“Why? It’s not important,” she replied, blowing her nose with a paper napkin.
“It’s extremely important, Irina. Last night when I tried to take your hand you almost hit me. You were right, of course, I was behaving like a pig. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise. You know I’ve loved you for three years. What are you waiting for to love me in return? Watch out, because I can always find another girl from Moldova, there are hundreds of them willing to marry in order to get an American visa.”
“Good idea, Seth.”
“Seriously, you’d be happy with me, Irina. I’m a good guy, totally harmless.”
“No American lawyer on a motorbike is harmless, Seth. But I admit you’re a fantastic person.”
“So you accept then?”
“I can’t. If you knew my reasons, you’d be off like a shot.”
“Let me guess: trafficking endangered species of exotic animals? I don’t care. Come and see my apartment, then decide.”
The apartment, in a modern building in the Embarcadero district, with a doorman and beveled mirrors in the elevators, was so spotless it appeared unlived in. There was no furniture in this desert of picture windows and dark parquet floors apart from a spinach-colored sofa, a giant TV screen, and a glass table covered with neatly stacked magazines and books. No carpets, pictures, ornaments, or plants. The kitchen was dominated by a large black granite island and a shiny collection of unused copper pots and pans hanging from hooks in the ceiling. Out of curiosity, Irina glanced in the fridge, and saw orange juice, white wine, and skim milk.
“Don’t you ever eat anything solid, Seth?”
“Yes, at my parents’ place or in restaurants. As my mother says, I need the female touch here. Can you cook, Irina?”
“Potatoes and cabbage.”
The bedroom Seth claimed was waiting for her was as aseptic and masculine as the rest of the apartment. The only furniture was a wide bed with a raw linen bedspread and cushions in three shades of brown that did nothing to lighten the atmosphere, along with a bedside table and a metal chair. On the sand-colored wall hung one of the black-and-white photographs of Alma that Nathaniel had taken, but unlike the others, which to Irina had seemed so revealing, this one showed her in profile, asleep in a dreamy atmosphere. This was the only decoration Irina had seen in Seth’s desert.
“How long have you lived here?” she asked.
“Five years. Do you like it?”
“The view is impressive.”
“But you think the apartment looks bare,” Seth concluded. “Well, if you want to make changes, we’ll have to agree on the details. No fringes or pastel colors, they don’t suit me, but I’m willing to make some concessions as far as the décor goes. Not right now, but in the future, when you beg me to marry you.”
“Thanks, but for the moment just take me to the subway, I have to get back to my room. I think I’ve got the flu, my whole body aches.”
“No way. We’re going to order Chinese food, watch a film, and wait for Dr. Kallet to phone. I’ll give you aspirin and tea; they help with a cold. I’m sorry I haven’t got any chicken soup, it’s an infallible remedy.”