The Casanova Embrace (35 page)

Then she saw him. He was driving a car into the parking
lot, passing in front of her car, his head slightly tilted as he searched for a
parking spot. Shutting off the motor, she waited, watched as he maneuvered into
a parking space, heard the slam of the car door. She got out of her car and her
gaze was pulled suddenly toward the tall woman, who had moved deeper into the
shadows, her eyes fixed on Eduardo. He headed for the lobby entrance. Marie
moved swiftly, catching up with him as he entered the lobby.

"Eduardo."

"You." He looked beyond her. But her eyes did not
waver from his. Eduardo punched the button of the elevator, showing some
irritability.

"I had to see you, Eduardo," she said. "I
have been waiting all day."

"I told you that you must never do this," he
hissed. "They might be watching. It is dangerous." He looked up to
check the progress of the elevator, which was moving at a maddeningly slow
pace.

"It is important," she pleaded. She watched his
effort to control his temper. She felt her throat constrict.

"Claude is being transferred to Egypt," she said.
An older couple moved through the lobby, standing behind them, also waiting for
the elevator.

"Egypt?" He lowered his voice, obviously trying
to achieve a casual air. She wanted to scream, but she held herself in,
smothering the urge.

"I cannot go, Eduardo," she whispered. "I
will not go."

"We will discuss it tomorrow."

"Now," she pleaded. "Now."

"Please, Marie."

"What can I do? Tell me what to do?"

"Tomorrow."

The elevator opened and Eduardo stepped inside and let the
elderly couple enter. Then he turned toward her once more, his eyes narrowing,
his lips tight.

"Tomorrow?"

"When?"

"At ten. I will be waiting."

Then he stepped in and the door shut. She watched the
numbers above the door chart the elevator's progress, felt the weakness in her
knees as she tried to move, the feeling of abandonment a terrifying reality.
Others had come into the lobby, pressed the elevator button, and waited. She
tried to compose herself, confused by her own emptiness and his display of
indifference. Surely, he cannot let me go. She fought for the return of logic.
Perhaps I have endangered him, his work. The thought seemed to calm her as she
moved toward the entrance, remembering the children. She saw a pay phone at the
end of the lobby, and dipping into her pocketbook, she put some coins in the
box and dialed her number.

"Mommy." It was her daughter.

"Mommy's fine. The car.... "She cleared her
throat. "The car needed repairs. I am waiting for it. Take some cold
cereal and tell Daddy I will be late." She did not want to say more, could
not, afraid that she would soon attract attention. She hung up quickly and
passed through the entrance, moving toward the parking lot again. She groped
for her keys, then opened the car door.

The woman was sitting there, watching her, her face
shrouded in darkness. She wondered why she was not frightened.

"Is there some mistake?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," the woman said. Marie could feel
her eyes probing her.

"I saw you earlier," Marie said. "You were
standing there." She pointed to where the woman had been standing.

"We were apparently waiting for the same man."
The words came through tight lips, but ejaculated in a tone of condemnation.
There was no subtlety in it, executed like a missile aimed directly at soft
tissue.

"You?" She could not reconcile another woman's
image in the context of Eduardo. My Eduardo? They are related in some other
way, she assured herself. She could now make out the specifics of the woman's
face, older, drawn. Many lines crisscrossed her skin. A sister, perhaps? What
else could she be?

"What is he to you?" Marie asked.

"I was planning to ask you the same question,"
the woman said.

"Who are you?" Marie felt that she was losing the
edge of politeness. There was a snap of admonition in her tone.

"Who are you?" the tall woman asked. Marie could
sense a touch of rage.

"This is ridiculous," she said with contempt.
"You get in my car and then you ask me these impossible questions. You
have no right, you know." She paused, glaring at the woman. "I wish
you would leave immediately."

The woman did not move, obviously contemplating a new tack.
"I have been through this before," she said, a note of reconciliation
in her voice. "And it is ridiculous." She seemed to squirm in her
seat. "I don't mean to be belligerent, or even rude." The woman
paused, marshaling strength. "It is Eduardo.... "she began.

"What are you to him?" Marie snapped. Vague
street sounds filtered through the air, but the silence in the car seemed
dense, atrophied.

"I am not sure," the woman said, with a tinge of
sarcasm. Then came another ejaculation, wrung out of her depths, reluctantly.
"A mistress?" she cried. "Is that the right word?" The
question seemed rhetorical. It did not escape the stunned Marie.

"What?"

"A lover?" the woman persisted. "What does
one call it?" A dash of bitterness was creeping into her voice now. "One
of three. At least three."

"Three?" It was making no sense at all.
"What are you saying?"

"Am I on the target?" the woman said. "Have
I hit the mark?"

"One of three." Marie whispered, accepting the
inference, but denying the implications to herself. "And you are
one?" She looked at the aging woman, who touched her face as if to hide
the damage of time.

"Is it so strange?" Malevolence hung in the air
again. "I can show you one that is younger than you."

"I really don't understand any of this," Marie
said. It was time to run from this madness now. "And I think you had
better go. I must get home to my children, my husband. I have had quite
enough...."

"What is that supposed to mean?" the woman asked.
Marie's efforts at denial were straining her. There was no place to run, she
decided, feeling the emptiness balloon inside of her.

"I think you should come with me," the woman
said.

"Where?"

"To meet the other sister."

"Sister?"

"I suppose you think I'm talking in riddles."

"I don't know what to think."

"It is a riddle. I was merely trying to be delicate.
But I'm afraid there is no substitute here for the truth, for the brutality of
it. Are you prepared to be hurt?"

"I'm prepared for nothing," Marie said, feeling
the sense of surrender, still hoping for the miracle of a mistake. "Are
you sure we are talking of the same person?" She felt a tug of trepidation
waiting for the answer, which came quickly.

"Eduardo Allesandro Palmero," the woman said.
"The man you were talking to in the lobby just now. You are only one of
the women in his life. There are three of us. Perhaps more."

Yes, I can understand that, Marie thought, proud of her
logic. He was not, after all, a newborn baby. A man with such power. Naturally,
there had been others. She was calming now. She could understand this woman's
anguish. An older lover. She was proud of her conquest now. She must be gentle.
Sympathetic. I am the victor, she told herself.

"One must learn to accept what is over," Marie
said gently.

"Over?"

"He is an extraordinary man," Marie said,
flaunting her present possession of him. "But why disturb his tranquillity
now? There is much on his mind."

"It still escapes you?" the woman said. "I
mean he is my lover now. I mean he is the lover of this other woman now. And
you?"

It was a hurled gauntlet.

"I think that is particularly vicious and
offensive," Marie said with contempt. "Do you expect me to believe
you?"

"Come with me," the woman said briskly,
businesslike. Despite her reluctance, Marie put her key in the ignition and
gunned the motor, moving the car out of the parking lot.

"Turn right here. The turn south on Wisconsin."

Marie drove the car along Massachusetts Avenue. Briefly she
thought of her children, but she continued, gaining speed as the traffic
thinned ahead.

"Where are we going?"

"It is futile to speculate at this stage."

Marie darted a glance at the woman, who looked straight
ahead, her chin raised in what seemed an arrogant gesture.

"I can understand. Really I can."

"You understand nothing," Marie said
belligerently. "How can you understand?"

"You'll see."

The car headed south on Wisconsin Avenue until the woman
directed another turn onto Calvert, where they found a parking space. They
proceeded on foot to the large apartment house on the corner of Wisconsin. In
the elevator, Marie looked at the woman in the light, confirming her age,
feeling superior to it. In the polished metal, she saw her own face, the lines
smooth, the skin still creamy, despite the lack of makeup. Surely, an old
rejected mistress. All right, I am jealous, she thought. I am jealous of his
whole life without me.

A young woman opened the apartment door and they went in.
The woman was blonde, full bodied, in a tight blouse and slacks. She moved
across the room with a youthful grace.

"Another one," Anne whispered. She removed her
trench coat, revealing a thin, barely defined figure in a loose sweater and
nondescript gray slacks.

"This is Frederika," Anne said. "What is
your name?"

"Marie." She had not wanted to give her name and
was surprised that it came out. "Marie LaFarge," she said.

"I am Anne McCarthy," the tall woman said. She
walked to the couch and sat down heavily. Marie felt the eyes of the younger
woman on her.

"I don't know what this is all about," Marie
said, actually feeling her sense of superiority. He is my man, she told
herself.

"Tell her, Frederika," Anne said. "I have
tried. Really I have."

"Faith, hope, and charity," Frederika said. She
lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, the smoke disgorged like a dragon's breath.
"That's us. Which one are you?"

"Probably faith," Anne said. "You know
that's a marvelous metaphor."

"We are all his lovers," Frederika said.
"The three of us. We all share one man. Am I correct, Anne?"

"Well, we are missing one admission." She looked
at Marie. "At least three."

"And she is married," Anne said, the sarcasm
thick.

Marie felt her knees buckling, the blood draining from her
head, dizziness descending. She reached to the wall for support. Frederika
rushed to the kitchen and brought a glass of water.

"Here," she said, offering the water, which Marie
took with shaking hands, trying to hold down a few swallows. Marie felt her
strength ebb. She sat down.

"The reality is terribly demeaning," Frederika
said. "I'm sure we hadn't meant to be cruel. I've had my shock already and
I'm learning to live with it."

"I love him," Marie said helplessly. "He is
everything to me." She felt a hand on her back, a gentle caress.

"We know," Anne said, softer now.

"But it doesn't seem possible.... "Marie began.
She pictured his body, the surge of strength, the beautiful, graceful
sexuality. Can it be the same with them? It is casual with them, she decided.

"It is embarrassing," Frederika said, as if
reading her thoughts. Marie could sense her attempt at lightheartedness,
although the sadness and resignation beneath the cheer was quite obvious. She
moved across the room, then sat down on the bed.

"He was here with me last night. I feel silly saying
it. But I feel that we must.... "She swallowed deeply. "...be as
accurate, as truthful as possible. I knew then. Anne had told me. And although
I could not wash the knowledge from my mind, it was the same with him. Can I
describe how much I love this man?" She closed her eyes, holding back
tears. Her chin trembled. "I feel so naked, telling you both this. But if
you could get inside my body, my heart, my soul, you would see how important it
is to say this.... "She stopped, gulping for air, breathing deeply in an
effort to calm herself.

"It is hateful for you to say that," Marie said,
standing up, wobbly, her rage beginning. "It is simply not possible. This
is a dream. It is not possible. I will wake up soon."

"There is no point in hating each other," Anne
said quietly. "Or bickering. There is a compelling reality here." Her
eyes turned from Marie to Frederika. "We are all in love with the same
man."

"You?" Marie turned toward her, searching for a
gesture of humiliation.

"Yes, me too. You're thinking that I'm older, a bit
over the hill. Well, maybe more than a bit. But what do either of you know what
is inside me? I love him. I am not ashamed of that. What he gives me is more
than I ever thought was possible in life. I will give him anything,
anything...."

"Money," Frederika said. "She gives him
money."

"You mean you buy him?" Marie said, thankful for
the clue.

"And you, Marie," Anne said. "What have you
done for him? We are all doing something. Frederika here is a courier. We have,
we know, been responsible for helping him kill his enemies and innocent people,
as well."

"Yes, I have delivered information," Frederika
said, with odd precision. "Tapes."

"Tapes?" A little scream came out of Marie's
mouth, a compulsive cry.

"So you have done something?" Anne said.
"Did you think you had a special role here? Come on, tell us. What have
you done for him, for the cause, for Chile?"

"What I did, I did for him," Marie said, angry
now.

"What?"

"I don't think it's any of your business," Marie
said, suspicious now. "You could be agents, enemies."

"Something with the tapes, right, Marie?"
Frederika pressed. "You did something with the tapes."

"No. It's not true."

"What are you? Who are you?" Anne pursued.
"You are obviously French."