Song for the Dead: An Ada Palomino Novel, стр. 40
“Haven’t been in California since it became so popular. Been dead.”
“Well, I guess you haven’t seen and done everything,” I tell him, wolfing the burger down.
“I certainly haven’t,” he says, munching on a fry distastefully. “These fries are horseshit though.”
“Should’ve got them animal style.”
“Animal style? That their way of sexing them up?”
I laugh, even though the way he says animal style conjures a pretty dirty image of us in my head, the kind of image that brings an immediate flush to my cheeks.
Fuck, I need to get laid.
I pivot away and bury my face in the burger until it’s all gone and my hormones have calmed down. I steal a glance at him. “Still want you to teach me how to handle your sword.”
His brows shoot straight up.
Whoops. Guess that did sound like innuendo.
“You know what I mean,” I quickly add.
He looks me up and down, mouth curving into a slight smile. “Never know with you, sweetheart.”
Thank god we’re approaching the Golden Gate Bridge, something big enough to distract us from the tension in the car, tension that could all be in my head, but even so.
And man, what a sight. The sun is shining down on the bay, making the water gleam as sailboats swoop under the bridge, while the city of San Francisco stands at attention, the skyline sparking something like hope inside me.
“Oh my god,” I say, staring out the window. “There’s so much I want to do. Can we stay a couple of days?”
He shrugs. “Don’t see why not.”
I think that over. Max really doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get to New Orleans. Maybe because he’s afraid of what he’ll find there. A woman that’s moved on without him.
In a way, and this sounds callous to think, I hope what he does find is closure. A chance to move on himself. I don’t know exactly what went down between him and Rose before he died, but from what I do know, if she was ready to get engaged to someone else, then she doesn’t deserve Max. I know I told Max that maybe she was just trying to protect herself and heal that way, that grief makes people do strange things, but at the same time…the thought of him getting back together with her makes me feel queasy and I don’t know why. I don’t like that feeling, at any rate.
The hotel I picked is called the Hotel Vertigo, which is where they originally filmed the hotel scenes in Vertigo, another Hitchcock movie whose aesthetic I’m obsessed with. I’m hoping that the hotel and the city itself will jumpstart my creativity. I know I’m supposed to be studying and keeping up with my schoolwork and all that but, honestly, I haven’t even given it much thought since we left Oregon.
“Hey, do you want to model for me?” I ask Max, as he takes the car into the city, navigating the one-way streets.
“Beg your pardon?”
“I have to have a model for my year-end project. I was going to use a woman, design a dress. But I think if I did menswear it would be more challenging for me, therefore fun. And if I could use you as a model…”
He gives me a faint smile. “I’m flattered. Really. But I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
My heart squeezes with a hit of rejection. I try to push through it. “Why not? I promise I won’t get all handsy with you again,” I say, trying to make it light.
“That’s not the problem, Ada.”
I mean, I guess that’s good…
“Then what’s the problem? It’s just a little fashion show. You can do it. You can do anything. I’m sure you’ve had some modeling experience in your past. Maybe you sat down for some Pre-Raphaelite paintings. You have the face for it. You might be hanging in the Louvre, have you even checked?”
He presses his lips together for a moment before saying, “I just can’t commit to it. Wouldn’t be fair to you.”
“You can’t commit to it? It’s in a couple of months. You’ll be around.”
Won’t you? You said you’re never leaving me.
“I just think it’s best if you find someone else. It’s not really my forte. You understand.”
“Are you trying your Jedi shit with me?”
He smiles. “Do or do not. There is no try.”
I stare at him expectantly.
“It’s a joke, darlin’. Now let’s hope the hotel has valet because I don’t want to park this thing on these streets.”
I decide to drop it, bring it up some other time. Maybe he’s just feeling strangely shy.
We get to the hotel and it’s just as awesome as I thought it would be, totally done up in the Vertigo theme, including the poster art for the movie and the film playing on TVs all across the lobby. Hitchcock would be proud.
Our room is nice, albeit small, and when I open the window to the street below I feel just like Kim Novak. Well, without the movie’s unsettling storyline. I’ve got my own unsettling storyline to grapple with.
Max looks tired, I guess from all the driving, but I want to see Alcatraz before the last ferry leaves, so I drag him outside and we catch an Uber, taking us to Pier 39 where we walk along the embarcadero to the ferry.
With the sun on my shoulders, the air surprisingly warm and smelling of the ocean, I feel good. Buoyant, almost. As if feelings that have long since been dormant are starting to fizz inside me, like bubbles in fine champagne.
I glance up at Max walking beside me, feeling that rush intensify. How nice it is just to be with someone, checking out a new city, feeling like we’ve got the world stretching out in front of us. I know that I almost died last night, I know our relationship feels like it’s edging toward complicated in some ways, I know that everything in his life is topsy turvy right now.
But