Security(36)

Tessa does not excel at playing dumb. “Too late for what?” She sniffs. Pillows her lips together.

Brian spares a hand to plumb his jacket pocket. He produces a glossy sheet of paper folded in quarters. It is doubtful this one contains a knitting pattern. He unfolds it and shows her.

Tessa is no longer playing dumb when she says, “I don’t understand.”

It’s the cover of this month’s Travel magazine. Charles Destin and Tessa posed for the photo together in the center of the maze. Destin is giving her a rose. Tessa’s smiling down at it. Destin looks like a great big phony clowning creep, and Tessa looks bottomlessly sad, because she looks almost happy. She felt accomplished that day, having impressed the reporter, who later rated Manderley at five stars.

“This Destin guy.” Brian says. “I didn’t snoop or anything. I just did some careful Googling, but he’s got a reputation I’m not crazy about.” Brian folds the photo again. He watches his hands fold it. “I trust your judgment, though. You talked about that security guard to spare my feelings, maybe—to not let me know you fell for someone. But I can handle it if you have. You just have to tell me. Or, you don’t even have to tell me. You can tell me to get out of here if you want me to go.”

Tessa has evidently reached a point where so many emotions are occurring at once that selecting a reaction is impossible. It’s easy to identify with such a state. She stands and walks a short distance from Brian. Brian is putting the photo back in his pocket, but he changes his mind. He crumples it and pitches it toward a trash can ten feet away. He misses. The balled--up paper bounces off the can’s rim. Tessa picks it up and drops it in, as though gratified that her standing and walking served a purpose. She looks around the pool like she’ll never see it again, taking in details: the jasmine vining up and through the latticework on the greenhouse’s glass, rolled and stacked towels so white, they throb in their seashell--shaped basket. She pats them. She smells a jasmine blossom.

Tessa turns, crosses her arms, and says, “The photographer who did that cover said a romantic shot would sell the hotel to a wider client base.”

Brian’s brow crinks.

“I’m not with Charles,” Tessa says. “I’m not with anyone. The head of security’s a convenience. He wants more, but I don’t, and I made that clear to him from the beginning.” She gestures at Camera 64. “You can wave at him if you like.”

Brian stands, hastily, wiping his tears on his sleeve while shouting, “Jesus f*cking!—Tess, you let me say all that when he can—”

She yells over him, “There’s no audio surveillance anywhere but the lobby—”

The most thorough safety is safety one’s object of protection doesn’t know about.

“And his team’s watching sixty--four screens at a time. They’re half--staffed because we’re not open yet, and you and I were facing mostly away from the camera while we were talking. If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, then you need to get in the habit of giving me at least a little goddamn credit.”

Brian’s mouth works. He laughs, helpless. He takes a step toward her.

“Stay right there,” says Tessa, quiet and deadly, pointing at him.

Brian freezes.

“I get it,” she says, her pointer finger accenting “I” and then the pair “get it.” “I do. But it’s still eleven years. It’s eleven”—she points—“goddamn”—she points, and points again—“years.”

“I know,” Brian says. He tries to inject huge, incontrovertible sentiment into these two words, but—

“Do you?” Tessa’s eyes are round and shining. “Because this isn’t f*cking automatic. Okay? This isn’t an auto--forgive.”

“Tess?” He takes one step. “I know.”

Tessa looks ready to run, but she’s not sure which direction. “Great, then you’re going to be really specific, right now—what you’re saying, exactly, about what you want and what you feel and all that girly stuff, or I am out. I’m done. I can’t do it again. If all you’re doing is wondering what I’m like in bed—”

“You’re not with anybody?”

“Did you hear anything else I said, Bri? I can repeat it.”

Brian smiles, not all at once. It’s like a sun rising. Outside, the sun has set completely; its final hints of light are gone. The ocean is almost black. Inside Manderley, while the light was fading:

Camera 4

Delores got the fifty--foot ladder out of maintenance storage and cleaned the chandelier in the foyer.

Camera X

The Killer received a text and took the secret elevator to the first floor; he watched Delores from Franklin’s office.

Camera 33

Jules and Justin fixed place settings. They had a tiff about the only dish cart being near Justin. Jules moved closer.



Now:

Camera 12

Delores is riding the main elevator past the eighteenth floor. Her feet shift; she hums. She’s anxious to get back to cleaning the ballroom’s windows. She finds childish delight in using her long--handled squeegee. The ballroom fills her view right as Justin picks up the vase and throws it with all his strength straight at Jules’s head. Delores closes her eyes and plugs her ears and sings “My Country ’Tis of Thee” twice before she looks again, listens again, breathing through her nose to will herself calm.