Read Online White Apples by Jonathan Carroll - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonathan Carroll
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or can we wait a little while? I'm still kind of dopey from the flight and I really do want to get something more to eat. Preferably sweet, if you don't mind."
"A hot fudge sundae?"
She squeezed his hand. "Maybe two."
Ettrich reached for the ignition key and, sighing contentedly, turned it. Isabelle was here. She was sitting two feet away from him and now they were going to eat ice cream. How could life be any better?
"I heard that."
He looked at her. "Heard what?"
"Your sigh. Was it a happy one or a sad one?"
Before he had a chance to answer, she asked another question which changed the color of the rest of his life. "Vincent, what's it like to be dead?"
They were followed. If Ettrich had been paying any attention, he would have seen a perfectly restored 1969 Austin-Healey 3000 Mark III convertible in the rearview mirror when he drove out of the parking lot and onto the
highway. It remained three car lengths behind them the whole trip to the restaurant. What's more, the vintage machine was fitted with a muffler that made it sound as loud as a racing car. Plainly this Healey was never intended for surveil•lance assignments, but the woman driving didn't care. Now that Vincent Ettrich was aware of his situation to a certain degree, Coco Hallis was going to do things her way.
He did not know that she owned the car. Plus she had parked far enough away from him in the airport lot so that he probably wouldn't notice. Even if he had it wouldn't have been a problem. Let him see her—sooner or later he would have to know she was to remain very much a presence in his life for some time.
While waiting for them to come out of the airline terminal, she amused herself by thinking of ways she might introduce herself to Vincent's glorious girlfriend. "Hello I'm Coco, the woman he's been sleeping with while you were avoiding him." Then she could add in her most fawning voice, "Vincent's told me so much about you." Which was a lie because Ettrich almost never mentioned Isabelle to Coco. In general he was happy to talk about anything and anyone, but that woman was strictly off limits. Coco had repeatedly tried to worm details about Isabelle out of him but to no avail.
She lit a cigarette and realized halfway through smoking it that she was more than a little jealous of Isabelle Neukor.
Wasn't that funny? She wanted to laugh but couldn't because there is little laugh•ter in a jealous heart.
And then suddenly there they were. Coco sat up straight in her seat and flicked the cigarette out the window. It cartwheeled across the night and hit the ground in a bounce of orange sparks. She recognized their body language before she knew it was them. Lovers ahoy!
Ettrich was pulling a large suitcase that wobbled on its wheels. A thin blonde walking two steps behind him had her arms wrapped tightly across her chest as if she were very cold on this balmy fall night. The two of them kept bumping into each other like they couldn't get enough contact. And Isabelle kept reaching out to touch Ettrich—his arm, his hand, the back of his head.
Coco put on her large horn-rimmed glasses for a better look at Ms. Isabelle Neukor. Was she beautiful? Vincent sure thought so, but it was hard to tell in that humid chemical light. She was tallish and had very animated features. When they weren't locked under her armpits, her hands danced around like an orchestra conductor's whenever she spoke. A great open smile came often to Isabelle's face that would have delighted anyone. Blond hair fell to her shoul•ders but Coco couldn't tell if it was real blond because the light over the parking lot distorted everything.
Yes, okay, Isabelle was beautiful but not annoyingly so. Hers wasn't the kind of face which, on entering a room, drew men's looks like a vacuum cleaner and left every other woman feeling diminished.
Sorrow. That was it—there was a great deal of sorrow in Isa•belle's face that both diminished her beauty yet gave her a distinctive
"A hot fudge sundae?"
She squeezed his hand. "Maybe two."
Ettrich reached for the ignition key and, sighing contentedly, turned it. Isabelle was here. She was sitting two feet away from him and now they were going to eat ice cream. How could life be any better?
"I heard that."
He looked at her. "Heard what?"
"Your sigh. Was it a happy one or a sad one?"
Before he had a chance to answer, she asked another question which changed the color of the rest of his life. "Vincent, what's it like to be dead?"
They were followed. If Ettrich had been paying any attention, he would have seen a perfectly restored 1969 Austin-Healey 3000 Mark III convertible in the rearview mirror when he drove out of the parking lot and onto the
highway. It remained three car lengths behind them the whole trip to the restaurant. What's more, the vintage machine was fitted with a muffler that made it sound as loud as a racing car. Plainly this Healey was never intended for surveil•lance assignments, but the woman driving didn't care. Now that Vincent Ettrich was aware of his situation to a certain degree, Coco Hallis was going to do things her way.
He did not know that she owned the car. Plus she had parked far enough away from him in the airport lot so that he probably wouldn't notice. Even if he had it wouldn't have been a problem. Let him see her—sooner or later he would have to know she was to remain very much a presence in his life for some time.
While waiting for them to come out of the airline terminal, she amused herself by thinking of ways she might introduce herself to Vincent's glorious girlfriend. "Hello I'm Coco, the woman he's been sleeping with while you were avoiding him." Then she could add in her most fawning voice, "Vincent's told me so much about you." Which was a lie because Ettrich almost never mentioned Isabelle to Coco. In general he was happy to talk about anything and anyone, but that woman was strictly off limits. Coco had repeatedly tried to worm details about Isabelle out of him but to no avail.
She lit a cigarette and realized halfway through smoking it that she was more than a little jealous of Isabelle Neukor.
Wasn't that funny? She wanted to laugh but couldn't because there is little laugh•ter in a jealous heart.
And then suddenly there they were. Coco sat up straight in her seat and flicked the cigarette out the window. It cartwheeled across the night and hit the ground in a bounce of orange sparks. She recognized their body language before she knew it was them. Lovers ahoy!
Ettrich was pulling a large suitcase that wobbled on its wheels. A thin blonde walking two steps behind him had her arms wrapped tightly across her chest as if she were very cold on this balmy fall night. The two of them kept bumping into each other like they couldn't get enough contact. And Isabelle kept reaching out to touch Ettrich—his arm, his hand, the back of his head.
Coco put on her large horn-rimmed glasses for a better look at Ms. Isabelle Neukor. Was she beautiful? Vincent sure thought so, but it was hard to tell in that humid chemical light. She was tallish and had very animated features. When they weren't locked under her armpits, her hands danced around like an orchestra conductor's whenever she spoke. A great open smile came often to Isabelle's face that would have delighted anyone. Blond hair fell to her shoul•ders but Coco couldn't tell if it was real blond because the light over the parking lot distorted everything.
Yes, okay, Isabelle was beautiful but not annoyingly so. Hers wasn't the kind of face which, on entering a room, drew men's looks like a vacuum cleaner and left every other woman feeling diminished.
Sorrow. That was it—there was a great deal of sorrow in Isa•belle's face that both diminished her beauty yet gave her a distinctive
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