end that you failed.”
“I don’t know why you’re worried. We’ve been at it for about seven months and illegal downloads have gone down twenty percent. I’d say I’m well on track.” Frank is a fool, Mel thought. Quickly he reminded himself he needed this more than Frank did. Keep quiet. He had to keep his mouth shut.
“But the legal challenges are running into problems. People are sometimes getting away. It makes us look bad too. The press is unhappy.”
“Oh please. It’s going great.” Mel made a face, grabbed at a glass and poured himself a whiskey from the bottle on the table, never wondering why alcohol was there. “I’ve got it all under control. I’m working the legislative angle, but we’re also working on being convincing to the man on the street.” Mel chuckled, though he had little idea of what was actually being done, and in any case only cared about the results. “Frank, you picked an ex-SEAL because you don’t want to know. I never revealed my black ops then, and guess what, it won’t be happening today either.”
“Mel, just keep one thing in mind: if something goes wrong, I’m not going to be there to hold your hand, got it?”
Mel drained the glass and stood up. “Fuck you.” He puffed his chest and walked out. That had felt good, and he’d get the bonus amount too, cocksucker.
London
He pushed his way through the buzzing front door, forcing the heavy wood to squeal and scrape past the stiff frame. Once inside, his eyes adjusted slowly in the dim light.
“Hi,” said a voice from further down the hall. He squinted in the gloom. It was a woman in cropped pajama shorts and a pale spaghetti-strap top. She had short blond hair and a comfortable relaxed smile.
“Uh, hi. I am Dorian.” He reached out awkwardly as she walked towards him. He allowed himself only a tiny glance at her slim legs. Porca miseria, she is cute. He focused on her face to ensure his eyes didn’t sink, drop, give him away. She must know, he thought, feeling a feverish heat on his face.
“I’m Tara.” Her words were just a little bit shy. “But somehow you suspected that.” She smiled, then shook his hand awkwardly, curiosity written on her face, her eyes on his.
“Yeah.” Dorian smiled.
Slowly she broke his glance, squeezed past him in the narrow hallway, and picked up his roller suitcase. “Let me help you.”
“Oh no. I’ve got it. No problem.” He tried to wrest the bag from her. No success. She was stronger than he thought. “Ok. It’s been a long flight. You take it. I’ve got enough to get myself up the stairs.”
Letting her pass, he followed up two dingy and narrow flights, relieved he could look, now that her back was turned, his eyes straying to the lean muscles in her legs and elegant calves. The heat in his face subsided, even as his heart rate rose from the climb.
“This is the place,” she said as they entered a spacious and modern apartment. Sunlight streamed into the windows onto the hardwood floors. Tara propped his suitcase against a wall and turned to smile at him. “I hope the couch is comfortable.”
The furniture was all sharp angles, blacks, beiges and pastels. Leather covered the couch and love seat. Expensive. Big. Unexpected after the hallway and stairs.
“Aren’t you a student?” Dorian said. “How do you…?” He petered out, not wanting to be rude.
“Oh, you can ask.” She tilted her head. “Federica--” a cloud crossed her face “--didn’t tell you about my pre-student days.”
“No. She didn’t say much. It probably slipped her mind. We talked about that didn’t we?” Suddenly he felt so exhausted he could no longer move. His voice scraped his throat. “Can I please sit down?”
“Yes,” she said, pointing to a couch, her eyes far away. “Sorry.” A faint Scottish accent resonated in her voice.
He sat down, feeling like a brick. She disappeared into another room, returning after a moment with a steaming cup of tea which she handed to him. “You’ll feel better.” She sat on the other end of the couch, looking at him closely. “What’s going on?”
He woke up drooling into a pillow with a blanket draped over his fully clothed body. Where the hell was he? He struggled to turn away from the black leather pushed up against his face. The blanket tangled around him, constraining. He felt trapped. Panic. Had they caught him?
Finally, a foot slipped free, he pushed off and flipped around. Tara’s living room appeared. Oh, thank god. Pale sun streamed through the windows. He must have fallen asleep. Jet lag.
In the plush love seat across, Tara looked up from a book she was reading. “Good afternoon,” she smiled, stretching her arms out wide.
“What time is it?” Dorian said.
“Three o’clock or so.”
“Shit. I slept a long time. Didn’t realize an intercontinental flight would make me so sleepy. I mean I’ve done it a few times already. Usually it doesn’t smash me like that.”
“Yeah. It can get you.” She put a bookmark into the book and placed it on a table. “We’ll go out to Maroush tonight. Really tasty Lebanese food if that’s ok with you.”
“Yeah, fine.” He rubbed at the sleep in his eyes and nodded.
“To answer your previous question—“
“Question?”
“—I worked at a bank in the trading department. That’s how I earned enough to live here and go to business school at the same time.”
“Oh, that question. You don’t owe me any info. I was only surprised. The tiny room I live in you should see. And my roommate sleeps in the bunk over me. It’s not exactly kingly. So how old are you?”
“Isn’t it rude to ask a woman’s age?” she smiled.
“Oh, sorry. Federica was twenty-three, so I only wondered. I’m nineteen in case you care.” He could feel the fever in his face again.
“I’m twenty-four. I was joking. You can ask anything.”
“Oh. How does it feel to be that old?”
“Old? That’s not old. I’m not even twenty five. You are cheeky.” Her eyes glimmered, clearly enjoying his embarrassment.
“Can’t it seem old to me?” He shrugged sheepishly. Suddenly he felt tears in his eyes. “Shit. So sorry.” He turned away, covering his face with his hand.
Tara’s arms were around him. “She was so wonderful,” her voice murmured. “And your parents too.”
He could only nod. The heat of her body took the edge off just slightly. He was alone in the world. This was the best he’d get.
“I remember,” Tara said, her words a lullaby in his ears. “We used to go to class and she’d talk about how much she missed Milan, and driving up to Lake Como.”
“She loved all the lakes, didn’t she?” Dorian said.
“Oh yes. And the beach too.”
“Summer vacation,” he remembered, wiping his eyes. “We would go to Toscana or Sardinia for all of August. Do you know the beach clubs in Italy? There is nothing like it in Boston, not to mention that I cannot go to any place in Boston where they sell alcohol. I’m too young.”
“I heard about that. How strange.”
“It makes no sense. So I drink illegally. I got my fake ID a few days ago, but I haven’t used it yet.” He shook his head in her arms. “I guess I don’t need it now.”
“Not for a little bit.”
“Yeah, but I do have to go back and get that shithead bastard.”
“Who?” She turned to look at him, questioning.
“I can’t tell you. I should say: I don’t want to get you involved. It’s best you know little.”
“How? Is it something bad.” She let go of him, sitting back so she could get a better look at him.
“Why you think I show up at your door a day after you invite me?”
“I honestly didn’t think.” She looked surprised. “Are the police hunting you?”
“No.” It was his turn to be shocked. “No, of course not.”
“Then what?”
“Well, what do you think it could be?”
He could see options go through her mind. “Oh my
lord.” Her eyes went wide with surprise and recognition. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. But I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Your parents and Federica. It all makes sense.” She nodded her head. “We’ll talk some other time, Ok?”
“Yes. That would be better.”
“How about we see a movie? That would be a good way to take our minds off what happened.”
“Ok.”
“The new Superheroes is showing at Leicester Square. Do you fancy that?”
“Seen it already.”
“It just came out.”
“It’s been out for a few weeks in the US. I see many flicks.”
“Well, then we’ll just pick something when we get there.”
“Yes. Let’s.”
They arrived at her apartment around eleven that evening, lightly tipsy from a bottle of wine shared at dinner.
“How could you convince me to see a chick flick? It’s shameful,” Dorian said.
“Are you still on about that?” She laughed, dropping onto the sofa. “At any rate, I didn’t pick it. You chose. You didn’t like the other movies showing.”
“A female bike racer and a cook. I should have known better.” He sat down next to Tara.
“A movie is always nice. Even a bad one. I go for the experience.”
“I always say that,” Dorian said, surprised. “Better a bad movie than no movie at all. I’ve never heard anyone else say that. Do you really think that way or are you pulling my leg?”
“No really. I love movies. A good movie is best, but a bad one, well, isn’t so bad.”
“My sister has good taste in friends.” He smiled.
“Thank you.”
“You know most people don’t think that way, don’t you?”
“About
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