‘Where are you taking me, Mr Taureau?’
He gave another pause, not as long as the first, and then he cited an address not far from the Taureau-Werner building. She called the car and was assured it would be there shortly.
‘Is this the executive condo?’ she asked as she headed for the lobby.
‘No, it’s mine.’
‘But you don’t live there?’
‘The last time I was there you were still in university.’
She wanted to probe deeper, to ask about the blank slate between his very tumultuous young adulthood and his present closeted existence, but she was still feeling the sting of his first rejection and didn’t care to receive a second.
‘You seem to know a lot about me,’ she said as she pressed the call button for the elevator. ‘I’d hate to make an enemy out of you.’
‘I only know what I can find on paper,’ he said, and Grace caught the sound of glass clinking against glass.
It was these little things that made her froth with curiosity on the inside. Where was he? What was in the blackness beyond where he sat day after day? He could have lived in that supposed compound in Saguenay or in a trailer park in Australia. She wouldn’t know the difference.
‘Tell me what I don’t know,’ he said, followed by another clink. ‘Tell me your story.’
She couldn’t help the bark of laughter that let loose. Even when she clapped her hand over her face to stave off another she failed, and dissolved into hysterical giggles as she waited for the elevator.
‘I’m sorry, but that sounds like a first-date question.’
‘Humour me,’ he said, and his inability to conceal his own laughter inspired another fit in her.
‘I can’t. It’s just so silly.’
The elevator doors opened and she stepped in. She leaned against the wall and, as her stomach flopped with the descent, her laughter died to a chuckle and her jaw ached from it.
‘Are you still there?’ she asked as she stepped onto the street.
He didn’t answer. It seemed as though the elevator ride had cut them off, and Grace prepared to disconnect. Her finger was on the narrow button on the face of the headset when he answered.
‘I’m here.’
He spoke barely above a whisper, and she lost her breath at the thought of having offended him with her fit.
But then, softly: ‘You have a beautiful laugh, you know.’
She was grateful that she was free of the Taureau-Werner building and his cameras. For him to see her face at that moment would have killed her. His gentle, admiring tone touched her deeply and spread warmth into every part of her body. She faltered down the steps and the buzzing city before she slowed down.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, and lowered her gaze even though the one she wanted to hide from was miles away.
‘Please, tell me about yourself.’
‘Did you compliment me to butter me up into talking?’ she teased, but a little part of her believed the nasty little suspicion.
‘No, I didn’t.’
The sincerity in his voice won her over, and as she stepped to the curb to wait for the car she relented.
‘What do you want to know about?’
‘Who were you when you were growing up?’
It seemed like a poignant question, given the origins of the man who posed it. If she were to pose the same question to him and if he were to be honest with her, the picture he would paint would no doubt be filled with shadows.
She tucked herself deeper into the coat. ‘Nothing exciting has ever happened to me. I grew up with just me and my mom, mostly. When I was really small we lived with my grandmother. It was her house. She smoked like a chimney, as they say, and after she died my mom tried to scrub the nicotine off the walls. Have you ever tried to get rid of fifty years of smoking from a wall? Eventually she gave up and just painted the house a combination of yellows, browns and oranges.’
She laughed, rocking on her feet, as the scene before her eyes transformed into the tiny ginger room she’d grown up in. ‘God, do I ever hate the colour orange. I won’t wear it. I won’t even wear pantyhose that are too close to orange.’
‘I prefer the nude stockings with the black garters.’ He spoke so low the traffic drowned him out, but his voice was a frequency embedded in her brain. Even if he had whispered and she hadn’t caught a word, she’d still feel his sentiment in her blood.
‘I wasn’t dirt poor or anything,’ she went on, ‘Though we probably would have been homeless if my grandmother hadn’t left us the house. My mom – man, could she burn through a line of credit. There were always bill collectors on the phone. She only got out of debt when I moved out and she sold the house. She married an American about ten years ago and they live in Florida.’
‘No siblings?’
‘Not growing up. Tony, my stepfather, has a son and a daughter.’
‘Then you’re all alone in the world.’
So many people had said the same thing to Grace, and their condescending tone was always like sandpaper on her nerves. Like their first meeting in the boardroom, there was none of that in Taureau’s observation. No, there was kinship to be found in there.
‘I can tell you’re uncomfortable,’ he said. ‘I’d bet money you’re even twitchy.’
‘I’m not,’ she lied. It wasn’t that his asking about her past made her ‘twitchy’, but answering made her uncomfortable. She’d had a good upbringing. Taureau’s eventual spiral into drug use suggested to her that he hadn’t.
Her life hadn’t been charmed, but it was warm, and she thought that perhaps her warmth was what he was looking for.
The car arrived before she could say any more, and, once she was nestled into the cushy backseat, Taureau spoke again.
‘Tell me about something else,’ he said. ‘Tell me about why you started taking your lovers at the office.’
‘Oh, that’s an easy one, but I don’t think now’s the time.’
‘Are you actually shy about talking sex in front of a stranger?’
‘Actually, yes, but I’ll give you the short answer: convenience. I can work and have my fun without giving up either of them. I have little time to myself outside work, and when I do I have all of those mundane little things that everyone needs to do. If I want sex, I don’t want to have to get to know someone first, and hooking up with people I meet in bars or online isn’t my thing. At the office, I at least have a sense of the calibre of man I’m screwing and there’s an understanding. So, for me, sex and work are a perfect combination.’
‘Efficient.’
She laughed and combed through her hair with her fingers. ‘Your turn. Tell me something I don’t know.’
‘You could write a book,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Really, you could write a book.’
‘And many have,’ she pointed out, ‘but you know that I’m not interested in tabloid sludge. I want to know about you. Tell me something. In fact, tell me something that you haven’t told anyone before.’
He paused, and Grace didn’t mistake his silence