“Yes.”
“On the island?”
Lana nodded. “Yes.” Then she gave me a sudden, frightened look. “But, Elliot—after I confront them—what then?”
“Well”—I gave her a small smile—“that’s up to you, isn’t it?”
10
The following day, I was in Lana’s kitchen, drinking champagne.
Lana was on the phone to Kate. I was watching closely.
“Will you come? To the island—for Easter?”
I was impressed. Lana was giving a flawless performance, achieved with minimal rehearsal, with no hint of the upset of the night before. She looked and sounded fresh, light, and carefree.
“It’ll be just us. You, me, Jason, Leo. And Agathi, of course … I’m not sure if I’ll ask Elliot—he’s been annoying me lately.”
She winked at me as she said this. I stuck out my tongue at her.
Lana laughed, then returned her attention to Kate. “Well, what do you say?”
We both held our breath.
Lana breathed out and smiled. “Great. Great. Okay. Bye.” She ended the call. “She’s coming.”
“Well done.” I applauded.
Lana took a slight bow. “Thank you.”
I raised my glass. “The curtain rises. And so it begins.”
11
Over the next few days, life continued to hold a theatrical flavor for Lana.
It felt as if she were taking part in an extended improvisation—remaining “in character” from morning until night, pretending to be someone else.
Except the person she was pretending to be was herself.
“Deep breath, shoulders down, big smile”—that was the mantra Otto taught her to recite to herself before an audition. It served Lana well now.
She was acting as if she were still the same person she had been a few days ago. Acting as if she weren’t heartbroken—as if she weren’t desperate, and full of pain.
I often think life is just a performance. None of this is real. It’s a pretense at reality, that’s all. Only when someone, or something, we love dies, do we wake up from the play—and see how artificial it all is—this constructed reality we inhabit.
We suddenly realize that life is in no way lasting, or permanent; no future exists—and nothing we do matters. And in desolation, we howl and scream and rail at the heavens, until, at some point, we do the inevitable: we eat, dress, and brush our teeth. We continue with the marionette-like motions of life, however unhinged it feels to do so. Then, ever so slowly, the illusion takes over again—until we forget that we are actors in a play.
Until the next tragedy strikes—to wake us up.
And having just been woken, Lana felt hyperconscious of how performative all her relationships were—how brittle and false her every smile; and how badly she was acting. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice.
What hurt the most was how easy it was to deceive Jason. She felt sure he’d sense her pain—how something as simple as brushing past him, talking to him, was incredibly difficult for her. Looking into his eyes was terrifying. Surely, all her feelings were right there, in plain sight, for him to see?
But he didn’t see. Has he always been like this? Lana wondered. So uncaring? He must think I’m a fool. He must have no conscience at all.…
Yet—and surely Lana had to acknowledge this possibility—perhaps there was nothing on Jason’s conscience because he was innocent?
I didn’t know this for sure—but I suspected that, as she packed their belongings for the trip to the island, Lana started thinking of those hours at my place as a bad dream. The hysteria, the tears, the vows of vengeance—none of it was real, just vodka-induced psychosis.
This was real, right now, the clothes in her hand, clothes she’d selected and bought for the man she loved. Could Lana feel herself slipping, sliding back—back into ignorance?
Denial is the word I’d use.
Lana must have known this, I thought, which was why she avoided me for the next few days. She ignored my calls and remained monosyllabic in her texts. I understood. Don’t forget, we were so close, Lana and I—I could practically read her mind.
Of course she resented telling me about the affair; telling me made it real. And now, having unloaded all of her suspicion and misery onto me, Lana intended to leave it there, in my apartment.
She wanted to forget all about it.
What a good thing, then, I was there to remind her.
12
From the moment I landed on Aura, I sensed that Lana was avoiding me.