Nothing special, except you

by Celia Hayes

  A night on board a yacht, all expenses covered, coloured fiches to waste on the croupiers and an exclusive interview with Yakizu. Not bad for a Monday evening, but it meant getting dressed in a rush, running off to the other end of town.

  «You told me late,» I pointed out, blowing a bubble of foam from my hand. «Can’t someone else go?»

  «I’ve got no one else at hand. If we don’t do it, the competition will». She was annoyed. I found it odd that she’d got to it so late. Greta was only apparently chaotic. She was long-sighted and had fingers in every pie. That was a beginner’s mistake.

  «I’ll see what I can do». I couldn’t promise more, but I decided right then that I would board the Queen Elizabeth. I didn’t want to gift the scoop to Vips, or worse, to Beautiful Magazine.

  «Ring me as soon as you’re ready. I’ll send someone to bring you the pass».

  I told her all right as if I was almost out already. Instead I hung up on Greta and stretched out as if I had all the time in the world. The doorbell forced me to pick up the pace.

  «Yes, yes, I’m coming».

  I got out of the bath at the third buzz of the doorbell.

  I ran barefoot on the parquet before they left, answered with laboured breath.

  «Who is it?»

  I was dripping wet.

  «Delivery for Madison Hill».

  «Third floor».

  I thought of my mother or my sister Tessa, instead I found out that it was a delivery boy, from Global Transfer. I told him to come up, but waited by the door firmly believing it to be a mistake. I had not ordered anything.

  «You sure it’s not for number six? It always happens, it’s the doorbell. The numbers are swapped around».

  I greeted the boy with only my towel on.

  «It says Madison Hill».

  «Who’s the sender?»

  «I’ve no idea. I just deliver them».

  He passed me a form before he left. «A signature down there. For the receipt».

  I gave him ten dollars and went back in, unwrapping blue rice paper from a white box as bland as the note I had found on the present.

  “For tonight”.

  Not much to make sense of it.

  «A poet!,» I laughed about it. Truth was I had no idea who it was, and to be honest I didn’t much care either.

  Experience suggested that it was a present from a seller. Sometimes it happened that we got free samples at the magazine, from small companies looking for publicity. It was convenient for them to remind me of their existence, and for me to unwrap the boxes, which I’d always enjoyed. That was it. My interest stopped there. That’s why I went back to my room without asking too many questions.

  Then I opened the parcel, and everything changed.

  I’d been sent a Versace evening gown. There was no price tag, but I didn’t need one to know that it was worth something between twenty and thirty thousand dollars.

  No one spends a sum like that without wanting anything in exchange. So, if I’d accepted it, it entailed that I’d have to say yes at least once, that night.

  I didn’t know to what. I didn’t know to whom.

  «All right, change of plan. I can’t keep this».

  My life was already enough of a mess, without doing something foolish because I was absurdly smitten with a Versace dress. I decided I’d send it back.

  «I wonder if I can still catch the delivery boy?»

  I thought I’d call the Global Transfer boy through the buzzer, ask him to come back up and take back the parcel. It was a good idea. My mistake was to take the dress out of the box to take a look at it. Just seeing it under the lights made me change my mind.

  It was tight, it was short, it was gaping at the front. Nothing I didn’t already own, but that colour would have looked like a black diamond under the starlight. And I couldn’t resist shiny things.

  I put it on, feeling like I had the night wrapped around me, and looked at myself in the mirror.

  Feeling the fabric against my skin, I was reminded of Nolan’s eyes glancing off my breasts as he put my clothes back on. A shiver ran down my spine like a thin silk ribbon. Then I realised I was alone and again felt that emptiness that had followed me as I’d got out of his car, when he’d taken me home.

  After I’d left him, when the limousine had disappeared from the street, I’d found myself in my apartment, the door locked and the answerphone turned on.

  There were no messages. Not that night.

  I’d crossed the hallway taking my shoes off. I’d dropped among the sheets and he was still there, still on my skin, still inside me. If I closed my eyes I could feel him, as if I was still there on that limousine seat, with his hand between my thighs and his lips rubbing against my neck.

  Thinking of him, of his arms, of his tense muscles under his jacket, I’d taken my clothes off and curled up under the sheets.

  Dawn had still been long to come. I would have seen it moisten up the glass of my window and would have been unable to stop imagining what would have happened if that car had never stopped.

  The sun had showed up over the city’s skyline in the end, and I’d ended up forgetting about it. Traffic, phone calls, always available, always online.

  But the night had come back.

  «Who are you, Nolan Carter?» I murmured, watching my reflection in the mirror, lips parted, hair loose on my shoulder.

  Sooner or later I would find out. For now, however, yet another party awaited me, yet another drink, another press pass for restricted areas. I’m with the press. Please, come in.

  I ran a stick of lipstick on my lips, ran down the stairs with my hair still wet.

  In the elevator I put on a pair of rhinestoned sandals. I’d put on the coat outside, but I no longer felt the cold. In my head I already heard the music from the speakers on a yacht’s dancefloor.

  Three

  «Faites vos jeux, gentlemen».

  I’ve always dreamed I could live in a black-and-white movie, on slightly worn-out film.

  That’s how I felt that night.

  I was Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca, I was Liz Taylor in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. I could almost see them, the Rolls Royces parked on the street, the pearl necklaces hanging down the necklines, the sunset leaking among the skyscrapers. In truth I was still myself, but that dress made my head spin, and the rhinestoned sandals, the music, the dim lights on the yacht.

  I felt like having fun. When I was in the mood, I forgot that it was all for show. It was like shedding my skin, turning into a snake, slithering among all the people.

  I don’t quite know how to explain it, but my job was not like any other. I didn’t stand in a corner with a dictaphone, I didn’t scribble questions with a pencil on a notebook. People don’t like being interrogated, especially about their own private life. Therefore, what I truly did was listen, taking a good look around, passing as a guest who only cares about downing a drink, and maybe pulling.

  It wasn’t too bad, wearing that Versace made flirting feel natural. And after the third round of tequila I felt like I owned the city.

  «Rien ne va plus!»

  Thankfully it wasn’t the kind of night that had a timetable to stick to.

  In one room, models strutted around parading their satin dresses, elsewhere people listened to music and enjoyed the sights from the main deck. I decided I’d had enough of nasty gossip, left the fashion show and went for a walk. My pass had no restrictions on it. I could go to every cabin, have fun at the slot machines, dine with the other guests at the buffet. I decided to lounge around the casino. I was already three hundred dollars under when I bet everything I had on number twelve.

  Lost, obviously.

  «Twenty-four black».

  A croupier in a suit and vest gathered my fiches from the table, leaving me dry.

  «Ah, damn».

  I took it with grace, finished a glass of wine and took out my wallet, considering the possibility of parting with one or two more notes.

&nbs
p; A man in a suit and tie came and sat next to me.

  «Do you mind?»

  «Please, it’s free».

  I didn’t pay him much attention at first. Passengers came, made a couple bets, and went. It was his manners that attracted me. He didn’t seem the kind to play roulette. Nevertheless he took fifty dollars and put them on black.

  «Rien ne va plus!»

  The ball started spinning again. I rummaged around my purse, reluctantly.

  «Bad evening?» he asked.

  «I’m not in luck,» I admitted, checking how much I’d left. I’d come out in a rush, I didn’t have much cash. «Do you take credit cards?» I waved a MasterCard.

  There was a boy working for the casino. The croupier called him, and he approached with a card machine.

  «So efficient,» I mumbled, amused.

  «How much do you want to buy?»

  «I don’t know, say...» I was going to say a number, but the man sat next to me stopped me discreetly.

  «Maybe you’re playing at the wrong table».

  He let go of my arm and sent away the boy, who left with his card machine.

  «Are you trying to sabotage me?» I asked, curious.

  He smiled. «I can’t see why».

  «You’re not letting me play,» I pointed out.

  «You need more fiches?»

  «That was the idea».

  «How much?»

  I raised an eyebrow.

  He turned, looked at me sternly. «How much do you need?»

  I had some intuition left even after three tequilas, two wine glasses, and a fruity cocktail. Destiny had just come to present me with the cost of my bad, bad actions.

  «I don’t know, five hundred?,» I came up, randomly, with the first number I could think of. More than I truly wanted to spend, and less than I could have afforded to squander.

  He looked at his fiches. He started separating a handful from the pile.

  I followed his gestures with a hint of disbelief. «What are you doing?»

  «What you asked me». He made a row of hundred-dollar fiches and pushed them down the table, in front of me. «A thousand five hundred. Consider the rest an encouragement».

  «What does this mean?,» I asked.

  «You can keep playing with those».

  I tried to figure out what he truly wanted from me, but I couldn’t read his expression.

  «You’re just giving me a thousand and five hundred dollars?», I asked, not showing much surprise.

  «Not me,» he admitted.

  «All right». I took a hundred dollars from the pile, and leaned towards the roulette to make my bet.

  He stopped me again. «They’re not good for this table».

  «You said I could use them».

  «Yes, but the game is moving elsewhere,» he warned me. «If you want to follow me...»

  «Where?» I sipped at my drink, peering at him curiously.

  «Mr Carter is waiting for you in his suite,» he explained.

  «Oh, Mr Carter likes gambling,» I pretended to be surprised. «Does he have a roulette of his own?»

  «He prefers cards,» he answered.

  «And that’s his invitation?» I pointed at the fiches.

  «A strong recommendation».

  «I don’t know that I like meeting with Mr Carter. Are there many other players?,» I enquired.

  «There aren’t any other guests, it’s a private meeting».

  He crossed his arms.

  He’d been a bouncer somewhere, before getting where he was. I figured now he did dirty jobs for Nolan. I was dirty work that night. And I was not been given many choices.

  I took my purse and left the empty glass on the table.

  «Show me the way».

  Four

  I was taken to a suite with two bodyguards at the door. Other than that, that hallway was deserted.

  I went in silently.

  The lights were out, except for a wall applique, dimmed to the minimum.

  Nolan was sitting behind a glass table. He was wearing dark suit trousers and a shirt with the neck unbuttoned as if he’d been waiting to take it off all night. He had taken off his necktie, he wasn’t wearing his jacket either, and he’d been shuffling a deck of cards for some minutes. When he saw me, he stopped.

  «Madison...»

  His voice managed to bridge the distance between us. My named filled every crack and corner of that room.

  I drew closer. I dropped the fiches he’d gifted me next to his hands.

  «I had a feeling that you were looking for me».

  Nolan brought his eyes up to look at my legs, then my mouth. My eyes, lastly. There he got lost. It was a fraction of a second, but he didn’t try to hide it. He wanted me to know that he desired me.

  «And you’ve come».

  I moved the other chair available other than his, and sat opposite to him.

  «Down there it was a bore». I glanced around the cabin for the first time. Except for a sofa, a bed, the blue curtains over a closed window and a tray with two empty glasses, he was the only one there.

  «Nice dress,» murmured Nolan, shuffling again the deck of poker cards.

  «You like it?»

  «I picked it».

  It had been a suspicion at first, now it quickly became certainty. He’d paid for a thirty-thousand-dollars Versace just so he could see me again.

  «Right. I should have asked you if you like it on me».

  «I picked you, too». He said it looking straight in my eyes.

  I could feel his intensity, but I couldn’t figure out his mood. That made me nervous. Everything about him made me nervous, especially his lack of reaction. He was a prudent man; he could restrain his emotions. I wondered to what extent.

  «Is this what you do when you want to talk to someone? You send your goons to pick them up?»

  I’d never known anyone like Nolan, but I’d always been flexible like water, I took any shape I wanted. I learnt to be a version of myself I’d never been before. More brazen. Straight to the point.

  Nolan was getting used to my presence too. I was like a rock he had to climb. He caressed the stone, looked for a solid grip he could lean onto.

  «I’m an easy man to figure out, Madison. When I want a thing, I take it». She waited for my reaction, but there was none. He smiled. «You don’t agree?»

  «You’re asking me what I think?» I widened my eyes in surprise, then pointed to the exit. «I can leave, then?» I even tried to stand.

  He didn’t stop me, but it was clear he didn’t like it, and I sat down again, waiting.

  Nolan moved the deck of cards from one hand to the other. «Do you like playing?»

  «Depends. What game are we playing?,» I asked.

  With a professional gesture, he drew a line of cards in front of me. He picked one.

  «Don’t know. You tell me».

  He showed me the card.

  I could tell it was not like the others. My phone number was written on it.

  In the end I recognised it. It was the beer mat I had given to a lawyer in a bar, not even five hours earlier. Nolan had it now, somehow he’d managed to get it.

  I fell completely silent.

  He picked the cards back up, one by one, put the deck back together as if nothing had happened between us.

  Little by little I was realising that I had fallen into a different world. Identical to mine, but different, the only way of telling them apart being through those slight discrepancies that rose to the surface from time to time.

  I chose not to ask him why he’d had me followed to the Smoke Club, but to try and find out why he was following me and not another.

  «Why did you want me to come tonight?» I didn’t pretend I hadn’t made the connection between Greta’s phone call, the weird arrival of the pass to my office, and my presence in his suite. «You’re the news of the hour, there’s a lot of girls who would die to get to know Nolan Carter».

  He must have believed that too. He di
dn’t seem too interested, however.

  «I’m good at reading people».

  «You read coffee grounds?»

  «I prefer more standard readings. Newspapers, books, the Sunset».

  «You like current news? Sports, maybe...»

  I had believed – foolishly by this point – that one night a terribly charming man had seen me by chance, had followed me on a terrace and asked me to spend the night with him, because he found me irresistible. Or maybe extremely available.

  But that had not been the case. Nolan had known my name for a long time. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d revealed he’d been at that party only to meet me. Everything was starting to make sense. He’d been looking for me, he’d waited until there was no one there so he could speak to me, and he’d taken me home to see how long it would take for me to say yes.

  Very little, I found myself forced to admit.

  I ended up staring at the two glasses on the table, so bloody empty.

  Nolan followed my eyes and figured out my train of thought easily.

  «You can learn a lot about a person, looking at what they write. Harry Richardson, the State prosecutor...» He lifted a glass bottle, poured me a drink.

  I drew the glass close, smelled it. It was gin. «You want to talk about Richardson?»

  Nolan waited for me to take a taste before he continued. «I knew him. He had to resign two days after your piece came out».

  «I only wrote what I saw,» I claimed.

  Nolan relaxed against the back of the armchair.

  «Sometimes, it’s the way we act that defines us. Rather than what we’re trying to obtain». He ran a hand across his chin. «You destroyed a man. That leaves you indifferent». That was what struck him about me, the lack of emotion. «You had fun destroying him,» Nolan insisted, as if he’d reached the heart of the issue. «That’s what it was for you? A bit of fun?»

  «They pay me to make a scandal, I’m good at it». I shook my head, making the dress shimmer.