Genuine Lies

hand before picking up her tea. “He’s slime,” she said mildly, drawing in the subtle scent and taste of jasmine. “And it’s more than past time someone told what perversions he’s tucked in that monstrous body of his.”
    “But there are other people.”
    “Oh, yes, there are.” She laughed, thinking of several with pleasure. “My life’s been a crazy quilt of events and personalities. All those clever half truths, genuine lies, threading through a fascinating cover, intersecting, linking. The interesting thing is, when you pull one thread, the whole pattern changes. Even the good you do has consequences, Nina. I’m more than ready to face them.”
    “Not everyone is as ready as you.”
    Eve sipped her tea, watching Nina over the rim of the cup. When she spoke again, her voice was kinder. “The truth isn’t nearly as destructive when it hits the light as a lie that’s hidden in the dark.” She squeezed Nina’s hand. “You shouldn’t worry.”
    “Some things are better left alone,” Nina insisted. Eve sighed and set the tea aside. “Trust me. I have reasons for doing what I’m doing.”
    Nina managed a nod and a thin smile. “I hope so.” Shepicked up her day book again and started out. “Don’t read too late. You need your rest.”
    After the door shut, Eve looked at her reflection again. “I’ll have plenty of rest, soon enough.”
    Julia spent most of Saturday huddled over her work. Brandon was entertained by CeeCee and her young brother, Dustin, referred to by his sister as “mondo brat.” He was the perfect compliment for Brandon’s more internal nature. He said whatever he thought the instant it struck his brain. Without a shy bone in his body, he had no trouble asking, demanding, questioning. Where Brandon could play for hours in absolute and often intense silence, Dustin believed it wasn’t fun unless it was loud.
    From her office on the first floor, Julia could hear them bashing and banging in the upstairs bedroom. Whenever it came too close to destructive, CeeCee would shout out from whatever space she was dusting and tidying.
    It wasn’t easy to balance the everyday sounds of children playing, the hum of a vacuum cleaner, the bright beat of the music on the radio with the vileness of the story Julia transcribed from tape.
    She hadn’t expected ugliness. How to handle it? Eve wanted the unvarnished truth published. Her own insistence on it was the hallmark of her work. Still, was it necessary, or even wise, to dredge up things so painful and so damaging?
    It would sell books, she thought with a sigh. But at what cost? She had to remind herself that it wasn’t her job to censor, but to tell the story of this woman’s life, good and bad, tragedy and triumph.
    Her own hesitation annoyed her. Whom was she protecting? Certainly not Anthony Kincade. As far as Julia was concerned, he deserved much, much more than the embarrassment and disgrace the written story would bring to him.
    Eve. Why did she feel this need to protect a woman she barely knew and didn’t yet understand? If the story was written as Eve had retold it, she wouldn’t emerge undamaged. Hadn’t she admitted to being attracted tothat darker, graceless aspect of sex? To being a willing, even eager participant up until that last terrible night. Would people forgive the queen of the screen for that, or for dabbling in drugs?
    Perhaps they would. More to the point, Julia mused, Eve didn’t seem to care. There had been no apology in the retelling, nor any bid for sympathy. As a biographer, it was Julia’s responsibility to tell the story, and to add insights, opinions, feelings. Her instincts told her that Eve’s marriage to Kincade had been one of the experiences that had forged her into the woman she was today.
    The book would not be complete or truthful without it.
    She forced herself to listen to the tape one more time, making notes on tone of voice, pauses, hesitations. She added her own recollections on how often Eve had sipped from her glass, lifted her cigarette. How the light had come in through the windows, how the smell of sweat had lingered.
    This part had to be told in Eve’s voice, Julia decided. Straight dialogue, so that the matter-of-fact tone would add poignancy. She spent almost three hours on this chapter, then went into the kitchen. She wanted to divorce herself from the scene, the memory that was so vivid it seemed too much her own. Since the kitchen was spotless, she couldn’t lose