Page 100 of Suite 7

I stop.

“Because it sounds like a feeling in a coat,” she says. Not unkind. Just precise. “What do you actually know about how he’s been?”

I reach for my wine.

“It’s a feeling,” I say. “You’re probably right.”

She looks at me for a moment. Then: “I’m inviting Claire to the gala.” Settled. “That’s all. One evening. If nothing happens, nothing happens.” She opens the cannoli box and hands me one. “And I’d like you there. So I have someone to debrief with.”

“He’s going to know what you’re doing.”

“He’s going to suspect what I’m doing. There’s a difference.” She takes a bite. “You’re coming.”

Not a question.

“I’m coming,” I say.

She smiles and starts telling me about the venue, the guest list, the logistics, and I nod in the right places and eat my cannoli and think about a man picking me up tomorrow at seven.

I sit with her until ten, the way we always do, and when I leave she hugs me at the door with her usual warmth.

“Text when you’re home,” she says.

I text when I’m home.

My phone buzzes at eleven twelve.

Gerald: Still up?

Me: Still up.

Gerald: Good day?

Me: Not bad. Yours?

Gerald: Good. Hard to concentrate though.

Me: Why?

Gerald: Keep thinking about tomorrow.

Something loosens in my chest and pulls tight at the same time.

Me: Me too.

Gerald: Get some rest, Vera.

Me: Yes, Sir.

I stare at that for a moment. He said nothing that warranted it. And I sent it anyway.

I set the phone down and go to bed.

20 Vera

I stand in front of my closet in my underwear, staring at the same five dresses. Twenty minutes of this.

The black one? Too much like armor. Too I’m ready for battle.