Illuminate (26 page)

“So, seven minutes?” he asked.

“Yep, should we synchronize our watches?” I was kidding.

“And it’s what, about a hundred and fifty feet up?”

“I think that’s right.”

“So.” His eyes were focused off in the sky somewhere. This was his thinking face, I had come to realize. “Seven minutes for one revolution and a diameter of 150 feet, that would mean we’re traveling at a speed of—”

“No,” I said firmly. “No math allowed. You’re missing the whole view. Go. Look.” I pointed to the city outside our window. He did as he was told. We both watched quietly as the city passed by, so many of the sights we had visited today. This, all of it, was so much better than school. And there was a lot I liked about school.

“So how did you grow up here and avoid coming
here?
”

“I don’t know. We came here but we went to, like, the Children’s Museum.” He pointed to it below, a sprawling complex adjacent to the pier. “There were always too many of us and the line for this thing would be too long for everyone to wait.”

“Too many? So you have a big family?”

“Sort of. I grew up in that orphanage, you know, over on Lake Street?”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, but the woman who ran the place liked me—I guess I just never cried, like even when I was a baby. I was quiet and stuff, you know. So she and her husband adopted me themselves.”

“Wow. I never knew any of that.”

“Yeah, I mean, why would you, right?”

“Did you ever go looking for your parents?” I wondered if he knew more about his than I did about mine.

“I thought about it but I haven’t tried. I feel like the people who raised me are my real parents, you know? And where would I look anyway? They got me from some fire station, where I guess I’d been left.”

“Really?”

He nodded.

“I had heard that people do that, but of all the places—I mean the sirens and alarms and all those guys—how would they know the first thing about what to do with a baby?”

He shrugged. “They were nice though. I go by there every once in a while ever since I was a kid. Now that I’m sixteen I could train to be a volunteer there, and I probably will. Maybe after this job.”

“It sounds kinda scary.”

“I know. It does. I was kinda glad when this internship came up, to buy me some time, you know?”

“Would your parents let you?”

“I don’t think they’re totally into the idea but they like the guys over there and I’ll bet if they think it’s important to me, they’ll let me. We’ll see, I guess.” The air hung thick with worry and question, so I tried to steer us away.

“Well, I bet you’d learn how to cook. And maybe they would do one of those calendars that firefighters are always selling and they’d let you pose,” I offered. “These are fireman stereotypes, I guess, but they’re good ones at least.”

“Maybe I can get them to hire you to shoot the calendar.”

“I’m available!” We both laughed.

Our car pulled up to the very top now, and without meaning to, we both dropped out of our conversation and got lost in the scene: the lake stretching out endlessly; the jagged skyline of the city; dusk threatening to set in, dimming the cloud-covered sky from white to gray. It felt like we were floating so free, nothing holding us in. If I was a little lightheaded it was less from this apex we had hit, so high above the ground, and more just from the notion that up here we were so untouchable.

We spent the second half of the ride, the descent, in silence, staring out the window. But it wasn’t quite like our typical spells of quietude. My eyes would occasionally drift over to see if Lance was still content staring outside and I would find him just as I expected. But then as I began to look away, I would feel him glancing over at me. We went back and forth like this a few times. I wondered if I should start talking again. Why did I feel this way? I never cared whether we talked or not. Was this going to start feeling difficult? What was going on?

At last we coasted into the platform. We descended the metal steps back to the ground, silent again.

When we got back, the hotel had come to life. Scores of suited-up types littered the bar at the Parlor, downing drinks over the din of jazz music, while a few pairs and foursomes crowded around tables at Capone for an early dinner. The lobby hummed with that overall vibration of activity and hustle-bustle: people checking in at the front desk and ascending to their rooms with luggage in hand; others spilling out of the elevators ready to begin their evenings out; people here and there walking fast in nice shoes with cell phones pinned against their ears. Lance went to look for Lucian or Aurelia in case we had any final assignments for the day, and I headed to the gallery.

Though it was still open and inviting, the gallery was nearly empty.There was just one man inside—the one I had shared the elevator with the night before, though it took me a moment to place him today since he had shed his tux in favor of dark pants and a sport coat. He stood before the photos of the Outfit, studying them so intently that when he heard my footsteps, he looked over for a second as though he’d been caught stealing something. But then he smiled.

“Good evening,” I said in my most professional voice. I sounded like I was trying too hard. “Everything here is for sale, if you’re interested in anything. Just let me know if I can help.”

“Thank you,” he said softly.

I slipped out of sight, back to the office, to give him time alone. I could certainly understand the desire to be alone with something artistic. I thought again of that painting,
La Jeune Martyre,
and then Lance and his equally unusual childhood. I straightened up the desk, putting Aurelia’s blank notecards and envelopes into neat piles and making a file for the list of contacts she’d given us for today. Then I unlocked the drawer with the camera, gathering the equipment for tonight’s assignment. But I couldn’t begin to think of that—first I had my dinner date with Lucian. I had managed to push it somehow, and with tremendous effort, to the back of my mind during the day in order to be even remotely productive. But now, it rushed back, all that fluttering anticipation. I had no idea what I was supposed to wear tonight or, for that matter, what I was supposed to say or do. A voice shook me out of my head space.

“Miss? Excuse me?” It was the man in the gallery. “Are you still here, miss?”

I hurried out of my office and found him just near the doorway, but far enough back that I could tell he was polite enough to not want to intrude.

“Hi, I’m here.” I ran out. These shoes were really hurting, now that I’d had a few minutes to sit down. “Can I help you?”

“I’m interested in a photograph,” he said. “Could I show you?”

“Of course, let’s see,” I said, following him. He led us to that wall with my photos of the Outfit. My heart sped up. He stopped in front of the giant shot of Aurelia.

“I would love to buy this one. I wondered, what you would like for it?”

“Wow, thank you,” I said. I couldn’t help it: “I actually took that photo, all of these.” Now I was embarrassed, but it just leapt out of me.

“You’re very talented,” he said, the way a father might.

“Thank you so much.” I bit my tongue to keep from saying any of my usual self-deprecating lines. If this man wanted to pay for one of my pictures I shouldn’t go telling him I’m not that great. I looked at the picture of Aurelia: it just wasn’t so good at all. Last night I had been so surprised to see those few wrinkles and the bit of red in her eyes, that strange mark on her cheek. And there all of it was again still, right here staring back at us. But this man, for whatever reason, seemed to like it, marred and inaccurate as it was. The customer is always right.

“So, how much would this one be?” he had to ask again.

“Oh, I’m sorry, that’s right. Well—” I had absolutely no clue. And I didn’t think it was within my right to invent a price. “The price list was finalized this morning.” I hoped he couldn’t tell I was making this up as I went along. “If you’re able to wait just a moment, I can go grab it.”

“Sure, thank you.”

I nodded and hustled out the door of the gallery, cantering to the front desk, past the Outfit girls, and back into the darkened corridor. I knocked, loud and quick, rattling the door to Aurelia’s office. Nothing. I pushed my ear against the door, but couldn’t hear a thing inside. I sprinted back to the gallery. The man was still standing right where I left him, staring at that photo.

“I’m so sorry, sir, but I’m afraid our owner is, um, off-site.”
Good one.
“But if I could take down your information, I can have her contact you first thing tomorrow morning.”

“That would be perfect.” He took out his wallet and fished out a business card, which he handed to me: Neil Marlinson. He was a lawyer and lived in Boston. “I’ll be here until Friday.”

“Great. Thank you.”

With one last look at the picture of Aurelia, he showed himself out.

17. An Evening in Alcatraz

The lighting in the basement hallway leading to our rooms was not particularly good—we didn’t have the grand skylight running down the center like the rest of the hotel or the many ornate sconces punctuating the walls of each of the nine upper floors. There were just a few old fan-shaped fixtures casting a dim glow. But it was still bright enough that I could see that something had been left outside my door. It was a white box the size of a slim suitcase with a dark ribbon tied around it and an envelope slid in, as though belted in place.

I sped up, reaching my door in seconds—my feet, which had ached all day, suddenly not feeling quite so ravaged. I pulled the envelope out first. My name was written on the front in a neat, strong hand. On the crisp, creamy card inside, a note:

Your uniform for tonight. Hope you like it . . .
Lucian

I zipped my keycard in the door, threw it open, and kicked it closed behind me all while unlooping the ribbon and tearing off the lid of the box. I couldn’t tell if my room was the temperature of the center of the sun or if I was just overly excited, but I was burning up.

As I removed the contents of this package, with care and reverence, I let the bottom of the box fall without a thought.

This was a
dress.

I held the crimson satin gown out before me, clipping my fingers on either side of the bodice. It was so shiny I swore I could almost see my reflection in it. It hit just above the knee, hanging straight and cinched in at the waist, making it a little gathered and ruched across the top. But what looked funny about it? I studied it and then shook myself from my dreamy haze back to reality: strapless. I didn’t do strapless, for obvious reasons. Dress in my hands, I thumped onto my bed, aching and nervous now. Why did everything have to be so difficult? Couldn’t I just be excited to wear this beautiful dress and look okay the way I was? My mind raced through the cardigans I had brought. Did I have any in colors that could go with this? My hand petted at the dress, as though apologizing to it. But as I ran my fingers across the top, some extra material bunched up. It looked like a flaw in the dress, but then I pulled it up and saw that it had one thick, slightly ruffled shoulder strap that had been tucked in when it was folded. The joy flooded back again just as quickly as it had drained. This dress was perfect for me. The strap was even on the left side. So did this mean Lucian had noticed my scars in that picture? I didn’t even care if he had, I was just grateful for whatever had happened to make this a dress that I could wear tonight and actually feel good in.

I couldn’t wait to put it on. I ditched my uniform, tugging to get it off—it still felt unusually warm in here. Sometime I would have to do an exhaustive search for a thermostat; there had to be one somewhere. I splashed some cold water on my face. The clock read 6:20—if I hustled I could jump in the shower.

When I slipped into that dress, I couldn’t believe it was me in the mirror—this was becoming a common occurrence, seeing a costumed version of Haven staring back at myself from the closet door.

“Whoa,” I said to myself. “That’s really red.”

I didn’t own any red, now that I thought about it, but I could suddenly understand why girls do. There was no missing a person wearing this color. Brazen and relentless, it surged out, intensifying the more you stared at it. I wasn’t the worst mannequin for it. It not only fit, zipping up without trouble, but also managed to cling just a bit in the way it was intended, and it looked goddess-like with that one-shoulder strap and that slight ruffle. Not terrible, I decided. Not terrible at all.

I was a bit at a loss when it came to hair and makeup though, without anyone to step in and play stylist—Dante was working as usual. I let my hair down and tried to fluff it up, shaking my hands through it. That seemed to work a little bit, giving it that messy, lively look that I’d seen on some of the Outfit girls. For my makeup, I worked with what I had: my brown eyeliner, which I wore occasionally, and my pink lip-gloss.

By 6:50 I was dressed, with Aurelia’s evening bag in hand—how fortuitous that I’d completely neglected to return my getup from the night before. I would give it all back to her tomorrow. I sat on the bed to wait it out, my stomach tightening into knots now. The book, that book, lay beside me, so innocently on the pillow. I stared it down: no. I didn’t want to look. I didn’t want to think about what had happened to those photos and I didn’t wish to be reminded of those nightly conditioning exercises I’d be forced to suffer through in the tunnels later.
Don’t let anything ruin tonight,
I told myself.
Don’t let it cloud how you’re feeling.

It might help if I weren’t so hot. Six fifty-five. Five minutes. I put away my makeup, cleaned up the mess I’d made opening the gift box. I propped the chair back against the doorknob of the closet, a tremor quivering through me as I did, and tucked the journal back into the night table. Lucian’s flower was still alive, even more vibrant than yesterday. I changed the water. Dante’s plant looked hearty and thriving, so, recalling his advice, I just left it alone. One minute after seven. I sat back down on the bed, fidgeting with my hair and my nails and my dress, trying to cool myself down, in all aspects. Two minutes after seven.