No. He couldn’t tell her.
Couldn’t destroy what she’d achieved in so short a time, all in the name of sharing the burden. Couldn’t degrade her opinion of him with a few short sentences.
#141
When Jack opened his eyes in the morning, some time round sunup, Louise was awake. She was naked — discreetly covered by a sheet — and they’d swapped positions overnight. She had her head propped up in one hand, watching him with a mysterious half-smile.
“More bad dreams?”
Jack nodded. “Always.”
“Can you remember what?”
“Prefer to forget.” He pushed fingers through the girl’s golden hair and gently held the back of her head. “Good morning. How’d you sleep?”
“Like a rock, darling,” she said, before pecking his lips, “though I too get nightmares, from time to time.”
“How is that possible?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“I guess.” Jack straight away regretted his comment. It’d slipped free prior to thinking it through — insensitive stuff. “What do you dream about?”
“Mine usually involve a building falling on me, or being buried alive.”
Jack rubbed his face. “Not surprising — in Heropa.”
“And I dream of him sometimes.”
“Who?”
“My husband. Lee.” Louise sat up, her back to Jack, started to pull on a white bra. “I’m sorry,” he heard her say.
Jack placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t be. I have no problem with you dreaming of him. I don’t have a problem with you dreaming, period.” He reached over with his other arm and pulled her close. “You have to go to work?”
“Don’t you?”
The man briefly put his hug on hold. “Sure.”
Louise manoeuvred away.
“Funny. You know what I do and where I live, you sleep in my bed. You know I smoke, what kind of flowers I like, my favourite champagne. You know I drink too much coffee, I have pet seahorses, I hate my boss and have an eccentric father-in-law. But I’ve no scoop on you — have you noticed you’ve told me so very little?”
Jack struggled with the right thing to say. “Hey. You know I like Roy Lichtenstein.”
“You also told me your parents are dead. Maybe. I’m not sure that story is true. It seemed like a convenient way to shut me up.”
She stood, went to a dresser, and pulled out a slip and underpants. Then she flicked through clothes hanging in the wardrobe.
“I’ve noticed. The sweet nothings, I mean. I thought these little details would come naturally — but they haven’t. Lichtenstein isn’t enough.”
She was right. Jack understood that. The girl had every right to be frustrated and annoyed. He grabbed his undershirt from the bed-end.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I’ve been so wrapped up in you that I didn’t think it through. What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“Where do I start?”
“Your problem exactly.”
Louise had zipped up an ivory crepe and chiffon dress, adjusted her stockings, put on a pair of death-defying pumps. All the while, her eyes stayed off the man sitting on her bed, and when she was finished she went to the doorway.
“I’m in love with you, Jack — but I have no clue who you really are. Anyway, I’m late. You can show yourself out.”
The door slammed.
#142
When Jack stepped out of the elevator at Timely Tower around eleven o’clock, bad news had apparently inscribed itself into the carte du jour.
“Congratulations — you’re famous.”
Pretty Amazonia shoved a copy of the Port Phillip Patriot into his hands and, upon unfolding the paper, the Equalizer discovered his sketched mug on the front page, sans mask.
A good likeness.
There was a huge headline he barely noticed, asking:
WHO IS SOUTHERN CROSS??
Beneath was an obligatory sub-header in speech-marks, like always.
“Equalizers not available for comment.”
Jack rubbed his jaw as he twisted his mouth sideways (to the right), kicking round this newspaper revelation — while trying to kick the repetitive melody of ‘A Walk in the Black Forest’ and still overwhelmed by Louise’s behaviour that very morning.
“Oh, boy,” he finally put out on the line. “Bad?”
“Bad?”
In return PA was fuming, blood having fled her generous lips — which she compressed into a horizontal line in between spurts of dialogue.
“You’ll be lucky if you’re not thrown out of Heropa,” she lashed. “You broke one of our cardinal rules. Bollocks. You idiot. I warned you, did I not?”