He shakes his head. No need to explain.
“
Anyway,
”
she continues,
“
the phones. That would be the minister of future commerce.
”
“
Whom I already met and who blew me off.
”
“
Correct.
”
Henry says,
“
What about our friend the minister of communication?
”
“
Sure. But to speak with him you must go through official channels.
”
He takes a long drink of wine.
“
Your best bet is to speak directly to your new BFF.
”
“
HRS?
”
Not quite following, Maya tilts her head to the side.
“
His Royal Smallness.
”
She almost chokes on her wine.
“
I like that,
”
she says, smiling.
“
Though if I said it in his presence, he could technically put me in prison for the rest of my life.
”
“
All right, then,
”
Henry says.
“
I
’
ll try to arrange a meeting.
”
“
No need.
”
Maya reaches into her valise and pulls out an envelope that bears the royal seal of Galado, a fire dragon on a mountain peak.
“
Your friend Shug dropped this off at the call center late this afternoon, while you were telling Mahesh that the Statue of Liberty is not in Las Vegas. Anyway.
”
She opens the flap and hands him a cream-colored invitation.
“
Looks like you
’
ve been asked to exercise and then dine with His Royal. . . the prince at the palace tomorrow.
”
~ * ~
Maya is on her fourth glass of wine when their entrees arrive. While they eat they continue to refine their plan: Henry will crank out some new scenarios tonight and start to share some of their better thoughts with
Giffler
, and Maya will develop a corporate sustainability program for HMS in Galado, as well as a template for other companies planning on doing business here to follow. Perhaps, it
’
s agreed, Henry can
seed
the idea of sustainability coexisting with growth, if things are going well, with the prince.
He asks,
“
What exactly were you thinking we should propose as far as a goodwill project?
”
Maya takes another drink, brushes her hair away from her face, and plays with the candle in the center of the small table.
“
Water, of course.
”
“
Okay. But there are a lot of different—
”
She interrupts.
“
Wells, ideally. But for now, you know, the filters.
”
“
Filters?
”
“
The straw. The inexpensive straws that purify water. It was your idea. You told me about it the first day we spoke, and I think it
’
s brilliant.
”
“
You mean the LifeStraw. Actually,
”
Henry says,
“
it was Mad-den
’
s idea. I
’
d never heard of it before he kind of tossed it out there the first time we met, when he thought about the absurdity of a bottled water company opening a—
”
She cuts him off again.
“
Madden!
”
she says, waving her hand.
“
Madden is a pig and a plunderer.
”
“
That may be the case,
”
Henry says.
“
But he
’
s the only person I know in this country who could help pull something like that together. Unless you know of someone else, under the circumstances he is kind of perfect.
”
She answers by raising her glass.
~ * ~
Henry drives her truck back to USAVille.
Outside the restaurant after dinner he went straight for the driver
’
s seat, and Maya didn
’
t protest, didn
’
t seem to notice. Now that they
’
re away from the small cluster of buildings and out on the mountain road, he offers to drive her home first, wherever that is.
“
I can pick you up in the morning,
”
he says.
But she shakes her head.
“
Just go to your place,
”
she says.
“
We
’
ll figure it out from there.
”
She gives him general directions—
”
right at the second pass, left at the first dirt road after that, then look for the obnoxious faux-Western architecture
”
—before settling back into her seat, and, he thinks, sleeping.
There aren
’
t a lot of navigational choices to make in Galado once you
’
re pointed in the right direction, so he isn
’
t worried about getting lost. Getting hijacked or forced off a cliff or hitting a yak that has wandered into the middle of the road—these are all realistic concerns. But getting back to USAVille in the dark, not so much.
“
You didn
’
t mention your wife today.
”
Her voice surprises him. After ten minutes of silence had passed, he had assumed that she was asleep.
“
What, no more curses on your virility?
”
He takes a breath, then decides to tell her about his last e-mail exchange with Rachel.
“
So,
”
Maya says when he is done,
“
that
’
s that, then. All is forgiven. Best of friends again.
”
“
Apparently.
”
“
Did you at least consider the fact that she may have had some other motive for telling you this?
”
He shakes his head.
“
Not really. I didn
’
t have time to think about it. She told me and I guess I believed her because, to tell you the truth, I was relieved, mostly.
”
She claps her hands and says derisively,
“
Hah!
”
He takes his eyes off the road and looks at her, not to observe her more closely but to register that he has taken note of the change in her demeanor. Apparently six glasses of
ara
trumps the legendary Galadonian humility and kindness.
“
The night we first came here, you told me not to be so hard on her.
”
“
That was before I began to care about you.
”
~ * ~
Inside the house, rather than suggesting a nightcap, he puts on a kettle of water for tea. While Maya slumps on the living room couch, he makes a cursory scan of the first floor, looking for additional signs of foul play, death threats. All that he finds is a large wicker gift basket on the kitchen counter from his new and only neighbor, Madison Ellison. A closer inspection of the basket—cookies, chocolates, exotic fruits—reveals that his gift is a
regift
. Madison Ellison has neglected to remove the original card from the basket, which was sent to her from her
“
friends in Corporate at Target.
”
He
’
s still contemplating the contents of the gift basket when Maya comes up behind him and places a hand on his shoulder. He turns around, not sure what to expect. A kiss? Another slap to the face? Knee to the groin? Who knows?
For a moment they stare eye to eye, lost. Then she leans in and puts her arms around his waist and hugs him. A comfort hug, he decides, but he can
’
t be sure if that
’
s all, if it may elevate into something more. It
’
s her hug; she
’
s driving it, and he
’
s going to let her take it wherever she wants. He rides it out by staring at the
regifted
basket, the card he wasn
’
t meant to see, the teapot simmering under the blue flame of the stove.
When she finally releases him, Maya takes a step back and stares at him differently than she did pre-hug. But he
’
s still not sure what she
’
s thinking, and since she still hasn
’
t spoken, he decides to keep his mouth shut as she turns and heads back to the couch. He watches her drop onto the never-before-been-lounged-upon cushions, then checks on the water. Not quite at a boil when he shuts it down. Because he
’
s not sure what to do next, what to say or what will happen when he finally returns to Maya in the living room, he takes his time removing a matching pair of USAVille™ mugs from the cabinet, rinsing them under the faucet, and opening up two individually wrapped pouches of Earl Grey.
When he returns with the steeping tea, she is asleep. Of course she is. Not curled up and cozy, as she appeared to be earlier, in the truck. Her head is tossed back, black hair spread in a mass over the back of the couch, and her mouth is open. Her arms twist at her sides like randomly dropped pieces of string. Her legs are outstretched and splayed, shoeless feet hanging at awkward angles over the wall-to-wall carpeting.
He puts her mug down on the end table and checks his watch. Midnight in Galado, but he
’
s far from tired. Maya is snoring, but the act doesn
’
t seem to bother him. Good sign, or bad? Does it say that he doesn
’
t really care what she does or that he
’
s willing to forgive anything that she does? When the snoring modulates and settles into its own rhythm, he decides that it is finally safe to lift her legs and feet onto the couch and to turn her lengthwise.
From his bed upstairs he grabs a pillow and the comforter. When the pillow is propped under her head and the comforter carefully draped from feet to neck, he takes two cushions from the matching love seat and places them on the floor alongside her, lest she fall.
~ * ~
Outside, it begins to rain, the first he
’
s seen or heard since arriving in Galado. Rooftop thrumming away the midnight silence. New waters course downhill in excavated rivulets, pooling in empty driveways. He sits alone at the kitchen table, listening, drinking from both mugs of tea, staring at Maya in the darkness of the
adjoining room and wondering if this is the onset of the rainy season or some weather anomaly or simply more bad juju from a pissed-off god or witch or river dolphin.
In the morning he
’
ll ask her. In the morning they
’
ll have reached another level in their relationship. A new level of trust, the result of each having revealed an unfortunate aspect of their worst selves, somehow without alienating the other. This, of course, in addition to the attraction.
What he had needed was a fling. That
’
s what some had told him after things got bad and then untenable with Rachel, and what he had almost allowed himself to believe. What he had needed was a passionate, decadent interlude with some young hottie from work, a neighborhood MILE, an upscale bar pickup, all mutually guilt- and expectation- and consequence-free. To get over Rachel. To get over failure. To just have some fucking fun.
But that has never been the way with Henry, and not because he
’
s a prude. With Henry and any relationship with a female, there will always be expectations and consequences, always something to feel guilty about, no matter how unconditional the hookup, no matter how brief the relationship. To Henry, a fling constitutes at the very least a failure of character, and ultimately a failure of ego. How could I enjoy my time with you knowing that we both want it to be finite, to have a moment and get it over with, that no matter what, you neither want nor plan to spend more than a fixed amount of time with me? How could I respect you yet have no intention of ever taking our relationship to a level beyond booty call? Even when they
’
d just begun to date, Rachel used to tell him that he should stop thinking so much and just do. Just live. But he never could. And still can
’
t.