An attendant let her into the penthouse and walked her to the dining room. The table was there, but the chairs had been removed, except for two. Mo stood behind the one at the far end of the table and motioned for her to sit in the other. Fran and Disa were nowhere to be seen.
“This looks like an interrogation,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t betray the unease simmering beneath the surface.
“It is,” he said with a sly smile.
“Well then, officer, let’s get on with it.” Aida took her seat, determined not to let him see her flustered.
Mo came around the table and perched on the edge so that he was inches away, peering down at her. His proximity was unnerving, but there was something soft in his gaze. He suddenly reached into a pocket. Aida drew back, unsure of his intentions. He chuckled at her discomfort.
“Just the recorder,” he said, placing a small black rectangle on the table before her. “So mypartnerscan catch up later.” He saidpartnersas though it were a funny joke.
“Where are Disa and Fran?” she asked, trying to shift the subject and escape the strange energy between them.
“They’re visiting with an old chum. Someone has to report back on your work, so I volunteered to stay here with you, my funless friend.”
She wished Mo wouldn’t sit so alarmingly close to her. It was meant to intimidate, and she hated that it was effective.
“Let’s begin.” Mo’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts.
Aida drew in a breath, steadying herself.
“Explain happiness to me,” he said, his blue eyes searching her face, lingering for just a moment too long.
“It’s the supreme good. Being able to live a life that enables us to use and develop our reason...”
Mo cut her off with a wave of his hand. “You think I wouldn’t know Aristotle?” He folded his arms against his chest and frowned at her.
“I was about to credit him, but I couldn’t finish my sentence.” Aida tried to keep calm and not let an edge creep into her voice. She knew Mo enjoyed riling her up. Or rilinganyonearound him up.
“Do I make you happy, Aida?” His blue eyes were hard ice, daring her to answer.
“Yes,” she said.
A slow smile spread across his lips, the satisfaction unmistakable.
“If you consider amusement to be a component of happiness,” she added, though she was more irritated than amused. But Mo liked it when she pushed back, and his smile broadened as she spoke.
“Ah.” He leaned in, closer than before, and for a moment, Aida was certain he would kiss her. She tensed, not because she wanted it, but because part of her was curious.Would she stop him?To her relief, she never had to answer that question, as he pulled back suddenly and stood, beginning to pace the room.
“Did winning the National Book Award make you happy?”
Aida raised an eyebrow. “Is that a serious question?”
“Yes,” he said, staring her down.
“Yes, of course it did. Why wouldn’t I be happy about that?”
“How did winning make you happy?”
“It gave my writing public legitimacy, something I never had when working academically. It made me feel accomplished, successful.”
It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. “And feeling accomplished makes you happy?”
Aida was so confused about this line of questioning. “Yes. Don’t you feel happy when you accomplish something amazing?”
He laughed, a roaring belly laugh that made Aida bristle. He was laughingather. “Oh, my dear, everything I do is amazing. Now then, explain the puppet show,” he said, his tone more clipped, shifting the conversation in a way that left Aida feeling like she had missed something important.
She had spent the previous week cataloging the Teatrino di Pulcinella Gianicolo, a puppet show on the Janiculum Hill that had been running since 1959. She began to describe the children’s reactions to the puppets before he interrupted her.
