Manhattan. Day VIII
‘¿Do you remember now, John?’ Lorraine asked.
‘I remember your brown eyes, Lorraine. I remember you now, the student of nothing, François’ girlfriend. We had a deal… and you broke it.’
‘I didn’t, John. You forced me to do it. Don’t you remember?’
Gregory’s home. NY. About 15 years ago
You could hear the shouts in the whole house. Grigory was known by a man who never lost his manners. He couldn’t do in this occasion.
‘The little boy,’ one servant said in the adjoining room, ‘the little boy is getting crazy. He wants to leave the University.’
‘The Man wanted him in the company, to continue his work.’
‘But he doesn’t want.’
‘It doesn’t matter! Those rich children! He can inherit it and he didn’t want it! What and ash…!’
At last, The Man went out, running and blaspheming as nobody in the house would ever hear again.
‘He finally did.’ The servant completed.
Manhattan. Day VIII
‘He faced with it and he won.’ I said. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘And you were damned for it.’ Lorraine said.
After that, there was a silence for half an hour. Lorraine spent the time looking at the lonely window, just waiting for the end.
‘You know… Someday, she came excited to Alex apartment. I cannot do it, Alex, she shouted. Should I do it? Might I live the rest of my life with the crime? Alex was writing about her and he looked up from his papers. What are you talking about, Lorraine? He said. Yes, you know… she was extremely nervous… I talked tens of times with François about the babe. No, he doesn’t want him… In that moment, he knew exactly what the girl wanted, but he kept on silent. If we were together, everything would be different, don’t you think so? Alex waited for ten seconds, ten theatrical seconds looking at Lorraine’s face. He studied her movements and her face, her lips and her tangled hair. In that moment, he composed the character and she began to cry. Can you help me, Alex? Please… we can be together… You would be a good father, a much better father than François. Please, Alex, help me! He continued looking at her, scrutinizing every pore of her skin, every movement of her brown brilliant eyes… keeping in silent, keeping cruel. She finally stopped crying and she left. He just went back to work.
**Fake Game, serial novel by Martin Cid http://yareah.com/?cat=293