“Said she stays here and gets her days and her nights to herself, aside from a few hours in the afternoons, when she has to sit in the studio and let him sculpt her feet.”
“C’mon…” Will said, smiling. “Which one is she?”
Jack stood up straighter and scanned the room like a lighthouse.
“She must be outside,” Jack said. And they settled into a conversation about other people they’d met at the party, their interesting jobs, but how Jack’s was obviously the most interesting of all to anyone, though he was ready to stop talking about it. This ending for him was all pretty fresh, he said, and if he let himself think about it too hard he might puddle up right there on the floor. They got in line and grabbed their wooden bowls of soup and then settled outside on some stone steps in the garden. Which is when they heard a voice behind them in clean California English.
“Drink, big boy? Anyone need another glass of wine?”
She was the youngest woman at the party, anyone could see. And the first part was meant for Jack, they confirmed, when they saw her neck craned in the direction of his face, half of her mouth in a torqued suggestion of a smile, the other half flat with indifference.
“There you are,” Jack said. “These two, they’re from the States, too. We actually went to college together, believe it or not.”
“Not,” she said, and her face was blank—still and uncompromising. Her hair was long and white and fell practically to her waist. It was pushed way up off the top of her head and down her back. It gave the impression that she’d just faced down a heavy breeze. Her eyes were a sparkly cool blue that seemed almost sensitive to light. Her cheeks were full like a child’s, baby fat around the eyes and jawline, smooth as spread butter. She had a nose that was an afterthought on her face, the sort of thing a sketch artist might render with a flick of the wrist. She was wearing a white terrycloth something that was either a bathrobe or a kimono or a dress. It plunged at her chest and it was very possible she was wearing nothing else. Will’s eyes fell to the soft folds at her neck, to the missing collarbones beneath the thickness of her throat, and down the lines of her robe. Whitney’s eyes fell immediately to the girl’s feet, to the pair-of-interest in their leather slippers, to those twinning points of contact with the courtyard bricks.
“Me neither,” Will said, finally. “I don’t believe it, either.”
The young woman smiled and then shifted the empty plastic wine cups she’d collected to a single hand, in order to free up the other to shake.
“Leonard,” she said.
“Will, actually,” Will said.
“No, I’m Leonard.”
“And I’m Whitney,” Whitney said.
“Leonard’s an unusual name,” Will said.
“I’ve met a number,” Leonard said.
“Well, for a woman, I mean. I’m sure you’ve heard that before.”
Leonard shrugged with her lower lip. “Wine, anyone? I’m making the rounds.”
“Sure, thank you, if it’s not too much trouble,” Whitney said. “Another white.”
“Two,” Will said.
“Three, please,” Jack said.
And she took the stairs into the apartment.
“Okay, then,” Will said.
“It’s her last name,” Jack said.
“Leonard?” Will said.
“She introduced herself to me as Jenna. I’m pretty sure it’s her last name.”
“She must like you more,” Will said, and he felt Whitney shift beside him.
“How old is she?” Whitney said.
“She said she just finished her junior year abroad.”
“Of course,” Whitney said.
“A year in Paris,” Jack said.
“But you said she models for him?” Will said.
“Takes the train down here sometimes, I guess,” Jack said. “I didn’t ask too many questions.”
“What a baby,” Whitney said, scanning for her inside the apartment, finishing another cup of wine. “Still in college. And wearing a Prada dress and Gucci slippers.”
“She’s gotta keep the moneymakers safe,” Will said.
“Do you think she has sex with him?” Whitney said, her eyes still inside the atelier.
Jack’s mouth slackened, like he hadn’t really considered it before, and then he laughed into his soup—a single snort.
“I mean, that must be what’s going on,” Whitney continued.
“I hadn’t thought about it,” Jack said. “That’s…that’s an age difference. That’s one way to meet someone, I guess…”
“What about you, then?” Whitney said, hypnotized almost, still waiting for Leonard to reemerge in the cracks between the guests in the crowd.
“Hmm?” Jack said.
She snapped her attention back to him, the spell broken, and teethed the edge of her cup. “How’d you find people to pair off with? I mean, while you were playing, if you weren’t coming here every weekend?”
Jack still looked confused. But Will knew where this was headed. He could see that her eyes were glassy, and greedy for juice.
“In Norway, in Germany, in Barcelona—how did it work with…how did you pick up women?”
“Oh, I don’t…” His eyes dropped again, uneasy as a child under interrogation. “I didn’t spend too much time going out to bars or clubs or anything like that, if that’s what you mean. Sometimes I met people, you know, the normal ways, I guess?”
“Groupies? Dating apps?”
“I’m not gonna lie…my life has been pretty boring. Gym in the morning, nap at one, practice in the afternoon. Two meals a day at the facility. Pretty beat at night. I’d tag along with some of the local guys every once in a while, and there were girls here and there, but—”
“Nothing serious in all those seasons?”
“Summers, sometimes? Back in Chicago, when I had a little more time.”
“Old high-school flings,” Whitney said, grinning again. “The prodigal All-American…”
“Jesus, let the guy breathe,” Will said, flinching his eyebrows.
“I’m just curious how it all works when you’re a famous basketball player, is all.”
Jack smiled sheepishly. “Life’s mostly the same as anyone’s, I guess. You work out, try to get better every day. You travel. Some locals really care, but most don’t have any idea who you are and don’t give a shit about the team. One thing, though, is that no matter where I went, I always seemed
