A Breathless Place, page 5
She gives a loud belly laugh. “That won’t be necessary.” She casts her gaze about. “It will however be an absolute delight to spend more time in this house.” Her eyes come to rest on me. “And with you, of course.”
She’s part smooth-talker, part risk-taker, part… I don’t know what yet. Maybe I’ll find out in the next twenty-four hours. Leila might be here to observe me, but nothing’s stopping me from doing the exact same thing to her. Already. I can’t wait to see what she looks like in the morning, before she applies that lipstick, when her hair is messy instead of pulled back like that. Before she puts herself together.
“It’s my turn to cook you dinner, anyway.”
“Would you cook dinner for yourself if I wasn’t here?”
I tap a finger against my chin. I hadn’t planned on it. I used to enjoy cooking. It relaxed me—grounded me after a long world tour without access to a proper kitchen. But more and more as the years have progressed, I’ve found it easier to let someone else cook for me. Just another small pleasure I’ve taken away from myself.
“I might have.” It’s a lie, but Leila doesn’t have to know that.
“Then I’d be delighted to taste your cooking.”
“You’re not going to keep on asking me, with everything that I do, whether I’d be doing it if you weren’t here, are you?”
“No.” She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. “That would defeat the entire purpose.”
I look at my watch ostentatiously. “Then I guess your twenty-four hours of unfettered access start now.”
“I’d best make every second count then.” She shifts her weight around and, perhaps for the first time today, I can spot a little bit of nervousness in her as well. Maybe she’s nervous as hell but just very good at hiding it.
I know all about that. When you have to go out on stage every single day, there’s a lot you have to fake. Except for one thing: the joy of singing. No matter how lousy I felt, for whichever reason—bad hangover, fight with Vivian, PMS—my voice was always there for me. The only time I ever came close to firing Ira, was when he suggested, after the surgery, I learn to lip-synch. To fake my voice. To pretend I was singing while I couldn’t even hit the most basic note.
“And the interview hasn’t even started yet.”
“Maybe not formally, but I suggest you consider the next twenty-four hours as one long interview, even when we’re not talking.” She slings one leg over the other and sinks into the chair a bit farther. She’s not going anywhere.
Well played, Leila, I think. Now, which game will I play with you?
Chapter 8
“Can I ask you the million-dollar question now?” Leila says. She sounds casual, as though she hasn’t been interrogating me, in her own subtle way, for the past three hours. But it is true that she hasn’t touched on the subject yet. She has held back. Undoubtedly waiting for me to finish that last glass of wine.
“What’s for dessert?” I joke. “Of course you can ask me that.”
She pats her belly, clearly not caring that it’s not flat. “Okay, fine, what’s for dessert?”
“You made it, so you should know.” I must have had more wine than I thought because I’m finding this exchange a little too hilarious.
“You made me make it, Isabel.”
“Please, call me Izzy.” I take a large gulp of water. “Isabel just sounds so… formal.”
“Maybe dessert can wait a bit, Izzy.”
“Sure.”
She takes a sip of wine, then leans over the table. “When did you last have a partner?”
I burst out laughing. Leila sure knows how to defy my expectations. “That’s your million-dollar question?”
“Hmm.” She plants her elbows on the table and looks at me.
“I haven’t exactly been prime partner material these past ten years.”
“You haven’t been with anyone since…” She leaves her sentence open.
“Well, I have, but I haven’t pursued a long-term relationship.” I drink some more water. This is dangerous territory for me while tipsy. I can skirt her more probing questions, but only if I have my wits about me. I don’t want to accidentally misspeak and give her the real reason why I haven’t stayed with anyone since I made my decision.
“Why not? For a lot of people, being in a long-term relationship gives them a sense of purpose. I dare say it even makes them happy.”
“I’m not ‘a lot of people.’” I slant over the table a fraction. “What about you? Why are you single?”
She gives a one-shouldered shrug. “I’ve never bought into the whole couple-hood charade.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I’m of the opinion that marriage is an archaic institution, invented by men, for the benefit of men, so they could own women. You know, give the women their name and have them give birth to their offspring and such.” She shakes her head. “I wrote an article about it a while ago. I’ll email it to you.”
“You don’t believe in long-term relationships?” I try to hold her gaze, but it’s difficult. I can pretty much anticipate her reply and I’m not sure it’s what I want to hear—although this should have no bearing on me whatsoever.
“I’m more of a serial monogamist,” she says matter-of-factly, as though the majority of the world’s population has gotten it totally wrong for centuries.
“What was your longest relationship?” I do my best to not sound too inquisitive.
She leans back. She looks as though she needs to delve deep into her memory to conjure up this fact about her life. “Almost three years,” she says after a while.
“How long ago was that?”
She chuckles. “Damn, Izzy. Who knew you were such the cutthroat interviewer?”
Looks like I did a shabby job of hiding my curiosity about her personal life. “You can hardly blame me. Your job is to scrutinize my life.”
“I know.” She beams me a smile. “That was a few years ago. About four, I think.”
I wait a beat to ask my next question. “And since then?”
“Since then…” Leila sounds more like she’s musing now, like she’s reminiscing about the past. “I’ve had a few flings. Even a few short relationships, but nothing that lasted.”
“Because you didn’t want them to last or for another reason?”
She reaches for her empty glass and twirls the stem between her fingers. “Various reasons.” She finds my gaze. “I’ve just never really felt that need to share my life with someone else. How about I just live it? With myself?” The moderate, low tone of her voice makes it sound so plausible.
“It’s not because you prioritized work or…” I swallow what I’m about to say next. I don’t want to ask about her family now. The moment isn’t right.
“I know how facetious this is going to sound, but there are very few people whose company I prefer over my own. It’s as simple as that. I’ve never felt like I’m not leading a full, satisfying life. Yes, I have my work, which I love. I have my friends. I have this amazing city as my playground. I have the occasional lover.” She lifts a shoulder. “What more do I need?”
If I was auditioning for women to spend that very last night of passion with, I’m not sure I could find anyone more suitable than Leila. She wants to be unattached. She’s not looking for love. And she’s exceedingly hot. It’s not just about how she looks, but even more so about how she carries herself and how she addresses me—and how she talks about herself.
“You’re asking the woman who made a career out of singing the most dramatic love songs?” This warrants a chuckle from both of us.
“You can’t possibly have believed every lyric you sang?”
“When I sang it, I believed it. It’s hard to explain, but I think being able to lose myself fully in the lyrics of a song always allowed me to give a more heartfelt performance.”
“You must have suffered a lot of heartbreak then.”
“No, I haven’t, actually. That’s the thing with music. You don’t need to have lived through it to feel it.”
“Do you still listen to music a lot now?”
“On and off. Sometimes I crave it, because what’s life without music? But often, I find it hard. I want to sing along, for instance, and I can’t. Or someone new comes along with an amazing voice and then I’m just floored with jealousy.”
“Jealousy?” She knits her eyebrows together—two narrow, black lines approaching each other.
“I don’t know how else to describe the feeling.” I bring two fingers to my chest. “It sits here, annoying the hell out of me.”
“No music. No lovers. So how do you get your kicks?”
I don’t, I think. “I never said ‘no lovers,’” I blurt out instead.
“Right. Apologies for assuming.” She shifts in her chair.
“Truth be told, the last time I went to bed with someone was more than two years ago.” Saying it out loud like that, which is not something I often do, makes me feel pathetic.
Leila nods as though she fully understands my predicament. How did we land on this topic? I guess this is why she wanted to stay with me for a full day.
“How would someone like you go about it, though? You can’t just go to a bar or get onto an app and do some swiping…”
“Is that what you do?” I half-say, half-chuckle.
“I’ve tried it. But it’s not my preferred way of meeting someone.” She lifts her eyes to meet mine again. “I prefer a casual meeting, like being introduced by unsuspecting friends. That’s usually how it happens for me, but I imagine that for you it must be different. Or has it changed a lot the past few years?”
“It’s probably one of the things that appear much harder in my head than they actually are.”
“The person you were with two years ago? How did you meet… her?”
“You read Bruce’s draft. You know it’s a her.”
“I’ve known these things to change or fluctuate over time and I’ve wrongly assumed before.” She shoots me more of a grin than a smile.
“I met her through my ex, Vivian.”
“Oh yes, Vivian.” Not for the first time, the skin around her eyes crinkles, as though she’s suddenly very pleased about something. “I’d love to talk to her one of these days.”
“That can be arranged.”
“So… Is the reason why you haven’t been with anyone else since then because Vivian ran out of people to introduce you to or because you’ve prioritized other things?”
“Both, I guess.” I give a small shake of my head. “Vivian keeps telling me I could go out and meet someone, but I’m not so sure. Also, it would make me feel too self-conscious, and what’s sexy about that?” I pout. “Maybe I just decided that it’s all just too much hassle for what I ultimately get out of it.”
Leila rubs a finger over her chin. “But you do enjoy flirting.”
I slant my head. “Who doesn’t?” I sound a million times suaver than I feel. Is she flirting? Or is she merely asking me questions so she can write my story better? And where’s the line between the two? I never had this issue with Bruce.
“I’ve often found that the flirting is better than what comes after.” Leila laughs. “Paradoxically, although I’m not opposed to the idea, I find one-night stands often disappointing. I’m a much bigger fan of the several-nights stand. Or even just the second-night stand, when the first time is out of the way, and I know what the other woman wants.”
“Why is it called a stand, anyway? It makes no sense.” Behind the mask I draw with my words, I can only conclude that if we weren’t really flirting yet before, we definitely are now, since she has mentioned she sleeps with women.
She gives me that hearty laugh again. “I will investigate that for you, Izzy. I’ll let you know.” She falls back against the chair. “Now how about that dessert I made?”
I’m dizzy from the mixed signals. Or maybe I’m just confusing everything. Maybe my attraction to her is getting the better of me. How long has she been here now? And how much longer is she staying?
I get up to fetch the chocolate mousse she prepared earlier.
Chapter 9
We’ve both kicked off our shoes and have retreated to the TV room, although I haven’t switched the TV on. Even though I was slightly opposed to it, having Leila in my house for a day is a treat. It’s an out-of-the-ordinary event and, of course, it helps that she’s so easy to get along with. And very easy on the eye.
Leila pulls her legs up underneath her and cradles the tumbler of whisky in her palms.
“Tough job you have,” I joke.
“Getting tipsy with Isabel Adler.” Her lipstick isn’t so bright anymore and a slightly darker rim has appeared underneath her eyes.
“You do prefer your own company, so…”
“Touché.” She straightens her leg and stabs me gently in the calf with her toe. “I don’t mind your company at all.” Because of how the evening has gone so far, I would have expected her to look me straight in the eye when she said that, but her gaze wanders and doesn’t land on me.
“I guess I can stomach your presence for the required twenty-four hours.” Her proximity shakes something in me and I have to stop myself from putting a hand on her leg. Maybe another reason why I haven’t been with someone in such a long time is because it reminds me of what I miss. The simple pleasure of sitting on the couch with someone. Of chatting. Of an inadvertent touch that doesn’t need to mean anything.
“Where’s your houseman?” Her head tilts a fraction.
“Harry? He’s my house manager,” I correct her, “and I imagine he’s gone to bed.”
“It’s like he isn’t here, yet he is. Doesn’t it spook you sometimes?”
I’ve had employees live with me for such a long time that I’m completely used to it—perhaps a little too used. But still, after all these years, I don’t want to sound like a spoiled brat. “Not anymore.”
“You made such a mess in that kitchen, yet it was completely clean after dinner. Did Harry do that?”
“If you need a list of my staff for the book, I can have my assistant get you one.”
Leila shakes her head. “That’s one of the reasons I asked to stay here. To experience what it’s like to have people take care of you twenty-four seven.”
“What do you mean? I did all that cooking myself. You were there.” I grin.
“You know what I mean. It’s just a bit weird. We’ve been talking all evening and, more than once, I completely forgot that I was in the Isabel Adler’s house.”
“I daresay you wouldn’t have thought that for a second if you’d come to my house ten years ago. I was very different then. My life was very different.”
“You’re so much more down to earth than I had expected.” She takes a sip and pulls a face when the liquor slides down her throat. “Christ, this is strong stuff.” She swallows again. “But not just that… I had also expected you to be much more bitter about what happened. That’s kind of your reputation now. That you’ve become this embittered hermit, surrounded by an aura of mystery because you’re hardly ever spotted outside anymore. But there’s so much warmth in your home. In you. That has taken me by surprise the most.”
Damn. For all the loops Leila has already thrown me, this one actually touches me somewhere deep inside. Her words are not only surprising but moving as well. A double whammy of emotion. Nothing I ever got from Bruce.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
“No, seriously, Izzy. Thank you for letting me into your home and your life so quickly. It means so much to me. And not just because of the book.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not the only writer who wanted this gig, obviously. And I’m very grateful that you chose me to continue this project. I realize the last decade has been very hard on you, but you’re still Isabel Adler. You still get millions of plays on Spotify every month, quite a few of those from me, by the way. But to come here and get to know you and get a glimpse of who you really are, that’s where the real excitement is for me.”
Because I have no idea how to respond to that, I sip from my drink. There used to be a time when I would have reacted in an aloof manner. I would have clung to my name and past achievements and considered them more than plenty to have this kind of praise from a gorgeous woman heaped upon me. But since, most days, I no longer feel like I inhabit what the name Isabel Adler stands for, what Leila has just said means so goddamn much to me.
“That’s very nice of you to say,” I mutter under my breath. For obvious reasons, I’m also no longer as skilled at taking compliments.
“It’s also nice to be able to say it.” She narrows her eyes as though she’s just had a brain wave. “Hey, if you’re looking, I could hook you up with someone.” She waggles her eyebrows, completely ruining the moment. Maybe that last drink was one too many. “I know someone whose life would literally be made if I introduced you to her.”
“Seriously? You’re about to start pimping me out now?” I try for lightness in my voice.
“Just helping.” She jabs her toe into my calf again. “It’s been two years, Izzy. Don’t you want to?”
Of course I want to, I scream inwardly. But not with someone you know. Not with some random woman you might introduce me to. Not with someone who’s not you. Oh shit. There we go again.
“What?” she asks.
“What?” I ask, very maturely, in return.
“Why are you looking at me as though I’ve just robbed your house?” She chuckles. “Did I go too far?” She holds up the tumbler. “You can blame this. Damn. I would stay here just for the post-dinner fifty-year-old Scotch you serve.”
“Don’t you think it would be inappropriate for you to introduce me to someone for that… purpose?”
“Depends.” The grin that forms on her lips is nothing short of devilish.
Oh sweet Mary and Joseph. It takes all I have for me to not lean over and kiss it right off her face.
“How much do you like blondes?” She bursts out with laughter.
“These days I’m more drawn to darker types.” I can’t help myself. Her foot is so close to my thigh, it’s as though I can feel it. I haven’t touched her. I most certainly haven’t kissed her, despite the desire to do so waging a violent revolution inside me.
