“I don’t know. That’s why I’m still mad at you. Notbecause I lost Benscombe, but because now I have to figure out what’s next. I had that all mapped out, and suddenly it’s gone. There’s this whole emptiness stretching out in front of me, and I’m not sure if it’s terrifying or exciting.”
“Maybe it’s both,” I suggested.
“Maybe it’s both,” she agreed.
We were silent a minute, still watching the market. Below us, the fish vendor was wrapping up the octopus, stuffing its tentacles gently into a bag as the customer held out a banknote.
When she finally spoke, she didn’t look away from the market to face me. Sometimes it’s easier to tell a truth sideways. “I want to call Benoit, but I don’t know if I’m ready to take that step. What if he doesn’t want a future with me?”
“Is this where you’d like me to quote a ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ plaque? Tell you that you’ll never know unless you try? Sing you a few bars of ‘I’m Every Woman’?”
She eyed me up and down. “Don’t think that just because we’ve been friends for forty years, I won’t inflict harm on you.”
I smiled. “You’re not afraid he’ll say no, Helen. You’re afraid he’ll say yes. Because then you have to figure out how to build a life with him. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re not. I’m a coward. I think of the things I’ve done in my life—terrible, wonderful things—and I can’t even believeIdid them. But I did, and I did them well and for a very long time. But this? Every time I think about picking up the phone to ask him to move in together, I want to be sick in my own handbag.”
“Well, don’t. It’s Hermès,” I reminded her.
She reached out a hand for my cigarette and I gave it to her. She took a long drag, holding the smoke inside her, then exhaling it like a prayer.
“Billie, tell me the truth. How often do you do something that scares you? I mean really, really chills you to your marrow?”
I took my cigarette back and blew a smoke ring that drifted out over the market, past the fish vendor, dissolving into a tiny cloud of nothing. And I thought of the man I lived with who could see right through me to every broken bit and who insisted on loving them anyway.
“Every damned day.”
—
Dinner was tense. Taverner hadovercooked the roast chicken and the rice was tough. Mary Alice carped at Natalie, and Natalie bit back which meant Akiko waded in to defend her wife. Minka sniped some just because she enjoys a good fight. That set Helen off, and I detonated in her direction on Minka’s behalf. None of it was serious, but it set everybody’s teeth on edge.
We’d just descended to general bickering when Taverner stood up.
“Right. I know what we need. Get your coats.”
We weren’t good at following orders, but whatever he had in mind was bound to be better than sitting around snarling at each other. We left the dinner dishes on the table and headed out, hats pulled low and walking almost single filethrough the narrow alleys. Taverner and I were in the lead since he knew where we were going. The temperature had dropped since the afternoon, and a brisk breeze was blowing in off the Grand Canal. Taverner set a quick pace until we got to a landing where a few private water taxis were idling. The price was extortionate, but Taverner paid it, giving the driver a set of instructions I couldn’t quite hear. We slipped into the Grand Canal, the water black and oily in the evening light. We crossed it in a few minutes and the driver swung left at the ducal palace, heading up the narrow length of the Rio del Palazzo where he cut the speed.
A few minutes more and we were there, alighting at the Donà Palace. It was a boutique hotel, small and elegant, but we weren’t there for the rooms. Canalside, the hotel had a terrace garden. It was small and secluded, bordered by high brick walls thick with creeping vines twined with tiny lights and wide planter boxes full of mandevilla. Candles glowed on each table, illuminating a scene that resembled something out of a fairy tale. The terrace was deserted, probably due to the chill. But the waiter behind the bar came over and lit the patio heaters before guiding us to a table. It was a tight fit for seven and the waiter explained they didn’t serve food except to hotel guests, although he’d be happy to bring wine and bar snacks. I was just beginning to wonder why we’d even come when I saw what was lying on the table: water pistols.
I picked one up and grinned at Taverner. “Seriously?”
Pigeons are the bane of Venice, and Venetian waiters have a particular hatred for them. The birds peck and shit andgenerally make nuisances of themselves on every terrace and open square. Only the seagulls prey on them, and there aren’t nearly enough seagulls to handle the problem. Some waiters will turn hoses on the pigeons when they get too close and scold children who try to feed them. But the Donà Palace had figured out a solution that discouraged the pigeons and amused the tourists at the same time.
“Seriously,” Taverner affirmed, collecting enough pistols for everyone. The waiter reappeared with a few bottles of Valpolicella and little jars of nuts and tortilla chips. He poured out the first bottle of wine, and it wasn’t long after that the first pigeon appeared.
It turned into a quick-draw contest, and soon we were formalizing it with rules, handicaps, and a spreadsheet Akiko had roughed out on the back of a napkin. Not surprisingly, Helen was the clear leader—she was our sharpshooter, after all—and Nat clawed her way to second place. I was just aiming at a particularly aggressive pigeon when my phone buzzed in my pocket. It cost me the shot, but I checked the number, waving the others to silence as I answered.
“It’s him,” I mouthed.
“This is Wolfgang Praetorius,” said the voice on the other end. He sounded unhappy which I figured was good for us.
“Good evening, Wolfgang. I’m pleased to hear from you.”
“I’m not pleased to be calling,” he said. “Someone followed me to my apartment.”
“Who?”
“Galina’s bodyguard. A small woman named Tamara.”