Genuine Lies

woman.
    “We’ll have to negotiate a truce of some kind. For Eve’s sake.”
    “I don’t see why. Since you’ll be busy, and so will I, I doubt we’ll run into each other often enough to need white flags.”
    “You’re wrong.” He came back to the table but didn’t sit. Instead, he stood beside her, his thumbs hooked in his pockets. “I’ll have to keep an eye on you, on Eve’s behalf. And, I think, on my own behalf.”
    Her pen clattered on the glass top. She left it there and laced her nervous fingers together. “If that’s some kind of oblique come-on—”
    “I like you better this way,” he interrupted. “Barefoot and flustered. The woman I met the other night was intriguing, and intimidating.”
    She was feeling little tugs and pulls she’d been certain shewas immune to. It was possible, she reminded herself, to feel a sexual attraction for a man you didn’t like. It was just as possible to resist it. “I’m the same, with or without shoes.”
    “Not at all.” He sat down again, bracing his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his folded hands as he studied her. “Don’t you think it would be deadly boring to wake up every morning of your life as exactly the same person?”
    It was the kind of question she enjoyed, one she would have liked to respond to and explore. But with him she was certain any exploration would end on swampy ground. She turned her notepad over, flipping pages until she came to a blank one.
    “Since you’re here and in the mood to chat, maybe you’d give me that interview.”
    “No. We’ll have to wait for that, see how things go.” He knew he was being obstinate, and he enjoyed it.
    “What things?”
    He smiled. “All manner of things, Julia.”
    There was the sound of a slamming door and a youthful shout. “My son.” Julia hurriedly gathered her notes and stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to—”
    But Brandon was already racing through the back door onto the terrace. He wore an orange neon cap backward, baggy jeans, a Mickey Mouse T-shirt, and scuffed high-tops. His grin all but split his grubby face.
    “I shot two baskets in gym,” he announced.
    “My hero.”
    She was reaching for him, and Paul watched her change yet again. There was no cool elegance, no frazzled vulnerability, but pure warmth. It was in her eyes, in her smile as she slid an arm around her son’s shoulders. She drew him to her side. The subtle body language said quite clearly: He’s mine.
    “Brandon, this is Mr. Winthrop.”
    “Lo.” Brandon grinned again, showing two gaps in his teeth.
    “What position did you play?”
    Brandon’s eyes lit up at the question. “Point guard. I’m not very tall, but I’m fast.”
    “I’ve got a hoop at home. You’ll have to come over and show me your moves sometime.”
    “Yeah?” Brandon all but danced in place while he looked up to his mother for approval. “Can I?”
    “We’ll see.” She tugged on his cap. “Homework?”
    “Just some vocabulary and some dumb long division.” Both of which he felt duty bound to put off until the last possible minute. “Can I have a drink?”
    “I’ll get it.”
    “This is for you.” Brandon dug an envelope out of his pocket, then turned back to Paul. “Do you ever get to go and watch the Lakers and stuff?”
    “Now and again.”
    Julia left them to their talk of points scored and games lost. She filled a glass with ice the way Brandon liked it, then added juice. Though it annoyed her, she filled a second for Paul and added a plate of cookies. The rudeness she would have preferred to serve wouldn’t set the right example for her son.
    After setting the items on a tray, she glanced at the envelope she’d tossed on the counter. Her name was printed on it in big block letters. Frowning, she picked it up again. She’d assumed it was a report from Brandon’s teacher. After tearing it open, she read the short message and felt the blood drain from her cheeks.
CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT.
    It was stupid. She read the words again, telling herself they were stupid, but the single sheet of paper shook in her hand. Who would send her such a message, and why? Was it some kind of warning, or threat? She stuffed the paper into her pocket. There was no reason such a silly, shopworn phrase should frighten her.
    Giving herself a moment to settle, she lifted the tray and went back outside, where Paul was sitting again, regaling Brandon with some play by play of a Lakers game.
    “We saw the