Page 42 of Something Like Hail
The expenses continued. Marcello wanted Noahto meet him at the studio, which wasn’t convenient for walking. Hecould leave early and sweat in the heat, using a bus to get him asnear as possible like last time. Or he could splurge on a taxi andshow up in pristine condition. Noah debated this while in hisprivate room at Jerusalem. He had paid the next week’s rent,figuring he had enough to handle without losing his one semblanceof a home. This made it even harder to justify spending moremoney.
He nibbled on a thumbnail whiledeliberating. Then he noticed a letter on the small table, the oneRyan had sent. Tim might be at the studio. Noah wasn’t sure howlikely that would be, but it was possible. He grabbed the letterand shoved it into his back pocket. Then he used his phone to goonline and request a taxi. If this was his last hurrah, then hemight as well go out in style. If it really was just a date, thenhe would probably make his money back by the end of theevening.
Half an hour later he was standing outsideStudio Maltese. Back to where it had all begun. So much had changedsince then. Noah had been half-starved and possibly delirious fromtoo much sun when he had run through the building in a desperatebid for help. And he had gotten it, but not while being completelyhonest. Still, he had worked hard without complaint. Wasn’t thatworth anything? He went inside to find out.
Dave the security guard met him in thehallway. The man took one look at him and tensed. “You aren’t goingto give me any trouble today, are you?”
Noah laughed. “Nope. I’m here to seeMarcello, and this time he’s actually expecting me.”
He leaned against a wall while Dave made acall. When told to wait there, Noah did. Sort of. Dave went backinto his office, leaving him free to poke his head inside thenearest room. Noah discovered a photo studio, the men standing nearcamera equipment briefly turning to consider him, but none of themhad the legendary good looks of Tim Wyman. Ryan had showed him aphoto once, and while Noah was sketchy on the details, he didremember feeling envious and insecure. None of the guys here madehim feel that way. Maybe one of the other rooms? He crossed thehall to another door which led to a breakroom. Empty.
“Are you searching for me?”a voice trilled. “How flattering. I do love an open display ofenthusiasm.”
Noah spun around. Marcello filled thedoorway, blocking any potential exit. He tried to remind himselfthat this was his date, not an adversary. Forcing himself to relax,he smiled. “When the famous Marcello Maltese asks you on a date,you don’t want to leave anything to chance.”
“Meaning?”
“You could have realizedthat I’m beneath you and found someone better-looking to take youout.”
Marcello didn’t seem bowled over by thisattempt at flattery. “You’re not beneath me,” he said. “Not yet,anyway. Shall we go?”
“Okay.”
Noah followed his boss outside to where acar was waiting. He was too jittery to notice what kind, but theback was spacious. The front included its own driver. That wassomething. He slid into the back seat next to Marcello, wishing hecould enjoy this luxury, but dread still tainted everything. As thevehicle pulled out of the parking lot, he braced himself fordifficult questions. Marcello remained silent. Noah had only metthe man once before, but during the encounter, Marcello had kept afirm grip on the conversation, steering it where he wanted it togo.
Maybe this was a test. Noah had worried thatthis date was an opportunity for Marcello to confront him about hispast, but maybe this was more like an employee evaluation. Noah hadbeen on a few dates, and then Marcello had cut him off until hecould assess if Noah was a good fit for the job or not. Time tomake small talk and prove himself!
“Where are wegoing?”seemed too simple and boring, soinstead he asked “What’s a guy like you do for fun?”
“If you’re asking what I’minto,” Marcello said, “the answer is yes.”
Noah grinned. “I didn’t mean sexually.”
“Nor did I. You’ll findthere is very little in this world that doesn’t interest me.”Marcello’s smile was warm, but something about his tone was hard.Unforgiving.
“Where are we going?” Noahasked, deciding that simple and boring was fine afterall.
“It’s a surprise,” Marcellosaid. “Even I’m not sure where we’ll end up. We might be therealready.” He looked out the window at an intersection dominated byfast food chains and pharmacies. “No. No, this won’t do at all.Drive on!”
Was he being funny? Should Noah laugh? Ugh!He needed to get into the zone. If this was a test, he was failingfast. “I’m flattered that you want to spend time with me. The bigboss man! I mean… wow.”
“You needed work,” Marcellosaid with a shrug. “Enough that you complained to poor Harold,apparently.”
“I didn’t!” Noah said. Thenhe reconsidered. “Okay, I did, but not because I thought he wouldtalk to you about it. I swear.”
“I don’t mind. I’ve alwaystaken great pleasure in stimulating the economy.”
“But I didn’t—” Noah wasgetting worked up, while Marcello sat there in his perfectlytailored gray suit—vest and all—without so much as a bead of sweaton his forehead. Noah decided to abandon any pretense of beingcharming or debonair and just be himself. “I don’t need a pitydate, if that’s what this is.”
“I assure you it isn’t,”Marcello said. “In fact, I am devoid of pity. I find it rarelyserves me well, either elevating me to arrogance or making me avictim of my own assumptions.”
Was that a reference to him giving Noah achance? Did he regret it? “I appreciate the work you’ve given me,”he said. “I’m still trying to find my feet, but it’s already beenvery helpful. I hope Chester and the others are satisfied with myperformance. If you’re trying to find out how good I am on a date,just know that you make me nervous as hell, but that I’m usuallybetter than this. I feel confident that I make my clients happy. Ijust don’t know if I can do the same for you.”
Marcello was quiet for a few blocks. Whenthey drove down a ramp and merged onto the highway, he sighed.“Nothing quite so disarming as the truth. Let’s make that a themeof the night, shall we?”
Noah didn’t answer. Some truths were toodangerous. Marcello was aware of that. He had promised to find outNoah’s secret. If only Noah had invented a story in the interim, afake secret to replace the real one—a reason why he had known aboutMarcello, his business, and his friends. Who wouldn’t find thatthreatening? It was a miracle that Noah had made it this far, butperhaps it wasn’t too late. There had to be another feasibleexplanation. Anything besides a psychotic boyfriend who had put abullet in one of Marcello’s closest companions.
“Ah! Here weare!”