“These aren’t real?” I say.
“They are very real,” laughs Maria.
“Where did you get them? Why do I have them?”
“I told you, I will take care of us. I thought, maybe, a perk would be good for you.”
I look around my very small, bare, grey office. At the three filing cabinets I shuffle papers among. At my view onto the bland, fluorescent-lit hallway. It feels like I’m underwater here, at the bottom of a cold, rocky lake, holed in my little cave to avoid lampreys like Sloane latching onto me. I imagine leaving this place to put on a long, slinky gown, pulling up to the Grosvenor Hotel in a limo. Walking into the white light of a sparkling ballroom.
“Seriously?” I ask Maria. “Don’t important or famous people go to this sort of thing?”
“Danica, soon you will be one of those people. Now, there is just one thing we must discuss—”
There is a beeping on the line, and I see a light flashing on my phone. A call from reception. Dr. Sloane walks by my hallway window and glances in. I feel like she can tell I’m on a personal call.
“I will have to get back to you on that matter,” I say, straightening up and grabbing a pen off my desk, trying to look very businesslike. Dr. Sloane keeps walking. “I have a call on the other line.”
“Ah yes, you are calling from work. It is best that we leave things off here. I will be in touch. We will need to go shopping for a dress.”
The line clicks and she is gone.
Henry’s actually home when I turn the latch. “Hey,” he shouts from the loveseat. He’s slouched into one corner of it, staring at the TV, and he doesn’t look at me as I hang up my coat and take off my shoes. I’m excited to show him the tickets in my purse. But first, I step into the bathroom to touch up my makeup and take out my ponytail. I make sure to clear any stray hairs from the sink and counter. “I have some news,” I say, as I dab a bit of gloss on my lips.
“Yeah?” he calls out, not moving his gaze from the screen.
I pull the tickets out of my purse and sit beside him. “Look!” I say, holding up the tickets.
“Hmm?” He’s still riveted to the quiz show.
“Seriously,” I kiss his cheek, “look!” I thrust the tickets in front of his eyes. He’s momentarily annoyed, but as he reads the gold calligraphy, his mouth drops open.
“Are these legit? Are they for us? Where did you get them?” The quiz show is forgotten.
I assure him they are genuine, and for us, and that we are really going to go. “They’re from Maria,” I say.
“Really? Wow! Why did she give them to you?”
“It’s, well, it’s kind of a business perk, I guess.” I say it hoping we can gloss over the specifics of “business.”
“What kind of business do you have with Maria?”
“We’re working on a project together. A book.”
“A book?” He raises his eyebrows. “What sort of book? Why did she ask you to work on it?” He sounds defensive, almost jealous.
“It’s just an afterword,” I say. “To some historical documents. About Báthory.” He frowns. “It’s just a little project. I’m writing a small section, you know, psychologist’s take, that’s all.”
“Oh.” He flips the tickets over in his hand. “Well, that sounds like a nice little project, sweet pea. As long as you think you can juggle that and your job. We gotta cover rent.”
I pretend to look for something in the fridge. This afterword is the most exciting thing I’ve been asked to do for a while, and he thinks it’s just a little thing, less important than the rent. I think about telling him that it’s not a little thing, that I’m even getting paid for it, that I’m tired of Stowmoor. That Maria is showing more interest in me than he’s been lately.
“Hey, you want to go out for supper tonight? Celebrate these tickets?” He leans against the counter. “Really, that’s so nice of Maria to give them to us.”
“Sure.” I shut the fridge door. It’s been a couple of weeks since we’ve been out somewhere, just the two of us. I feel guilty suddenly for assuming he cares more about the rent than my happiness. I haven’t exactly been forthcoming about this project with Maria. Henry and I just need to talk. It’s been too busy lately.
“Cool. I’ll jump in the shower and then we can head out.”
I hear the shower turn on. I put the tickets back in my purse and pull out Maria’s contract from my bag. It’s a door. Some voice keeps repeating that, Maria’s, or some part of my own brain maybe. I envision my life in ten years if I don’t go through this door, if I don’t do the book, don’t take the chance to consult for Lewison. I’ll probably still be uncertified, working assistant-level jobs in places older and drearier than Stowmoor, or I’ll have to go through a demoralizing job search back in Canada, and in the meantime try to study for my licence exams, which could take years. Or working with some counselling firm, talking office workers through depression and anxiety problems, eight hours a day.
My phone chirps. A text from Maria: D, shopping for the ball this Saturday? And coffee? There are details we must discuss.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The last time I saw Maria before she turned up in London was over a year ago. Carl had taken me to Prague, and I came down to Budapest, as Maria suggested. We began our search for the diaries the afternoon I arrived, but our lack of progress at the archives was discouraging. Frustratingly, I realized I knew very little about how to do historical research. I felt useless, and worried that Maria might think me useless too.
“Dani, but that is ridiculous,” she said when I told her my concerns. “It has been long days for you, at the conference, the train ride.” We were at her flat; she had wheeled my suitcase into a tiny spare room. There was a twin bed covered with a white cotton quilt. “You must have a night of rest.”
The next morning, bright summer light shone through the small bedroom window. Maria, dressed in a violet peignoir, came into the room carrying a vase of lilies. She set the flowers on the nightstand. “You are awake?”
“Barely.”
“The morning light, it is nice in your hair.” She lay down on the bed, her head inches from mine on the pillow. “You are feeling better than yesterday?”
“Yes, much.” I propped myself up on my elbow.
“Dani, to find the diaries, it would be wonderful. But your visit, it is also wonderful. And in Budapest, there are many things I can show you.” She smiled.
I was relieved she was still enthusiastic about my visit. My hair shone alongside hers in the sunlight, my golden red and her deep ruby.
Maria sat up and pulled a lily out of the vase. “These are from the Great Market hall.” She reached towards me and ran the soft petals down my arm. “We can visit it later.” Then she stood, put the lily back in the vase, and started to walk out of the room. “This morning, I must do some errands.” She paused by the door. “But you have a map of the city? Meet me outside the Gellert spa at two.”
I waited for Maria outside of the Gellert. It was a searing mid-July day. The air was humid and touched with smog; the spires of the parliament buildings on the far side of the river were softened through the haze. I could hear voices and the sound of splashing water coming from the open-air part of the spa, fenced off from public view. It was ten past two.
“So sorry, Dani,” Maria was saying, another ten minutes later, as she rushed up the steps to meet me. “You know it is difficult to be on time in this heat.” Her hair was slicked into a coiled braid at the nape of her neck. She took off her big sunglasses and tucked them away in a pocket of her gold shoulder bag. “Here,” she said, taking my hand and leading me inside the double doors, “we must join the queue.”
We stepped through the double doors, walked down a short hallway and entered another set of doors. Inside was a grand hall, the floor checked with black and white tiles, each one about a foot square. The ceiling was high, cathedral-like.
Maria got us tickets and led me towards the change ar
ea.
“I told her we need only one change room,” said Maria. She put her hand on the small of my back and gave me a gentle push forward.
The cubicle was large enough for both of us. I put my bag in the corner and changed quickly, facing the wall. Maria laughed.
My bathing suit, a navy tankini, safely on, I turned around. Maria was standing with her hands on her hips, in white bikini bottoms, topless.
“Ready?” she asked.
“They allow topless bathing here?”
“Ah, you are so silly. Of course, in the women’s section. We must do the hot and cold pools first, before we go outside.”
She opened the door, picked up her tote and called the attendant to put our bags in a locker. Maria took the wristband with the metal disc that indicated the locker number; she slipped it over her right hand, the silver a few shades paler than her skin. I followed her down the corridor between the rows of change rooms. She had no tan lines, but I noticed a smattering of freckles across her shoulder blades.
“The hot one first.” Maria took my hand and led me into the first pool on the right. I walked down marble steps into warm, clear water. Maria reached the bottom step before me, released my hand, pushed off and glided across the small pool. The water was chest-level, and I kept taking heavy, water-slowed steps in Maria’s direction. She was resting, her back against the wall, the tops of her breasts breaking the surface of the water with each small wave I pushed towards her.
“Come, look at the ceiling.” She motioned me over. “You are such a slowpoke.”
“Now look.” She pointed out the small Roman-style pillars, the domed opaque skylight that let in muted sunshine. There was a second pool, about the same size as the one we were in, a few feet away. The wide strip of tile between the two pools led into a darker room. Young women in string bikinis walked by and into the dark room; so did large older women, some wearing nothing but a small cream bib, wet and translucent, with light cotton underwear. My tankini suddenly felt like a turtleneck.
“The cold pool, it is busy,” said Maria. “We can wait here for a while—you do not mind?” She ran her hand lightly down my upper arm. “You are disappointed still, about the archives?”
“I thought things would be more straightforward,” I dipped my shoulders under the warm water. “What now? Is there anyplace else to search?”
“I will look in the boxes, when they come. It is possible something is there. We must be patient.” She paused and scooped water into her hands, gently splashed her face.
“But what do you think our chances are? Can you imagine if we did find them? Her words! A record of a perfect psychopath.”
“Dani, you and your perfect monsters. I wonder what you would do if you ever met one, outside of your little clinics, your institutions.”
She stood up, splashed me again and started to swim to the steps. “I am warm enough,” she said over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”
I followed her across the pool, up the steps. Turned to follow that lightly freckled back into the dark room.
We passed through the tiled arch. On the other side, the ceiling was low and beige. Narrow metal pipes wound around the room like skinny snakes. The cold pool was to the right. It was smaller than the others, oval and deep. There were a couple of lights under the water, halfway to the bottom. The pool glowed, pond green. A rickety metal ladder hung over the side; its small silver steps looked distorted below the surface, smudged grey planks descending into the green.
“It’s good for the skin, Dani,” said Maria. “Tightens the pores.” She turned around to descend the ladder and took a quick breath after her first step. “And good to get the blood going,” she said, looking up at me as she sank into the emerald pool. “You must come in.” She slowly walked backwards towards the far wall, away from the ladder. The water was up to her chin.
“I’ll try,” I said. I put one foot under the water; my flesh screamed, then went numb. Another foot. Then legs, thighs. I let myself fall off the ladder and plunge in. My skin prickled, almost burned, and then nothing. The cold anesthetized me. I watched my hands moving, paddling my body over to Maria, but I couldn’t feel anything. “How long do we stay in here?”
“What, too much already?” Maria laughed. “Just a few minutes, Dani. It will be good for you, you will see.”
“I can’t feel my skin.”
“That means it’s working. Here, I’ll keep you distracted.” She swam around to face me. “I have made plans for us, for tonight.”
I forgot about the cold for half a second. “What kind of plans?”
“We will go out. First, we will meet with my friends for some drinks. But later, there is an event, a tableau vivant. It is designed by a Dutch artist who loves Báthory—you have heard of her?”
“The one who legally changed her name to Báthory? Are you serious—she’s in Budapest tonight?”
“It is serendipity. We must dress up,” she said as she moved closer to me.
“What painting are they presenting?” I asked.
“So many questions. You should wear something white.” She leaned her head close to my ear. “It will be so striking against your hair.”
I nodded. Even through the chlorine of the water, she smelled like flowers. She pulled away and moved towards the ladder.
“Enough of the cold now.” She looked back over her shoulder. I paddled over and climbed up the metal rungs after her.
Maria lived on the Pest side of the river, near the Erszébet Hid (or Elizabeth Bridge, but not our Elizabeth, she told me). The evening was warm, and I felt happily disoriented as I looked at the curling eddies of the river during the walk from Maria’s flat across the long bridge towards Buda. Zöld Pardon, where we were meeting Maria’s friends before the party, was just a couple of blocks beyond the bridge.
Maria led me up the dozen or so concrete steps to Zöld’s front gates. A bald bouncer with large biceps stood in front of the entrance; Maria said something briefly in Hungarian and he stepped aside, sweeping his arm towards the open gate with a flourish. Maria dropped my hand, and I followed her through.
Zöld Pardon was largely what the name described: a green, open, outdoor space. There were three different dance areas, and each featured a different style of music. Tall scaffolds held up pink and blue spotlights that speckled the dancers below. In the middle of the field was a shallow wading pool and a bar in a wooden cabana. Wooden boardwalks ran from each of the dance floors to the bar.
From our spot just inside the entrance, Zöld looked enormous. The sounds from the dance areas mashed into a frenetic beat, and I stood still for a moment, trying to sort out a melody in my head, surveying tanned women walking the boardwalks in heels, young men with shirts unbuttoned to the navel hovering nearby in case the ladies needed assistance. Maria kept walking, merged with the crowd, her magenta-red hair blending into and out of the dark, spotlit night.
I weaved through the crowd to catch her, but was swept along in a crush of drunk young dancers making their way to the pop music floor. Someone grabbed my hand and I moved with them to the edge of the grassy space. I found myself standing among a group of strangers who were motioning me to dance with them. I smiled, laughed and shook my head at their entreaties, which I couldn’t understand, and they left me near the cabana bar. I looked towards the floodlit structure and saw Maria, laughing with a bartender, picking up two bottles. I headed towards her.
“Dani, but you almost lost me! Here, for you.” She handed me one of the cold green bottles, the glass sweating beads of condensation. She clinked her bottle against mine. “Egészségedre,” she said, looking me in the eye.
I laughed. “Yes, Eggy-shaggy-rats,” I said and drank the cold beer.
“Ah, there are my friends, Sándor and Tünde.” She pointed to a tall man in a black dress shirt and a petite woman with long, dark blonde hair. We shall go with them to dance, yes?”
We danced for about an hour, but I wasn’t disappointed when it started to
rain and we left for the performance. Maria started walking away from the front gates of Zöld.
“Maria, I think you’re going towards the back.”
“It is shorter. This is the way.”
Sándor flipped open his mobile, said a few words in Hungarian, flipped it shut again. “You see,” said Maria, “Sándor will have a car waiting.”
We picked our way through groups of partiers dancing in the rain and made it to the back fence. Sándor and Tünde led us to a corner gate guarded by another bouncer; Sándor said a few words and slipped the man a couple thousand forints. The bouncer opened the gate, and there was a driver waiting for us in a silver car. Sándor got in the front, and the three of us crawled in the back. I was in the middle, wedged between Maria and Tünde.
“Now, to the show,” said Maria. “Your first tableau vivant. It will be exciting for you. It is really how the French called it, a living painting.”
Tünde grabbed my hand. “I have a part, you will see.” She grinned, her professionally whitened teeth gleaming in the dark.
“Yes, we must get these two,” Maria motioned to Tünde and Sándor, “to the location on time. They are both performers tonight.” Maria draped one arm behind me along the back of the seat. “You and I,” she said, looking at me, “we will first go to the reception, for the spectators.”
I followed Maria up the steps of a grey four-storey building. We went through the double door, and a young woman greeted us with “Jó estét” and handed Maria a handbill. She made a gesture towards the twisting staircase behind her. Maria was going to pull me past the girl, but I stopped and attempted a “Jó estét” of my own. She smiled, lips cotton candy pink, and handed me a pamphlet as well.
“Very good, Dani,” said Maria as we climbed the stairs.
I looked at my handbill. It was in Hungarian; I could make out some names on what looked like a list of performers. At the top, in larger type, was a name that seemed familiar: István Csók.
Quiver Page 18
