Page 28 of Genuine Fraud
“You’re right,” he said. “It is trash.”
He kissed her then, under the streetlight. Like a scene from a film. The stones were damp in the fog and glistened. Their coats flapped in the wind. Jule shivered in the night air, and Paolo put his warm hand against her neck.
He kissed like he couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else on the planet, because wasn’t this so nice, and didn’t this feel good? As if he knew she didn’t let people touch her, and he knew she would lethimtouch her, and he was the luckiest guy in the world. Jule felt as if the river underneath her were running through her veins.
She wanted to be herself with him.
Wondered if shewasbeing herself. If she could go on being herself.
And if anyone could love the person she was.
They pulled apart and walked in silence for a minute. A crowd of four drunk young women headed toward them, crossing the bridge precariously on high heels. “I can’t believe they made us leave,” one of them complained, slurring her words.
“They should want our business, those buggers,” said another. Their accents were Yorkshire.
“Ooh, he’s cute.” The first one looked at Paolo from ten feet away.
“You think he wants to go get a drink?”
“Ha! Cheeky.”
“I dunno. Ask him.”
One woman called out, “If you want a night out, good sir, you can come along with us.”
Paolo blushed. “What?”
“Are you coming?” she asked. “Just you.”
Paolo shook his head. The women walked away, giggling, and he watched them until they were off the bridge. Then he took Jule’s hand again.
The mood was different, though. They no longer knew what to say to each other.
Finally, Paolo said: “Did you know Brooke Lannon?”
What?
Imogen’s friend Brooke. What did Paolo have to do with Brooke?
Jule made her voice light. “Yeah, from Vassar. Howcome?”
“Brooke—she passed away about a week ago.” Paolo looked at the ground.
“What? Oh no.”
“I didn’t mean to be the one to tell you. I didn’t put it together that you’d know her till now,” said Paolo. “And then it popped out.”
“How do you know Brooke?”
“I don’t, really. She was friends with my sister from summer camp.”
“What happened?” Jule wanted to hear his answer, desperately, but she calmed her voice.
“It was an accident. She was up in a park north of San Francisco. She was there visiting some friends who went to college in the city, but they were busy or something, and Brooke went hiking. It was a day hike, but late, when it was getting dark. She was on a nature preserve by herself. And she just—she fell off this walkway. A walkway over a ravine.”
“She fell?”
“They think she’d been drinking. She hit her head and nobody found her till this morning. Except some animals. The body was pretty messed up.”
