she said. “My drama mentor, a wonderful man, often used the same word to describe the goal of acting.”
“He taught you well. Beauty is a cheap commodity in this town, but your… something, as Grace put it, goes far beyond your beauty.”
She flushed with pleasure at the compliments.
“I never thought of myself as beautiful,” she replied. “I’m too… uneven. My eyes are different sizes, my mouth is too wide.”
He shook his head, a firm denial. “Millions of men would tell you otherwise. Your beauty is not the traditional big-hair starlet look, it’s true. But you have a look that catches the attention, that draws the eye, that remains in the mind like the after-image of a bright light.”
She glanced up at him, wondering if this were all just a line. Their eyes met, and she realized he was completely earnest, anxious that she not mistake his sincerity for flattery. Taken aback, she looked down at the coffee in her hands.
“My looks are really very ordinary,” she said, toying with the handles of her cup.
“That’s crap and you know it. You of all women don’t need to fish for compliments, Lisa,” he said. “Playing the coquette diminishes you.”
She could feel her face burning with the direct hit, and hated having her reaction be so visible.
“You presume, Mr. Walker,” she said. “You hardly know…”
“I presume? Come now, Lisa. That’s a line from an Austen novel. You were feeling let down because I was the only one to acknowledge your performance and you needed an ego boost.”
“Mr. Walker!” she began angrily.
“Ian, please. And if you’re looking for someone to stroke your professional ego, don’t come to me. That performance was strictly mediocre and you know it.”
“How dare you!” she flared up. “What gives you the right to talk to me like that?”
“Don’t deny it. Think about it. Your character just fought off an assault by a man who had stalked her. Then when she breaks away, he throws himself off the parapet. You react with a scream and your arm thrown up.” He did a mocking imitation.
“That’s what Trevor told me to do,” she retorted angrily.
“Yes, but think about your character. She’s been hounded by this madman for weeks. She’s been nearly raped and murdered three times. Of course she’s horrified at the sight of him there on the pavement, but she’s free now. The terror is over. Evil has gotten its just deserts. There should be relief, triumph, disbelief.”
She flushed guiltily. She knew she could have done more with the scene. “The line they gave me,” she said icily, “was, ‘She screams.’”
“There are an infinite number of ways to scream, Lisa. You gave it the standard ‘Eek!’ they taught you in high school drama class. Come on. You say ‘eek’ when you see a mouse, not when your nemesis splats on the cobblestones at your feet.”
“I’m sorry,” she said acidly. “I’ve forgotten. Did you say you were the director, or just the famous film critic?”
He quieted instantly and looked abashed. “I’m sorry. You’re quite right. I am no one important. There is no reason you should listen to my opinions. But I have loved film all my life. And one thing I've learned is that it’s the acting that makes a film great. Who would remember The African Queen if it had been played by lesser actors than Bogart and Hepburn? It’s an ordinary action flick without them. Truly great actors treat every scene as if it’s a royal command performance. They can raise a potboiler to great drama.”
She looked down again, toying with her cup. “What makes you think I’m a great actor, anyway? My film career so far consists of one mediocre ‘eek.’”
He put his hand over hers. “I can see your potential, Lisa. I can see the greatness within you.”
She hesitated, then gently withdrew her hand.
“You have a lot of strong opinions about acting, for a driver. Are you waiting to be discovered, like everyone else in this town?”
He gave a dismissive wave. “Oh, I know I have no acting talent myself. I tried in high school and college, but I was awful. I knew great acting when I saw it, but I couldn’t find it in myself. I take these menial jobs just so I can be on the set, be close to where the art actually occurs. But just because I can’t do it doesn’t mean I can’t tell when others can. You can be a great actress, Lisa. You could be the grand old dame of the academy fifty years from now.”
She laughed outright. “Me a grand old dame. Well, that’s one hell of a line, I must say.”
“It’s not just a line. It’s true. But you have to put everything you have into every scene. Even when your only line is ‘Eek!’”
He was so earnest she couldn’t stay angry with him.
“All right, Mr. Walker. Your point is taken. I will mind my eeks and Q’s.”
“Please call me Ian,” he laughed.
“All right, Ian.”
“Do you forgive my ‘presumption’ then?”
She laughed. “Yes, I forgive you.”
He looked genuinely relieved. “Good. I’m so glad. I would hate to have you dislike me. But I thought it had to be said.”
“To make me a better actor?”
“No, I could never do that. To make you see what you can become.”
She looked down. She felt flattered by his comments, and that always made her suspicious. He could be just a film camp follower, one of many that preyed on the hopeful young women that passed through a film company. Inexperienced she may be, but she was determined not to be naive.
“So you’re a student of film?” she asked. “And who do you think are the great actors of our day?”
“Nicholson, Hoffman, Depp, and Goldberg, in that order,” he replied without hesitation. “But I think the greatest alive today is Meryl Streep.”
Lisa nodded. “I agree completely. She has always been an inspiration to me. I think her performance in Sophie’s Choice…”
“Brilliant, absolutely brilliant. A landmark performance.”
“Exactly. One simply forgets one is watching a performance.”
“Yes. But what did you think of Bridges?”
“Masterful. She is hardly a beautiful woman, and she made herself positively dowdy for the film.”
“Do you know she purposely gained over ten pounds so she would have a pot belly for the nude scene?”
“And yet is spite of all that, she managed to make an ordinary middle-aged Southern housewife appear absolutely beautiful by the end of the film.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” he replied enthusiastically. “That is what I meant by an actor’s greatness coming through. Streep illuminated that woman from the inside, made us all see her beauty.”
“Yes, yes. That’s it exactly. How beautifully you put it.”
Their eyes met, and Lisa realized how her comment had turned the conversation personal. Now she was complimenting him. But she had been so struck by how exactly his opinions mirrored her own. She wanted to spend more time with this strange man, to discuss film and acting with someone so completely simpatico.
“Had enough commissary coffee?” he asked with a smile.
“Yes. It’s really awful, isn’t it?” she said, wrinkling her nose.
He stared at her with an odd expression.
“What is it?” she asked, suddenly uncomfortable at his intense study of her face.
He blinked as if waking from a trance. His bright smile returned. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing. But that thing you did, was so… wonderful.”
“What did I do?”
“You wrinkled your nose.”
She laughed. “You mean like this?” She made a face.
“No,” he laughed. “Don’t exaggerate it. It was absolutely perfect. It was unconscious, but so very expressive. Your face is so incredibly beautiful that it appears aloof, unapproachable. But your little gesture was so… girlish, so uncalculated, that it shatters that illusion.”
She laughed, embarrassed but very pleased. She made a mental note to spend some time before her mirror wrinkling her nose. “And that makes me look approachable? Perhaps I should be careful at whom I wrinkle my nose?”
He looked seriously at her. “It makes me want to approach,” he said softly. “Or to be more precise, it gives me some faint hope. I have been terribly attracted to you from the first moment I saw you on the set.”
She looked at him, struck by his refreshingly direct approach. He really did have a very nice face, not plain at all. For a second she imagined him naked. Hmm. Maybe she was interested.
“So are you?” he asked, startling her from her vision.
She blushed, wondering if he had read her mind. “Am I what?”
“Approachable?”
She didn’t know what to say. “What did you have in mind?”
“How about dinner? You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”
“No. And I’m ravenous. Performing always gives me an appetite.”
“I know a wonderful Thai place not far from here. Do you like Thai food, by any chance?”
“Do I!” she exclaimed. “It’s my very favorite. That sounds wonderful.”
“Terrific! Let’s go. It’s… do you mind a little walk? It’s about ten or twelve blocks.”
“No, actually I love to walk.”
“Then let’s away,” he said, offering her his arm. She hesitated for just a second, then took it, smiling at his grand gestures. They walked off into the dark streets of the city.
On the walk they discussed their favorite films and actors, their mutual dislike of Stanislavski, their common admiration for some of the films now emerging from the small Eastern European studios. She was enjoying the conversation so much she was surprised when he suddenly stopped and drew her aside.
“What is it?” she asked, with a hint of annoyance at being interrupted while trying to make a point.
“We’re here,” he laughed. “This is the place.”
She looked up at the sign over the door with its gilt lettering. “Already? You said it was ten or twelve blocks.”
“I lied. It was actually fifteen.”
“Was it really?” she giggled. “We must have been walking very fast.”
“You were. I’m a bit breathless.”
“I did say I liked to walk.”
“I do, too. I just don’t usually sprint.”
She laughed. “Well, I also said acting made me ravenous.”
“Then we’ve come to the right place,” he said, opening the door for her. It was a small place and dimly lit. A delicate young woman in Thai dress greeted them and led them to a table enclosed in filmy cloth printed with mythological scenes.
“Do you know what you would like?” Ian asked her.
“Well, I usually have a curry of some sort.”
“Have you ever tried pra rama gai?”
“I don’t think so. What is it?”
“Chicken and spinach in peanut sauce. They do an excellent one here. Would you care to try it?”
“All right.” The girl returned and Ian ordered quickly in Thai, so Lisa couldn’t understand what he was ordering. The girl disappeared.
“What are you having?”
“Lamb korma. And I took the liberty of ordering satay for appetizer and tom kar gai yum for soup. It’s spicy curried chicken in a lemon coconut sauce. Quite delicious. I hope Thai beer is all right?”
“Yes, that sounds delicious,” she said, surprised that he had ordered for her. It did sound very good, but what if she hadn’t liked some of the things he had chosen? He seemed so very sure of himself, but she found herself intrigued. He certainly wasn’t like the men she had known back home.
It seemed only moments before the food came. She had thought she might pretend not to like something just to take his assurance down a peg, but as she tasted each dish she found it impossible not to exclaim with pleasure.
“My God, this is all absolutely delicious,” she said with her mouth full. “How ever did you find this place?”
“There are only one hundred and fourteen Thai restaurants in the city,” he shrugged between bites. “It was simply a process of elimination.”
She laughed at the absurdity of his explanation, but realized it was the only one she was going to get. It only increased the feeling that had been growing ever since she had met him. She felt a bit out of control, as if he were calling all the moves and she were just reacting. She was used to being in control on a date, the enamored young men dancing to her tune; but this one was completely different. The experience left her breathless, like a ride in a fast car with an expert driver.
They spoke little during dinner besides comments on the food. He ordered them fried bananas for dessert with very sweet and strong Thai iced coffee. She sipped her drink in wonder.
“This is really delicious,” she exclaimed. “They didn’t have any of this at the Thai place I used to go back home.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he smiled, patting her hand and leaving it there. It was not a particularly sexual touch, almost avuncular in fact, and yet she was very aware of his hand on hers. She realized its significance. He was asking for a sign from her. She could easily pull her hand back without giving offense; take another sip of her drink, for example, and the message would be received. She knew he would not press her again, but would simply walk her home. She appreciated the tact of his gesture. No hand on her knee under the table, no outright proposition. He was letting her know she had a choice, and was giving her an opportunity to decline without embarrassment.
With a little inward twinge of excitement, she left her hand where it was. He gave it an almost imperceptible squeeze, as if to say “message received,” and released it to finish the last bite of his dessert. And that was all. No winks, no awkward questions. It felt very mature and assured.
Suddenly shy, she didn’t want to look up and meet his eyes. She realized she was afraid of seeing something there — triumph, a leer? — that would spoil it all. When she did look up, she found him looking into her eyes, as if he had been studying the thoughts flashing through her face. Again she had the sensation he could read her mind. She glanced guiltily away, unwilling to let him realize how much he affected her. She rebuked herself inwardly for this schoolgirl shyness. She wanted to appear sophisticated, experienced, mature. She was no trembling virgin, she told herself — she had had several lovers back home. But those boys were nothing like this self-assured young man, with his worldly ways and his confident charm. When she did meet his eyes again, he was smiling reassuringly at her.
“My place isn’t far away,” he said, as casually as if he had said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” To her the words echoed in the restaurant as if they’d been shouted. This was the turning point. After this she couldn’t play the shocked ingenue. She realized he was giving her a last chance to slow it down, or end it altogether. Part of her wanted to call it off, to keep things simple, but she knew she’d already made up her mind.
Their eyes met for the briefest glance and a smile flickered at the corner of his mouth. For some reason it sent a warmth of lust through her. She realized she wanted this as much as he did.
“Fine,” she replied just as casually. She folded her napkin and placed it beside her plate. “Shall we go then?”
“If you’re finished,” he said, indicating her half-finished dessert.
“Oh, yes, I’m absolutely full. It was really a wonderful dinner. Thank you.”
The business of the credit card seemed to take forever, making her more and more uncomfortable. Now that she’d made up her mind, she wanted to get out of the place, but Ian took his time with the transaction, even exchanging a few pleasantries with the waitress. In some perverse way, his apparent lack of excitement only fueled her own, for she was sure he was anything but indifferent to her. It was as if he were too well bred to betray his emotions. It felt very strange, but also somehow right, consonant with the rest of the entire dreamlike evening — the uncanny similarities in their tastes, in acting, in food, other shared interests they’d discovered on the walk to the restaurant.
At last they were on the street. He set a quick but unhurried pace, with her on his arm as before. But now it felt completely different. Then it had been an amiable contact as they chatted. Now, although they were silent, it was a conversation between their bodies. She pressed the side of her breast against his arm, just firm enough to let him know it was not an accident. He returned the pressure, moving his arm against her as they walked, just enough to let her know he was very aware of it. The contact, and the anticipation, was setting her body on fire. She realized when they stopped for a light that her knees were trembling.
She had a fluttering in her chest, like the sensation she got as the roller coaster clanked up to the top of the first hill. She was excited, more than a little frightened, and both dreading and wanting the wild ride ahead. She looked at the streets as they passed, still alien to her; the steam coming up from manholes, the big yellow cabs hurrying along, and realized she really was frightened. Here she was, away from home only a few weeks, going to a strange man’s apartment. She didn’t even know where they were going. Just as her panic was starting to overcome her desire, he stopped in front of a big brownstone.
“This is it,” he said, then took both her hands and looked into her face. “Look, I know you’re probably wondering about coming here with me. I wish I could do something to reassure you, because I really don’t want you to be afraid. Not just for your sake, but for mine, too. You see, I’ve wanted you ever since I first saw you, and I absolutely can’t believe you are really standing here with me. I hope I am not ‘presuming’ again, but I presume, and fervently hope, that we are about to make love, and I want it to be as perfect as it possibly can be. And that requires that there not be anything between us, but us. Does that make any sense at all?”
The fluttering in her chest went still. She leaned forward suddenly and kissed his cheek. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, it makes perfect sense.” He grinned then, a wide boyish grin of relief.
“Shall we, then?” he asked, offering her his arm.
“I certainly hope so,” she replied, and he laughed aloud.
They went up the steps and he unlocked the door. He indicated for her to wait, then he stepped in and turned on the lights. She walked into an apartment that was modest, but clean and tastefully furnished. Her eye was caught by an unframed print on the wall.
“Oh, a Monet,” she exclaimed in pleasure.
“Yes, do you like it? He’s a favorite of mine.”
“Mine, too. Isn’t it remarkable how much we seem to have in common?”
“Isn’t it, though? I almost hate to take another chance, but by any chance do you like Glass?”
She paused a moment in confusion. Absurdly, she felt disappointed that they had found something they didn’t share. “You mean art glass? No, it’s not a particular…”
“No,” he laughed. “I meant Phillip Glass.”
“Oh, the composer,” she said, laughing easily with him. “Yes, I certainly do. Very much. I thought Einstein was brilliant.”
Ian stared at her. “Incredible!” he said. “Glass is my favorite composer, and Einstein on the Beach one of my favorites. Did you see A Thousand Airplanes on the Roof?”
“Wasn’t that incredible? What a concept for an opera: a UFO abduction in New York City!”
“And yet,” he replied, “stranger things have happened in New York. Like our meeting, for instance.”
She turned to look at him and he returned the gaze levelly. The look that passed between them was like summer heat lightning, putting an end to any further conversation. He walked over to stand close before her. “We have so many things in common,” he said quietly. “Let me see if I can find some ways we are different.”
He began to undress her as she stood trembling in the center of his living room.
They lay together in the dark, her head on his shoulder, her leg thrown over his as he talked softly into her hair. She felt relaxed and happy. The sex had been wonderfully satisfying. She had never been with anyone more attentive to her needs. He seemed to know what she wanted almost before she did herself. Now she lay enjoying the touch of his body against hers, listening as he talked about film and acting and directors. His knowledge was encyclopedic; he knew much more than she about the history of film. She was listening sleepily, actually enjoying the sound of his voice more than paying much attention to what he was saying. Ian was going on enthusiastically about Jack Nicholson, going through his various films and listing the stages of his career.
“He did some amazing things in As Good As It Gets. People say having him play a neurotic is typecasting, that he’s just playing himself. But that’s bull. Nicholson’s not crazy; he’s just a master at portraying madness. He’s so good at it that we believe it; we can’t believe he’s not really that way.”
“Right,” she said. “Like Billy Bob Thornton in Slingblade.”
“Exactly,” he agreed excitedly. “But Nicholson’s the master. Remember Cuckoo’s Nest?”
She nodded. “That was an odd one. It seemed realistic, yet things kept happening that were clearly impossible.”
“Right, right. Nicholson was showing us the world through the eyes of a paranoiac, so the audience was never sure how much of what they were seeing was really happening, and how much was delusion. Now that’s an acting challenge: to play a madman who doesn’t look mad, and yet be able to take the audience along with you so they see the world through your eyes. Not many actors can do that. And how about Thornton playing Timothy McVeigh in The Innocents? Now that was a tour de force. That’s a level of acting you can aspire to, Lisa. You can…”
She raised her head in surprise, her sleepiness gone. “What did you say?”
“I said you could do roles like these if you only…”
“No. About Timothy McVeigh. You mean the nut that bombed the building in Oklahoma City?”
Ian caught and held his breath. She felt his body stiffen against her, but he said nothing.
“They haven’t done a movie about him already, have they? That’s a bit ghoulish. They just recently sentenced him.”
“Oh…, well, it’s a… it’s a work in progress,” Ian stammered with a nervous laugh. “They’re keeping it rather quiet.”
“They must be. I haven’t heard a whisper of it. But you’ve seen it? It can’t be out already?”
There was a long hesitation. “No, of course not. Probably won’t be released till next year.”
She sat up in bed and turned to look at him. He looked completely different. He was blushing. His self-confidence was gone; he looked like a guilty schoolboy.
“Then how did you see the movie?”
“Well, I… I saw the rushes. Very impressive. I worked on the project, you see.”
“They let a driver view the rushes?” she asked in amazement. “Isn’t that unusual? Especially if they’re trying to keep the project quiet.”
“Well, I… I know a lot of people in the business. I can be fairly persuasive if I…”
“And Billy Bob Thornton is in it? Didn’t I just hear he was on location in Latin America somewhere?”
“Oh. Yes. Perhaps so. Well, you know these polymaths. He’s a writer-director-actor. He’s got a half-dozen projects in various stages. I don’t know how he does it.”
She was silent a moment. “What did you say it was called? Innocence? Are they trying to propose that McVeigh is innocent?
“No, no. The Innocents, with a tee ess. The children killed, you see.”
“I can’t believe they’re doing one about that already. And this is a feature film, not some knock-together made-for-TV thing?”
“Oh, yes. Very… topical.”
“Wow. And how does Thornton play McVeigh? Like a madman?”
“No, no, that’s what’s so brilliant,” Ian replied excitedly, obviously happy to be back to discussing acting. “He plays him absolutely straight. He’s not a lunatic; he’s not stupid. He thinks the government is an evil institution that’s destroying the country and he’s doing the only thing he can think of to fight it.”
“That sounds like he’s making McVeigh out to be some kind of hero. That’s disgusting. Look what the man did.”
“But that’s just it. If he’d played McVeigh up to be just another dumb redneck, it would have been an ordinary movie. Everyone would just continue to hate the bastard. But to show us McVeigh as McVeigh sees himself, now that brings depth to the man. He doesn’t see himself as a loony; he sees himself as a prisoner of war, a hero who was brought down by unreliable accomplices. He’s proud to go to his death for his cause. That’s what raised the film above being an exploitation film.”
She considered a moment, trying to decide why she suddenly felt so strange. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t decide what it was. Something was… creepy was the only word she could think of.
“I’m amazed any studio would take on the project right now, while the trials are still going on. Surely, they would be leaving themselves open for intense criticism, possibly even lawsuits or gag orders. Perhaps in a few years, but now the wounds are too fresh.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Ian replied. “Perhaps they won’t release it for a while.”
“I can’t believe Thornton would be involved in something like this. It’s beneath him. It’s… necrophilia.”
“It’s nothing of the sort,” he replied heatedly. “It’s an exploration of a man’s soul. It is great art. It will revolutionize the whole genre.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t condone it. Explore the soul of some long-dead madman, not one that blew up a pre-school. What are those parents going to think about a movie that glorifies McVeigh?”
“It doesn’t glorify him, dammit. It attempts to unravel him. It tries to show that everyone believes he’s doing the right thing, even people who perform the most heinous acts. In McVeigh’s eyes, what he did was right.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “Some things are just plain wrong. Nothing justifies what he did, and people aren’t going to feel sorry for him just because some big shot actor plays him sympathetically in the movies. Thornton’s good, but he’s not that good.”
“Yes, he is,” said Ian heatedly. “He is precisely that good. Don’t you see, that’s what knocked everybody out. He could make you look at the man and see something other than a psychopathic killer. That’s what got him the Oscar.”
She stared blankly. “What Oscar? I thought this film was a work in progress.”
Ian’s hurried, excited speech stopped abruptly. His face was pale, stricken.
“I meant, that’s what will probably win him an Oscar. When the film comes out. Which it hasn’t.” He searched her eyes, watching her reaction.
Her sense of unreality increased. He was hiding something from her, something he was ashamed of. With a sickening drop, she had a sudden image of a wife in the suburbs somewhere, wondering where her husband was. She hadn’t even thought to ask.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” she said, pulling away from him. “You’re married, and everything you’ve told me has been a lie.”
“No, no, I swear it. I am not married.”
“Then why are you making up this nonsense?”
“It’s not nonsense,” he retorted angrily. “Every word I’ve told you has been the truth. Every word!”
“But this film you’re talking about… it doesn’t exist.”
“It does, or it will. And it will be a great film. But it will be nothing next to what you will do. Your body of work will stand alone, a shining testament to your art. You will inspire an entire generation of young actors.”
“You’re mad!” she cried, leaping from the bed. “What are you talking about? What makes you think I’m going to be such a wonderful actress? I’ve done one scene and you told me yourself I was awful in it. Sure I have great aspirations, of course I like to think I can be a star. But so do thousands of other hopeful young actors. Why do you think I’m so special?”
Ian stared at her in silence for a moment, then he suddenly burst out laughing. She was furious.
“Don’t you dare laugh at me!” she shouted. “Is it so absurd that I should want to be a star, to make a mark? First you mock me with all these grandiose predictions, then you laugh at me!”
Instantly he was alarmed again. “No, no, I would never mock you, Lisa, never that! I stand behind everything I said. You will be a great star, one of the greatest, I assure you.”
“Then why did you laugh at me?”
“I didn’t laugh at you. I was laughing at myself.”
“At yourself? Why?”
“Because I suddenly realized that here I am with one of the most beautiful women in the world in my room and what is she doing? Standing there naked arguing with me, completely oblivious to the fact that she’s so heart-stoppingly gorgeous that no man in the world could keep his mind on the issue.”
“So you find me funny, do you?” She was determined not to be mollified by his compliments.
“No, no, no. I find it perfect. It’s so precisely you.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that no matter what character you play, there is always a feistiness that comes through, a woman who won’t take shit from anyone. A woman who would jump naked out of bed to argue with a man. Now please, come back to bed.”
She climbed into the bed, but her mind was still in a whirl of confusion. Nothing he said was making sense. “But I haven’t played characters like that. And how can you possibly know what parts I’ve played?”
“I… I just meant that there are so many wonderful parts like that for you to play. I’m sure you’ll play them beautifully. When you get them.”
“Oh, please. I’m a young hopeful from the sticks. I’ll be lucky to be playing bit parts, for a while at least.”
“No! You’ll play all the great women, all of them. Hedda Gabler, Lady Macbeth, so many others. You’ll define them. Years from now, no one will be able to think of Maggie the Cat without seeing the great Anella.”
Her heart froze in her chest. A cold breeze swept over her body, although she was beneath the covers.
“What did you call me?” she whispered, so softly he could barely hear her.
He looked at her in horror, his face stricken.
“I… I thought it would be a… a good stage name for you,” he stammered. “It just… came into my head.”
“Bullshit!” she cried, sitting up, pulling the covers off him. “That is just bullshit! How can you possibly know that name?”
“Come on, Lisa,” he begged, tugging at the corner of the blanket. “Lie down with me. It’s cold.”
“No!” she shouted, snatching the blanket from his hand and wrapping herself in it. “Not till you tell me how you know that name.”
He looked sadly at her. He sat up and drew his knees up under his chin for warmth. “I’ve blown it, haven’t I?” he said softly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“With us. I’ve ruined it, haven’t I?”
“Damned right. This goes no further till you explain this. Anella is a secret name I made up for myself when I was a little girl. I was thinking of using it as a stage name if I ever made it big, but I’ve never told it to anyone. Not my sister, not my mother, not my best friends, not anyone. It is impossible that you should know it.”
“Would you believe a lucky guess?” he asked, reaching out to her again.
“Not for a second,” she snapped, moving to the far corner of the bed and wrapping the blanket tighter around her. “Either you explain this, or you’re going to have a very cold night.”
“Okay!” he said angrily, then much quieter, “Okay. But you’re not going to believe me.”
“Try me.”
“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Where I come from, everybody knows that name. It’s the name of a very famous actress.”
“Damn. I should have registered it or something. But how come I’ve never heard of her? What films has she done?”
“Well, her first film was an awful turkey about a stalker, but she completely stole the show. Everyone wanted to know who she was and what film she was going to do next. A producer gave her the lead in a steamy thriller, and it was a huge hit. Everyone loved her: all the men wanted her, and all the women wanted to be like her. Soon every producer in Hollywood was fighting to sign her. Leading men dropped their other projects just so they could play beside her. And she was incredibly prolific. She was doing several projects every year, and each film was better than the last. She never failed to mesmerize. She always had something new to bring to a character, never the same. They started remaking all the old classics, just to see how she would do them. Within five years she was the biggest star in the business; within fifteen, she was the biggest in history. As she aged, she played older and older women, but her appeal never waned. Men still fought to get a look at her, even when she was in her seventies. After all, she was still Anella.” He stopped and looked at her, almost shyly.
Lisa was silent. She has been watching his face as he talked, and she was sure she was seeing unfeigned admiration there. He clearly believed what he was saying. But there was no such actress. And yet how could he know the name?”
“Just where did you say you were from?” she asked after a long silence.
“Right here. I was born in Queens, actually. A more relevant question is when.”
“All right then, when were you born?”
“I was born April 3, 2030.”
She blinked. “Oh, yes?” she asked dryly. “Then that would make you about minus thirty right now?”
“Roughly, yes. Speaking of minus thirty, I’m freezing. Can I please have some of that blanket?”
“And why should I share my blanket with a madman?”
“Because he’s cold?” he asked plaintively. “Because he’s too much of a gentleman to point out that it’s the madman’s blanket?”
“Prove you’re not mad first.”
“If I do, will you share the blanket with me?”
“Yes. Tell me something about me that only a man from the future would know. Tell me something about the future.”
“That wouldn’t help. You wouldn’t know if I was telling the truth.”
“Well, tell me something about the past that you probably couldn’t know if you weren’t from the future. Tell me something about me.”
“Oh, let’s see. You grew up in Dayton. You were star-struck from the first. You and your sister were always putting on theatrical productions for your family.”
“You could have found that out. What’s my sister’s name?”
“Ann. You were the only one that called her Bunny.”
“Why?” she asked with a smirk. She knew he couldn’t know that.
“Because when she was little she liked to play under the beds and got really dusty. You called her a dust bunny.”
“Damn it!” she said, angry now and more than a little frightened. “How the hell do you know that?”
“It was in your autobiography, Being Anella, published in 2045. A huge best seller, by the way. Everyone was reading it when I was a teenager. We all thought you were wonderful.”
She sat staring at him for a long minute. Then she unwrapped the blanket and offered him one side of it. His face lit up in a wide smile and he crawled quickly to her side. His skin was icy against hers. He lay down and she pulled the blanket over both of them.
“Ow!” she gasped. “You can just keep those cold hands to yourself, Captain Future. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do before we have any more play time.”
He jerked his hands back and lay with his hands folded sedately on his chest. “Okay. What do you want to know?”
“Where the hell are you from, anyway? Or should I say when?”
“I left from the year 2060. In early June.”
She looked at him with a strange wry smile, still not at all convinced, but completely intrigued.
“Where did you leave from?”
“From Manhattan, just a few blocks north of here. I had always felt a special connection with you because you had lived fairly close by all those years. As a matter of fact, I saw you once before, when I was nine or ten, at The Cloisters, up on the West Side.”
“Wait a minute, let me do some math. You’re about thirty, right? I mean, in addition to being minus thirty?”
“In a couple of months.”
“So when you were ten, that must have been two thousand forty or so.”
“Give or take. We call it twenty forty.”
“In 2040, I’ll be…”
“Sixty-three.”
“So the last time you saw me I was an old woman?”
“A mature woman, yes. But healthy and vigorous and still a beauty that turned heads. You were greatly admired, and there was a group of intense-looking young people following you about the museum, hanging on every word from your lips.”
“Oh, come on now.”
“It’s true.”
“So at that time I was the ‘grand old dame of the theater?’”
“I’d say so, yes. You were still working regularly, and still making masterpieces, when most of the actresses of your generation were long forgotten.”
She laughed and shook her head in amazement. “I don’t know if you’re on something, or what, but that is the most amazing line of crap I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s true, I swear it. Your name is such a household word all over the world, that it seems incredible that in this time no one has even heard the name yet.”
“So how the hell could you come back? Assuming for a moment that you’re who you say you are.”
“We’ve developed time travel. I used a time machine.”
“Ah,” she said. “Is this one you whipped up in your garage? Are you an inventor?”
He laughed. “Good God, no. I’m a intelligizer, actually.”
“Ah. You make people more intelligent, too?”
“No, no. I design software. I suppose in your time I’d be a sort of computer programmer. In my small way I help create virties, a popular entertainment medium in my time. You might have seen the beginnings of the industry as virtual reality games and such.”
“I see. So how did you come by this time machine of yours?”
“Oh, it’s not mine. I don’t make nearly enough to own one. I merely rented the use of one.”
“I see. I always thought that time travel was impossible.”
“No, just damned expensive.”
“Can you explain how it works?”
“Oh, I have only have the vaguest idea, I’m afraid. It’s all quite technical.”
“Try me. I took some physics.”
“Well, you know that all matter and energy is made out of little pieces called quarks, right?”
She nodded.
“And they’ve already discovered that the universe is expanding, haven’t they?”
“Yes. There was a big bang and everything started flying out from that.”
“Exactly. Well, in a few years they’re going to discover that time is just the same. It’s expanding, too. And it’s not continuous like everybody always thought; it’s made out of tiny little quanta, just like matter and energy. They’re called chronons and they have no mass so they’re not affected by anything else. They’re just zooming outward, all at the same speed. Time started with the big bang and it’s flying away from that instant, just like space is, okay?”
“I guess so. It’s hard to picture.”
“I know. I’m no expert on this stuff myself. I’m just telling you what they taught me in school. Anyway, each of these chronons is carrying information, like what’s happened to it so far. It’s travelling along like a little path of history, that’s called a time line. So at any given time, ‘now’ is just the whole collection of chronons that are the same distance out from the center, like a big sphere. And the past is everything inside that sphere, and the future is outside it. We remember the past because we went through it, but the future is unknowable because we haven’t gotten there yet.”
“That’s even harder to picture.”
“Stay with it a minute. So we’re all carried along with time as it expands, because we and the chronons are all travelling along together. But what they found is that they can change the frequency of the chronons, which affects their speed. If you’re in an area where the chronons have been retarded, everything else starts passing you by. Things appear to be happening backwards, but actually you’re just slowing down and letting the past catch up to you. When you get to where you want to go, you turn it off and join that “now.” To return you just speed up the frequencies of the chronons.”
“I don’t understand this enough to ask an intelligent question,” she said after a moment’s thought. “But I never really understood how television works either. But in some time travel stories I read, they’re always really careful to avoid changing the past. If they bump anything, they might not exist back in their own time. You don’t seem to be worried about that.”
“No, that part’s okay. See, these time lines are like a history of the world. Every time an event occurs, say a coin is flipped, the line splits. There’s two different time lines now, one in which the coin comes up heads and another where it’s tails.”
“And every single event causes one of these splits? There must be a hell of a lot of time lines.”
“Sure. They’re infinite. Remember, time is an expanding ball, so the amount of room for new lines is constantly growing. The ball isn’t hollow; it’s a solid sphere of every possible different time line. The ones right next to us are so similar we probably couldn’t tell the difference, while the ones way on the other side are so different we wouldn’t recognize them as worlds.”
“So there’s an infinite number of me’s out there, each having a slightly different life?”
“Exactly. And an infinite number of me’s. The same is true for everyone, even every atom. Every second there’s jillions more splitting off, filling up the whole continuum. So you see, if I change this time line, it’ll just branch off from mine. There’s no chance of it affecting my own time line.”
“So we’re in different time lines? You and me?”
“Well, sure. But remember, you’re not in the same one you were a second ago either. Some other Lisa has split off from it, going her own way. She remembers everything you do up to the instant you split, because you share the time line up to that point. But from now on you’ll be on your own. And it’s happening all the time.”
“That’s a very strange concept.”
“I know. But it’s true, or so they tell me. I guess they must be right, because the machines work.”
“So you could change this time line, my time line, all you wanted?”
“Sure. Just like we all do every day. Whatever we do affects our particular future.”
“But what about the paradoxes? What if you go back and kill your grandfather? Then you would never have been born to go kill him. How does that work?”
“No problem. When I step into the machine, I stay still while my own time line passes me, so I’ll always arrive in a time line that is my “own”; one that leads to my existence. If I kill my grandfather, that creates other time lines where I never existed, but the one I’m on won’t be changed because I’ll always stay in this one. Because this is where I started, I must exist in it, so there’s no danger of my suddenly going, ‘oops, I forgot, I don’t exist’ and blinking out of existence.”
“I don’t follow any of this.”
“Look, say I killed you tonight. No, don’t look so alarmed, I wouldn’t think of harming you. But if I did, I would be creating time lines in which you died at the age of twenty-one and were nothing more than a promising beginner. But that’s not what happened in my time line, you see, because in mine you’re a great actress. So if paradoxes are occurring, they’re not where we can experience them. Everyone experiences a continuous flow of time going past.”
“Except you. By coming to this particular date, you’ve changed this time line. I’m the Lisa that has met you now. The one that didn’t is the one that’s on your time line. If I understand you, when you get back to your own time we’ll have never met, except that glimpse in The Cloisters. You won’t be able to come up to Anella as an old woman and say, ‘Hey, it’s me. Remember that night way back in 1998?’ Because that Anella won’t have had this experience.”
“That’s right. You do understand.”
“I wouldn’t say that. But it seems to me you’ve got a lot of nerve coming back here and interfering in my life. Because of what you’ve told me tonight, maybe I’ll just decide to do something else. Maybe I’ll give up acting and be a housewife. The great Anella will never exist.”
“Of course. But the same is true of every meeting of our lives. You could have met a man of your own time tonight, and he could have diverted your path, or even killed you. It’s the same risk we take every day with everything we do.”
“Oh, I see. So even if I get hit by a truck tomorrow, the great Anella the magnificent will still go on signing autographs in your world. You can’t do anything to change that.”
“Precisely.”
“So you can harm me, but she’s safe. Lucky her.”
“Yes, I suppose so. But of course, that old woman will be just as much you as you are.”
“So in a way, I’m immortal. No matter what happens to me, I know that I will live to a ripe old age.”
“Well, yes. One version of you will. But another could end up under that truck. And she will be just as much you.”
She shook her head in confusion. “This is all boggling my mind.”
“Well, let’s talk about something else then. I certainly didn’t intend to spend our time together talking temporal physics.”
“No? Just what did you intend?”
“What? Why to get to know you, to spend some time together.”
She sat up and looked at him. “You know, I was thinking about that while you were explaining. To you I’m some big celebrity, right? Someone you could probably never get to meet.”
“Well, yeah,” he said cautiously, sensing the direction she was going.
“Right. So this way you get to be with the famous actress, but when she was still young and before she was famous and hard to approach. You can go home and tell all your friends that you fucked Anella when she was young and beautiful. This is like celebrity skin for you, isn’t it?”
“No!” he cried. “It’s not like that. Here, you’re not even a celebrity yet. We’re just a man and a woman. Sure, I hoped to go to bed with you. I won’t deny that was part of the reason I came here. But it’s more than that. I’ve always admired you, ever since I was a child. I wanted to see what you were really like. Fame changes a person; it can’t be avoided. I wanted to meet you when you were fresh and young and had no public persona to maintain. I wanted us to be just plain boy-meets-girl and see what happens. Just like any other date. I didn’t rape you. You’re a grown woman and you came along willingly enough. Didn’t you? Did I force you in any way?”
“No. But you used your knowledge of me. You already knew I liked brisk walks and Thai food, didn’t you?” She looked at the Monet on the wall. “And you knew I loved Monet, too, didn’t you?”
“It was a lifelong passion of yours. You funded a wonderful museum for his works and published a very well-received book on him.”
“And so you went out and got a Monet and hung it on the wall so I would say, ‘Oh, I just love Monet’ and drop my knickers.”
“Please. It wasn’t that calculated. I knew what you liked and I went out of my way to do things to please you. Is that so different from buying a girl her favorite flowers?”
“Of course it is! You came here just to screw me, and you used every trick to get it to happen.”
“I wanted to meet you, get to know you.”
“And fuck me.”
“Yes, that was certainly in my mind. I hoped you would like me and we would end up going to bed. Just like any guy you ever dated. Is that so terrible?”
“No. But you were deliberately taking advantage of me. You know all about me and I know nothing about you.”
“All right, I concede that. But I’m not the first guy who wanted a girl and did some research to find out what she liked. I came here to meet you because I’d loved you all my life. I saw every one of your films, and I fell completely in love with that woman up there on that screen. I read all your interviews in the fanzines, I watched you on the talk shows. You were still a fascinating woman, but I felt I’d missed something by being born sixty years too late. I didn’t want to be a boy toy for an old woman, even if I could somehow get to meet you. I was in love with the beautiful young woman in the films. I wanted to be back there with her, in her time, back at the turn of the century, with all its gaudy excesses. I wanted to get up there on the screen with her, walk out onto those streets with those wonderful old cars and the incredible clothes. I was nostalgic for an era that was over before I was born.”
She considered this. The whole idea was unbelievable, but she couldn’t help but feel flattered at his apparent admiration for her. She found it exciting to think that she could make men fall in love with her from sixty years in the future.
“So this is sort of a vacation for you?” she asked in a quieter tone.
“In a way, yes.”
“It must be nice to be able to just run off to any century you want for your vacations.”
“Oh, this is no casual trip for me. It was quite expensive. I had to forego several possible contemporary trips to be able to save up for this. It’s the first time I’ve tried it. And I doubt I’ll be able to afford it again. I’m afraid it’s just this one night for me.”
She felt a sudden tension in her chest, and was surprised at the intensity of her disappointment. He might be mad, but he was certainly fascinating.
“So I won’t be seeing you again?” she asked.
“I’ll have to leave in the morning. I’m sorry.”
“But why?”
“It’s rather hard to explain. You see, in my own time line, we did not meet tonight. When I came back I changed this line, so it is now diverging from mine. If I stay too long I won’t be able to return to my own. We only have a few more hours.”
She lay now with her head on his shoulder, watching his profile as he talked. She thought of their lovemaking and felt a pang of regret that it wouldn’t be repeated. Or would it?
“Could you come back again?” she asked.
“Not really. Even if I could afford it, I couldn’t come back to see this you again. I can only travel back on my own time line, and this meeting isn’t on it. If I did come back, it would always be to a you that had never met me. You wouldn’t remember me.”
She tried to understand, but it was difficult. All she knew was that she had finally met a man she wanted to spend time with, and he was leaving in the morning. And he wasn’t just leaving town; he was leaving her time, her reality. In effect, he was leaving her universe.
“So in all this vast sphere of time you talked about,” she said, “we two will only have this one night together?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Then perhaps we’d better make the most of it,” she whispered, rolling over on top of him. Her hair tumbled across his face. He pulled it aside and looked up at her in surprise. He grinned when he saw her expression. He started to caress her.
“Yes, Dame Anella. I am yours to command.”
“Dame Anella? Me, a Dame?”
“Certainly. Presented by King Charles himself. There’s a famous photograph of the ceremony, with you kneeling before Charles. He appears to be peering down your dress. There was much amusement about it at the time.”
“Huh. Imagine that. I don’t think I could get used to being called a Dame. It sounds too much like a broad, don’t you think?”
“Hmm?” he asked dreamily, his mouth on her breast.
“Never mind. Keep doing what you’re doing.”
The second time was even better than the first. The slower pace, the languid stroking and touching, seemed to suit the extremely late hour. She was sleepy now and felt as if she were in a fantastic dream, and a very erotic one. He was so completely attentive to her pleasure that she simply lay back and let him caress her. For the first time in her life, she knew what it was like to be adored.
When it was over at last, the sky outside was growing light. The moon shone through the window, the blinds throwing stripes across their glistening bodies. He lay collapsed across her with his head between her breasts. She idly stroked his hair and lay staring out at the moon.
“Ian,” she whispered. “Are you asleep?”
“Not quite,” he answered drowsily.
“If you’re telling the truth, you went to a lot of time and trouble and money, just to lay some girl who might be famous some day. Was it worth it?”
He rolled over and kissed her tenderly. “Worth every penny. I’ll treasure this night for the rest of my life. How about you? Are you still mad at me?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose I should be. But it’s flattering to think you went to all this expense and trouble to come here. How many girls can pull ‘em in from the next century?”
“Good!” he said. “Good. I’m glad. That was the only part I didn’t like; the deceit. I’m glad you wheedled the truth out of me.”
“Me too. I don’t want to have lies between us. I’d rather know the truth.” She curled up beside him. “What’s time travel like?”
“You mean the travelling itself?”
“Yeah.”
“Boring. You get in this big box, like a trunk, and you lie down and they close it up and turn it on. And then you have to wait a long time – like ten or twelve hours. It’s not good for claustrophobes. You can’t even take a book along to read.”
“Why not?”
“You can’t bring anything with you. The area of the field has to be as small as possible, and the more stuff in there with you the harder it is to control it. The early time machines were these huge, house-sized things and they could just send a person, nothing else. So the first people to return to the past had to go naked and…”
“What?” she laughed. “Naked?”
“Yeah. You just pushed the button and hoped you arrived close to a pair of pants. The arrival time and place was always a bit indefinite. It made for some awkward situations. Remember the streaking craze a few years ago? Bunch of seventies fans.”
“Really?” she asked, then caught the twinkle in his eye. “Oh, you…” she laughed, punching him on the arm.
“The newer machines are much smaller and can transmit a little more. The company bought an old warehouse down on the East Side, built in the early nineteenth century. Doesn’t look like much on the outside, but it’s built well. Still standing in 2060. When we arrive, they give us some period clothes and money and whatnot.”
“So you just lie down in this box in 20-whatever and get out here?”
“Yep.”
“But why this particular night? If you really wanted to go to bed with this famous movie star, why did you come back to this time, when I’m not famous at all? Why not come back when I’m a big celebrity? Wouldn’t that be more exciting?”
“Are you kidding? You have no idea how big you’re going to be. All your leading men will be after you, bigshot artists and musicians from all over the world, even a prince or two. An ordinary guy like me wouldn’t have a chance.”
She laughed in disbelief. “So you figured you’d beat the rush?”
He gestured to his now flaccid member. “The early worm gets the bird, you know.”
“Oh, spare me,” she groaned. “Besides, it looks more like a late worm right now. But still, why did you pick tonight?”
“It’s a good night. There’s a beautiful moon. You’re at the peak of your beauty. You’ve got a job finally; you’re on the way up. You’re happy but unattached. You just had your film debut, so you might be in the mood for a little celebrating.”
“And a little vulnerable about my non-spectacular debut. In need of a little consolation and reassurance.”
“There won’t be many more opportunities like this. Things are going to start happening fast for you now.”
She felt a tremor of excitement. “That soon? So this is sort of a good night for me?”
“Definitely. This is one of the best nights of your life. Some people think the night you won your first Oscar is your best, but of course nobody could get close to you that night. Others say it’s the night you opened your one-woman show. But that night you went home with that young Lithuanian ballerino superstar. So if you’re looking for a night when you’re happy, relaxed, and approachable, most aficionados agree that tonight is one of your best. You’re still so fresh and unspoiled.”
She chuckled. “Oh, yes. Just a sweet innocent girl from the sticks. An easy mark.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly have to drag you here by your hair. Are you sorry you came?”
“Which time?”
“Shameless girl. I mean are you sorry I came back to see you? Are you sorry we’re here together? Even though you know I came here just to see you, and I have to go back in a few hours?”
“No,” she said, cuddling up to him. “I’m not sorry at all.”
He hugged her close. “Good. That makes me happy.”
She lay snuggled against him in the relaxed afterglow of great sex, thinking about all that he had said.
“Ian?”
“Yeah?”
“What did you mean about aficionados?”
“Your fans, my dear. You have millions of ardent fans all over the world. There are Anella fan clubs, Anella newsletters, Anella chat rooms. There have been dozens of books written about you.”
“But do they really talk about which are my best nights? Whatever for?”
“Do you think I’m the only guy in the world who would like to come back and spend a night in the arms of the incomparable Anella?”
She smiled contentedly. “I guess you’re the only one who wanted me enough to come back for me. Ian, my greatest fan.”
He chuckled, tousling her hair affectionately.
“Silly girl. Are you kidding? You’re Anella, one of the biggest stars of all time.”
Her smile froze. She sat up and looked down at him. “What are you saying?”
He smiled up at her, the moonlight full in his face. “Don’t you see, Lisa? Why, on this very night, under that same moon, you’ve made love to thousands of men. And they were right, all of them. You’re a true classic.”
copyright 1999 by Brian K. Crawford