“What?” Lana looked surprised. “To Greece? Why?”
“They won’t be able to run away on Aura. They’ll be trapped. Where better for a conversation? A confrontation?”
Lana thought about this for a second. She nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
“You’ll confront them?”
“Yes.”
“On the island?”
Lana nodded. “Yes.” Then she gave me a sudden, frightened look. “But, Elliot—after I confront them—what then?”
“Well”—I gave her a small smile—“that’s up to you, isn’t it?”
10
The following day, I was in Lana’s kitchen, drinking champagne.
Lana was on the phone to Kate. I was watching closely.
“Will you come? To the island—for Easter?”
I was impressed. Lana was giving a flawless performance, achieved with minimal rehearsal, with no hint of the upset of the night before. She looked and sounded fresh, light, and carefree.
“It’ll be just us. You, me, Jason, Leo. And Agathi, of course … I’m not sure if I’ll ask Elliot—he’s been annoying me lately.”
She winked at me as she said this. I stuck out my tongue at her.
Lana laughed, then returned her attention to Kate. “Well, what do you say?”
We both held our breath.
Lana breathed out and smiled. “Great. Great. Okay. Bye.” She ended the call. “She’s coming.”
“Well done.” I applauded.
Lana took a slight bow. “Thank you.”
I raised my glass. “The curtain rises. And so it begins.”
11
Over the next few days, life continued to hold a theatrical flavor for Lana.
It felt as if she were taking part in an extended improvisation—remaining “in character” from morning until night, pretending to be someone else.
Except the person she was pretending to be was herself.
“Deep breath, shoulders down, big smile”—that was the mantra Otto taught her to recite to herself before an audition. It served Lana well now.
She was acting as if she were still the same person she had been a few days ago. Acting as if she weren’t heartbroken—as if she weren’t desperate, and full of pain.
I often think life is just a performance. None of this is real. It’s a pretense at reality, that’s all. Only when someone, or something, we love dies, do we wake up from the play—and see how artificial it all is—this constructed reality we inhabit.
We suddenly realize that life is in no way lasting, or permanent; no future exists—and nothing we do matters. And in desolation, we howl and scream and rail at the heavens, until, at some point, we do the inevitable: we eat, dress, and brush our teeth. We continue with the marionette-like motions of life, however unhinged it feels to do so. Then, ever so slowly, the illusion takes over again—until we forget that we are actors in a play.
Until the next tragedy strikes—to wake us up.
And having just been woken, Lana felt hyperconscious of how performative all her relationships were—how brittle and false her every smile; and how badly she was acting. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice.
What hurt the most was how easy it was to deceive Jason. She felt sure he’d sense her pain—how something as simple as brushing past him, talking to him, was incredibly difficult for her. Looking into his eyes was terrifying. Surely, all her feelings were right there, in plain sight, for him to see?
But he didn’t see. Has he always been like this? Lana wondered. So uncaring? He must think I’m a fool. He must have no conscience at all.…
Yet—and surely Lana had to acknowledge this possibility—perhaps there was nothing on Jason’s conscience because he was innocent?
I didn’t know this for sure—but I suspected that, as she packed their belongings for the trip to the island, Lana started thinking of those hours at my place as a bad dream. The hysteria, the tears, the vows of vengeance—none of it was real, just vodka-induced psychosis.
This was real, right now, the clothes in her hand, clothes she’d selected and bought for the man she loved. Could Lana feel herself slipping, sliding back—back into ignorance?
Denial is the word I’d use.
Lana must have known this, I thought, which was why she avoided me for the next few days. She ignored my calls and remained monosyllabic in her texts. I understood. Don’t forget, we were so close, Lana and I—I could practically read her mind.
Of course she resented telling me about the affair; telling me made it real. And now, having unloaded all of her suspicion and misery onto me, Lana intended to leave it there, in my apartment.
She wanted to forget all about it.
What a good thing, then, I was there to remind her.
12
From the moment I landed on Aura, I sensed that Lana was avoiding me.
She was friendly, of course, but a certain distance was in her manner. A coolness. Invisible to the others; but I felt it.
I went up to my room and unpacked. I was very fond of that room. It had faded green wallpaper, pine furniture, a four-poster bed. It smelled of old wood, stone, and fresh linen. Over the years, I made it my own, intentionally leaving parts of myself behind—favorite books of mine on the shelves, my aftershave, suntan lotion, swimming goggles and trunks, all waiting faithfully for me.
As I unpacked, I wondered what my next move should be. I decided the best way to deal with the situation was to confront Lana and remind her why we were here. I rehearsed a little speech, designed to bring her out of denial and back to reality.
I tried to talk to her all evening but couldn't get her alone. I felt convinced she was trying to avoid me. I watched her carefully over dinner. I studied her, trying to read her mind.
I marveled it was the same woman who—just three days ago—had been hysterical on my couch. Now she was expertly wielding a knife, not to thrust into her worthless husband’s heart, but to serve him another slice of steak. And with such a convincing smile on her face, so sincere, such a relaxed and happy expression, that even I was almost taken in.
Lana’s capacity for denial was simply breathtaking, I thought. In all likelihood, unless I intervened, she would sail through the entire weekend as if nothing had happened.
Kate, on the other hand, seemed to be doing everything she could to be provocative. She was being even less discreet than usual.
The business with the crystal, for instance.
After dinner, we were sitting outside by the firepit, and Kate leaped up with a sudden request. “Agathi’s crystal. Where is it?”
Lana hesitated. “I’m sure Agathi’s asleep by now. Can it wait?”
“No. It’s incredibly urgent. I’ll sneak in and get it from her room. I won’t wake her.”
“Darling, you won’t find it. It’s probably at the back of a drawer somewhere.”
This was a lie. Lana knew perfectly well that the crystal was never far from Agathi’s person; always on the bedside table next to her as she slept.
“Agathi’s still awake.” Leo nodded at the house. “Her light’s on.”
Kate bounded into the house, a little unsteady on her feet but clearly quite determined. She returned a few minutes later—holding up the crystal triumphantly.
“Got it.”
Kate sat by the firepit, the flames lighting up her face. She dangled the crystal over her left palm. It sparkled in the firelight. Her lips moved as she whispered a silent question.
I guessed what Kate was asking. No doubt some variant of Will he leave her for me? or Should I end it with him?
Unbelievable, isn’t it? Such callousness—flaunting her affair with Jason in Lana’s face like that. How stupid of her to feel so secure, so above suspicion.
Or am I being unfair? Was Kate just too drunk to filter her thoughts—unaware what she was saying, how close she was coming to revealing her secret?
Or was this display for Jason’s benefit—as a veiled threat? A warning to him that she was at the end of her rope? If so, she was wasting her breath. Jason wasn’t affected in the slightest. He seemed more concerned about Leo beating him at backgammon.