“Have … have you been … bored?” I say, awkward.
Her eyes flick to the man behind the desk, who smiles in our direction. He has light brown hair, a strong jaw, mysterious eyes, and lean, tan forearms from what I can see across the room. On one of the sofas across from Jasmine’s chair, I see a slight indent to the cushions, as if he was recently there instead of behind the desk. I get a mental picture, relieved to see it hasn’t been as unfriendly here as I’d imagined.
“James has been keeping me occupied.” Then, proving she’s still Jasmine, she whispers, “Yummy.”
But Caspian hasn’t slowed, pushing the final set of doors open himself. I assume we’re supposed to follow, so we do. The office is fine and white like the rest of the building, but far grander. This suite must span two floors because there’s a sunken pit in the center and a vaulted ceiling above. The floor is a dark hardwood, but there are heavy white rugs across it. The far wall is all windows without visible separation or seams. I don’t mind heights while inside, but they terrify me if I feel open and exposed, like walking beside the railing of a rooftop observation deck. These windows are like that.
“Well, Miss Lewis,” Caspian says as he moves to a table in the room’s center, picking up what I assume is a tumbler of scotch on the rocks from beside two glasses of dark cola. “I apologize for being late for our interview. I was— ” He looks right at me. Through me. “Unavoidably detained.”
“It’s … it’s fine,” Jasmine says. “I appreciate your — ”
Caspian sits with his scotch, lazily looking at his expensive watch.
“It’s already 1:55,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m sorry we’ll have to start so late, but at least Aurora is now here to take pictures.”
Jasmine looks at me and smiles. She got what she wanted after all.
Jasmine sits as Caspian indicates a sofa, then opens her bag. She comes out with a digital recorder, a notepad, and a pen.
“Should we begin?” she asks.
“I guess you’d better,” he says, brushing at his pants leg, “seeing as we only have five minutes left before the hour is up.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
CASPIAN
JASMINE’S JAW DROPS OPEN. SHE looks like an advertisement for blowjobs.
“That’s not fair!” Aurora shouts.
She’s so cute. So innocent. So sweet. I remind myself that this is why I waited for her. Bridget, during my recent little trip, fascinated me — but nothing compares to freshly fallen snow. I want to walk right over and pick Aurora up. She’d try to scratch my eyes out if I did, but the pain would be worth it. The pain might be reason to do it, coming from her.
“It’s not fair?” I say.
“You made her wait!”
“I did,” I say. “How interesting.”
“It’s not Jasmine’s fault that you … you … ” She can’t get the words out. I want to take a picture of her right now and frame it. She’s realizing life isn’t as she thought it was and that there’s nothing she can do. Some people grow up feeling they can change the world. But though the world can be a beautiful place, it’s all veneer. Deep down, it’s always been rotten.
I want a photo of Aurora as this truth is dawning. This is where it all begins. This is only the tip of the long, slippery scope that is coming. My own cameras are capturing all of this, but they don’t have Aurora’s eye for truth. I’ve seen her photos. I’ve studied her photos. I want her to turn her camera’s X-ray on herself.
“It’s not fair for you to run out for no reason, just to be a jerk, and make Jasmine sit in here waiting on your highness … then come back ready to talk and say, ‘Oh, but I can’t extend my time slot even though it’s my fault we’re starting late.’”
“I didn’t say I can’t extend my time slot.” Jasmine looks hopeful, but then I add, “It’s truer to say I won’t.”
“How is she supposed to get anything worth publishing in five minutes?”
“I guess that depends on her talent as a reporter.”
Aurora turns from me to Jasmine. She seems to be saying, Stand up for yourself! But I’ve done my homework and know that she won’t. Jasmine comes off tough but needs my approval, whereas Aurora doesn’t — she doesn’t need or want or like me at all.
“Jasmine, tell him it’s bullshit,” she says.
I watch them, sipping my scotch.
“Jasmine!”
“I … I … ”
“Why did you say she could interview you if you clearly didn’t want her here?”