Muse by Rebecca Lim
She takes Juliana’s arm in hers and the two women set off up the corridor ahead of us towards Giovanni’s office. ‘I’d like them sent to my villa in Lake Como — Giovanni knows where it is,’ Bianca adds, her voice growing fainter as she reaches the end of the corridor. ‘By the water in Moltrasio.’
Juliana knocks on Giovanni’s office door. ‘I know it,’ she replies. ‘The cream house with the dark green shutters. There’s a guesthouse and private pier, right by the water’s edge?’
Bianca nods. ‘I’m staying in the guesthouse for the next couple of months while my apartment’s put up for sale. Ask Valentina to bring them up and we can …’
The two women enter Giovanni’s office and close the door behind them.
‘What happened with Bianca St Alban?’ Gia asks, taking my arm. ‘I can’t believe you’re still here, still in one piece.’
I’m so tired I let her lead me. ‘Still here,’ I mutter. ‘Where else would I be?’
She gives me a strange look as she turns us back towards the circular ramp that will take us back downstairs.
The nightwatchmen walk us across the mosaic-tiled foyer and into the enclosed portico that serves as the entrance to Atelier Re. Sensor lights go on and the electronic eye looks down upon us for the last time today.
As Gia and I wait for the second set of sleek glass doors to open to let us out into the street, I see that it’s snowing steadily.
It’s also very dark, and I’m reminded of the time Ryan made sure I didn’t stray out of the circle of light cast by the street lamp outside his house, so that his ex-girlfriend, Brenda, wouldn’t see the skin of my face and hands glowing in the night air. He’s still helping me navigate this life, even though he’s not here.
I feel a wave of intense pain and turn to Gia and say more gruffly than I intend, ‘Give me one of your scarves.’
She hands one across and watches me bemusedly as I pull the scarf over the top of my cloche hat and wrap it tightly about my face, then shove Irina’s hands into her black leather gloves.
‘Bag lady chic,’ Gia exclaims. ‘Now I’ve seen everything.’
The second set of glass doors finally glide open and we step out into the icy night. We pause on the footpath, surveying both ends of the narrow street. A light layer of snow lies over everything. Even covered as I am, I make sure I position myself behind Gia’s left shoulder.
She looks up at the sky in wonderment. ‘I’ve been here so many times, and I’ve never seen it snow before Christmas, ever.’
She pulls her remaining scarf up around her face, zips the collar of her leather jacket higher and turns back to me. I’m ready for her, so all she sees is the top of my covered head as she says apologetically, ‘We had to give Natasha your overcoat to wear to the decoy limo, and it’s kind of ruined anyway, the way it’s been handled today. Andreas would be livid if he knew how we’d treated his gift.’
She starts to cross the footpath cautiously and I mince after her in my killer heels, kind of sideways, like a crab.
Her voice floats back to me. ‘Natasha’s the reason the street’s so deserted. I arranged for her to flounce out of here in your overcoat, a bad wig and big sunglasses. Carlo just called to tell me that it’s crazy where they are — they’ve brought the area around La Scala to a total standstill. They’ll keep it up until I call to let him know you’re safely back at the suite.’
Two black limos slide to a stop just as we reach the icy kerb outside Atelier Re. From beneath Irina’s long lashes, I see Vladimir jump out of the first car and hold the two back doors open for Gia and me.
I shuffle past him, my head bowed inside my hastily rigged up camouflage. Gia helps me into the car and gets in after me. We take seats beside each other, placing our giant handbags down on the floor at almost exactly the same moment, sighing in unison, relieved that the day is finally over.
It’s almost 10 pm and I’m starving. Since breakfast, I’ve been offered three cups of camomile tea and two rice cakes. Being Irina sucks.
The soft interior lights are all on and I surreptitiously check the half-inch of exposed bare skin between the cuff of my sweater and the edge of my glove for any giveaway signs before unwrapping Gia’s scarf from around my face and head. I let it fall loosely about my shoulders. Then I take off the gloves and hat, laying them down beside me, and shake out Irina’s long, toffee-coloured hair.
Gia slides down in her seat and puts her wicked boots up on the empty seat opposite.
Vladimir slams both doors on us, then returns to the front of our car, which dips a little at his weight. We don’t see him get in, we don’t even see the driver, because there’s now an opaque glass window between us and the front of the car. It’s meant to be some sort of privacy screen, I guess, but for some reason it’s making me feel nervous. I’m finding it claustrophobic back here and I know it’s because I can’t get a sense of what lies ahead. And I know I’m being stupid, because all we’re doing is heading back to our hotel, but having that screen in place has effectively given me a huge blind spot.
‘Do we need that?’ I ask as our limo eases out into the road, the driver deftly navigating the parked cars, the scooters and motorbikes under tarpaulins that are parked out from the kerb at crazy angles.
Gia follows the direction of my gaze and her tone is apologetic. ‘Gianfranco blew his stack when he heard what Felipe did today. So the new policy is that someone always rides with you, and you don’t get to know who’s driving you between jobs. Window’s got to stay up. I told Vladimir to sit up front. The way he glowers at everyone makes me uncomfortable.’
She crosses one leg over the other and frowns at me. ‘What I can’t understand is why you even told me about the stunt Felipe pulled. Gianfranco had no idea you guys had hooked up before and neither did I. When Felipe first introduced himself as your driver two days ago, he played it so cool I could’ve sworn you two had never met. Why didn’t you just grab what was on offer? It would’ve been a sweet set-up for you. And for him. None of us would have found out for months, even years.’
‘I did drink it,’ I reply absently.
‘You did?’ Gia is shocked.
I add hastily, ‘But I honestly didn’t know there was anything in it besides vodka. It just never occurred to me that he’d put something else in there.’
Gia looks sceptical. ‘But I spoke to you afterwards, and you were totally coherent. More coherent than usual, in fact. Felipe said the stuff he gave you was pure. It should have knocked you out.’
‘Must’ve been a bad batch,’ I lie, looking out at the falling snow. ‘Didn’t do a thing for me.’
Except damn near kill the body I’m in. But Gia doesn’t need to know that.
Rain, hail, snow: all in one day. I wonder what tomorrow will bring; whether I’ll even be here, even be Irina, tomorrow. I can feel the crosswinds of convergence blowing, and I don’t know how to read the signs, read the skies. It’s making me jumpy as hell.
I wonder who’ll reach me first in the eternal game of tug o’ war for my soul.
There’s that sick feeling in my stomach again, of wanting to stay, but also of wanting to run and keep running.
Soon, K’el said. Be ready.
The feeling of disquiet intensifies and I hunch over in my seat, arms crossed protectively over my belly.
‘You’re quiet,’ Gia says as I stare out the window.
I know it’s rude, but I’m no good at small talk. I don’t bother to respond, or even turn away from the darkened streetscape flying by, the strangely empty streets.
‘That Ryan guy,’ Gia says casually, and this time I do respond, turning to her in surprise, feeling my skin instantly prickle at the mention of Ryan’s name.
‘How’d you meet him?’ she asks. ‘I’m with you all the time, and you’d think I’d remember someone who looks like he does — I nearly died when he picked up. But I don’t remember ever even seeing him before. Did you meet him at Mahiki? Or was it that time we hit Tao with the Elit
‘We always argue. That’s what we do,’ I reply tonelessly. ‘He’s just someone I met way before I knew you. Lifetimes ago. I can’t seem to leave him alone.’
Gia’s mouth turns down in sympathy.
‘He’s worse than liquid meth,’ I mutter. ‘Boom, straight to the heart. Like a bullet. Every time.’
I don’t tell her that I know what that feels like, too. That the ache I feel for Ryan right now resembles a mortal wound.
‘That bad, huh?’
Gia’s eyes are so kind, I can’t bear it. I look out the window again so she won’t see the hurt and confusion on my face. Irina and I might actually be the same person, the way we’ve trashed every relationship we’ve ever formed with anyone.
‘The timing’s always been lousy,’ I mutter. ‘We’re never free to be with each other. Something always gets in the way. Like now.’
Something? More like everything. Every damned thing.
Why? I rail silently at the starless night sky. Why must you always, always, show me the things I cannot have?
‘So he’s seeing someone then?’ Gia asks. I hear disappointment in her voice and turn on her, feeling something evil rise in me. ‘Little young for you, isn’t he?’ I hiss. ‘You’ve got to be, what, pushing thirty?’
‘What do you care?’ Gia challenges. ‘You’re the one who dated a sixty-year-old rocker has-been — eeuugh, I might add — for a few weeks just to see what it felt like. Besides, you told Ryan to get out of your life — I heard you. So he’s fair game.’
I glower at her in silence.
‘And why’d he call you “Mercy”?’ she queries. ‘You’re about as merciful as the crocodile they murdered to make your handbag.’
‘You wouldn’t understand,’ I reply tightly, kicking off Irina’s high-heeled shoes and looking back out the window so she can’t see my eyes shine with unshed tears.
‘Try me,’ Gia says. ‘I’m actually in the mood to hear you talk, for a change.’
‘Do you believe in angels?’ I reply tightly.
Gia looks at me quizzically.
‘Nope,’ she says, unzipping her leather jacket and stretching. ‘Biggest atheist out there. That new age stuff makes me want to laugh. Uncontrollably. What do angels have to do with —’ I don’t let her finish.
‘Everything. They have everything to do with it. They’re the reason we’re even here, talking together in this car.’
‘Uh, okay.’ Gia laughs uncomfortably. ‘I didn’t realise you were religious. Some of the stuff you’ve done —’
‘It’s not a question of religion,’ I snap. ‘Religion is what people call things they can’t explain, imposing order where there is no order. Let’s save the theology discussion for another day, okay? I’m tired.’
Gia sits back huffily, but there’s no point even getting into it, because she can’t help me. No one can.
So now it’s just a waiting game, and I hate waiting almost as much as I hate heights.
There’s a stony silence in the car for a few blocks, and the sense of panicky, edgy dread I’m feeling seems to be sucking all of the air out of the atmosphere.
I gesture at the smoky pane of glass between us and the driver. ‘Can you talk to him? Tell him I need him to open the sunroof?’
‘Irina, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s snowing outside,’ Gia exclaims. ‘Why on earth would you want to do that?’
‘I’m homesick,’ I say feverishly, when what I really want to scream is: I’m suffocating in here.
‘You live in the Bahamas, when you’re not working,’ Gia reminds me incredulously.
I screw up my face in confusion and Gia sighs. ‘It’s hot there?’
‘I want to feel the snow on my face, like I did when I was a child,’ I plead.
‘No shit?’ Gia frowns, before knocking on the glass partition.
It descends an inch or two, just enough for us to see Vladimir’s pale blue eyes, the top of his head.
‘What is it? What do you want?’ he says sharply.
‘She wants the sunroof open,’ Gia says, jerking her thumb in my direction. ‘She’s “homesick”.’
Vladimir’s pale blue eyes zero in on me for a second and I think he’s going to say no, but then he nods tersely.
‘We’re almost there, I see no harm in it. Do it,’ he says to the driver.
The opaque screen slides back into place. A moment later, the inner panel on the ceiling of the car shifts across and then the fibreglass sunroof itself slides away and the cold air outside comes rushing into the car. I feel small flakes of snow settle on my upturned face, then melt.
‘Ugh.’ Gia shivers beside me. ‘You’re mad.’
But she shifts across to allow me to stand up, and I wriggle my head and shoulders through the opening, placing my bare hands on the roof of the limo. They immediately begin glowing in the night air, as I’m sure my face and neck are doing, but there is no one to see it.
The wind is so strong that it causes Irina’s long hair to ripple out behind me, like a bright flag, a pennant. I bare my teeth to it, grateful for the relative solitude. The elements I can handle; human relations, not so much. I’m still an abject failure at those.
I turn briefly, catching the headlights of the second limo behind us. It’s at least five car lengths back and falling away slightly, as if our driver’s just been told to step on it. I look back at my hands on the roof of the car: the glow of my skin seems brighter tonight. Brighter even than stardust, than moonlight. Light seems to leak from me in faint wisps, in errant curls that blur and fade.
I look up as we turn into Via Victor Hugo and, at first, imagine that I must be seeing things.
There’s a man standing in the centre of the road up ahead, his back to us. I feel my skin prickle in warning as his dark shape grows clearer the closer we get to him. Our limo driver isn’t stopping, he’s actually picking up speed. I don’t think he’s seen the man in the roadway because he doesn’t have my eyes.
‘Move!’ I yell at the man, waving one arm. ‘Get out of the way!’
‘What is it, Irina?’ I hear Gia calling from inside the car. ‘What have you seen?’ She tugs sharply on the hem of my sweater to get my attention.
The man’s just standing there, looking down the road away from me, his arms loosely at his sides, posture straight, as if he was crossing and became lost in thought.
‘Are you deaf, man?’ I scream. ‘Get out of the way!’
From inside the car, I hear Vladimir and Gia shouting, ‘Irina! What is it?’, ‘Irina, what’s the matter?’ and I duck my head down a little and call through the opening, ‘Tell the driver to slow down! There’s a man in the road.’
‘A what?’ Gia yells.
‘A MAN IN THE ROAD!’ I roar.
But all our driver does is flick on his high beams so that I see the man turn, shielding his eyes against the light, his face full of fear as he registers, too late, the car bearing down on him, registers me looking down at him from the open sunroof, horrified, and in the instant his eyes fly wide, I see, I see —
Ryan.
It’s Ryan on the road. In the same beat-up leather jacket he was wearing when I last saw him in Australia. Layered tees, one blue, one grey; indigo jeans, scuffed boots. He might have stepped straight out of my memory into this place. And all I can think as he turns his head away from the car, the car that’s going to run him down, is: Oh God, he came for me anyway.
Ryan throws his arms up as if to shield himself from the impact. But it’s too late, it’s useless, he just goes under the front wheels.
I don’t think, I don’t even breathe, I just pull myself out onto the roof in one smooth action and somersault off the moving car and onto the road, screaming his name as I land on my bare feet — like a cat — looking around wildly.
The others don’t have my reflexes
Our limo travels another hundred feet at least before the driver brakes suddenly, tyres squealing. The second limo almost runs me down where I’m standing, frozen and gaping, in the roadway. At the spot, the very spot, where Ryan was hit.
People explode out of both cars and slip and slide across the icy surface towards me. Five burly, dark-suited men, a couple with weapons drawn, and Gia, who’s screaming in the way people do when they go beyond the point at which there are any words to express the horror they’re feeling.
‘What were you thinking?’ she sobs, grabbing hold of my upper arms. The men circle me warily, as if I’m wired with explosives and might blow at any moment.
‘You killed him,’ I say dazedly, craning my head to look around them, over them. ‘Didn’t you see? Help me look for his body.’
But even as I say the words, I know that I just witnessed an illusion. Something a demon might send to taunt me, to make me question my sanity.
Vladimir shines a narrow, stainless-steel torch in my face, then plays it across the slick and uneven surface of the road around us, up the sides of nearby buildings and over parked cars. ‘What body?’ he drawls in his heavy Russian accent.
Gia’s voice is shaky. ‘Irina, what are you talking about? There’s nothing here.’
‘No blood?’ I say tonelessly, already knowing the answer. ‘No body?’
Six people shake their heads, shuffling uneasily, shooting each other covert looks.
But I saw him go down.
‘The driver says he didn’t see or … um … feel anything,’ Gia adds softly.
I wheel about in the snow, and shake my fists at the sky, shrieking, ‘What are you playing at? What are you waiting for? Come and get me!’
And I actually try to run. In my bare feet, I try to break free and run from the vision of Ryan being mown down by the very car I was travelling in, run from all the horror and devastation I’m feeling inside. What I told Bianca was true. All I have left are feelings.
I try to run from them all: from beings both seen and unseen; even from the watchful, lowering sky that, once, could never have mastered me.