“Well, maybe not in the story, Belle. But I’m pretty sure they fuck eventually. Watch your step there. Wow, great shoes.”
“Thanks.” Smiling now in spite of myself. Gripping his suited arm. Breathing in his skincare scent, a heady mix of extracts and botanicals I know so well. Makes me feel… strangely happy. Strangely at home with him on this dark road. Dark now, very. Water crashing on one side of me. A smell of roses on the other, close and thick. “What’s your name?” I ask him.
He raises his hat from his head, then lowers it again. “Hud Hudson.”
“Hud Hudson?”
“Don’t laugh. My mother wrote romance novels. All out of print now, sadly. Well, here we are.” I see we’re already at the gates. We must have been very close all along. I look at the man named Hud Hudson, grinning beside me in the dark. I feel tricked. How could I have missed it? Beyond the gates, the house glows red among the eucalyptus trees, glowing red too. The roses sway gently in the breeze, giving off a rich perfume.
“You go on ahead,” he says.
“Aren’t you coming?”
“In a bit. I’ll follow you this time around.”
I’m about to walk up when he reaches out a hand and holds me back. “After you get the treatment, I’d love to hear all about it. All the lavish details.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you want to make me weep with envy, Belle? Doesn’t that sound like fun?” He smiles and raises his hat. That’s Monty. That’s Alain. That’s Paul. “I’ll be in touch. Sorry about your mother, by the way.”
“Thank you.”
He walks away. Leaving me there alone, wanting to say wait. Wait. But the word is stuck in my throat. The sun has sunk. Nothing but a dim red flame over the palms and the rocks and the distant waves I still won’t look at. But I can hear them all around me. That gentle, relentless primordial roar. And it reminds me. I never told you about my mother. I never told you.
12
The doors open just as I reach the threshold. The woman in silver who greeted me the first night. The one who looked like she’d been eating too many cherries. She seems paler than last time, her eyes ringed in more silvery smoke. She glances at the red voucher in my hand and smiles.
“Well, aren’t we the lucky one?”
The grand hall is darker tonight. I can just make out the red chandelier, the looming shape of the giant aquarium, concealed by red curtains.
“This way,” she says, smiling, leading me down the hall. Her hand on my arm a firm, caressing grip. I’m about to go on a very exciting journey, she says. I’m about to take the first step. Am I excited?
“Very excited,” I whisper, fear swimming in me like a bright fish. We pass clusters of luminous people in exquisite dress—red and black and silver. Their bright faces glow in the dark. Members, they must be. No sign of the woman in red anywhere. On the landing of the stair, I see the twins in silhouette, faces veiled. I feel them watching the woman in silver tug me through the crowd. “An exciting journey,” they all echo as she ushers me past. “The first step.” They smile knowingly with their eyes. I’m touched by their raised glasses, their eyes on me, so many sky-colored eyes, their hissing whispers of “Bravo.” “Bon Voyage.” But another part of me thinks, All this for a free treatment? For what is probably just a fancy facial? But maybe they take their facials more seriously here. Calling them treatments. I nod at them all. “Thank you. Merci.” And they just stare at me, these strangers.
“We should hurry,” the woman says, tugging on my wrist nervously. I wonder, will we go through the corridor marked SIGNATURE RITUALS or the one marked VOYAGES MERVEILLEUX? Instead she leads me to an unmarked staircase near the Depths.
I’m having trouble following her down the winding stairs. Suddenly, my feet won’t move.
“What is it, Daughter?” she asks, pulling on my arm to no end.
“I don’t know.”
She frowns. Do I not want the free treatment? Do I not wish to go on an exciting journey? So I say, “Excuse me,” and take off my shoes. The insides feel very hot between my fingers. Throbbing like hearts, or a pair of lungs breathing. The stairs are cold on my bare feet, but at least I’m able to descend them now. She smiles, relieved. Daughter’s antics on the stair were très amusant, she says, but she’s very glad they’re over now. Because we really don’t want to be late for such a momentous occasion, do we? Such a momentous occasion as a spa treatment? I think. But I say, “Absolutely.” And she tells me to run, “Let’s run, all right?” And then the two of us are running hand in hand down the stairs. As I run, I want to laugh. Running for a treatment. Sort of defeats the purpose of the relaxation element, doesn’t it? But I run with her, the shoes beating harder and faster in my hands.