Page 53 of Hushed

“Well,” Delphine says in French.

“What just happened?”

“Someone likes you a lot.”

“Anthony seems a very…nice person.”

“That wasn’t the man I was referring to. The one I’m talking about is right behind you staring daggers at the anthropology professor.”

I close my eyes. “Let me guess: short blond hair, possibly covered in a black hat with a panda stitched on it, very handsome?”

She folds her arms over her chest.

“And he heard all that. Fuck.”

I don’t turn around.

“It sounds like you have a story to tell, but let me put the pieces together. You are in love with this young man.”

“I’m not in love with him.” I pause. “I think. I mean, how can you be in love in such a short time? That’s impossible. I’ve been infatuated.”

“Fine. You’ve been infatuated. Well, you know the best way to recover from one man is to cover yourself with a new one. We have Anthony waiting, and if you need faster service, I have contacts.”

“I thought you liked Anthony.”

“He’s a dishcloth!” she explodes in French. “That was a first-class joke. Every Frenchman would be rolling on the floor. It was a beautiful combination of the intellectual and the insulting and he didn’t understand it.”

“I barely understood it. It was about the Méduse, right? Where they started eating each other on the raft.”

“Bravo, Bastien! You know your Géricault.” She shrugs. “I’m educated. It would be deeply unfair for me to have an education that I cannot use to ridicule others.”

“It is a very French put-down,” I say. “And what was that about those contacts you were talking about? Should I be concerned?”

“Oh, just prostitutes. There are several young men. If you’re willing to overlook some minor indiscretions, I’m sure they’d make very charming partners.”

“What do you define as minor indiscretions?”

She takes another nibble of my brownie and shrugs. “Oh, nothing much. The odd bit of casual prostitution, a bit of webcam work. You know the kind. I know a very sweet boy who’s actively looking to be a kept man so he can stop working out six days a week. He’d probably charge for the first two or three dates, but I can talk him into refunding it if you commit after that.” She breaks off another miniature bite.

I must look appalled, because she laughs at me. “Ah-ha! So that’s what it is. You don’t want Anthony, even though he’s the choice your head would make. You don’t want the escort, even though that’s the choice your cock would make. So that leaves the choice that’s already been made in here.” She taps my chest and looks over my shoulder.

I feel like I’ve just deflated. “This is a nightmare.”

“Oh, honestly. You think I haven’t been where you’ve been? Looking over my shoulder hoping my immigration came through before they decided to take it all away? I won’t say a word. I think you need a friend to talk to in complete confidence. Am I wrong?”

I hesitate for a beat too long. She leans forward. “I’ll trade you one secret for another. I interview prostitutes. Sometimes they know people who can get things done. A few semesters ago I had a stalker. He was frightening me but if I went to the police, he told me he would make it sound as if I had invited him. I was still waiting for the citizenship ceremony. I talked to a contact, and a very lovely young man named Ghost had a conversation with my stalker. And once my stalker got out of the hospital…” She shrugs and then looks at me directly. “And I have no regrets about that. Not even a little bit. He threatened me. He’s lucky he didn’t wind up locked in a trunk at the bottom of a lake.” She nods at me. “Your turn.”

The cold goes all the way through me.

I like it.

Hughes is warm. Hughes says my first name like we’re old friends. He taps his own temple and tells me a certain kind of man can be smelled, and every word of it is friendly. This woman has just told me she had somebody put in the hospital and she isn’t sorry and she isn’t hiding it. There’s nothing underneath it that I have to work out.

She isn’t afraid of any of them.

I’ve been afraid since a woman in Washington took her reading glasses off and pointed them at me. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who to ask. If she told me right now that there was a way out of this, I’d take it, and I wouldn’t ask what it cost.

I look around us reflexively, even though we are insulated within our cocoon of rapid-fire French. Delphine’s eyes flick past my shoulder, which means he is still there. Hesitantly, I open my mouth, intending to tell her as little as I can.