The Last Don - Mario Puzo [140]
His first reaction was one of anger, that she could think she could just buy him off. That she was acting a part, using her skill as a woman the same way a man would use physical force. But what really bothered him was that he could hear a faint bit of mockery in her voice. Mockery of his gallantry, and turning his true love into a simple screw. As if she was telling him that his love for her was as fake as her love for him.
He said to her coolly, “I had a long talk with Boz, trying to make a deal. He said he used to fuck you five times a day when you were married.”
He was pleased that she seemed startled. She said, “I wasn’t counting, but it was a lot. I was eighteen and I really loved him. Isn’t it funny that now I wanted him dead?” She frowned a moment and said, casually, “What else did you talk about?”
Cross looked at her grimly. “Boz told me the terrible secret you had between you. He claims you confessed that when you ran away, you buried your baby in the desert.”
Athena’s face became a mask, her green eyes went dull. For the first time that night, Cross felt she could not possibly be acting. Her face had a pallor no actress could achieve. She whispered to him, “Do you really believe I murdered my baby?”
“Boz said that’s what you told him,” Cross said.
“I did tell him that,” Athena said. “Now, I’m asking you again. Do you believe I murdered my baby?”
There is nothing so terrible as to condemn a beautiful woman. Cross knew that if he answered truthfully, he would lose her forever. Suddenly he put his arms around her very gently. “You’re too beautiful. Nobody as beautiful as you could do that.” The eternal worship of men for beauty against all evidence. “No,” he said. “I don’t believe you did.”
She stepped away from him. “Even though I’m responsible for Boz?”
“You’re not responsible,” Cross said. “He killed himself.”
Athena was gazing at him intently. He took her hands. “Do you believe I killed Boz?” he asked.
And then Athena smiled, an actress who finally realized how to play a scene. “No more than you believe I killed my baby.”
They smiled, they had declared each other innocent. She took his hand and said, “Now, I’m cooking dinner for you and then we’re going to bed.” She led him into the kitchen.
How many times had she played this scene, Cross thought jealously. The beautiful Queen performing housewifely duties like an ordinary woman. He watched her cook. She wore no protective clothing and she was extraordinarily professional. She spoke to him as she chopped vegetables, prepared a skillet, and set the table. She gave him a bottle of wine to open, holding his hand and brushing against his body. She saw him looking with admiration when the table was laden after just a half hour.
She said, “I played a woman chef in one of my first roles, so I went to school to get everything right. And one critic wrote, ‘When Athena Aquitane acts as well as she cooks, she will be a star.’ ”
They ate in the alcove of the kitchen so they could look at the rolling ocean. The food was delicious, little squares of beef covered with vegetables and then a salad of bitter greens. There was a platter of cheeses and warm short loaves of bread, plump as pigeons. Then there was espresso with a small, light lemon tart.
“You should have been a cook,” Cross said, “My cousin Vincent would hire you for his restaurants any day.”
“Oh, I could have been anything,” Athena said with mock boastfulness.
All through dinner she had touched him casually in a way that was sexual, as if she were searching for some spirit in his flesh. Cross with every touch yearned to feel her body on his. By the end of the meal, he no longer could taste what he was eating. Finally they were done and Athena took him by the hand and led him out of the kitchen and up the two flights of stairs to her bedroom. She did it gracefully, almost shyly, almost blushing, as if she were an eager virginal bride. Cross marveled at her acting ability.
The large bedroom was at the very top of the house and had a small balcony that looked out over