"The night she got lucky" - читать интересную книгу автора (Donovan Susan)CHAPTER 4Piers was late, which was the norm, and Lucio had been alone in his friend's apartment many times before. But on that particular day he felt just slightly awkward. The reason was the change in decor. The one-bedroom apartment was filled with photos that hadn't been there just a few weeks before. The breathtaking landscapes for which Piers was known were exactly where they'd always been, plastered on every wall in the place. It was the addition of the photographs of Sylvie that surprised Lucio. They were hung on the walls, propped on the fireplace mantel, placed in frames, and arranged upon the side tables and the divider between the kitchen and living room. None of the photos had been on display in the weeks Lucio had called Piers's sofa his home. Obviously, Piers had put them away when Lucio moved in, and brought them back out the moment he was gone. Lucio sighed. Despite Piers's assurances to the contrary, it seemed his friend had never completely let go of the past. Piers hadn't wanted Lucio to see all these photos of Sylvie, probably because he hadn't wanted their prickly history brought front and center. Lucio walked toward the small room divider covered with frames. He barely glanced at the full-color wedding portrait he'd taken of Piers Skaarsgard and Sylvie Westcott all those years ago. It was the smaller photo next to it that fascinated him. It was a snapshot of the three of them, smiling in front of the tube station in Piccadilly Circus. They all looked so young. Unscathed. Filled with passion and plans. A handwritten notation at the bottom right corner said, London, 1992. The handwriting was Sylvie's. And, as Lucio well knew, the passion that burned in Sylvie's eyes that day had burned for him. All her plans had included Lucio. His throat squeezed. Sylvie had been so very pretty, in that simple, unadorned way some women have about them. She could have been dressed in an old sweater and worn jeansand usually wasyet she looked elegant. He'd always thought that it was due to her ridiculously correct English posture and her lithe, athletic frame, which seemed to make the freckles, the flyaway dirty-blond hair, and the slightly crooked teeth charming. He picked up the photo to look closer. It was unfathomable that this young, healthy, vivacious girl could be gone. But she was. Lucio put the photo back in its place and ran a hand through his hair. He headed to the kitchen in search of wine, then stopped himself. Piers wouldn't have wine. He never had wine. What did Swedes know about wine? So he grabbed a cold Anchor Steam from Piers's refrigerator, then opened the patio doors that led to the balcony. He knew from past experimentation that if he adjusted the rickety wicker chair just so, he could see a blue slice of the bay from the fourth-floor flat. So he situated himself as such, propped up his feet, and set about the business of waiting. Lucio smiled at the connectedness of it all. That Piccadilly Circus photo had been taken by none other than Rick Rousseau. They'd encountered the American that very day, sitting alone in a corner booth at the pub that served as Chance meetings could change the course of your whole life, Lucio knew. But with one catch: You didn't get to choose which meeting would have the most impact. That unkempt American eating his fish-and-chips would become Lucio's travel companion and dear friend. Years later, Lucio would pull Rick from a street riot that erupted in Jakarta when the Indonesian government collapsed. And more recently, Rick would hand over his luxurious San Francisco home for Lucio to use for as long as necessary, which, at this rate, could be the rest of his life. Though Lucio sat in a smattering of afternoon sun on an August day, he felt a hot shiver go through him. It made him sit up straighter, his body suddenly on alert. Of course he couldn't contact her. According to the old woman who'd officiated at Rick's wedding, Ginger was a newspaper editor and a mother of two teenage boys. She was also recently divorced from an unfaithful husband. Lucio knew he had no business bringing all his troubles into her normal, all-American life. It didn't matter how much he desired to cash in that rain check, how he longed to take her completely. For many nights now, he'd dreamed of doing just that. Lucio smiled to himself as he sipped his beer, knowing that the taking of Ginger Garrison would have to remain there, in his dreams. The last thing that woman needed in her life was another man she couldn't rely on. Lucio heard the apartment door open and close. He called out to Piers to tell him he was on the balcony. You're late, he said, half over his shoulder. When Piers didn't reply, Lucio swiveled around, seeing his friend motionless, his expression blank. You okay? Lucio set down his beer. Sure. Sure. Piers joined him out on the balcony, sitting in the weather-worn director's chair next to Lucio. I'm just a little embarrassed that you saw all the pictures of Sylvie. It's nothing to be embarrassed about, Lucio said, carefully studying his friend. As a rule, Piers didn't broadcast what he was feeling at any given moment. His pale mouth maintained a firm and straight line in most every circumstance. His small greenish-blue eyes were no-nonsense, designed to see the bigger picture of earth and sky, a talent that made him one of the most respected landscape photographers of his generation. Lucio had heard more than one person describe Piers as a cold fish, but he knew better. Piers was a serious man. Focused. Determined. Passionate. But to those who didn't know him well, he could come off as You know you can talk to me about her, Lucio said, leaning toward him. She was a wonderful person. I know you loved her more than anything in the world, and I am truly sorry she's gone. Piers nodded so quickly it was barely detectable. He stared at the buildings of China Town between themselves and the bay. She always thought fondly of you, Lucky. Lucio sat back in his chair and stretched out his legs before he spoke. I have always considered her a dear friend. Lucio wasn't certain how far Piers wanted to go with this line of conversation, but he knew he needed to reassure him. They'd never once discussed what had happened in the months after Lucio left London for the Azores, leaving Sylvie with a shattered heart and Piers with the job of picking up the pieces. She'd married Piers eight months later, in the garden of her parents' Devon cottage. She'd been a beautiful bride. And she'd barely spoken to Lucio. In general, Lucio wasn't proud of his record with women. In particular, he saw Sylvie as his most shameful offense. Lucio hung his head, wishing he could turn back time, make himself a more decent man with one wave of a magic wand. He would have gone about things differently. He would have let Sylvie down easy, taking more time to explain that she was a wonderful woman, but his only true love affair was with the camera, the light, the pursuit of the shot. Instead, he'd just left a note. He'd been an idiot. And now she was gone forever. I put her pictures away when you were staying here because, well, I didn't want you to think I was living in some kind of morbid shrine to Sylvie. Piers glanced sideways at Lucio, a sheepish look on his face. I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable, or unwelcome. I wouldn't have, Lucio said. And it's not morbid. It's perfectly natural to want to surround yourself with her memory. She's only been gone a few months. Piers nodded, then sighed. Sometimes I don't think I can bear it without her. Lucio placed his hand on his friend's shoulder. I have always regretted hurting her the way I did. If she were here, I would seek her forgiveness. The air whooshed in and out of Piers's nostrils. He nodded sharply and slapped his hands on his knees, as if declaring it was time to change the subject. Piers stood and smiled down at Lucio. It was all a long, long time ago, my friendpart of another lifetime. We all have things we wish we'd done differently. Lucio nodded, grateful for his friend's generosity. But we should get going, Piers said with a smile, extending his hand to Lucio. A man in your position can't afford to keep anyone waiting. You're crazy if you think I'd do something that stupid! Joshua stomped his foot on the asphalt of his dad's driveway and glared at his brother. Fine, Jason said, languidly placing his hands behind his head and stretching out on the hood of their father's new Porsche. You don't have the balls for something like that, anyway. Joshua shook his head in disgust. You want to get yourself arrested again? Hey, go for itdrive Dad's brand-new car without a license. Whatever. Fine. I just won't be part of it. And I won't cover for you, either. You become a bigger nerd every day, do you realize that? Jason yawned, as if the conversation were boring him. It's embarrassing, really. Joshua groaned in frustration. If you had the least bit of respect for me as a personfor my dreamsyou wouldn't do this kind of crap in the first place. I've told you a million times that the mistakes of a brother can taint a president's reputation. It's a historical fact! Jason closed one eye and leaned away, as if looking at his brother caused him physical pain. What the fuck are you talking about, ass-face? You're never going to be president and you know it. Pleasedo us all a huge favor and let it go. Loser. Shut up, tardvark. Don't you know anything about history? Josh's cheeks had reddened with outrage. Billy Carter's alcoholism? Roger Clinton's drugs and disorderly conduct? You are my Jason hopped down off the hood of the 911, drilling a knuckle into the muscle of his brother's upper arm before he walked away. Joshua yelped in pain. Hey, I'm talking to you! He ran after him. What is your problem? What is it you think you have to prove? Is this about Dad? He caught up to his brother and blocked his way, yelling in his face. If you're doing this kind of stupid shit just to get his attention, then it's totally pathetic! You're the pathetic one, Jason said, not looking at him. Our dad is a jackass, Joshua said. He's a middle-aged sex freak and he's not worth ruining our lives for. With that last comment, Jason spun around and punched his twin brother in the mouth. Both were shocked to see three small white teeth clatter to the bricks, followed by several plump drops of bright red blood. Lucio felt confident when he arrived at his agent's office. Piers was with him, agreeing to vouch for him if needed, lend moral support, and voice a healthy dose of outrage as a fellow The confidence didn't last long. Lucio got his first taste of bad news before the meeting even started. Sydney pulled Lucio aside and told him that the chairman of the Erskine Prize committee had called, and they had temporarily rescinded his award. They will review the situation and decide by next month. Piers overheard Sydney and shook his head sadly. Oh, no. No. This cannot be. Lucio was stunned. The Erskine was the biggest prize of them all, the ultimate mark of achievement in nature photography. He'd wanted an Erskine since he was twenty years old. He'd worked like a dog for it. He'd risked his life countless times for it. And it had a cash prize of $250,000, upon which his entire future now hinged. We have to Sydney stopped Lucio by placing a hand on his arm. No interference. They said if you or anyone else tries to lobby them about this, they would automatically pull the award. I am to notify them if your situation changes, but that's all. But Just sit tight, Sydney said. The results of today's meeting might reassure everyone. Let's think positively. Lucio sat on one side of the conference table along with Sydney, Piers, and Bill Voyles, Lucio's recently acquiredand very expensivecriminal defense attorney, who promptly passed his business cards to everyone in the room. On the opposite side of the table sat two Lucio's hopes for a hassle-free resolution were dashed within the first five minutes. The magazine's lawyers told him that Lucio sat in silence, his blood hot and pounding. Next, they went on to inform him that they had evidence linking Lucio to the missing fifty thousand in magazine funds. But I've already told youI did not take that money! Lucio waved his hands around in frustration. I would never do that! As Lucio's lawyer whispered to him to keep his mouth closed, one of the magazine's attorneys produced a stack of papers, which he spread out on the table for inspection. In front of Lucio were sixteen completed expense reimbursement forms dated over a four-month period. The signature looked almost identical to Lucio's' The lawyers explained that all the forms had been couriered together from China to But that is not my signature, Lucio said, tapping his finger on the black-ink cursive, the rage building in him as he examined a listing of hotel, food, transportation, and equipment expenses in southern China. What is this garbage? he asked, incredulous. I don't even use this brand of diffusion filter and I certainly wouldn't be buying it in China! And I never set foot in the Jiangxi Province for that assignment. Exactly our point, the lawyer said. So this is not your bank account? one of the lawyers asked. Lucio looked again at the name of the offshore bank and the account number. Absolutely not. For more than ten years I have used an account here in San Franciscoyour records will show that. This is not my account. One of the lawyers smiled as if he enjoyed the exchange. Who would want to set you up as you claim, Mr. Montevez? I do not know, Lucio said, trying to stay calm. Just as I cannot explain how my rough video footage got to the Chinese foreign ministry. The lawyer smiled again. So you believe one person is responsible for both offensesa conspiracy of sorts? I suppose it is possible, Lucio answered. I do not know what happened. That is what I am telling you. Hmm the lawyer said, his grin expanding. So there is someone out there vengeful enough to go to all this trouble to damage your reputation? Someone who also happens to be knowledgeable of The heat of Piers's stare made Lucio turn toward his friend. Immediately, he knew Piers was thinking the same thing he was' Several persons, really. Several So where might we find this person? Lucio did not answer the lawyer, so Piers spoke in his defense. Truly, this is a real possibility. My friend does not lie. There are many women who no longer think well of him. Give us their names and we'll begin an investigation. Piers leaned close and whispered into Lucio's ear. Remember what Ilsa Knauss said to you at the airport? Lucio nodded, sighing. How could I forget? he whispered back. She threatened to cut off two critical parts of my anatomy! And then, there was the rat Piers leaned into his ear again. You really should give them her name, he suggested. But we haven't spoken in two years, Lucio said. Don't you think she'd be over it by now? Piers looked at Lucio as if he were crazy. Yes, yes, all right, Lucio said. He supposed the gift-wrapped package that had awaited him upon his arrival in the northern Chinese city of Yinchuan nearly five months earlier was proof that she hadn't forgotten. The thing was so the word? Desiccated. And smelly. Lucio swallowed, recalling how the accompanying gift card had been signed: All My Love, Ilsa. Well? One of the magazine's lawyers looked impatient. I'm waiting. Lucio nodded, but he took a moment to think this through. Was he capable of siccing investigators on Ilsa, or any of the women from his past? What if that just heaped further hurt onto innocent women who had nothing to do with this? But could Lucio live with the idea that he'd never get to the truth that would clear his name? Before he could even confer with Bill Voyles, the magazine's lawyers shoved another document across the table. It was an agreement that But I cannot, Lucio said, looking to Bill and then the magazine attorneys. To Sydney he said, I won't get the Erskine prize money until Decemberif I get it at all. Would you consider six months? Bill Voyles asked the lawyers. We're afraid this is the limit of the company's compassion, was the reply. The rage built in Lucio's chest until he could not suppress it. The room got quiet. All eyes turned to Piers, who shrugged. It means, ‘The Host! Kiss my posterior!' Bill Voyles shook his head in disapproval. I did not take your damn money, Lucio said, pointing at the attorneys. This is how you treat one of your best photographers? ? His lawyer elbowed Lucio in the side. When everyone's eyes turned to Piers for a clarification, he shook his head, opting not to translate don't fuck with me. If you decline the offer, Mr. Montevez, we will have no choice but to press charges. Lucio sat still for a moment, his mouth ajar with disbelief. Eventually, he looked into the faces of the lawyers and nodded. He would pay the idiots their moneymoney was not the real issue. The issue was that someone had ruined his reputation, and that was unacceptable. In silence, Lucio promised himself he would find out who had done this to him, no matter how long it took. Please relay to my former employer that their compassion overwhelms me, Lucio said, accepting a pen from his attorney. He signed the agreement, then motioned to his handwriting. And just for your jollies, you might want to compare my actual signature to those on the expense reports. We'll certainly take that into consideration, was their reply. The State Department boys were next. They said a review of the facts in Lucio's case showed no merit to the charges of espionagethe only bit of good news Lucio had had all day. They went on to say that they believed the Chinese were only doing what they did best, diverting attention from a real problem with political posturing. In Lucio's case, the posturing was the spying accusation. The real problem was the environmental devastation caused by decades of unregulated industrial pollution. They assured him he was off the hook in that regard. Thank God! he said with a sigh. But he could never return to China, they added, and said he shouldn't bother trying to get his video footage back. Then they politely suggested that, from here on out, he might try to avoid sexing up the daughters of officials in communist, patriarchal societies. Once everyone had filed out of the conference room, Sydney shrugged in Lucio's direction. I think that was as good as you could expect under the circumstances. Piers shook his head in sympathy. How will you come up with fifty thousand in ninety days? Will you go to Rousseau? Of course not, Lucio snapped. He could never ask Rick for money. He had It's not like he'd miss it, Piers said helpfully. I will not ask. Lucio turned to his agent. Get me jobs, Sydney. I don't care what they are. Sydney frowned, the expression on his chubby red face flustered. What kind of jobs did you have in mind? Stateside. West Coast if possible. Expenses up front. You know, tourism, travel, even commercial assignmentsanyone willing to pay top dollar for my name and reputation. Sydney cleared his throat. Uh, I'm not sure who that would be right now, Lucky. Lucio shifted his weight back on the heels of his feet, surprised by his agent's lack of enthusiasm. What are you saying? Sydney shrugged. I'm saying that your target market is all but extinctnewspapers and magazines are washing up on the shore like dead fish every day. And even if the print market was flaming hot, your name and reputation stink like high tide. Sydney tilted his head, as if apologizing in advance for what he was about to say. Your name and reputation are shit right now, Lucky. That's what I'm saying. Lucio's mouth fell open. But Even without criminal charges, Sydney cut him off. The damage has been done. I'm sorry, but that's the truth, and I think you should save yourself some grief and just forget about the Erskine. Piers let go with a pained sigh, turning his small, serious eyes Lucio's way. That is not right. Lucio shook his head. No, it's not. We will find the woman who did this to you, all right? Piers touched Lucio's shoulder. We'll start with Ilsa. She won't be hard to track down. The last I heard she was still freelancing in Europe. I will help you. Lucio appreciated the offer of assistance, but he knew he'd have to postpone traveling the world in search of Ilsa or whoever the guilty party might be. He could not afford it! Besides, Lucio could not help but feel he'd been lucky to escape the wrath of a heartbroken woman for as many years as he had. Perhaps, in some way, he had this coming. Perhaps he deserved it. Regardless, he needed fifty thousand U.S. dollars, and fast. Lucio sighed at the enormity of the challenge ahead of him. He could not finance a project on spec, hoping to find a buyer. Nor did he have the time for that unpredictable process. He only had ninety days. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks, where he encountered his ever-thinning wallet. Heat burned his fingertipshe suddenly thought of the business card tucked away inside. He thought of Ginger Garrison and her lapdog. One eyebrow rose high on his forehead. Perhaps he was going about this all wrong. Perhaps he needed to focus on what he I believe the answer is pet portraits, Sydney, Lucio announced. His agent sucked in his cheeks and blinked. Excuse me? For a second I thought you said something about pets. Lucio laughed softly, because what was there left to do Yes. Pets and their owners. He looked at Piers's and Sydney's equally shocked expressions. Why do you look so puzzled? Think of itan award-winning The men were speechless. It will become the ultimate in status. Icebergs Sydney mumbled to himself. Little dogs! Big dogs! Lucio waved his hands around, trying to drum up enthusiasm. Parrots. Kitties. What do you call them, the little furry household rodents' Piers winced, then translated for a perplexed Sydney. I believe Lucio wants to take pictures of gerbils. Lucio tapped his friend's arm. Now that is something I Sydney collapsed into his office chair, drumming his fingers on the desk. How much do you suppose you can charge for this kind of job? Lucio looked to Piers for suggestions, but his friend shook his pale blond head, clearly having nothing to contribute. Lucio felt himself break into a hopeful smile. Thousands! Piers produced a dubious glance. Sydney bit down on the inside of his cheek. |
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