Grand Passion

philosophical.”
    “Look, I didn't come here tonight to talk about Cleo's book,” Nolan ground out through set teeth.
    “A definite sense of far-flung resonance pervades every chapter, every scene of the book,” Max continued. “The fluent narrative voice conjures up an alternative reality that takes on a life of its own. For the male reader, it creates an alien world, a distinctly female world, and yet I'm sure you found that there was a strange sense of familiarity about it.”
    “Christ, I don't believe this,” Nolan muttered. “Cleo, I wanted to talk to you about something very important.”
    Cleo gulped the last of her tea, nearly choking on her own laughter. “Sure, Nolan,” she sputtered. “What's on your mind?”
    Nolan shot a wary glance at Max and lowered his voice. “This is sort of personal.”
    “The portrayal of a female view of sexuality in The Mirror was nothing short of riveting,” Max offered as he poured more tea into Cleo's cup. “The reader has the sense that the narrator is both the seducer and the one who is seduced. It brings up several interesting questions about the matter of reader identification, as far as I'm concerned. What was your conclusion?”
    “Can't you shut him up?” Nolan asked Cleo.
    Cleo looked at Max and saw the gleam in his eyes. “Probably not.”
    “The reader must ask himself, for example,” Max said in measured, pedantic tones, “just who is the seducer in The Mirror ? Is it a work of autoeroticism? Is the narrator actually seducing herself when she looks into the mirror?”
    That was certainly what the reviewers had believed, Cleo thought. She waited with a sense of impending fate to hear what Max had to say about it.
    “I'm trying to have a private conversation here,” Nolan said in a tight voice.
    Max ignored him. “Personally, I think something far more complex is going on. Women writers, after all, are interested in relationships. I believe that the figure in the mirror is the other , and that, initially, at least, he is actually the seducer. But there's another problem in the book. I think the man in the mirror is just as trapped in his world as the narrator is in hers.”
    Cleo froze. None of the reviews that had appeared on The Mirror had understood that fundamental fact. Her eyes met Max's, and she nearly fell off the bar stool when she saw the deep, sensual understanding in his gaze.
    She gripped the edge of the bar and held on for dear life. That shattering moment of silent communication did more to melt her insides than anything her imagination had conjured up when she wrote The Mirror .
    Max smiled slowly at her. Instead of giving her a fresh napkin to accompany her second cup of tea, he put a playing card down beside the saucer. He reached into his pocket, removed a small object, and set it down on top of the card.
    Cleo was afraid to glance at the face of the card. But in the end she was unable to resist.
    When she looked down her worst fears were confirmed. The card was a queen of hearts. Lying on top of the card was a small, familiar key. She knew it was the key to the attic room. Cleo jerked her eyes back up to meet Max's. What she saw there stole her breath.
    “What's going on here, Cleo?” Nolan glared at the card and the key. “What's this all about?”
    “I don't know,” Cleo admitted. But the admission was made to Max, not to Nolan. Nolan seemed to have faded somewhere into the distance. Max was the only person who mattered.
    “There's only one way to find out, isn't there?” Max said softly. “You'll have to use the key.”
    It was a scene straight out of her book. Like the red rose, the key had been another symbol of seduction. Cleo was light-headed. It was as if she had stepped into a dream that she, herself, had fashioned but that Max now controlled. Nothing felt quite real. She wondered if Andromeda had been experimenting lately with the formulas of her herbal teas.
    Nolan was looking confused and angry. He scowled at Max. “What's with that key and the card?”
    “Cleo's been looking for them for a long time,” Max said gently. “I found them for her.”
    Nolan turned back to Cleo. “Damn it, I'm trying to talk to you about something that involves a lot of money. I don't know who this guy is”—he jerked a thumb at Max—“but I've had about enough of his interference.”
    Max smiled dangerously. His eyes gleamed.
    Cleo wrenched herself momentarily free of the silken web of sensual promise that was