The morning was silent and sieved through fine curtains, and softened by the elevation of the room. Lena opened her eyes slowly and was disoriented a couple of seconds, then memory came back. The new ceiling, the bulk of the blankets, the far-off noise of the city underneath were all reminders to her of where she was and why.
This was not a hotel. This was not a visit.
This was her life at least as far as one could foresee.
She sat up, and flattened a hand over her hair, and breathed out. No longer any room to hesitate. Any doubts she had were a thing of last night. Today required composure.
Within a few minutes, she bathed herself and dressed cautiously, avoiding vivid colors which seemed unsafe and conscious. She did not want to be too noticeable, and she did not want to appear as one who was out of place either. The balance was of greater value than she desired to admit.
As she entered the kitchen premises, she realized that Nathaniel was already in the kitchen.
With one hand on the counter, a tablet in it, and another hand on the cup of coffee, his sleeves rolled up once more, he was sitting about with a manner of restlessness and concentration. His appearance was that of one who had been up long and was already several steps ahead of others. She did not expect to see him in a domestic scene like this and Lena was surprised at it.
Good morning, she thought and her tone was neutral.
His eyes glanced through her and then rested on her face. "You slept?"
"Enough," she replied honestly.
There was a slight nod as though he knew that better than most. He pointed to the machine that made coffee. "Help yourself. In half an hour we will stop.
"Leaving?" she echoed.
My assistant would like to see you, he said. And there is a luncheon this afternoon. Low stakes, but visible."
Lena's stomach tightened. "Already?"
This set up does not go down smooth, Nathaniel responded. Human beings are observant of when there is a shift in routine.
She said yes and digested the truth of it. This was not simply a question of being in sight. It was about consistency. Of selling a story with a high degree of persuasiveness so that none would doubt it.
When she poured herself a cup of coffee she was suddenly, physically, conscious of the ease with which he already filled the space, of how much he seemed at home in the space. This was his world and she was a guest in learning the rules.
They were facing each other at the kitchen island with some sort of understanding between them. Nathaniel browsed his tablet, pausing here and there to read the item with more attentiveness. Lena observed him where she believed he was not watching her, and she saw the slight degree of tension in his jaw, and how his fingers got tighter when he was concentrated.
You are talking too loud, said he without glancing up.
She blinked. I was not sure I was making a noise.
"You weren't," he replied. "But you're anxious."
The observation shocked her. "Is it that obvious?"
"To me," he said simply. "Yes."
She hesitated, and then thought there was no use denying it. "I don't want to make mistakes."
"You will," he said calmly. "That's unavoidable. It does not really matter that they do not look like mistakes.
She frowned slightly. That does not give me a better feeling.
Almost a smile fled up a corner of his mouth. "It shouldn't. This is not supposed to be comfortable.
The movement to his office house was silent though not clumsy. Nathaniel was concentrating on the road and Lena was staring at the city go by and how it was so different when you were inside this car, when you were so close to money and power as she had never been in her life before. It was not glamorous like she had thought. It was precise. Controlled. Demanding.
The assistant, Claire, welcomed them in an efficient and polite manner. She had keen eyes, was calm and obviously used to handling complex circumstances without glancing back.
So you are Lena, said Claire with a smiling and possibly practiced but real smile. "It's nice to finally meet you."
Lena returned the smile. "Likewise."
Claire wasted no time. They discussed plans, looks and unspoken rules. Clothes, timings, behavior in the society. Claire was fast in speech and was articulate and Lena was an attentive listener, and she memorized all that Claire had to say.
Everything will be analyzed by people, Claire said matter-of-factly. Your body language, your expressions, Even silence. The goal isn't perfection. It's believability."
Nathaniel stood quietly as Lena questioned, and was amazed, in spite of himself, by the speed with which she fitted. She did not speak up when it was not necessary and did not attempt to impose herself where it was not fit. She imbibed knowledge as one who realized the reality of the situation.
As the meeting was over Claire gave them a winking glance. "You'll do fine," she said. "Both of you."
The luncheon was taken at a genteel restaurant where people were smiling too easily and listening too attentively. Lena kept close to Nathaniel, with her hand touching his arm here and there where it was fitting with a measured and warm smile. She was instinctively led by him, and answered his signals which she had not been conscious of picking up.
Once a woman bent over and looked inquisitively. "So how did you two meet?"
Nathaniel replied fluently and gave an account that they had talked about on the road. Lena inserted information as a matter of course, her voice light, her face also genuine. The woman nodded and was content and went on.
Later on, when they had an opportunity to be momentarily alone, almost at the balcony, Nathaniel spoke again.
You did a good job of that, he said to himself.
Lena gave a sigh which she had not been conscious of breathing in. I was afraid I would not say something right.
"You didn't," he replied. "You listened."
She glanced at him, surprised. That is what you call being successful?
"It's a rare skill," he said. And particularly in rooms such as this.
There was something in the sincerity of his voice that gave her a feeling of tightness in the chest. She turned her back, and gazed towards the city outside the railing.
I have nothing to impress anybody, I said. "Just to do what I agreed to."
"I know," Nathaniel replied. "That's why this will work."
She still heard the words long after the luncheon was over.
In the apartment that evening the tension had a little lessened. They lived in the same space even without an obligation and moved freely, yet conscious of each other. Lena prepared a simple meal, saying she did not want to be totally depending on staff. Nathaniel was looking on through the door with his arms crossed, his face flickering with curiosity.
"You don't have to," he said.
"I know," she replied. "But I want to."
They dined together in silent company, the silence pleasant in a manner which Lena had not anticipated. It was too near to normal.
Lena then stopped later when she went back into her room.
"Thank you," she said softly.
Nathaniel looked up. "For what?"
For this would be like a partnership, she replied. "Not a transaction."
His face changed something inexplicable going across his eyes. Professionalism and sentiment must not be mixed up.
She shook her head and she knew what he was telling her.
When she shut her door and leaned against it, Lena felt the burden of the day lying on her. She had played her role well. Too well, perhaps.
Since it was the first time since she accepted this business that she knew that it was not about persuading others.
It was persuading herself that this was something it would never be.
Lena got under the covers and exhaustion at last overtook her, yet her thoughts would not rest. The happenings of the day reoccurred themselves in silent snatches--how Nathaniel had laid his hand on the small of her back during the luncheon, hard with gentleness, the tiny glances they had exchanged where the talk became too inquisitive, the naturalness with which they had fallen into unison. None of it was rehearsed, and that bothered her the more than a slip could have bothered her.
She had hoped there would be distance, maybe coldness. Rather, she had discovered caring, quietness, and that kind of awareness which bordered the intimate hear me out though they had agreed on rules. It helped to make the arrangement look less like a performance and more like a tipsy-toe both of them were afraid to step on.
A door silently closed down the hall. The music brought her to the present and she was reminded once again that she was not the only one in this apartment or in this choice. This strange ground was what Nathaniel was feeling his way across, though he concealed it better.
Lena rolled over and looked at whatever light there was beneath her door. She would have more expectations, more onlookers and more occasions whereby she would have to determine how much of herself to open up and how much to guard tomorrow. She had entered a position involving precision, yet also vulnerability, which, again, she did not foresee.
When she at last sank into sleep, there was one idea which remained to haunt her in silence. And whether this was merely the opening of the play, she did not know how long either of them could keep on acting that nothing was real which was being created under the attentive enactment.