Page 71 of Mr. Perfect

“Um…” I look around, decide I have no idea, and just point to the foyer floor. “There is fine, thank you, George.”

“As I said, Mr. Stonewall should be here in a moment, so make yourself at home.” George steps back into the elevator and, just before the doors close, gives me a wink that looks a little conspiratorial.

“Thank you!” I call.

Then I turn back to Mac’s penthouse. There’s a gleaming chrome and glass staircase that leads up to a second floor and just like the Atrium over at Stonewall Entertainment, there’s a wall of water. It’s very subtle though. Just a sheet of water that falls so softly down the white tile, it sounds like a trickling brook. Very soothing. Very Zen. Very relaxing.

I walk over to the window to take in the view but then stop short when I see a silver envelope propped up on the white marble coffee table in the sitting area. I step onto a rug that would cover every square inch of my bedroom at home, and it might in fact be made of luxurious sheepskin. My feet sink down several inches.

I slip my shoes off as I walk over to the card. It says Miss Eloise Hatcher on the front. Engraved, like a fancy invitation one might get to a wedding. My heart thumps a few times and then I carefully pick it up and take a seat on the couch, pulling my legs up as I flip it over, open the flap, and remove the card.

The whole thing is engraved in fancy type, just like the front of the envelope. “Wow,” I say. “What are you up to, Mac?”

Dear Eloise,

Welcome to me. I want you to know everything, but not all at once. So let’s play a game. Let me take you on a little tour of Mac’s life. Are you up for it? If so, say yes.

McAllister

I let off a little laugh and then look around. “Are you here?” Silence. Well, I’m up for a game of Get-To-Know-Mac, so I say, “Yes,” so loudly it echoes off the walls.

The TV comes to life off to my left and I jump to my feet, startled.

“Hi, Ellie,” Mac on the TV says.

He’s somewhere outside. It’s night and I wonder if this is live or taped from earlier. How much earlier? Not much. He definitely did all this today. He couldn’t possibly have known I’d agree to spend the weekend with him when he went into work this morning. We weren’t even on speaking terms. What kind of power must it take to get an engraved card and envelope like this in half a day’s time? I can’t even imagine.

“I’ve left you a clue in the kitchen,” TV Mac says. “Look around and find it. When you get to the last clue, you’ll find me.” He pauses, his eyes blazing that cerulean blue I have come to love. “If… you’re still interested.”

Jesus Christ. That was a loaded challenge. I shove the card into my back pocket and go looking for the kitchen, because I’m definitely up for it so far. What could he possibly be worried about? He’s practically perfect.

I step off the rug, my feet reluctant to leave the softness, and look around. There is a long hallway running past the staircase. The black marble floor has white marble squares inlaid in it. They kind of look like stepping stones in a sea of black. Like something to be followed.

I follow, passing by the wall of water that trickles down into a shallow standing pool filled with black and white pebbles. Once I get past that the wall becomes an art gallery. Nothing I recognize, all very modern and not to my taste, but I’m sure they are all originals.

Up ahead there’s a glowing rice-paper wall and when I get to the open door, I see it’s a very Japanese-style meditation room. It’s not the kitchen, so I keep walking to the end of the hall and then have to make a choice. Left or right?

To my right is a dining room, so I go that way in the hope that the kitchen is not far off.

How big is this place? I pass by a white marble table with chrome legs and count the chairs. Sixteen. It looks more like a conference room table. A place for a meeting. I bet they have retreats here. And parties.

The next room has a pool table made of blond wood and wheat-colored felt. But I scan past it and see white barstools. Maybe that’s the kitchen? I walk through the pool table room and end up at a bar.

Hmmm. I really didn’t think it would be so hard to find a kitchen. But it has to be close, so I search for a clue. There’s a swinging door, the kind you see in industrial kitchens in restaurants. One that goes both ways.

That has to be it.

I smile and walk over to it, pushing the door open just enough to slip inside.

The kitchen is huge. Like bigger than some restaurants. The cabinets are very shiny and luxuriously lacquered in white. I can see myself in them like a mirror.

“OK,” I whisper to myself. “Fridge.” It’s huge. Actually, it’s two, side by side, that open up like French doors, but are both bigger than any refrigerator I’ve ever seen.

I pull open the first one.

Empty.

Hmmm.