A Breathless Place

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

When the bell rings, Harry, who insists on calling himself my house manager, goes to the front door to let in Leila Zadeh. After reading through the materials Ira sent, I decided to meet with her. Because I want to at least have the option of finishing the biography. The clock is ticking. 180 days left.

From the accompanying photos, I gathered Leila Zadeh is a glamor puss, so I dressed to match her. Off-white casual suit. Shiny earrings. Even a hint of lipstick. But when Harry brings Leila into the den, I greet a woman wearing jeans and a loose-fitting blouse.

“Miss Adler.” She beams me a wide smile. “What an honor to meet you.”

Here we go with the deference I used to bask in but have come to despise. Because I now know how little it means. “And you.” I shake her hand. She has a firm grip. Not a hint of nervous sweat on her palm.

“What a lovely home you have.” Leila’s jet-black hair is pulled back in a tight chignon. Her eyes are equally black as coal. Her lips are painted fire-engine red. “And you look absolutely stunning, of course.”

Holy moly. Enough already with the inane flattery. Didn’t Ira brief her? Maybe he did, but maybe she’s decided to disregard him. Who knows, she might even mean what she says. But stunning isn’t a word I’ve associated with myself for a long time. Maybe because stunning people aren’t in the habit of wanting to die.

“Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee? Tea? Something stronger?”

“Whatever you’re having.” She glances at the cocktail glass on the coffee table.

Busted. Not that it isn’t amaretto-sour-o’clock somewhere. I nod at Harry, who hurries off to prepare my guest’s drink.

We sit, and I cast my glance over Leila Zadeh again. From her file, I know she’s fifty-nine, just like me. She slings one leg over the other. She’s all soft curves and her lips seem to be stretched into a perpetual smile. Her skin is the color of molten gold.

“I’m truly thrilled you agreed to meet me. It’s shocking news about Bruce, of course.”

“Do you know him well?” I continue my study of her. The skin around her eyes is creased. Probably because she smiles so much.

“Quite well. We worked together a number of times. I’m, um, well-acquainted with this project as well.”

“Are you?” I quirk up my eyebrows. I’m well aware Leila knows much more about me than I do about her—it seems to always be the case whenever I meet someone new.

“Let’s say I’ve done a very deep dive into all things Isabel Adler in the past few days.” She rests a kind gaze on me. “It’s been fascinating, to say the least.”

Harry knocks discreetly on the door, then walks in with a tray carrying Leila’s cocktail. He offers it to her and as he turns away from her, he shoots me a quick wink.

Maybe I should include Harry in my list of letter receivers as well. He hasn’t worked for me that long, but I have grown very fond of him. He doesn’t behave as though he has a broomstick shoved up his ass like my previous ‘house manager’ did. He doesn’t take himself nor this job too seriously and brings a lightness that, on most days, my house sorely lacks.

“So you’ve read all of Bruce’s notes already?” Leila’s made it sound as though her continuing the project is a done deal already.

“Notes?” she says. “What I’ve received from his editor are not mere notes. It’s a proper first draft. Only the last few chapters are missing.”

Bruce has been holding out on me. Last I spoke to him, he told me things were progressing slowly but surely. Maybe he wanted to finish the last few chapters before he gave me more than that. The last few chapters that span the last horrible decade of my life. I know I haven’t shared enough of my emotions for Bruce to be able to work it all into a cohesive narrative, without him having to invent things about me, or attribute feelings to me I might not have felt.

Bruce has been quite exasperated with me the past few months. I know that much. I was slowly working my way up to sharing with him the most difficult part of my life —and now he’s being replaced.

“I’m a touch confused, Miss Zadeh.” From her background information, I know she’s not married. “I thought you coming here today was more like… an audition.” I’m well aware of how condescending I sound. It’s a test—although it’s also true. “Whereas you’re making it sound as though it’s a given you will be taking over as my biographer.” Who gave her Bruce’s draft, anyway? I’ll have to ask Ira as soon as Leila leaves. Those notes contain very sensitive information about my life.

“Oh,” she says, her perfectly-painted lips forming a circle of surprise. “Well, I’m not really in the habit of auditioning for jobs any longer. I usually get asked.”

Now I can’t help but smile. Leila Zadeh doesn’t back down easily. At least I like that about her.

“I studied your résumé,” I say. “Impressive.” I fix her with a stare—I try to keep it cool even though I am rather amused by her. “Although it hasn’t exactly made me feel as though you and I are on equal footing. You know everything I told Bruce about myself, whereas I only know about your many professional achievements.”

She takes a sip from the cocktail, places the glass down carefully, then opens her palms. “Consider me an open book, Miss Adler. I’ll share whatever it is you want to know.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t even know Bruce rode horses. For some reason, I feel so guilty about that.” I take a quick sip from my drink as well. “I never asked him anything about himself. He just isn’t the kind of person that invites that sort of inquisitiveness.” Nice one, Izzy. If this is my way of saying I wasn’t the least bit interested in Bruce’s personal life, I must be succeeding.

Leila nods as though she understands what I’m trying to say. “His style is to disappear into the background. From what I’ve read, it appears to have worked.”

I chuckle. These damn journalists. They’ll play you until you’ve spilled your dirtiest, most hidden little secret. “What’s your style?”

“I’m more… prominent.” Her lips lift into a smile. “More present.” With attention-drawing lipstick like that, I bet she is.

“If you were to get the job.” I can’t help myself. It’s as though I need to be patronizing with her. I don’t know why. “How would you proceed?”

Her widening smile is bracketed by small creases in her skin. “I would start by trying to fill in the missing pieces.” She stares me straight in the face. “I would need to ask you about losing your voice.”

Bam. Leila Zadeh doesn’t mince words. She’s the opposite of Bruce. I nod, then drink again. I can drink as much as I like now. It’s not as though I still have a singing voice to look after. Neither will I need my liver to perform optimally so my body thrives for decades to come.

“After we’ve gotten to know each other better, of course.” She slants her head. “In fact, I might start by inviting you to dinner at my house so we can establish a more intimate rapport. This is a huge project, and finishing it is not a job I underestimate just because I was brought in this late in the day.” She narrows her eyes. “That will also give you the chance to subject me to some in-depth questioning of your own.”

Dinner at her house? What is she talking about? I’m not looking for a friend here. Before this meeting started, I was only moderately interested in having my biography finished. “That’s really not necessary, Miss Zadeh.”

“Please, call me Leila.” Her voice has dropped into a super smooth register. “And I wish you would take me up on my offer. Take some time to think it over, of course. But my gut tells me we can be a good match to bring this project to a satisfactory close.” As she hesitates, the tip of her tongue flicks across her bottom lip. She reaches for her drink. “And do bring the recipe to this with you.” She expels a brief sigh. “Simply delicious.”

Entirely unlike Bruce, Leila’s modus operandi is gutsy charm. I can’t say I’m unmoved by it. On the contrary. Her deference when she just arrived was just a ploy, or maybe a habit, or maybe even something she had to force herself to act until she got the lay of the land. What does she think of me right now? I already have more questions than I had before I started talking to her.

“I’ll let you know. I need to talk to my manager.”

She shifts her weight, uncrosses her legs, then recrosses them in the other direction. “Look, Miss Adler—”

“Isabel. Please.”

“Isabel.” Her gaze on me is so dark, it’s a little unsettling. “I know a thing or two about loss. I think I can give a voice to your pain.”

Her straightforwardness makes me glad I’m sitting down. I’m not used to someone speaking to me like this. Only Vivian and Ira would ever address me in this forward manner, and I’ve known both of them for decades. Leila just walked in the door.

“We’ll see.” My hackles are all the way up. I haven’t decided to work with her. I don’t have to show her how I feel just yet. Although the thought of opening up to a woman like Leila isn’t unappealing.

“Will you let me know about dinner?” She pushes herself out of the chair Bruce spent hours in. “Call. Text. Email. Whatever suits you best.”

Because I’m still sitting down, she gazes at me from above. When I rise to my full length, I’m a few inches taller than her. I’ve always been the tallest woman in any room. She offers her hand and I shake it. There’s still no trace of nerves on her bone-dry palm.