The clubhouse isan old-style Spanish building, with massive arches and terra cotta roofing. Imagine my surprise when we run into Zebulund, surrounded by a couple of men in suits, when we go in for a post-game refreshment. I’m not sure why they went through the pretense of setting this up. He could have called and asked me if I was free. Though I’m starting to get the impression that it wouldn’t matter if I was free or not. I would become free.
He needs to show how easily he can make things happen. I’m supposed to be impressed by his show of money. Money has power, but it doesn’t make you special. That’s what he doesn’t understand about me.
“Zebulund, nice to see you,” I say.
I shake his hand over the table. Viktor hovers between the two of us, gnawing on his thumbnail and spitting out little pieces of skin.
“Roe, I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to talk.”
He has a hunk of raw steak sitting in a pool of blood. It’s half finished, and the vegetables surrounding it sit untouched. He tosses his napkin on the plate and pushes it away. A server appears out of nowhere to take it.
After an awkward pause the two other men make excuses to leave, along with Viktor. He gestures to me to take a seat.
“How was golfing?” he asks.
It’s the nicest course in the city. I’m sure it cost more than a week’s wage at the factory to play one round.
“Fantastic,” I answer.
“Good. Good.” He sprawls out his arms, taking up three seats.
“Thank you.”
Viktor made it clear that we’re here because this is Zebulund’s club.
“We’ll have to play together some time,” I go on.
“I don’t like to play.” Zebulund glances around and leans in. “Are we alone?”
My pulse quickens. I hadn’t been expecting the rapid-fire change of subject.
“Just the two of us,” I answer honestly.
“I haven’t felt anything since the yacht. I’m starting to think I imagined it.”
“Sometimes I’ll go months without seeing anybody.” I shrug but worry he’s going to cancel. “There’s no saying what causes it.”
He leans back, seeming to accept that answer, and I breathe a sigh.
“Viktor apologized then?” He fires again.
That’s what this is about?
“Yeah, he did. I told him it was nothing to worry about.”
He nods so much it’s like a mechanism in his neck is stuck. Maybe a hard thump to the back will unstick him.
“I’m glad. I want you to be part of this group.”
There’s that weird vibe creeping up my spine again. I feel it anytime I’m with him. It’s a sense of foreboding, and more than just the creepy factor. Why do we never talk about what we’re actually talking about?
“They’re going for the uh, what we talked about?”
“If you think it’s necessary.”
“It’s up to you.” Play it cool. Can’t have him feel pressured, it must be his choice. “I don’t know that anything will come of it. I did read about some examples of people doing it. I was sort of right. Something about the power of belief in numbers. But honestly, I don’t know that I should mess with that stuff.”
He studies me. I hold his gaze.
