A Million for Eleanor: A Contemporary Story on Love and Money Read Free Page B

unfruitful struggle he threw the book back on the shelf and lay down. He knew he would not fall asleep, but there was nothing else for him to do until the daylight behind the window would grow grey and the street lamps would turn on their illumination, marking the beginning of the night he had been waiting for for the last nine years of his life.
    ***
    Trying to suppress the nervousness that began tickling his guts as soon as he saw the wanted white two-storey house, he ascended its porch, put the valises down and took a deep breath. For a few moments he was looking at the door as if considering walking straight through it; then he exhaled and pressed the doorbell button which produced a disturbingly low ding. For a minute everything was quiet, but then he heard a slight shuffling of house slippers.
    “Who is there?”
    “A friend of your youth,” he said, knowing she’d recognize his voice. The next moment the door swung open, throwing an avalanche of light into his face. The abrupt change of luminosity hit his eyes like a razor, but when his pupils contracted enough to discern the slim silhouette standing in the doorway he forgot about the pain.
    “Good evening, Eleanor ,” he said, savoring her name as if it were a delicacy.
    “Richard? Is that you?”
    “Yes.” He bowed. “How are you?”
    “What are you doing here?”
    There were still no welcoming notes in her voice.
    “I came to visit you.”
    “Oh my god! Are these bags yours? Are you in trouble?”
    “Not that I am aware of. Why, do I look it?”
    “No, you don’t,” she admitted after a quick examination of his white silk suit. “How did you find me?”
    “You have no idea how much one can find out about another person knowing their name. Sorry I didn’t call, I wanted to make a surprise.”
    “Congratulations. You are the last person I expected to see.”
    “Whom did you expect?” he asked with interest.
    “No one. That’s why I have a Taser in my pocket.”
    He reluctantly took his eyes off her face and examined her attire, baggy grey sweatpants which could conceal a machine-gun, and a tight hacky T-shirt emphasizing all the admirable qualities of her bust, surprisingly voluminous for her fragile constitution.
    “ Cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket, and the other one’s prepared to shoot ,” he sang, waiting for her lips to be touched by the first smile of the night. “Now that I know you’re armed, will you let me in?”
    She looked at him uncomprehendingly, frowning, but then something sparked in her eyes and she did smile, looking almost bashful and relaxing a little.
    “All right,” Eleanor said. “Sorry for my lack of hospitality, but you really did take me by surprise.”
    “Let’s make sure it’s a nice one, then,” he said casually, grabbing the valises and stepping inside. Crossing the threshold, he caught the smell of her perfume, a scent unfamiliar to him and sweeter than the one he was so accustomed to he could tell whenever she had just been to the room. She wasn’t the only one who used that blend, but somehow he always sensed if it was her who left the trail.
    “I need to change.” Eleanor slammed the door, interrupting his internal monologue.
    “Do what you have to. I won’t steal anything, I promise.”
    “Then why don’t you go to the kitchen and make yourself a cup of something?” she said, already ascending the flight of stairs.
    “Shall I make something for you ?”
    “No,” he heard.
    Valises in his hands, he moved ahead through the hallway and found himself in a spacious kitchen paved with white tile. The first thing he saw there was a huge transparent glass table that was lit so ingeniously it almost dissolved in the air. The other elements of the interior reminded him of the flat he used to consider home for the first seventeen years of his life: there was everything necessary here, but the imposing utilitarian proportions of the stainless sink, black stove, white fridge and multicolored