Beautiful to the Bone (The Enuis Trilogy #1) (22 page)

“No, it
is
funny. Sad but funny.” He frowned then shook it off. “I like seeing you smile.”

I took a deep breath. I had no good place to rest my gaze.

“But when contempt takes over,” he said smoothing over the awkward air, “it’s time to shake hands and go your separate ways. You can do a lot worse. You, you were married. What did you call your husband?”

“Harold.”

“And then?”

“Dead.”

“Right.” Regret tinged his voice and for a moment his eyes were apologetic. “Do you mind?” He reached for my glass of water.

I didn’t share water glasses, not even with Harold. “Sure.”

He took a swig. “Will you have dinner with me?”

“No.”

The water glass stopped, suspended halfway to the table. Trace disappointment in his eyes. “Why not?”

My stomach tightened. It seemed to do that a lot with him. But now more than ever I’d impinged on Elizabeth. The right thing to do was to leave them alone, to accept my new lifestyle. It hurt all out of proportion.

“Just not interested.” I slipped my shades back on. “Let me know what I can do to repair the mess I’ve made for Eliz.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

I’d struggled through the darting and lumbering, smoking and coughing bodies of the city’s afternoon sidewalks, purchased a faux twill briefcase from a Rastafarian street vendor, and navigated the subways. I was thankful to be home. Nan and Levi’s home.

Settling in with a glass of red wine and opening my laptop, I studied the speakers attending the Genetics & Genomics Conference at the Academy of Sciences, an impressive list; all potential research mentors, then turned to the newest Life & Style Weekly an arm’s length away. It tempted me with headlines about Jennifer Anniston’s new beau and the final trials for the state Miss USA competitions that would soon begin. I tossed the spectra of personal questions out of my mind and gave in.

I was surprised but happy to have company when, hours later, the apartment door finally opened. Levi, beat up, stepped inside, his peanut head furrowed.

“Hi.” Relieved, I went to help him with his luggage and overcoat.

He brightened. “Hi to you. Nan home?”

“Not yet.”

He surprised me again by taking me in his arms. He smelled metallic, flat, like stale in-flight air. “D’ya miss me?”

“Uh, sure. Yes.” I was still pleased and confused by his approval.

He cocked a worn comprehending grin and put space between us. “Too busy, I’m sure, to think of your main man.” Without energy, he stretched out his thick manicured fingers and tussled my hair. “I’m not gonna let you forget me. I’m home now, at least for a couple of days.”

He glimpsed the wine bottle and glass sitting on the side table next to the couch. “Would you consider new glasses and the bottle of Don Julio for us? Maybe a couple ice cubes, hey Euni? I’ll be out of the shower in no time.” He disappeared down the hallway.

Euni?
No one had ever called me that.
I guess
, it sounded endearing. And it was an opportunity for just the two of us to get to know one another. Perhaps time to ask for his support.

When he returned, Levi and I relaxed on the couch, the bottle of Don Julio on the table in front of us. Levi, in his midnight blue satin robe and an inharmonious pair of black sweats, had his arm ready to descend upon my shoulders. That part of the evening was beginning to feel habitual, no longer an exploration but a ritual. I wanted to tell him about the conference, but for the time being it would be my secret.

“You and Nan have been wonderful to me. Thank you again. I can see why you two are so compatible.”

“You can?”

“She’s beautiful —beyond beautiful— and you’re obviously a well-traveled, well-informed man.”

He thought about it. “Yes, it works, definitely. We have our agreements, and we abide by them.” He ran his thumb around the lip of his glass.

“Agreements?”

“Every couple has them, don’t you think?”

“I’m not one to ask. I don’t have a lot of experience in those things.”

He fell silent and seemed to lose his way; it made me awkward. “Do you know anything about Charles Dickens?”

His neck tilted back, examining me. “The writer?”

“You seem . . . well read.”

“Well, thank you.” He smiled, but the shower hadn’t cleansed his fatigue. “I’m not so sure of that.”

“So?”

“Dickens.
The Old Curiosity Shop
; I’m sure I read it, long ago.” Again he fingered his glass. “Probably others. Wasn’t he bi-polar or depressed or something? Brilliant but not happy. Why the interest in Dickens? Would you like some of his books? I can make that happen.” He had the air of a different man, less self-assured, more likeable.

“No, I have plenty of those, thanks.”

“Then what?” He took a good belt and savored it returning the glass to the table. “He have something to do with beauty?”

“No.” I didn’t really know what I was searching for in those books. How was I going to explain to Levi?

When I remained mute he continued. “Tell me something about yourself. How have you studied beauty?” He seemed genuinely interested. “Objects d’art?”

“Not exactly.”

“Well,” he said getting up and walking over to the earthenware mermaid figurine and returning with it to the sofa. “What do you think of some of our art? You’ve probably noticed it around the apartment.” He placed the figurine in front of me. “You can pick it up, just be careful.”

I hesitated.

“Please, go ahead.”

As soon as I did my fingertips prickled with its tactility.

He smiled. “Almost vibrissa-like, isn’t it?” He pointed at the mermaid. “The bottom part is actual fish scales, very old and perfectly preserved.”

“How old?”

“Very old.” He took the figurine from me and placed it back on the shelf.

“A type of taxidermy,” I said.

“Yes. Why, do you know anything about it?”

So I explained about my years at Carver’s and how it was my first hands-on experience with beauty.

“And why didn’t you continue with that? It sounds like you had enough skill and experience to open your own shop.”

“Not my passion.” As soon as it was out I wanted to retract it. It sounded so woo-woo and new age.

“Well,” he said, “you’re certainly a passionate person and you should be able to express that, whatever that is for you.”

“You play the violin.”

His eyes registered surprise.

“I saw it in your closet.”

“Haven’t played it much lately.”

“Are you passionate about that? Would you play for me?”

“Sure, if you want.”

“Now?”

“Yes, sure.” Something brightened in him because he was up and back quickly, violin case in hand. “It’s a good idea.” He reached into his pocket. Here.” He handed me a small rufous brown feather barred with streaks of grey.

“What’s this?”

“Keep it. It’s a wren’s feather. Clever is better than strength. Think of it as a good luck charm.”

I studied it, nonplussed.

“Go on.” He laid his violin case on the couch.

A gift is a gift. I slipped it into my skirt pocket. He clicked open the case and tightened the strings until he smiled rather sweetly at me. “Turkey in the Straw?” His grin widened.

“What?”

“I’m joking.” His fingers paused above the strings. He pulled the tawny instrument to his chin and chest, and then his fingers dropped and the bow began to sweep. Classical or gypsy, I don’t know these things, but it was slow and weeping from the very first note, emptying unimaginable sorrow into the room. I could barely breathe, the grief was physical, tides rolling in, pulling away.

His half-closed eyes were on me the whole time so I shut mine. I couldn’t handle the undertow. Me. He took me to sea. At moments he was vast and barely audible, but he held me afloat delicately, a last rite, as if I was adrift with no chance of return. All hope lost. Nothing to struggle against. My beautiful water had come to take me. Forever.

He slid his arm behind me and stroked down my side. I wasn’t even aware that the music had stopped, that he had put down the bow and violin.

I could hardly speak. “That was beautiful.” His hand moved to my breast on the way to loosening my blouse. I opened my eyes.
He
was beautiful. His other hand traveled inside my skirt to the cleft above my ass.

“Levi, I’m not sure what’s —”

His mouth moved to my neck. The front door snapped open. Nan. Carrying a small plastic bag.

She fixed me with a smoldering stare. “Couldn’t wait, Leviathan?” She turned to him.

He made no attempt to remove his hand. In fact he held me more firmly. I didn’t resist. I couldn’t and I didn’t want to.

“Come join us, baby.” He tapped the space next to him with his free hand. “C’mon, all’s fair.”

Nan didn’t budge, and I was lost at sea.

“What’s in the bag?” he asked.

“Present for Eunis. Now that you’ve come home you can join
us
.”

***

Nan changed out of her hospital blues and herded us into the Cinema room where she’d moved the massage table to the side, made a large pile of pillows for the three of us to rest against, and flipping a switch, lowered a large movie screen down the wall.

“Ah,” said Levi not wanting to look at me, nor I at him, “I love movies.” Bottle in hand, eyes mushy.

“Eunis,” Nan said. “I thought you’d find this interesting, seeing how you’re studying beauty. That whole thing about sexy faces being equal.”

“Beautiful and symmetrical,” I corrected her. “And that’s not all. Space
between
features counts too. A ‘Golden Ratio,’ what the Greeks called the ‘divine proportion.’”

“Whatever.” She opened a small cabinet in the wall, placed a DVD into the player, and lowered the lights.

“No, seriously, there are studies—”

Nan hovered over the Play button. “How bout me? How do I rate?”

“You? Beautiful. I’ve told you that.”

Levi drummed his fingers, rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“Okay, but no one would put me in their class, your scrapbook team.”

“Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean you’re not. You’re exotic. You’ve got spectacular genes.”

“Syrian,” Levi injected, a blasé sigh.

This might have been a good time to mention the DNA sample.

“Would I be beautiful if I was, say, fat? Or if my teeth were crooked?”

“You would be, I’m sure. Your face is that perfect.”

“But maybe not for everyone.”

“Maybe not, but for most.”

Levi got up. “Call me when this shit is over and we get to the good stuff.”

What was she hunting for?
Whatever it was, it was draining.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Before he was more than a few strides out of the room she called him back. “Levi, get your ass in here. And bring the tequila!”

He quickly returned, scowling. “C’mon girls.” He handed Nan the bottle without looking at her. He leaned against the wall. “What are we gonna watch
now
? Something
new
, perhaps?” He raised an eyebrow to her.

“Not quite yet, Levi. Give it some time.”

“Okay, okay, just roll it, damn it.”

She lowered the lights. Levi tumbled in between Nan and me, wrapping his arm around me and nuzzling her.

“That’s a good boy.” She ran her fingers across his shaven skull and rested on him, all the weight now falling on me.

It wasn’t comfortable, those two bodies lumped on me, but I wasn’t about to toss a match into the combustible air.
Just support them
.

Nan reached behind him and ran a single finger across my naked shoulder. Then pushed the remote. “I know you like Dickens.”

I couldn’t recall saying anything like that to her. “Is this a documentary on Dickens?” I straightened up, encouraged.

“No, something more fun.”

***

Whatever we drank, it was more than just tequila. I remember the film starting. An older film:
Olivia Twisted,
about a young women who is mercilessly misused by her gang and society, until a kindhearted prostitute makes love to her and sexually emancipates Olivia before nobly sacrificing her own life for her. A lot of nude bodies and an amalgam of assorted sexual encounters. Not much else. My first porn film: it didn’t titillate me. Was that Nan’s purpose in showing it to me? Or was it the characters? Were they supposed to be me and Nan?

I surfaced from sleep, in bed, in the Moroccan Room, covers thrown aside, with Levi on his flank, back to me and snoring, and Nan asleep, spread-eagled, next to him.

“What happened?” I whispered, but I knew. It’d happened again. Seeing no clothes of mine anywhere, I slipped silently from the bed and the room, down the hall, naked, to my room, though the air barely parted as I advanced.

***

It’s not like I didn’t try. I ordered the Buccal DNA sampling kit. I weighed the most tactical methods to approach targeted speakers at the conference, which was my best chance to move my work forward, even if most everything else collapsed.

I saw nothing in the papers or on TV about the Times Square Hacker. I waited for a call from Warring. I wrote query letters to a couple research facilities in the city but I knew that once they spoke to Warring, I was toast, so I didn’t send them. I was treading water but as Harold would chide me, “Patience: an idea, like a ghost, must be spoken to a little before it will explain itself.”

Then one night, with no party planned, when Nan had a dayshift and returned around 8 PM, she caught me with my swim bag ready to go out.

“Can I come?” Her eyes bordered in fatigue.

My nights at Natatorium Ondine, alone, were precious. “I thought you didn’t swim.”

“I have to get over that.” She rushed off to get her things. “It’ll only take me a few minutes, I promise.”