INTRODUCTIONS; THE ARRANGEMENT 7 page

She turned away as I dropped the towel and put on the underwear, and then the bra, which pushed my tits up so they assumed almost unlikely proportions. I mean, I was fairly well-endowed, but this bra did literal magic for my cleavage.

She rifled through another section of the closet, and then handed me a slinky, silky midnight-blue dressing gown. I slipped it on, tied it, and actually sighed out loud at the luxurious feel of the cool fabric against my skin. “Why don’t we get your hair and makeup done, and then we shall see the effect in total. Come, sit.” She ushered me to the vanity, held out the chair for me, and then threaded her fingers through my hair.

“You—you’re going to do my hair?”

Eliza nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

“So you’re his housekeeper, plus you do hair and makeup?”

She smiled at me, the first warm, genuine smile I’d seen from her. “‘Housekeeper’ isn’t really an accurate word for my duties, I think. I do whatever Mr. Roth needs. Harris sees to his personal safety and security, as well as acting as chauffeur. Robert assumes business matters, and I tend to his personal needs.”

“Is there anything you can’t do?”

She grinned again as she began brushing through my hair. “Close a business deal. Shoot a gun.” She gestured at the dress, lying on the bed. “And wear that dress.”

Thirty minutes later, she had my hair falling around my shoulders in loose spirals, swept away from my eyes and sprayed to stay for the evening. Shit, she was good. My hair looked amazing. And then, with the same efficient skill, she did my makeup. Light foundation, a bit of blush, smoky eyes, bright candy-apple-red lipstick.

She stepped back when she finished, nodding. “There. I think that’s good. You are very beautiful, Miss Kyrie.”

I smiled at her. “Thank you, Eliza. I mean, for doing my hair and makeup. It looks amazing. Better than I could have done on my own, that’s for sure.”

“It is no matter. It was my pleasure. Truly.” She hesitated, as if deliberating whether or not to say more. She licked her lips, glancing into my eyes and then away. “Mr. Roth, as you may have noticed, is extremely private. He lives alone, spends nearly all of his time here. I am, most of the time, the only person here. So, to have someone else in the house is pleasant. To have another woman? It is truly a pleasure.”

“You must get lonely, then, huh?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

I sensed it in her, and I wondered if she was married, if she had kids, or if she lived here, lived to serve Roth. I didn’t think asking her outright would be polite, so I didn’t. Instead, I just leaned in to give her a tentative hug. “Well, I’m here. For how long, I don’t know. But while I’m here, we can be friends.”

“That would be…” She sighed, as if hunting for the right word. “Nice. It would be nice.” A glance at her watch, and her eyes widened. “We need to finish getting you ready. Harris will be ready to pick you up at six precisely. Neither Harris nor Mr. Roth appreciates tardiness.”

“Yeah, somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” I took a deep breath. “Let’s get me into this dress, then.”

Eliza held the gown for me as I gingerly stepped into it, adjusted the skirts and then fitted the bodice to my breasts. Holy shit. This dress was tight. I mean, it fit, but it was molded to my curves like a second skin. Walking would be tricky, something told me. I very rarely wore dresses this tight. It was emerald green, sleeveless, the hem sweeping the floor around my feet with room to spare for a pair of heels. It looked a bit like the dress Jennifer Lawrence wore to the SAG awards, actually, just in a different material and color. There was a pair of heels to go with the gown, emerald green to match the dress. Shit. This outfit was probably worth more than I’d ever made in my entire life.

And then Eliza reached into a pocket of her apron and withdrew a wide black box. When she opened it, I had to steady myself with a hand on the wall. Lying on the black satin inside the box was an elaborate emerald necklace, a pendant with an emerald the size of my thumb, teardrop-shaped, suspended on a chain woven from twisted strands of platinum. As well, there was a pair of matching teardrop emerald earrings, also chased with twisted and braided platinum.

“Holy…holy shit, Eliza.” I bit my lip, just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. “I can’t wear that. It’s…I can’t even fathom how much that set costs. It’s on loan?”

Eliza lifted an eyebrow. “Loan? Certainly not. Mr. Roth has no need to…borrow…jewelry.” Her tone was amused, almost contemptuous. Not of me, but of the concept of borrowing. “He purchased this set for you, for this occasion.”

“I—I. Um. I don’t even know what to say.” I sucked in a breath, extended a finger to touch the pendant of the necklace. “I’ll feel self-conscious wearing all this. I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You are a very beautiful woman, Miss Kyrie. You have absolutely no need to feel self-conscious. And besides, you will be dining in private with Mr. Roth, as well as sitting in a private box for the opera. You will not be walking the red carpet, as they say.” She put a hand on my bare shoulder, her palm cool and dry and comforting. “You can do this.”

“I can do this. I can do this.” I breathed deeply once more. I forced strength into my voice. “I can do this.”

“Now turn, so I can put this necklace on you.” I turned, and felt her rest the necklace on my breastbone. It was heavy, and cold. “Now the earrings.” She threaded the pin through my earlobe, fastened it, and then repeated the process on the other side. “Perfect. Now…let’s look at you in the mirror.”

We went together into the closet—a term that didn’t begin to describe a space that was bigger than my entire Detroit apartment—and she positioned me in front of the three-way mirror. When I caught sight of my reflection, I had to blink hard to hold back pinprick tears. I didn’t look like me. I looked like some elegant, sophisticated creature that resembled me. The way Eliza had done my hair and makeup accentuated my sky-blue eyes and the natural tan of my skin, and the dress…Jesus, the dress. It hugged every curve, made my tits look huge and round and—if I said so myself, pretty damn perfect—and made my rather generous hips into an hourglass figure. My shoulders seemed slim and sharp, my breastbone and throat a sleek curve. The necklace and earrings sparkled and blazed in the incandescent light, their color a perfect match for the dress and offsetting my skin tone as if made for me.

“You are going to take his breath away, Kyrie.” Eliza held my shoulders, and I felt oddly close and connected to this woman I barely knew.

“Thank you.”

She nodded with a small smile, and then bustled deeper into the closet, opened a drawer, and pulled out a slim black clutch. Valentino. “You’ll need this.”

There were drawers full of purses? How had I not discovered this? I needed to explore this closet more; it was a woman’s fantasy, in both design and contents. My mind spun.

I found my old purse in the armoire, retrieved my I.D., some cash, and my debit card. I doubted I’d need any of that, but it didn’t seem right to go out without it. I unplugged my cell phone, and realized in that moment that I’d never called Layla. She’d be pissed. And jealous. And worried. Shit. I’d have to call her from the car.

I closed the clutch and nodded to Eliza. “I’m ready.”

“I’ll bring you to the roof, then.”

“The roof?”

Eliza nodded, leading me from my suite of rooms at a quick pace. “Yes. Harris will be flying you directly to dinner. Mr. Roth will meet you at dinner, and you will go together from there to the Met.”

“Fly?”

“Yes. In a helicopter.”

“A helicopter. I’m being flown in a helicopter to dinner.” I felt dizzy. “While wearing an outfit that costs more than several houses.”

“Welcome to Mr. Roth’s world, Miss Kyrie. He does nothing in half-measure.”

“No shit.”

Eliza frowned at me as she gestured me through a door that led to a small elevator. “You know, Mr. Roth disapproves of cursing under most circumstances. Not from any moral or religious standpoint, but because he considers it…unnecessary, and inelegant. So, a piece of friendly advice…consider attempting to curse less frequently.”

Upward we went, exiting after a short ride onto a wide blacktop helipad where Harris was waiting, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. He stood in front of a sleek black helicopter, large enough to carry at least four people, possibly more.

“I will try. Thanks for telling me, Eliza.” I turned and hugged her again. She was stiff through it, as if unused to being hugged. “For everything.”

“My pleasure, Miss Kyrie. Now go. Have a fun evening.”

I waved at her, and then crossed the helipad toward Harris. “Hello again, Harris.”

He inclined his head to me. “Miss St. Claire.” He extended his hand toward the helicopter. “If you’re ready?”

I nodded and he opened the door, holding out his hand to help me in. I eyed the step up into the craft, and then realized that I could not make it. “Yeah, not gonna be able to get up there in this dress,” I said.

Harris didn’t say anything, merely placed his hands on my waist and lifted me in. He did so easily, as if I weighed nothing. His touch was businesslike, platonic, not lingering. As soon as I was in and settled, he closed the door, and I fished my phone from my purse. I had one phone number in the “favorites” screen of my iPhone: Layla. She was, actually, one of maybe a dozen phone numbers I had, period. I dialed her, and held the phone to my ear as Harris slid into the pilot’s seat and began warming up the engine, flipping switches and consulting a clipboard and doing all sorts of things in preparation for takeoff.

“KYRIE!” Layla’s voice was a piercing shriek, so loud I had to hold the phone away from my ear. Harris turned in the seat and gave me an amused glance. “WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN, HOOKER?”

I put the phone back to my ear and sighed into the speaker. “Layla, calm the hell down. You’re making my ears bleed.”

“You said you’d call me again, Key. It’s been, like, two days. I was about to call the cops.”

“Don’t do that, Layla. Please. For real. Don’t. I’m fine, totally fine.”

“You haven’t been, like, dismembered or tortured yet, have you?”

“Since I’m calling you, I’m gonna go with probably not.” I heard the whine of the engine getting louder. “Listen, I don’t have a lot of time, so I just wanted to call and say I’m okay.”

“What’s that noise?”

“That’s the engine of the helicopter.”

“Helicopter?”

I laughed at the concerned yet incredulous tone of her voice. “Yes, helicopter. I’m in a private helicopter, about to be flown to have dinner with…my benefactor.” For some reason, I didn’t think I should tell Layla his name, even though she was the only person in the whole world that I trusted completely. “And then we’re going to the opera.”

“The opera? Private helicopter? What the fuck is going on, Key?”

I sighed. “I don’t even know where to start.” The engine was roaring now, making conversation difficult. “Are you sitting down?”

“Why?”

“Because you should be. I’m wearing a Christian Dior gown, Layla. Matching shoes. Emerald necklace and earrings that could pay for a fucking mansion. A Valentino clutch.”

“Holy fucking Jesus toast, Kyrie.”

“Jesus toast?”

She growled. “Don’t make fun of my inventive swearing, damn your eyes. A custom Dior gown? Do you have any idea how much—”

“Layla, that’s just the tip of the iceberg.” Harris glanced at me over his shoulder and circled his index finger, meaning he was about to engage the rotors. “Listen, I’ve gotta go. But…I’m okay. This is…I’m gonna go with this, Layla. It could be…good. Really good. He’s interesting.”

“What’s he look like? What’s his name?”

“I don’t know what he looks like yet. And I probably shouldn’t tell you much more. He’s…very private.”

“But you’ve met him?”

“Yes.”

“Yet you don’t know what he looks like?”

I sighed. “Layla, it’s…complicated. I’ll tell you what I can, when I can. For now, just…don’t worry about me. I’m good.”

“Okay, babes. Just be careful. Rich guys are weird.” She made a kissing sound. “Go, then. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your fancy helicopter ride to your fancy dinner and fancy opera, Miss Fancy.”

“Shut up, Layla. Don’t be an idiot.”

“Can’t help it, I learned from you.”

“Sure you did,” I laughed. “’Bye.”

“’Bye.”

I ended the call, put my phone on vibrate, and tucked it back into my clutch. “Sorry, Harris. I’m ready now.”

“It’s all right, Miss St. Claire. You were very circumspect with your friend. That’s good. He’ll appreciate that.” He flipped a switch, and the rotors overhead began whirring. He gestured at a pair of headphones with a microphone boom hanging nearby. “Put those on.” I carefully slid the headset on, mindful of my hair, and the noise of the engines and rotors faded. I could hear Harris clearly as he said, “Buckle up as well, please.”

I buckled up, and then had to grip the armrest as the helicopter lifted off the ground, making my stomach fall away. Up, up, and up, and then we banked, tilting to the left, giving me an incredible bird’s-eye view of Manhattan through the window beside me. “Holy shit. The city looks so different from this perspective.”

“Indeed it does,” Harris responded, his voice clear through the headset.

“I didn’t know you were a pilot as well, Harris.”

He let out a single chuckle. “There are many, many things you don’t know about me, Miss St. Claire.”

“Such as?”

He didn’t answer right away, instead touching a button and rattling off some kind of official flight-plan information on a different radio channel. When he was finished he returned to my channel and spoke. “Such as…I’m licensed to fly helicopters as well as airplanes, everything from single-engine prop planes to military heavy lifters like C-130s. I’ve flown tens of thousands of hours as both a civilian and in the military.”

“I thought you seemed like you’d been in the military,” I remarked.

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. U.S. Army Rangers, retired.”

“And how long have you worked for Mr. Roth?”

He turned to glance at me. “He gave you his name?” He sounded surprised.

“Just that much.”

“That’s impressive. I’ve worked for Mr. Roth directly for five years, and for his company for eight. Meaning, I’ve worked for him for a total of eight years, five of which I’ve spent as his driver and pilot.”

“And bodyguard, and private investigator.”

“Yes, and those things.” He banked again, and then resumed speaking. “I worked directly for Mr. Roth for almost a year before he even gave me that much of his name. And here you spend less than forty-eight hours with him, and you’ve gotten his name from him. Pretty impressive.”

“All I did was ask,” I said.

Harris laughed. “I asked, too. A month and a half in. Know what he said? He said, ‘Ask me any more personal questions, Harris, and you’ll end up shoveling elephant dung for the circus.’”

“He actually used the word ‘dung’?”

Harris nodded. “Yes, ma’am. He doesn’t like swearing under most circumstances. If he does, you know he’s serious as a goddamn heart attack.” He gave me another glance, this one inquisitive, curious. “When I showed him what I’d found out about your…boyfriend…Steven…he was more upset than I’ve ever seen him, before or since. He said, and I quote, ‘Make sure that vile piece of shit doesn’t lay a finger on her, Harris. Make sure he knows who she belongs to. If he resists…fucking bury him.’”

I shivered. “Obviously Steven listened,” I said.

Harris’s voice was cold and terrifying. “I didn’t leave him much choice.”

“I don’t want to know what that means, do I?”

“No. Probably not.”

Silence extended between us. I tried not to think about Steven, or what I’d seen in that file. I wanted to enjoy tonight, this experience. I focused on the view outside my window, Manhattan beneath me, bathed in the golden light of early evening. Harris banked the helicopter a third time, and then I felt us going lower, watched as we approached a high-rise with a helipad on the roof. Soon the building was out my view, and we descended straight down. A gentle bump, and we landed safely.

“Wait a moment for the rotors to stop,” Harris said. “Don’t want the wash to mess up your hair.” He flipped a switch, and the engine’s roar turned to a receding whine, the rotors slowing to a stop.

He stepped out and opened my door, placed his hands on my waist, and lifted me down. He gestured at the nearest door. “This way, please.”

I followed him through the doorway, which led us into a small foyer area and a single elevator. He pushed the call button and stood beside me, hands clasped behind his back, a distinctly military at-ease posture that seemed second nature. The elevator doors opened, and he gestured for me to go first. Then he stepped on and pushed a button for a few floors down. My heart was starting to beat a little harder, knowing I was about to meet Roth once more. The elevator doors opened, and I stepped off into a small, dark room. It was lit by dim red lights hidden behind thick stands of bamboo planted directly into the floor on either side of the room.

Opposite the elevator was a set of double doors, black lacquer, thick and heavy-looking, banded with hammered black iron, the handles wrist-thick rings.

Harris moved to stand beside me, and glanced at the doors and then at me. He reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out a long strip of green fabric, the same shade and material as my dress. “Ready?”

I inhaled, held my breath a moment, and then let it out. “Yes. I suppose I am.”

Harris tied the blindfold around my head, and then placed his hand on my shoulder. I heard a ring squeak on the door as he lifted one of them. I felt his balance shift, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on my shoulder as he pulled open the obviously heavy door. I smelled food, Asian, possibly. Rice, searing meat, vegetables. I heard flames leaping, low voices. Harris guided me through the door.

“I’ll see you later, Miss St. Claire,” he said.

“Wait…you’re leaving me here? I don’t know where I’m going, I’m blindfolded, remember?” I felt panicky, fearful. Harris was now familiar to me. I didn’t want to be left alone in another strange place. I wasn’t in Roth’s house anymore, or in a vehicle. I was in a restaurant. Were there people watching me, staring at me, wondering who this weird blindfolded lady was? I was embarrassed, hating the blindfold, hating the vulnerability, hating that people I didn’t know could see me when I couldn’t see them.

I felt a hesitant, cool touch on my shoulder, heard a soft male voice with a faint Asian accent. “Miss St. Claire. Please, my name is Kim. I will bring you to Mr. Roth. He has given instruction.”

“You’re all right, Miss St. Claire,” Harris said. “Have a good night.” I heard the heavy doors closing.

“This way, please.” I felt Kim’s hand take mine, placing my fingers on his arm. “Follow, please.”

I moved with careful, precise steps, and my host seemed to understand the limitation of my dress, as he moved slowly enough that I didn’t feel rushed or off-balance. I heard the voices again, but they were all off to my right, and they all seemed to be speaking the same language. Chinese, maybe? I wasn’t sure, having very little familiarity with Asian languages.

“Are there any other people here, Kim?” I asked.

“No, no,” came the response. “Only Mr. Roth, me, you, the chefs.”

“Oh. Okay. Thank you.”

“Yes, yes.” Kim stopped, and I heard a door, the slight squeak of oiled hinges, and a latch opening. “This way, please.”

Another few dozen steps, and then another pause, another door opening.

“Miss St. Claire, sir,” Kim said, a hand on my elbow urging me forward.

I heard a chair sliding, and then Roth’s hands were on my arms, my wrists, taking my hands in his. “Kyrie. Welcome.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Where are we?”

He led me four steps, pulled out a chair, guided me into it, and then resumed his own seat. “This is Longjing. It’s a Chinese restaurant I own.” His strong fingers tangled with mine. “You look…simply ravishing, Kyrie. I knew that dress would suit you when I had it made for you, but I had no clue how positively breathtaking you would look wearing it.”

I felt myself blushing. “It’s incredible, Roth. Thank you.” I ducked my head. “For the dress, for the whole experience so far.”

“Do you like the jewelry?”

I let out a disbelieving huff of laughter. “Like it? Roth, it’s…incredible. That’s not the right word…there aren’t any words. I’ve never worn anything like it.”

“That’s the point, my lovely. No one has. That set was designed for you, for that dress.”

“I…what?”

Roth’s thumb caressed my knuckles. “You deserve the best, Kyrie. And that is what I intend to give you.”

“I just…I don’t even know what to say, Roth. Everything is so…much. I can’t even fathom how much you spent on what I’m wearing.”

“You want to know?” He sounded amused. “If you want to know, then I’ll tell you. Altogether, what you are wearing cost over one hundred thousand dollars.”

My mind was boggled. “Why?”

He laughed. “It’s nothing, Kyrie. We’re not even going to be seen tonight, either. Not in the public sense, when what we wear would be judged.”

“Do you do public appearances like that?” I asked.

“Very, very rarely. And only if I absolutely have to.”

“So then all this,” I gestured at myself with both hands, “is just for…what, for kicks?”

“For…kicks?” I heard the puzzled frown in his voice. “You mean just because? No. Not at all. You are the most beautiful woman I know, Kyrie. You should be adorned to showcase your beauty. I had this dress made so you would feel beautiful, and so I would enjoy looking at you all the more this evening.” His voice lowered, became intimate, close, rumbling. “Do you feel beautiful, Kyrie?”

I gave myself time to think before answering. “Yes. I do. Very much so.” I couldn’t allow myself to dwell on his most beautiful woman I know comment. I’d go crazy if I did.

“Then it was money well-spent.” A pause. “Stop thinking of the cost of things. That is my business, for me to worry about. I spend what I want, when I want. All you need do is be yourself, and try to trust me.”

“I’m working on it.”

“I know. Now, if I’m not mistaken, Kim is here with the first course.”

At that very moment, a door opened, and I smelled food. This time, having eaten with Roth once before, I simply sat and waited. I felt Roth lift my hand and place a glass in it. I lifted it to my lips, sniffed, smelled white wine. I heard utensils clicking and tinkling, bowls being set down, and then the door closed.

“This is Sichuan Beef,” Roth said. “A little spicy. Open.”

I opened my mouth, felt chopsticks touch my lips, felt his hand at my chin. I bit down, and he withdrew the chopsticks. A little spicy, he said. It was fiery, and I had to blink against the burn.

“God, Roth! That’s not just a little spicy, it’s f—it’s crazy hot!” I just barely remembered his dislike of cursing and caught myself. I took a sip of wine to wash away the heat in my mouth.

Roth laughed. “It’s not spicy to me. But then, I suppose I do enjoy things a little spicier than most. I spent several years in China and the surrounding countries, and developed a taste for spicy food.”

“Let me try another bite, now that I’m ready for it.” I parted my lips, bit down when he fed me a morsel of meat and rice, with some kind of vegetable. This time, ready for the heat, I was able to taste past it, and actually enjoyed it, although it did clear my sinuses a bit. “So, what were you doing in China?”

He answered as he chewed. “I was…developing business contacts, you could say.”

“That’s vague.”

“On purpose. Perhaps eventually I’ll tell you more about what I do, how I made my fortune. But not now. It’s not relevant at this time.”

I had kept my hand on my glass the entire time, so I wouldn’t have to find it again, or have him give it to me every time. I took a drink, sniffing past the bite of the spice. We talked more as we ate, again the conversation staying light. It was the kind of thing I usually hated, but it was also exactly what I needed, the appearance of normality to offset the oddity of being blindfolded. There were several courses to the meal, each better than the last, and almost all of them spicier than I usually liked. By the time the meal ended, my tongue was tingling.

“Not so much spicy food next time, huh?” I said, taking a sip of my second glass of wine.

Roth laughed. “Sure. For you, anything. But here, that’s just the way Kim cooks. He’s a master with la jiao.”

“La what?”

“La jiao,” he repeated. “The chili peppers that made the food spicy. It’s Kim’s signature.”

“You mean Kim was the chef?”

“This is his restaurant. I provided the capital and some of the direction, but he runs it and does the cooking. It’s very exclusive, very expensive. Normally, you wouldn’t be able to get a table here unless you had reservations six months out.”

“But for you….” I insinuated.

“I get my way.”

“Clearly.”

I heard his chair scrape, felt his fingers trail over my shoulders and back. “Would you care for dessert? Or would you like to proceed to the show?”

“I’m full,” I said. “We can go if you’re ready.”

“Good answer.” He took my hand and led me back the way we came.

I heard the heavy doors open, and then the sounds of the kitchen and the low chatter of voices receded. I heard the elevator whirring. A short ride later, we were moving across what sounded like a large foyer with marble floors, my heels echoing with sharp clicks. Another door opened, and Roth’s hand on my lower back urged me through and outside. The sounds of New York assaulted me, horns honking, voices, shoes, rushing vehicles, sirens. It was a warm evening, in contrast to the cool of the restaurant and the lobby we’d just left.

I heard voices nearby. “Look…she’s blindfolded. I wonder why?”

“Look at that dress!”

“Did you see her necklace?”

“That’s a Maybach, I think….”

“Holy shit, he’s gorgeous….”

And then I heard a car door open and Roth helped me into the car, gently nudging my head to make me duck. I slid in and across, feeling leather underneath my hands. The door closed and I felt Roth beside me, and then the engine purred and we were moving.

Tension rolled off Roth. “Are you okay?” I asked.

“I would have preferred a private entrance, but that wasn’t possible, unfortunately.” He took my hand, and I found myself naturally threading my fingers through his. “We have a private entrance at the Met, thankfully.”

“What are we seeing?” I asked, ignoring my own embarrassment over the things I’d overheard, and the fact that I wouldn’t be really seeing anything.

“La Bohème. A very enjoyable presentation. The bel cantos performing this are wonderful, and really, you won’t be missing much being blindfolded. The music is the thing.”

I’d heard of it, but knew nothing about it. The rest of the ride was quiet, but Roth’s tension was still palpable.

“You really don’t like being around people, do you?” I couldn’t help asking.

“What makes you ask that?” His voice was thin and razor sharp.

I shrugged. “I can just feel how tense you are. That whole scene back there really upset you.”

“You can feel all that?”

I nodded with another small lift of one shoulder. “Yeah. It’s coming off you in waves.”

I heard him suck in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “You are very perceptive, Kyrie. Especially considering you don’t have the use of visual cues.” His fingers squeezed mine.

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing. I heard car horns, and the sense of motion ceased, indicating we were stopped at a traffic light or were stuck in a traffic jam.

“You are correct, of course,” Roth said, after a few minutes of silence. “I dislike crowds. It’s not that I don’t like people, per se. I merely prefer my interactions to be…one-to-one, on my terms. There is so much one cannot control in a public, crowded setting. And my life experience has taught me to…shun…such situations whenever possible.”

The vehicle moved again, and we rode in companionable silence. After twenty minutes in the car, which was punctuated with sporadic conversation, Harris stopped the car, and I heard him get out and come around to open our door. Roth slid out, and I extended my hand. He pulled me, helping me out of the car. A wash of overlapping voices hit me from my left, cameras clicking, questions being shouted.

I heard another door open, this one right in front of us, and Roth’s hand on my lower back urged me forward. I moved as quickly as I could in my three-inch heels and tight dress, knowing Roth would want to get inside before the photographers caught sight of us. After a dozen steps, the door closed behind us, shutting off the babble of noise from the street.

Date: 2015-12-24; view: 594