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“Yeah. And don’t tell me you haven’t done anything yet or I’ll kill you.”
A small laugh echoes in my ear. He replies, “I’ve been done studying the papers since last Friday, babe.”
I don’t like the little nickname he gives me at all. “I’m not your—”
“I can’t leave my house right now,” he says, cutting me off. “I have something more interesting to do. I’ll see you later.”
Then he hangs up without letting me reply.
“What a jerk,” I sigh.
A sexy jerk, maybe, but a very big jerk nonetheless.
***
I arrive about twenty minutes later on the narrow road leading to the Bomley property.
Do you understand what I’m doing?
Am I in trouble? Yes, I am. Following my own damn instincts, I decided to go straight to Tucker’s house. Sorry to bother him “if he has something more interesting to do” than to give me five minutes of his time.
I sent him a message a few minutes ago, asking him to meet me at least in front of his house so we could exchange notes. But again, no response.
You know what the worst part is? The damn messaging app tells me that he read my words but didn’t deign to reply.
My wheels venture out onto the gravel and tar mix only to come to rest in front of the huge wrought iron gate. It is open, as if someone was waiting for me to come.
I pace and move along the path leading to the main property, through the trees. Memories of my evening here come back to me. The scavenger hunt, the red ribbons…and Tucker ruthlessly slamming me against a tree trunk.
What the hell am I doing here? I should have forced him to meet me at a coffee shop near campus, in a neutral place, instead of entering the devil’s den. I’m going crazy, that’s the only possible explanation.
I snap out of my thoughts when I see the circular driveway and the huge statue in the center, the naked woman looking straight ahead.
I park near the stairs leading to the house. I get out of the car and stand up in front of the Victorian style house with its huge white columns. After climbing the few steps leading up to the heavy wooden door, I glance at my cell phone but see no answer to my texts. Maybe I should have just sent him an e-mail, like a good classmate, right?
Stop thinking, my conscience orders me.
And so I do. I put my hand on the golden knocker and bang it on the door several times. A silence answers me. Finally, the door creaks softly as a head pops through the crack. I recoil at the sight of an elderly man in a black suit. He frowns at the sight of me and quickly analyzes the holey jeans and tank top I’m wearing. He purses his lips, then seems to pull himself together and opens the door a little more.
“Can I help you?” he asks me politely.
“Erm… hello, is Tucker there? I’m Iris, we have a paper to do together and—”
“Did Mr. Bomley invite you here?” he says, as if he doesn’t believe it himself.
Why does it seem impossible? Tucker must have people over regularly. Given all the friends he seems to have, there’s no way he only uses the garden and the chapel for his parties, right?
We stare at each other for a few seconds, each as skeptical as the other. I think back to his words. Was I invited? Erm…not really. I am about to admit it out loud, but the man regains his composure and says, “Forgive my rudeness. I am Abraham, at the service of the Bomleys and their guests.”
Huh…okay? I’m not sure how to react to the little bow he gives me next.
His doubtful look disappears. He seems to think that I am a guest. Except I’m not…Tucker didn’t ask me to come here, and now that I’m here, I understand that I should have stayed on campus and waited for his answer. The man in front of me seems benevolent, but his gestures are forced. I can’t help but analyze his behavior, his methodical, almost automatic gestures. He steps back into the house and leaves the door open for me.
“I’ll tell Mr. Bomley you’re here,” he says.
Then he moves away, leaving me alone on the threshold. I hesitate for a second, glance at the heavy door, at my Chevrolet parked a few feet away, and then step inside, holding my breath. A huge wooden and marble staircase rises before my eyes in the middle of the hall. I see Abraham disappear at the top. The tapestries look old, almost too old. The lights, on the other hand, are modern, in a contemporary style.
A delicate mix between the old and the new.
