Page 71 of Twice
“We’re here.”
LaPorta looked up. He had been so engrossed in the notebook, he didn’t realize they were in the parking lot of The Ocean Club Resort. He stared through the windshield at the blanched-almond facade, and the guests lounging on their balconies. He was torn. The notebook might help him solve the case. But Gianna Rule was a suspect, given the money she was sent. And every passing minute was a minute when she could slip away.
“Ahhrrg,” he groaned, pushing his palms against his forehead. Then he dog-eared the page he was reading and shoved the notebook into his bag.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Five
The Composition Book
Things my mother said she loved about me:
“The way you always tell the truth in the end.”
So back to Nicolette Pink. You probably think you know where I’m going with her, Boss. What actually happened was more complicated.
That night in the editing studio was a Friday, and we weren’t shooting anything the next day, so Nicolette and I went back to the hotel and she asked me to join her at the bar downstairs. I stopped in my room to change and found an overnight mail envelope under my door. It was from Gianna. I didn’t open it.
When I got downstairs, Nicolette had changed, too, into a gray corset top and a short black skirt. We sat near the back and she called over a waiter. She insisted I drink with her.
“Nobody likes a watcher,” she said, grinning.
We stayed there for a couple of hours, drinking and talking the whole time. She told me about growing up in a trailer in rural Oklahoma; I told her about living in Africa. She told me about her parents splitting up when she was twelve; I told her about Adeline hiding my mother’s photograph in a closet.
There was a piano player in the corner and a crowd that shrank as the night went on. Several times, we were interrupted by people who wanted Nicolette’s autograph, which shealways obliged, apologizing to me afterward. I was surprised at how polite she was to me. I guess I thought movie stars only wanted to talk about themselves. But she was considerate, and laughed heartily whenever I made a joke.
We traded sips as we continued our conversation, and I found myself studying how her mouth met the glass, the deep red of her painted lips pressing on the clear rounded edge. I warned myself to knock it off, to stop thinking about how attractive I found her.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
“Sure.”
“That day in the bank. What made you run to save Jaimie?”
I hooked my hands together.
“I’m not sure. It happened so fast.”
“Were you afraid you might get shot?”
“I guess. I mean, I hoped Iwouldn’tget shot.”
She chuckled.
“What?” I said.
“You’re being modest. Most people don’t ‘hope’ they won’t get shot, then run in front of a gunman to save somebody.”
She placed her fingers on top of mine.
“I admire that,” she said.
I froze.
“Honestly?” she added. “It’s... kind of a turn-on.”
“Oh yeah?” I mumbled, because those were the only words that came to mind.
