“Charlie’s swinging by again before he goes, right?” Debbie nods, and Damon Van Schwartz looks round at me and smiles. “What would you like? Debbie is happy to head out and get our drinks.”
“Oh,” I say, lookingat Debbie. “Iced latte, if that’s OK?”
“Sure,” she replies, hertight smile suggesting it’s very much not OK and she thought her coffee fetching days were behind her. “Usual for you?”
Damon Van Schwartz nods andDebbie hustles from the room in a cloud of Chanel. He slides the headshots towards me.
“A gift for you,Eliza. All signed, of course.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I think I’ll give them to Sadie.”
“Oh, she has one of each already,” he says, smiling, “and I gave Charlie a Falls folder too.”
“That’s kind of you.”
He waves his hand and shrugs.
“After what Charlie did for me,” he says, “it was the very least I could do.”
I nod, remembering that momenton the first day and how much I hated Charlie for muscling in on my big fan weekend. It feels like a million years ago.
He clasps his hands together and looks at me over the top of them, one eyebrow raised.
“May I make an observation,Eliza?”
“Um, yes?” I say, still waiting for my excitement to bubble up and wreak havoc, but it can’t find its way to the surface.
“As an actor, I’m very much a watcher of people,” he explains, waving his hands around. “I notice things that others wouldn’t. How people wear their emotions on their face, how they carry it on their shoulders. That sort of thing.”
I nod. Face and shoulders.OK.
“I’m also an excellent listener, but when I say that I don’t mean listening with my ears. I mean, listening withthis.”
He pointsat the buttons on his black shirt. I lean in, looking for a secret listening device until I realise he’s pointing to his heart.
“OK . . .” I say.
“What is the relationship status between you and my goodfriend Charlie?Because the three times I mentioned his name since you got in here, I saw something on your face.”
My hand flies up to my face, worried I’ve still got flakes of pecan pastry on my cheek or something, but again, I realise what he’s saying.
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” he says, leaning forward. “You two have a connection, right?”
I shake my head.
“Connection maybe isn’t a word I’d . . . I mean, we used to . . .”
I jump when he slams his palm against the table, just as Debbie swoops back in with our drinks.
“I knew it! You can’t hide that kind of history. Charlie kept talking about you, and I justknewit. I know what to listen for to get the hidden story, Eliza. Didn’t I say I knew it, Debbie?”
“You did,” she says, gently setting his cup and saucer down, the smell of peppermint tea wafting over the table.
She plonks my plastic takeaway cupon the table with such disinterest that it nearly tips over.
“Thank you,” I say, grabbing it with both hands (I’m still wary of milky drinks).
