Page 88 of The Little Liar
He owned an expensive house in a wealthy Hollywood neighborhood, but he mostly slept in a run-down apartment near the airport. He often traveled overseas on short notice, flying in the least expensive seats. He never took more than an old suitcase, the same one he had traveled with when he first arrived in America. He told strangers he was a shoe salesman.
Despite decades of such pathological deception, Nico never sought help. Help meant looking backward, and he wanted no part of that. Instead, he layered more and more sandbags between his past and his present, building a dam high enough to stop even a massive flood of memories.
And then he met his new projectionist.
***
She had been training with Rodrigo, an older Mexican man who’d had the job for years. Nico liked Rodrigo because hewas smart and punctual, rarely asked for anything, and never commented on a film in the screening room. When Rodrigo announced that he needed to retire because of his diabetes, Nico arranged for the top endocrinologist in Los Angeles to visit him at home, every month, and pledged to pay for his long-term care.
Nico’s first encounter with the new projectionist was when he screened the film about the German clown. After watching it for a second time that day, he climbed the steps to the projection room. He saw the back of a woman with long dark curls, leaning down to put a canister away.
“Miss?”
The woman halted but did not turn around.
“Why did you say that movie was heartbreaking?”
The woman rose slowly, then turned and smiled. When Nico saw her face, he felt a pang of something even his lies could not describe.
“Because it was, wasn’t it?” she said.
Did Nico know it was Fannie?
It was hard to tell, given his reaction. A healthy mind would have blurted out her name, rushed into an embrace. But Nico’s mind had not been healthy for a long time. It defaulted to denial, even of the most positive things.
“It’s just a movie,” he said, looking away.
“Is it a true story?” Fannie asked.
“No.”
“It felt true.”
“That’s what movies do.”
He allowed himself a quick glance as Fannie bit her lip. All the features were heartbreakingly familiar. The finely shaped face, the Mediterranean complexion, the large, flashing eyes. Even her hair, dark and full and swirling over her shoulders. The teenaged Fannie could be easily found in her adult form.
“To be honest,” she admitted, “I haven’t seen a lot of films.”
“Then why work here?”
“I guess I thought it would be good for me.”
“Ah.”
He looked at the ground. He looked at the shelves.
“Well, thank you, Miss. See you next week.”
He turned to leave.
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t you want to know my name?”
He locked eyes with her.
