"I don't love anyone," she said. "Maybe I can't any more."
Jeff appeared to consider that for a couple of seconds, his face the picture of desolation. Then he nodded once and left the room.
Maybe that was worse than shooting him, Georgianne thought. Somehow the two of them had conspired to do nothing, and yet she felt dirty.
In his room, Jeff stood trembling so violently he wondered if his body was literally coming apart. His teeth bit together painfully, and he seemed to be sweating from his forehead to his crotch. He forced himself to sit down and swallow huge gulps of air. A few minutes later, he felt calm, maybe even serene.
There followed a ghastly interlude-leaving the condo, carrying her suitcase, getting in the car and starting out-that was like walking underwater, or trying to get out from under a dome of silence.
But when they reached the street, Jeff began to feel better. He could accommodate all the bitterness and frustration. He could bear the pain of final rejection. He could even fight off the nausea he felt when he thought of how she had cut him off, physically and psychically, just before the moment of penetration. A kind of castration-that was the only word for it. He could take it all, he could take anything. Shit on me, it doesn't matter. Because he knew what he was doing and where they were going.
He spun the wheel, and the car turned smoothly to the right. Then he slammed his foot down, and they accelerated sharply, streaking north into Topo Canyon on a road that went nowhere.
Georgianne knew immediately that something was wrong. The road looked wrong, the direction felt wrong, and the expression on Jeff's face frightened her.
"Where are we going?"
"A slight detour."
"Detour? Where?" No response. "Why? Jeff."
"Relax," he said sarcastically. "I just want to get a look at the fire. That's all."
"I don't want to."
"There's a good vantage point I know."
"Jeff, I don't want to go anywhere near the fires. Please, let's turn around."
"It's not dangerous. Really."
Just then Georgianne spotted an unmanned barricade a couple of hundred yards in front of them. The road was closed. But before she had a chance to breathe easier, the Ferrari swerved off the asphalt into high grass and hardly lost any speed as it bounced along a rutted, partially overgrown trail. Branches whipped the windshield, scratched the roof, and raked the sides of the car.
"Jeff! What are you doing?"
He laughed, as if genuinely amused.
"They closed Topo Canyon Road, but there are a lot of these dirt tracks up into the hills," he said. "Bikers come here and roar around the countryside when they have nothing better to do."
"Jeff, please take me out of here."
"Yeah, yeah, in a minute."
"If the road is closed, it can't be safe. The fire must be close to this area."
"It is." Jeff laughed again. "The fire's in this area. I want to get a look at it."
There was no point trying to talk to him. Georgianne reached into the handbag on her lap and closed her fingers around the gun. She held it there, waiting.
Then she gasped as she noticed the sky. It was a black wall just ahead of them.
"You know," Jeff said, "I never thought of it before, but this area is a little like that place you have back in Foxrock. What is it-the Gorge?"
He said it without thinking-there was nothing to think about any more-and he was surprised at himself, but pleased as well. There was a certain mean pleasure to be had in daring her, taunting her, and, most of all, scaring her. But he wouldn't hurt her. He could never hurt Georgianne-no more than he could let go of her.
But had he ever really loved her, or was he always in love with the idea of her and of having her? He couldn't tell now. It might be worth thinking about, as a matter of academic interest, but he was not inclined to do so. It would be too much like feeding on his own corpse.
They had driven two or three meandering miles away from the paved road. When they came up over the top of a rise and started downward, Jeff hit the brakes and Georgianne cried aloud. Below them, stretching from one end of a small depression to the other, was a shimmering curtain of fire. The air was suddenly harsh with smoke. A wave of heat hit both of them with physical force, like a blow to the forehead.
"Jeff, we have to get out of here!"
"In a minute. This isn't bad."
The fire was crawling steadily up the rise toward them. Jeff calmly put one hand on Georgianne's arm while he stared ahead. It felt good, his hand on her arm, and then he remembered. Of course. He'd made the same gesture with Bonnie at the beach. He had come through that scene all right, but he had to admit it was really a defeat to be where he was now with Georgianne. The situation had finally gotten away from him. The only good part about it was that he had learned the truth and he honestly didn't care any more. To hell with it.
"Isn't there something beautiful about it?" Jeff said. "Fire on a scale like this? Raw, wild nature on the loose. It's spectacularly beautiful."
Georgianne flung his hand off and released her seat belt. She took the gun out and pointed it at him.
"It's getting hard to breathe," she said. "Please take us out of here. Right now."
"Oh, this isn't bad. You should see what these fires can do. The wind isn't too strong here, but it can get up to a hundred miles an hour, and the temperatures can reach twenty-five hundred degrees Fahrenheit. Can you imagine what that's like? Houses implode; palm trees go off like giant firecrackers. The chaparral goes up like cellophane. They say if a bird gets caught in the middle of the worst zones, it blows up. Really. In midair, like a hand grenade."
"Please." She felt sick.
Jeff sat back against the car door and smiled. He looked at the gun as if he were noticing it for the first time.
"I'm not moving yet," he said indifferently. "Did you ever play chicken? I bet I can stay here longer and let the fire get closer to me than you can."
Georgianne stared at him. It was very difficult for her to grasp that this was actually happening. She seemed to be trapped in a weird dream. They were like two complete strangers, but she couldn't afford to think about it. Her head was pounding, her eyes were running, and she didn't seem to get any air in her lungs when she breathed.
"Drive," she ordered hoarsely, waving the gun at him.
Jeff took the keys out of the ignition and studied them as if they were a fascinating relic from another age.
"I meant to tell you-"
"I'm going," Georgianne said curtly.
She started to open her door.
"Wait," Jeff cried, suddenly anxious and reaching for her.
"No!" She fired the gun, and kept firing as she screamed, "No, no, no ..."
"Ah, Jesus." Jeff exhaled, slumping back against the door.
"God damn you, God damn you," Georgianne sobbed. "God damn you ..."
"I wanted to tell you that I was thinking, and I really really, always always ... loved you."
But she was gone, running back the way they had come. He glanced up at the rearview mirror. He couldn't see her any more.
Georgianne ran back the way they had come, and it was like fleeing down a tunnel or a corridor surrounded by orange flickering darkness. The black air scorched her throat and lungs. It swarmed with flying sparks that burned her arms and neck and singed her scalp.
She stopped for a second when she heard the loud, unmistakable sound of an explosion behind her. Then she drove herself on, stumbling, gagging on smoke, gasping for air. She was hardly aware of anything when she was finally grabbed by strong arms and taken out of that place.
You have to be philosophical, Jeff told himself. You have to look beyond all the pain and stupidity, the heartache, the waste ... all the shit. Because that's what it is-just shit. All of it. Smile philosophically; nothing else is called for.
Oddly, his parents came to his mind. A plain, stolid couple with marginal expectations. Christ, why am I .thinking about them now?