The Grift

by Debra Ginsberg

  “Do you like it?” he asked. “It’s very private.”

  “It’s lovely,” Marina said at last.

  “You’re probably hungry,” Gideon said. “I was thinking room service; they have a great restaurant here.” He crossed the room and opened the sliding doors to the patio. “Probably not warm enough to eat outside, but we could chance it.”

  Marina walked over to Gideon and stood as close to him as she could without their bodies touching. She could feel the heat of his skin and smell a trace of lemony cologne on his freshly shaved jaw. She wanted this moment, full as it was of anticipation and longing, to carry on forever. He reached over and cupped her face with his hand, his eyes asking her to take the lead.

  “I’m not hungry,” she said, her throat so thick she had to clear it. “At least, not yet.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay,” she echoed.

  “There’s also wine,” he said, breaking the moment to go stand next to the bed. “I have some amarone here.” He pointed to a dark bottle hidden behind the roses and gave her a smiling shrug. “I figured it worked well enough the first time.” Marina could only nod. “Should we drink?” he asked.

  “No,” Marina said, and again she walked over to him. But this time she didn’t stop until she was pressed up against him, her arms traveling up the sides of his back and pulling him close. He leaned down, covered her mouth with his and stayed there for a while, just savoring. Still locked in their embrace, he turned her around in a half-twist, guiding her gently backward and down until she was lying flat on the bed and he was on top of her. His heaviness felt both familiar and very strange. She had a sense of jamais vu—the feeling that she’d been here before but didn’t recognize the place or the man touching her now as if he knew her.

  It was happening: the pulling of buttons and zippers, the frantic removal of clothing and the shifting of newly naked limbs. Marina felt her body go hot and cold, her blood rushing. She closed her eyes, but feeling clumsy and blind, opened them again and blinked against the lamplight, which suddenly seemed too bright. He was crushing her now, his full weight pressing into her as she tried to move under him. Her body felt awkward, as if she had lost the ability to operate it, as if she’d forgotten where to put her arms and legs, as if she’d never done this before and didn’t know how it worked. Gideon tried to slide her hips beneath his, but she was pulling in the opposite direction. He was working too hard and breathing heavily. The room suddenly felt crowded and airless, and Marina gasped for breath. Gideon stopped, raised himself off of her and then quietly moved to the other side of the bed. Their bodies were still close but no longer touching.

  For several moments, neither of them spoke or turned to look at the other. Marina stared up at the ceiling and felt her heartbeat slowly return to a normal rhythm. She wondered what should come next, apologies or laughter. She could almost hear the conversation they would have, each one telling the other something along the lines of “It’s not you, it’s me,” and then the inevitable deconstruction of what had gone wrong and why. Marina didn’t want to have that conversation, didn’t want to speak at all. But she started forming the words anyway and was about to let them out when Gideon reached over and took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. Warmth and relief flowed through her. He rolled to his side and put his other hand low on her belly in the hollow made by her hip. It was just enough, that light graze, and she felt desire return, sure and steady. She turned her head and saw his eyes on her, not angry or even confused—just still, patient and waiting.

  Marina took his hand and held it against her mouth, first kissing his palm, then moving to his fingers, tasting each one with her tongue. He closed his eyes and smiled. “Well,” he said softly. His arm was starting to tremble and once more Marina pulled him close. Now he held her, kissed her, ran his hand still wet from her mouth down the length of her spine. She pushed gently and they turned together so that she was on top of him. Now it was easy, no mistakes, just skin and warmth and pressure. “Better,” he said, and then no more words were needed.

  Chapter 19

  Marina opened her eyes and stared out at the endless ocean. Words were always the problem, she thought. Too much talk, too much conversation. They should have stayed like that—no speaking, no words, just their bodies moving together in an endless loop of lovemaking. It would have been possible, Marina thought, because for hours they didn’t speak at all.

  They slept, woke, made love again, and then it was near dawn, a cool blue-gray light coming in from the sliding glass doors. Marina was drifting in the place between dreams and consciousness when she noticed Gideon staring at her in a strange way—a look she hadn’t seen since the day he’d come to her office. He was assessing her, something cold and hard in his eyes. She was lying on her stomach, her face half buried in her pillow, and it took him a moment to realize that she was watching him watch her.

  “You’re awake,” he said. The hard look receded but didn’t disappear. Marina smiled. Gideon placed his finger between her shoulder blades and drew a line straight down her back. “This tattoo,” he said. “It must have taken a long time to do. What is it?”

  Marina felt her whole body go tense. Her tattoo was out of sight, so most of the time she forgot it was even there. But now it seemed to be burning three-dimensional under Gideon’s hand. She pulled herself up into a sitting position and pushed the hair out of her face. “It’s—they’re the signs of the zodiac. I mean, the symbols for the signs of the zodiac.” Gideon’s face was uncomprehending. “You know, astrology.”

  “Astrology,” he repeated. “That’s some dedication. It must have hurt.”

  “It did,” Marina said. “But it wasn’t my idea. I had this done when I was a kid. Actually, my mother had it done. Her boyfriend was a tattoo artist.”

  “Your mother wanted you to have a tattoo?”

  “It wasn’t…She wasn’t the best mother, let’s put it that way. It’s a long story.”

  “I have time,” Gideon said. “I’d like to know.”

  There was something about the tone of his voice—edged with some kind of longing or need—and the sudden openness in his face—more naked and exposed than his body—that compelled Marina to reveal the story she never shared and hated remembering. It was as if he was offering to take the burden from her and carry it away. So she told him about the traveling, the dirty apartments and the endless succession of men. And once all of that was out, there was no way to avoid talking about the drugs and the constant search for money to pay for them, so she told him about that, too, how her mother had stumbled on the bright idea of pimping her out as a miniature fortune-teller. The tattoo, Marina explained, was just part of the package her mother was selling. It could have been worse, she supposed; she’d never starved, even though there were some hungry days. Marina got caught up in her own narrative, turning her inner eye to the past. She could see a rush of images: overflowing ashtrays and empty liquor bottles. Her mother, passed out wherever she fell. Rafe’s dirty, stained fingers on her skin.

  “Did you know you were psychic then?” Gideon asked. “Did you even know what that meant?”

  But I’m not psychic. There’s no such thing; only luck, timing and observation. Marina almost said the words out loud, but she pursed her lips and kept them in. “You don’t really question the gift,” Marina said finally. “It’s just there. I suppose it helped me survive. And not too much worse for the wear. No scars. Permanent ink, yes, but no physical scars.” Marina trailed off, remembering suddenly that Gideon was listening.

  “Where’s your mother now?” he asked. His voice was rough with an emotion Marina couldn’t place.

  “She’s dead. Fifteen years now.”

  “Overdose?”

  “Funny thing about that,” Marina said. “She was off drugs—or said she was, anyway. She found a rehab that would take her and she even got a sponsor. She was on the way to a meeting when she crashed her car into a tree.” Marina tried to laugh, but it came
out sounding more like a shout. “Life likes those kinds of ironies,” she said.

  After a moment Gideon said, “It sounds like you never really made peace with her. Must be hard for you to imagine what a good mother might be like.”

  “You have a good mother,” Marina said. “Obviously.”

  “Had,” Gideon answered. “My mother died…not too long ago. But, yes, she was a very good mother. And she only saw the good in other people.”

  “That’s lucky,” Marina said.

  “Not for her.”

  A strange tension vibrated between the two of them for a few moments. Gideon was very still, his head turned in her direction but his eyes focused on some unseen point beyond the room. Marina caught the scent of the roses and was reminded of her dream. It hadn’t woken her this morning—the first time she hadn’t dreamed it in weeks. And why should it? He was here, next to her. She’d caught up with him. A little clutch of panic gripped her in the stomach. There were only inches of distance between them, but she felt she had to close the gap. She leaned over, a sudden jerky movement, and fell onto him rather than curling into him as she wanted. His arms came up to fold her in and hold her close. He rested his head on hers. Marina’s heart was racing. She was struck with an almost uncontrollable urge to blurt out what she was feeling and had to fight it, biting her lip to hold it in.

  “Marina,” he said, seeming to wait for her to answer. But she couldn’t speak, because the words I love you would come falling out and she wouldn’t be able to pull them back.

  “I need to tell you something,” he said finally. She lifted her head, looked as deeply into his eyes as she could stand and waited for him to say the words that were in her own mouth. But those words didn’t come. What he said was “I think we should get something to eat.”

  Marina tried to smile, tried to go along with what had to be a joke, but her lips wouldn’t make the required movements. “You needed to tell me that we should eat?” she said.

  He put his hands in her hair, now affectionate and playful. “Yes,” he said. “But that’s not all. I just think I have to eat something first. Aren’t you hungry? You must be.” As soon as he said it, Marina realized that she was famished. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. Yes, it would be good to eat, but still something tugged at her. She didn’t want to let him go, even for the time it would take to eat a slice of toast.

  “I am,” she said. “Very hungry.”

  Gideon ordered room service and they ate in bed: croissants, berries, melon and muffins, with coffee and mimosas. Why not? Day was night and night was day while they were between these sheets. No need to ever leave this island, Marina thought. Which was why she was disappointed, even unsettled, when Gideon got out of bed and opened the sliding glass doors.

  “It’s so beautiful,” he said. “Shall we sit outside for a bit?”

  No, Marina thought. No, no, no. But she said, “Sure.” Slowly, reluctantly, she climbed out of the bed and walked over to the doors. She leaned into Gideon, wrapping her arms tightly around his bare back, relishing the feel of his skin and muscles under her hands. “Or we could just go back to bed,” she said.

  He ran his hands across her back and then down her arms, reaching around to tilt her face up to his. “I didn’t come to you for a reading, Marina,” he said.

  “What?” She was confused.

  “When we met. I was looking for you. I’d been looking for you. It took me a long time to find you.” The words themselves were romantic, things a man drunk on love would say. But Gideon’s tone—both dark and strangely apologetic—gave them a different meaning. “What I’m trying to say is, you weren’t recommended by anyone. I need to tell you how I got here, Marina.”

  Marina pulled back from their embrace, her heart sinking. “Okay,” she said. “Let me—I feel like I should get dressed.” She poked around for her clothes, which were haphazardly strewn and mixed with Gideon’s on the floor. She picked up her jeans and saw that her ring and chain were about to fall out of the pocket where she’d hurriedly stashed them before running out of the house. She shook her head, not believing that she hadn’t thought to put them in a safer place before now, and slipped the chain around her neck. The ring felt strangely hot against the bare skin of her breast. That was when she saw that Gideon was standing very still, staring at her as if…he’d like to kill her. That was the thought that ran through Marina’s head and she felt herself get very, very cold.

  “What?” she said. “What is it?” There was panic in her voice—she could hear it. He said nothing, his lips folded into a thin white line, but he finally moved out of his statue pose to come over to her and shadow her like an eclipse. He reached down and for a moment she thought he was going to hit her. His eyes looked murderous. Slowly and stiffly, as if the movement caused him pain, Gideon lifted the ring off her chest and held it between his thumb and forefinger.

  Marina felt the force of a huge electric shock take her breath away. The ground under her seemed to be shifting, but she was standing stone still. Her mind was a collision of images she couldn’t stop from coming in rapid succession: the red gleam of the ring magnified a thousand times, Gideon’s hateful eyes, her hands on a old woman’s soft hands, the ring around that woman’s neck, the woman’s frightened eyes—Mrs. Golden—they were Mrs. Golden’s eyes, her hands, her ring, Gideon’s brown eyes, Mrs. Golden’s brown eyes, the same eyes. The same eyes. “He has your eyes.” She heard herself say it and groaned aloud. She was shaking, everything in motion as if the floor were buckling underneath the bed. The room went very bright, blinding her, and then completely black before fading in again. She heard laughter, weeping, wails—all in a rush of sound that assaulted her ears. The room was suddenly full of people, climbing over each other, reaching toward her, their faces so familiar but all blending into each other. She shut her eyes and tried to scream but couldn’t make a sound. Stop! She heard the shout inside her head, and opened her eyes. The room steadied, stopped spinning. The noise and the images were gone.

  But he wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t move away, wouldn’t take those eyes—his mother’s eyes—off her face. Marina’s heart bounced and skipped; the blood drained from her face. She was sure she was going to faint, or that he would kill her with the ferocity of that look.

  “How long have you known?” he said. He was so close that she could feel the heat of his breath against her face.

  “I…I d-didn’t kn-know.” Marina had started shivering and her teeth were chattering. She struggled to regain some control.

  “What kind of person are you?” he asked. “What kind of person does this?” He stood back, but didn’t let go of the ring. The chain pulled tight across Marina’s neck, jerking her forward.

  “You’re hurting—”

  “Take it off,” he said.

  Marina could feel the weight of realization crushing her; she’d been wrong about her dream. It wasn’t she trying to catch him, but he who had caught her.

  “Take it off,” he repeated, more menace in his voice now.

  “Let go,” she said, “and I will.”

  Gideon let the ring drop and it landed with an audible smack against her skin. There was a thin sharp pain where it fell; a shard of glass piercing her breastbone. She took the chain off, the ring dangling between her fingers for the last time, and handed it to him. He took it, looked down at it and then closed his hand around it, hiding it from her. His shoulders slumped, the anger and menace seeming to drain out of him all at once. She could see his throat working.

  “You took everything from her,” he said. “At the end…” Gideon looked at Marina with such misery that she could feel it as an ache in her bones. “She was eating cat food. She didn’t have the money to buy real food.”

  Marina had to look away from him. Feeling more naked now than ever, she pulled on her jeans and the turtleneck she’d finally found on the floor. The light played tricks on her eyes as she went through the motions. Her body looked as if it were
covered with thin silvery trails and handprints—his handprints. Cover it, she thought. Gideon stood where he was, his own nakedness now incongruous and strange. He held out his fist. A bit of gold chain escaped from his grip and dangled from his closed fingers.

  “How could you take this?” he asked “How can you be that evil?”

  “You’ve got it wrong,” Marina said, suddenly finding her voice. “I didn’t take it. She gave it to me.”

  Gideon’s laughter was ugly. “Right,” he said. “That’s what they all say.”

  “It’s true, Gideon. I didn’t want to take it. She asked me to wear it.”

  “Why would she do that? This ring was so important to her. Why would she take it off and give it to you?”

  So I could keep you safe, Marina thought, feeling her face flush. There was no way she could explain this to him. She was tried and convicted and the only thing left now was for him to sentence her. “Marina…” She felt a pain in her chest at the sound of her name in his mouth. “Is there anything about you that’s real? Is there anything that has meaning for you?”

  Marina stood up, tried to move in close to him, but there was a barrier between them now as impenetrable as a brick wall.