canvas, no background.'
She nodded thoughtfully.
'Old dog, new tricks,' he said with a shrug, still smiling.
'You'd want me to pose nude, then.''
'Yes. Unless you have strong reservations. I'd understand. It's just an idea.'
'But I think it's a good idea,' she said quickly. 'You know I'm in favor of whatever makes the work go more easily, inspires you. That's why I'm here.'
'You don't have to decide impetuously,' he cautioned. 'There's plenty of time--'
Echo nodded again. 'I'm fine with it, John. Believe me.'
After a few moments she rose slowly from the bed, her lips lightly compressed, with a certain inwardness that distanced her from Ransome. She slowly and with pleasure let down her hair, arms held high, glistening by lamplight. She gave her abundant dark mane a full shakeout, then stared at the floor for a few seconds longer before turning away from him as she undid the towel.
Ransome's face was impassive as he stared at Echo, his creative eye absorbing motion, light, shadow, coloring, contour. In that part of his mind removed from her subtle eroticism there was a great cold weight of ocean, the tolling waves.
Having folded the towel and lain it on the counterpane, Echo was still, seeming not to breathe, a hand outstretched as if she were a nymph reaching toward her reflection on the surface of a pool.
When at last she faced him she was easeful in her beauty, strong in her trust of herself, her purpose, her value. Proud of what they were creating together.
'Will you excuse me now, John?' she said.
TWELVE
When Valerie finished dressing for her anticipated dinner date with Peter O'Neill, having selected a clingy rose cocktail dress she'd almost forgotten was in her closet and a veil from her drawerful of veils to match, she returned to the apartment kitchen to check on how dinner was coming along. They were having gingered braised pork with apple and winter squash kebabs. She'd marinated the pork and other ingredients for two hours. The skewers were ready to grill as soon as Peter arrived. There was a bowl of tossed salad in the refrigerator. For dessert—now what had she planned for dessert? Oh, yes. Lemon-mint frappes.
But as soon as she walked into the small neat kitchen Valerie saw that the glass dish on the counter was empty and clean. No pork cubes marinating in garlic, orange juice, allspice, and olive oil. The unused metal skewers were to the left of the dish. The recipe book lay open.
She stared blankly at the untouched glass dish. Her scarred lips were pursed beneath her veil. She felt something let go in her mind and build momentum swiftly, like a roller-coaster on the downside of a bell curve with a 360-degree loop just ahead. She heard herself scream childishly on a distant day of fun and apprehension.
'There's nothing in the refrigerator either,' she heard her mother say. 'Just a carton of scummy old milk.'
The roller-coaster plummeted into a pit of darkness. Valerie turned. Her mother was leaning in the kitchen doorway. The familiar sneer. Ida had compromised the ardor of numerous men (including Valerie's daddy), methodically breaking them on the wheel of her scorn. Now her once-lush body sagged; her potent beauty had turned, glistering like the scales of a dead fish.
'Hopeless. You're just hopeless, Valerie.'
Valerie swallowed hurt feelings, knowing it was pointless to try to defend herself. She closed her eyes.
The thunder of the roller-coaster had reached her heart. When she looked up again her mother was still hanging around with her wicked lip and punishing sarcasm. Giving it to little Val for possessing the beauty Ida had lost forever. Valerie could go deaf when she absolutely needed to. Now should she take a peek into the refrigerator? But she knew her mother had been right. Good intentions aside, Val accepted that she'd drifted off somewhere when she was supposed to be preparing a feast.
Okay, embarrassing. Skip all that.
Valerie returned to the dining nook where the table was set, the wine decanted, candles lit. Beautiful. At least she'd done that right. She was thirsty. She thought it would be okay if she had a glass of wine before John arrived.
No, wait—could he really be coming to see her after all this time? She glanced fear fully at her veiled reflection in the dark of the window behind the table. Then she picked up the carafe in both hands and managed to pour a glass nearly full without spilling a drop. As she drank the roller-coaster stopped its jolting spree, swooping from brains to heart and back again.
Her mother said, 'You can't be in an more pageants if you're going to wet your self onstage. We're all fed up, just fed up and disgusted with you, Val.'
Valerie looked guiltily at the carpet be tween her feet where she was dripping urine The roller-coaster gave a start-up lurch, pitching her sideways. And she wasn't securely locked in this time. She felt panic.
Her mother said, 'For once have the guts to take what's coming to you.'
Valerie said, 'You're an evil bitch and I've always hated you.'
Her mother said, 'Fuck that. You hate yourself.'
No use arguing with her when Ida was in high dander and fine acidic fettle. When she was death by a thousand tiny cuts.
