RED 2: A Trick of Mirrors [#Wattys2017]

28. The Ocean Ignored

Marisa needed to wait since she had no appointment, and without them realizing time rolled by in between hairdos, manicures and Zoe's account of her adventures with Jean-Philippe's band. It was already dark when the two said their goodbyes, arranging to get together later at the ball.

As Marisa returned to the cabin, she passed by the convenience store and noticed a flower cart at the entrance. Amid roses and multicolored arrangements, a yellow bouquet stood out. She recognized the flower Marco had given to Eliana and examined the label on the bunch. It was called yellow elder, the national symbol of the Bahamas. It wasn't that rare after all, thought Marisa, returning the bouquet to the cart.

Marco was reading on the balcony when she arrived, his torso erect like a rugged rock. Small gestures narrated his state of mind: the way he inquired, without turning his head, where she had been; the irritation when closing the book; the infinitesimal precision as he left it on the table, in an effort to curb an inner explosion from the outside.

Marisa neared him. She glanced at the cover of 59 Seconds on the table.

"I was at the beauty parlor with Zoe."

"You should have told me you'd be away for several hours. After all..." Marco leaped from the chair, unable to hold back his shock. "What have you done to your hair?"

"Do you like it?"

He ran his fingers through the soft locks with an undecided air. Finally, he conceded: "I preferred it long, but this style isn't bad."

It was a neck-length cut in layers with highlighted copper strands here and there. Marco took his time stroking her hair, almost against his will. His expression—the pitch-dark eyes, the stony brow arches, the severe mouth—softened for a second. Then he moved away.

"I'm starving. Let's have dinner. Eliana and Robert will swing by at nine. We want to watch the show in the atrium before the ball."

Of course, Eliana and Robert, Robert and Eliana. With a sigh, Marisa picked up her purse where she had kept the letter, determined to deliver it at dinner. They went to a Japanese restaurant whose beautiful décor with bells of bronze and lanterns of dream was overlooked by Marco as he concentrated on eating with gusto. Gusto or anger, Marisa couldn't tell. She opted to wait a little longer to give him the letter, which at that point weighted like a lead bar on the bottom of her purse.

Marisa's anxiety grew by the minute and she forced herself to swallow the food. Marco tended to be impatient when hungry. After he finished eating, he would relax—nice sashimi, strong sake—and be more accessible. His mood, however, didn't improve once he had devoured the last morsel and drank the last sip. Instead, Marco called the waiter for the check with a brusque motion, contrary to his usual manners. The waiter nodded his acknowledgement and stopped by another table. Marco became irritated.

"Take it easy, it's no big deal," Marisa said. "We can let Robert and Eliana know we'll be a few minutes late. I want to—"

He barely listened to her and waved again at the waiter, who rushed to bring the check. Marco signed it and rose to his feet. He paused by the chair.

"Did you want anything else?"

She grabbed her purse and vacillated.

"No. It's not important."

The two then proceeded to get ready for the ball. While Marco jumped in the shower, Marisa sneaked the letter into the pocket of his costume. Fate would decide the right time for him to find it.

Marisa finished her make-up and tied a red bow on her hair. As she opened the bathroom door, she stilled. Marco, with his back to her, held a silk scarf while trying to adjust the collar of his shirt underneath a black frock coat. He wore black pants tucked into boots and a vest over the white lace-cuffed shirt, which gave a fine finishing to the coat made of a light, structured fabric.

She covered the distance between them and fixed the silk scarf around Marco's neck. Tiptoeing, she slid her fingers along his narrow sideburn and kissed his lips. She took her time enjoying their smoothness, inhaling the fresh fragrance of the cologne he had just applied.

"The costume is perfect on you."

"I'll probably melt inside these clothes. Hurry up, Robert and Eliana should be here in ten minutes."

His dryness hurt her. Turning away, Marisa opened the closet and slipped into a long dress with a golden skirt and a blue corset with red ribbons. She didn't ask him for help to tighten the corset. When choosing her shoes, Marisa grasped the sandals Robert had gifted to her and deliberately took her time to put them on. Marco now watched her, focusing on her red lips, trailing his gaze to the low neckline and the skirt of the dress. When he reached the sandals, he averted his face.

"I left something for you in the pocket of your coat," Marisa said before disappearing into the bathroom for a last touch-up in her hair.

Marco didn't reply. There was a knock on the door and, within moments, he exclaimed:

"You look astounding, Eli."

In a beat Marisa joined them in the living area. Robert, unrecognizable, appeared in the foreground in jeans and a black tank top, a thick silver chain around his neck. Not a compassionate doctor anymore, he had morphed into a dangerous creature: a thin trace of eyeliner narrowed his eyes, conferring a magnetic quality to them. Red ink splatters decorated the front of his T-shirt, and near the corner of his mouth he had painted a crimson drop.

Robert contemplated her the same way Marco did— first her face, then the dress and at last the sandals. He didn't mention them, bringing his focus back to the starting point.

"You're gorgeous with that haircut."

"I wanted to change."

They smiled at each other. In that instant, Eliana emerged from behind him and Marisa felt a prick in her gut. Suddenly, her costume, makeup, haircut lost luster compared to those of the other woman. The other woman that enthralled Marco in her tight jumpsuit, the cascade of blonde hair down her bare shoulders, the mask surrounding a pair of eyes no longer reminiscent of a mucus color but rather radiating an exotic hue in their indefiniteness between brown and green.

Whore.

Eliana saluted her, praised her hair profusely and went back to talking to Marco, who didn't tire of commenting how different she looked in that costume. Marisa felt like retrieving the letter—it had been stupid to write it—and almost did. Marco, however, was already pocketing his onboard card and opening the door for them to leave.

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  So... Yeah, the famous letter is lost in a pocket and the famous ball is about to begin! What's next? ;)