Read Online Love Is Strange (A Paranormal Romance) by Bruce Sterling - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Bruce Sterling
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purse.
“I’ll call him right now.”
When Farfalla found her way back to the dining room, Gavin and Professor Milo had vanished. Evaporated, gone like Capri’s morning fog. Without a trace, as though they had never existed.
Farfalla searched for Gavin Tremaine with growing distress. Had Gavin fled the hotel? Was it something she’d done, something she’d said to him? She was known to say some dreadful, ugly things, without intention. Had she scared him away, done something too weird? She missed him already. Capri had been an ordeal for her, and then he was there, and Capri had seemed much better. For a brief time, Capri had been fun, pleasurable. Now, Capri was her ordeal once more, even worse than before.
Had Gavin Tremaine ever existed at all? Was Gavin a phantom, a psychic projection of something she secretly wanted? Something that she would never have? Had she imagined him? Could a man like Gavin Tremaine exist in real life? Handsome, polite, foreign, rich and very, very interested in her? And not in any fake, sleazy way. He listened to what she said. He really wanted to hear her. He seemed to understand. Nobody ever did that.
She spotted Gavin in the grand hotel lobby, his phone to his ear.
Gavin Tremaine seemed to wander when he used his mobile. He careened around the hotel lobby like a sleepwalker.
Gavin took notice of her and slipped his phone into his pocket. Then, he walked over to her.
“So,” he told her, rocking back and forth on his heels, “that was this head honcho of the Congress staff. Signora Babi Gervasi seems to value your services pretty highly.”
Farfalla blinked. “Yes?”
“Signora Gervasi just gave me a talking-to about running off with her translation staffer in the middle of her conference. I was going to invite you to Anacapri, to look for the professor’s museum, because that sounded like fun. I’m not supposed to do that, though.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. Where is the professor?”
“The old lady went up to her bedroom to fetch her walking shoes. That was some time ago. I don’t know what’s keeping her.”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Farfalla, though she had her suspicions. “So, do we go to the Congress now? I hate to disappoint Professor Milo, after what you said to her. She’s a guest, and doesn’t speak Italian, or even have a computer. She’s not like us, she’s helpless.”
Gavin caught her eye. “Look, tell me something. Do you really know the Culture Minister of Brazil? You know him personally?”
“ Eu sei falar Português. 8 Yes, I know him. I worked as his translator. Three times.” Farfalla knew that she should shut her mouth at that point, but she couldn’t do that. She looked up into his trusting, open face. “I can’t tell you that I ‘know’ the Minister. He probably doesn’t remember me.”
“Oh,” grinned Gavin Tremaine, “if you were his translator, I’m sure he remembers . I thought that maybe your boss was handing me a line there... but if you do know this Brazilian honcho, that changes things.”
“What does it change?”
“Well, look, it’s like this. Signora Gervasi just told me, very politely, that if I need your services, then I have to hire you. Because she knows that’s not possible. There’s no way that I can legally hire an Italian, because it takes two months to get through all the Italian paperwork. See, that was her nice Italian way of telling me to buzz off.”
“Do Italians do things like that, Gavin?” It was the first time she had called him “Gavin.” His name tumbled off her lips, as if she’d been saying his name for years. She could almost taste his name. It has a strong American taste, like hot dog mustard.
“Italians pull that stuff constantly! They use their complicated legal system as a trade barrier... It’s impossible to get through, it’s worse than airport security! So I can’t hire you right now — but get this. I can hire you three months ago.”
“How do you do that
“I’ll call him right now.”
When Farfalla found her way back to the dining room, Gavin and Professor Milo had vanished. Evaporated, gone like Capri’s morning fog. Without a trace, as though they had never existed.
Farfalla searched for Gavin Tremaine with growing distress. Had Gavin fled the hotel? Was it something she’d done, something she’d said to him? She was known to say some dreadful, ugly things, without intention. Had she scared him away, done something too weird? She missed him already. Capri had been an ordeal for her, and then he was there, and Capri had seemed much better. For a brief time, Capri had been fun, pleasurable. Now, Capri was her ordeal once more, even worse than before.
Had Gavin Tremaine ever existed at all? Was Gavin a phantom, a psychic projection of something she secretly wanted? Something that she would never have? Had she imagined him? Could a man like Gavin Tremaine exist in real life? Handsome, polite, foreign, rich and very, very interested in her? And not in any fake, sleazy way. He listened to what she said. He really wanted to hear her. He seemed to understand. Nobody ever did that.
She spotted Gavin in the grand hotel lobby, his phone to his ear.
Gavin Tremaine seemed to wander when he used his mobile. He careened around the hotel lobby like a sleepwalker.
Gavin took notice of her and slipped his phone into his pocket. Then, he walked over to her.
“So,” he told her, rocking back and forth on his heels, “that was this head honcho of the Congress staff. Signora Babi Gervasi seems to value your services pretty highly.”
Farfalla blinked. “Yes?”
“Signora Gervasi just gave me a talking-to about running off with her translation staffer in the middle of her conference. I was going to invite you to Anacapri, to look for the professor’s museum, because that sounded like fun. I’m not supposed to do that, though.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. Where is the professor?”
“The old lady went up to her bedroom to fetch her walking shoes. That was some time ago. I don’t know what’s keeping her.”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Farfalla, though she had her suspicions. “So, do we go to the Congress now? I hate to disappoint Professor Milo, after what you said to her. She’s a guest, and doesn’t speak Italian, or even have a computer. She’s not like us, she’s helpless.”
Gavin caught her eye. “Look, tell me something. Do you really know the Culture Minister of Brazil? You know him personally?”
“ Eu sei falar Português. 8 Yes, I know him. I worked as his translator. Three times.” Farfalla knew that she should shut her mouth at that point, but she couldn’t do that. She looked up into his trusting, open face. “I can’t tell you that I ‘know’ the Minister. He probably doesn’t remember me.”
“Oh,” grinned Gavin Tremaine, “if you were his translator, I’m sure he remembers . I thought that maybe your boss was handing me a line there... but if you do know this Brazilian honcho, that changes things.”
“What does it change?”
“Well, look, it’s like this. Signora Gervasi just told me, very politely, that if I need your services, then I have to hire you. Because she knows that’s not possible. There’s no way that I can legally hire an Italian, because it takes two months to get through all the Italian paperwork. See, that was her nice Italian way of telling me to buzz off.”
“Do Italians do things like that, Gavin?” It was the first time she had called him “Gavin.” His name tumbled off her lips, as if she’d been saying his name for years. She could almost taste his name. It has a strong American taste, like hot dog mustard.
“Italians pull that stuff constantly! They use their complicated legal system as a trade barrier... It’s impossible to get through, it’s worse than airport security! So I can’t hire you right now — but get this. I can hire you three months ago.”
“How do you do that
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