“On an airplane?” he said breathlessly.
“Yeah,” I said, drawing out the word because I didn’t exactly know how to respond. “That’s the only way we know how to fly.”
“I look up at them all the time and wish I could fly on one. If I could actually get to do that it would be … amazing.” He sounded very young now, not at all like a man in his forties.
“Well, consider it done.” I hesitated, then added, “Do you know about the Oscars? What they are?”
“Sort of.”
“It’s acting awards. Very glamorous.”
“So, I could wear some of my real … my own clothes?” he asked, his voice brightening at the prospect.
“You mean the clothes you wore in Fey?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t see why not, but you should probably be prepared for them to get messed up if you do end up protecting people. But maybe it won’t come to that.”
We spent a few more minutes finalizing things, then I hung up, stripped off my clothes, and fell into bed. I didn’t wake up until Maslin hammered on my door the next morning.
23
Belinda Cartwright had that deer-in-the-headlights expression when she looked up from the printed pages Maslin had placed before her. She quickly regained her composure and snapped, “Speculation.” I mutely handed over the research unearthed by Merlin. She read through those. This time when she met our gaze her expression was sick, and she didn’t recover. “Dear God, they’re everywhere, they’ve infiltrated everywhere.”
We were back in the offices of Human First.
“No,” I corrected. “This one Álfar has played you for a fool and built you into a tool to cause conflict between us and his people.
“Question is, what are you going to do about it?” Maslin asked.
“Expose him! Tell our members how we’ve been compromised.”
Maslin sighed. “Wrong answer.”
“Think about this, Ms. Cartwright,” I said softly. “You’re the head of this organization. You’re the one who allowed this to happen. You didn’t do due diligence on your donors. I’m sure Mr. Ambinder will make damn sure that little fact comes out in his final version of the article. Question is, who are your members going to be more unhappy with? Qwendar? Or you?”
Maslin studied his fingernails. “I’m betting the Reverend Trager will not take kindly to these revelations. You’ll probably lose your job.”
“You’re blackmailing me,” Cartwright said, her voice a rough thread of sound.
“No, just contemplating likely outcomes,” Maslin answered.
“What do you want? For us to disband? I don’t have the power.” She shot Maslin a venomous look. “As you rightly pointed out, I’m just hired help. Reverend Trager calls the shots.”
“Just dial it back. Tone down the rhetoric. Stop throwing gasoline on the fire.” She stared up at me, her lips set in a thin line. I pulled a chair in closer, sat down, and leaned across the desk. “Look, Belinda, we’re afraid. I understand that. The world as we knew it has changed. Nobody has a handle on how this is all going to work out. But this has happened many times before in our history—revolution, civil wars, depression, world wars, integration, immigration, technological innovation—and we’ve weathered them all. The world changes, and the people who stand against it inevitably end up being trampled because they can’t stop it. What you can do is guide the change, soften it, make sure all sides are considered, and that’s a valuable role for you to play. Whipping up anger, stoking the fear, inciting violence, that’s not productive, and we’re better than that as a people. The Powers are here. Let’s learn to live together. We may find we can actually help each other.” I paused. Her expression was curiously blank, but at least the rage had faded. “And ironically there are people on the other side who feel the same way about us, who think we’re dangerous to their way of life, and they don’t like the change either.”
“That’s rich. They’ve turned our world upside down.”
“And we’ve done the same to them. A lot of the younger Álfar prefer our world to their own.” I gave her a smile. “Which sort of implies we’re way more awesome than they are.”
She chewed on that for a moment. “So, if we don’t join in this arbitration—”
“And tone down the public protests,” I interrupted.
“You have one in mind?” Cartwright asked shrewdly.
“The Oscars,” I said.
“So if we don’t picket at the Oscars, you won’t publish this story.” She shoved the pages back toward Maslin.
“As much as it pains me to say this: yes, I won’t publish,” the journalist answered.
She stood and extended her hand. “Then we have a deal. Now I need to see about replacing a source of funding. If you’ll excuse me.”
We wound our way through the desks and the hardworking volunteers all diligently trying to hold back the tide and stepped out into the parking lot of the strip mall. I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Well, that went better than I expected,” I said.
Maslin gave me a curious sideways look. “You ever considered a career in politics?”
“God, no. What made you say that?”
“You do seem to appeal to people’s better angels.”
“Right now I’m just trying to keep a lot of people from joining that heavenly choir. Shall we go?”
I was late meeting Kate. She was already in the Elie Saab store on Rodeo Drive, and under her guidance a couple of saleswomen were filling a rolling clothes rack with gowns. As I studied the tall, elegant, perfectly groomed, perfectly coiffed, chicly dressed women, I wanted to slink back out of the store. My professional woman’s uniform—straight gray skirt, black jacket, scoop-neck pale yellow shell, sensible pumps—seemed unbelievably dowdy. I gazed at the dresses on impossibly tall, slender mannequins. I was short. Really short. I was going to look so stupid in these clothes. No one this short could possibly—
“Oh, Linnet, good. I think we’ve got some great choices for you,” Kate said, and pulled me over. “This is Glynis and Julie. They’re going to help us.”
“How do you do,” I mumbled. “You’ve got your work cut out for you,” I added.
“Nonsense,” trilled Glynis. “You’re lovely.”
Then we were into it. It was like an explosion in a fabric store. Silk, taffeta, satin, chiffon. A rainbow of colors. There was one red dress with a gathered bodice that kept the left shoulder bare, but created a wide strap effect across the right shoulder. The dress flowed to the floor and the fabric looked like it would cling to the legs. A bit of material formed a train that flowed out behind the skirt. It was gorgeous and it had me fantasizing about walking down a curving staircase to meet an elegant gentleman, taking his arm, exiting to our waiting limo—
I reluctantly and sadly put it aside. “I really need to be able to move easily. Would it be awful if I didn’t wear a floor-length gown?” I asked.
“Not at all,” Julie said, and she pulled down a dress of deep indigo blue with silver and white embroidered flowers.
It had a one-shoulder fitted bodice; an asymmetric hemline; beaded, stylized flowers in trapunto on chiffon. The design of the flowers reminded me of Elizabethan crewelwork, and it was done using gold and silver thread and silk embroidery floss. I had a feeling that the asymmetric hemline would leave my right leg bare nearly to the hip. My left arm was going to be bare, the right arm partially covered by translucent chiffon of a pale teal color.
I touched the material and felt it catch on the rough tips of my fingers. I snatched my hand back. “Don’t worry, it’s not that fragile,” Kate said with a laugh. “Go try it on.”