Genuine Lies

want it to have any sort of modern conveniences such as shelter, electricity, plumbing. I managed to find one, a charming little spot about thirty-five miles off the coast of St. Thomas. We flew in generators, in case of tropical storms. Then, of course, there was the logistics of getting the food there, the drink, the china, silver, entertainment. Tables, chairs. Ice.” She closed her eyes. “Incredible amounts of ice.”
    “How did you manage it.”
    Nina’s eyes fluttered open. “By air and by sea. And by the skin of my teeth. I spent three days on the place myself, with carpenters—Eve wanted a couple of cabanas thrown up—with gardeners—she wanted a lusher, more tropical look—and with some very cranky caterers. It was … well, one of her most interesting ideas.”
    Fascinated, letting the whole picture develop in her mind, Julia rested a hand on her chin. “So, how was the party?”
    “A roaring success. Enough rum to float a battleship,native music—and Eve, looking like the island queen in a blue silk sarong.”
    “Tell me something, how does one learn how to rent an island?”
    “Trial and error. With Eve, you never know what to expect, so you prepare for everything. I’ve taken courses in law, accounting, decorating, real estate, and ballroom dancing— among others.”
    “In all those courses, was there ever any that tempted you to go further, pursue another career?”
    “No.” There wasn’t a hint of hesitation. “I’d never leave Eve.”
    “How did you come to work for her?”
    Nina looked down into her wine. Slowly, she circled her finger around the rim of the glass. “I know it may sound melodramatic, but Eve saved my life.”
    “Literally?”
    “Quite literally.” She moved her shoulders as if she were shrugging off any doubts about going on. “There aren’t many people who know about my background. I prefer to keep it quiet, but I know Eve’s determined to tell the full story. I guess it’s best if I tell you myself.”
    “It usually is.”
    “My mother was a weak woman, drifted from man to man. We had very little money, lived in rented rooms.” “Your father?”
    “He’d left us. I was quite young when she married again. A truck driver who was away as much as he was home. That turned out to be a blessing.” The pain in her voice ran deep. Nina began to clench and unclench her fingers on the stem of the glass, still watching the wine as if it might hold a secret. “Things were a little better financially, and it was all right … for a while … until I wasn’t so young anymore.” With an effort she raised her eyes. “I was thirteen when he raped me.”
    “Oh, Nina.” Julia felt that icy pain, the kind a woman feels hearing the mention of rape. “I’m sorry.” Instinctively she reached out to take Nina’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”
    “I ran away a lot after that,” Nina continued, apparentlyfinding comfort in the firm grip of Julia’s fingers. “The first couple of times I came back on my own.” She gave a wan smile. “No place to go. Other times, they brought me back.” “Your mother?”
    “Didn’t believe me. Didn’t care to believe me. It wouldn’t have suited her to think that her daughter was in competition with her.”
    “That’s monstrous.”
    “Reality often is. Details aren’t important,” she went on. “I finally ran away for good. Lied about my age, got a job as a cocktail waitress, worked my way up to manager.” She began to speak more quickly, not as if the worst was over, but as if she had to get a running start at the rest. “My previous experience had helped me keep myself focused on the job. No dating, no distractions. Then I made a mistake. I fell in love. I was nearly thirty, and it hit me hard.”
    Something glittered in her eyes—tears or old memories— quickly obscured by her lashes as she lifted the glass to her lips. “He was wonderful to me, generous, considerate, gentle. He wanted to get married, but I let my past ruin that for both of us. One night, angry that I wouldn’t give him a commitment, he left my apartment. And he was killed in a car accident.”
    She drew her hand from Julia’s. “I fell apart. Tried to commit suicide. That’s when I met Eve. She was researching her role of the suicidal wife in
Darkest at Dawn.
I’d botched the job, hadn’t swallowed enough pills, and was in the hospital under observation. She talked to me, listened to me. It may have started as an actress’s interest