“Peter—”
“I’m in control. Like I’ve always been.”
“You think you’re in control because you avoid conflict.”
“Well, I’m not avoiding it now, am I?”
There’s a pause, and then Michael says, “I didn’t realize that you viewed me as a source of conflict.”
Peter laughs. “Come now, Michael. Don’t be such a stiff. You ought to try it. Might be good for you. Make youbolder. Like Popeye’s spinach.”
“Idouse it, as you know. For the geomancy readings, as our founders intended. Not for personal consumption.”
The voices fade as they exit.
A Geomancy Chart (1 of 1)
Cast by Michael
The Question: Is it in the Knox’s best interest to pursue a business endeavor of mass import of opium from Southeast Asia?
Michael’s Reading: The judge figure is Carcer, Latin for “the prison,” a generally unfavorable reading, denoting restriction, closing of things, and setbacks. There are also two negative witnesses: Rubeus (Latin for “red”), a figure of madness and addiction, and Puer (Latin for “the boy”), a fiery, overconfident figure. The tenth figure, used for big business decisions, is also Rubeus, as is the fourth figure, which would signal the Knox’s building, or stronghold. Throughout the chart there is a fair amount of Tristitia (“sorrow”), indicating betrayal, anxiety, suffering.
Suffice to say, this does not bode well for the Knox.
Vivian
February
After Vivian’s unexpected little chat with Michael over the secretary, he does not return to Canton’s Restaurant. Half the place has emptied out, and Vivian wishes she and Peter could leave as well. It’s been a long dinner, and she’s growing restless. She’s never liked prolonged dinners. A holdover from her youth, when her mother made her sit for far too long at various dinner parties in itchy fancy dresses while old men with the luxury of time spewed philosophy.
But Peter has ordered an expensive port wine for them to share. He’s rather drunk, an uncharacteristic slur to his words. While she went “to the bathroom,” he made short work of the rest of the Barolo. She’s surprised; he’s the type that usually seems in control. Is something worrying him, causing him to drown his sorrows?
Is this about the blue-haired girl?
What is it with everyone and alcohol, all of a sudden? A pang of guilt hits Vivian; she should have realized Xavier likely fell off the wagon. He was obviously drinking at the masquerade ball, though Vivian didn’t want to admit it. She’s been too wrapped upin her own problems, too self-absorbed to realize her friend may have needed her help.
Vivian herself is done drinking, so she takes small, polite sips of the port. She needs a clear mind. She also feels rather exposed after her conversation with Michael. He clearly knows about her family history, but does he know her underlying agenda? Given that he is a regular customer of hers, he, of all people, may have noticed her second store has been closed as of late—and might surmise why. Is he going to tell Peter everything he knows?
Peter starts talking about a hotel he’s working on—in Los Angeles, she notes, not in Milan—but she’s stuck like gum in her increasingly worrisome thoughts.
The crème brûlée Peter requested arrives.
“Delicious,” he pronounces, after shoveling in a generous spoonful. “Chef Centanni has outdone himself. He apprenticed under Sirio Maccioni himself, at Le Cirque, and then trained under Lydia Shire here in Boston. Do you want me to serve you some, love?”
“No thanks.” For the first time, Peter is annoying her. She knows of Le Cirque; she dined there herself, back in the day. But she wouldn’t have known who Sirio was if she rode the same elevator with him. She couldn’t care less about the special vintage port, or the dessert, or anything else right now except why Peter hasn’t come clean about the blue-haired woman—or the truth about his Milan trip, which he’s had plenty of chances to disclose during dinner.
Her eyes flicker to the window table still occupied by Oliver and his father, Graham. They, too, appear to be enjoying Chef Centanni’s crème brûlée, though Graham is drinking sparkling water. Oliver, a brown martini. Or is it an espresso martini?Wait.Olives—Oliver.Dirty martinis with extra olives.Is Xavier trying to deliver a message about Oliver?
“So, like I was saying,” Peter continues, “mass production in luxury hotels could be a thing of the past. Everything is readily available, so my clients now want what is different, unique. It’s about the craftsmanship these days. That, and the utilization of quality materials.”
“I see,” Vivian says, trying to stifle her yawn. “And this is what you’re focusing on in Los Angeles orMilan?” she can’t help but add.
Suddenly, a loud clatter rings through the restaurant. Everyone is startled into silence; the noise in the room abruptly compresses, as if zipped up in a jacket. The source of the disruption: A fellow diner has fallen face-first onto his plate of food. Then, as everyone watches with mouths agape, his body jerks repeatedly and tumbles onto the floor with a deafening thud.
The zipper unfastens; commotion unleashes.
Graham Thurgoodlies motionless on the floor.
