13

As Gray had said, Christina Wagner was a lovely, soft-spoken girl, vibrant in a quiet fashion, and a truly powerful presence.  I could feel the wrenching, that overwhelming draw that certain women have.  It was an ability to excite beyond the obvious and the usual.  A hot woman made a man want to fuck her, but a woman that caused a man to burn made him want to say fuck you to everyone else just to have her.  That’s a big distinction.

We shook hands and made small talk.  It meant nothing.  But I could feel that stirring.  It was the thing you couldn’t really name, the reason that you were attracted to one person more than you were to someone else who might be just as beautiful.  My belly tightened.  I studied her face.  Her eyes were darkly gleaming and intense.  She had short brown hair that was almost boyish in a way.  She had a smile that lit her whole face and ignited the oxygen in the room.

I poured her a drink.  The conversation turned to the party Saturday night.

I said, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.  I appreciate you coming all this way just to share the moment with us.”

I hadn’t flown anywhere for that, but I said, “Of course, thanks for having me.”

“Vince has been talking constantly about your work.  I’ve never seen him quite so exuberant about any of his films before.  He’s like a kid again, burning with excitement.  He keeps rereading your books.  He has to buy new copies because he highlights and underlines so many of your passages.”

I liked that she didn’t bother to say that she soon planned on reading my novels too, when she got the spare time.  We talked for a while longer.  I don’t remember what we said.  It was trite, at least my portion of the conversation.  We strolled down to the lobby and I got a chance to see a few more celebrities.  Five minutes later I couldn’t remember which ones.  Christina and I had a drink at the hotel bar.  She pulled out a company credit card to run the tab and for some reason I took offense.  I snapped it up and handed it back to her and then put my own down.  I probably had enough money left on it to buy us two drinks each.  But it seemed important that I be the one to pay, not her.

I felt like I was a drug-induced haze the entire time I was with her.  She told me that she’d been a bit actress in one of Vince’s early movies, and that she’d been attracted to him but that he’d been married at the time.  He split with his wife a year later and immediately called Christina.  She’d accepted and moved in with him a week later.  That was four years ago.

I think I asked her why they didn’t get married earlier.  It was a puerile question.  And one that seemed to be based in jealousy.

“Ah, so you’re the last true believer in marriage,” she said.  “Besides me.”

“I’m divorced,” I told her.  “I doubt I’m much of a proponent for wedlock.  But I’m curious what makes a person who falls in love in a week wait four years to walk down the aisle.”

“I told him if he didn’t marry me I was going to leave him.”

“It means that much to you.”

“I didn’t think it did, but over the course of time I realized that I was getting tired of being called a girlfriend or a significant other or a live-in lover.  Marriage makes us family.  I think more people need it.”

“You’re probably right.  But the ones who need it often aren’t the ones who do it.”

“That sounds cynical, and I wouldn’t take you for a cynic.”

“And what do you base that character judgment on?  We just met.”

“Vince says your work is full of nobility.”

“It is.  It’s also full of pessimism, skepticism, and outright disbelief.”

“And what don’t you believe in?” she asked.  “True love?”

I almost told her I didn’t believe in ghosts.