What I Loved

decorously than usual, because she chewed slowly with her mouth closed, revealing her small overbite only when her lips parted to take in the morsel. We were both silent for the first few minutes, and I pretended that I didn't see her glistening eyes or hear the noise she made every time she swallowed. Her throat must have been small and tight from anxiety, because she gulped rather loudly and then blushed at the sound. I started talking to distract her—mostly nonsense, a chain of culinary free associations. I talked about a lemon pasta I had eaten in Siena under a sky full of stars and the twenty different kinds of herring Jack had ingested in Stockholm. I talked about squids and their indigo ink in a Venetian risotto, the underground business of sneaking unpasteurized cheese into New York, and a pig I had once seen in the south of France snuffling while truffling. Violet didn't say a word, but her eyes cleared and the corners of her mouth showed signs of amusement when I began telling her about a maître d' in a local restaurant who tripped and fell over a small elderly woman as he ran to greet a movie actor who had just walked through the door.
    In the end, only the tomato was left on the plate. I pierced it and brought it to Violet's mouth, but as I slid the gelatinous red slice between her teeth, a few seeds and their juice escaped and ran down her chin. I grabbed her napkin and began gently dabbing her face with it. Violet closed her eyes, leaned her head back a little, and smiled. When she opened her eyes she was still smiling. "Thank you," she said. "The meal was delicious."
    The next day, Violet filed a missing-persons report with the police department, and although she didn't mention the theft to the person on the telephone, she did say that Mark had disappeared before. She tried calling Lazlo, but he wasn't home, and then late that same afternoon after spending only a couple of hours at the studio, Violet invited me upstairs to listen to the sections of her tapes that were connected to Teddy Giles. "I have this feeling that Mark is with Giles," she said, "but his number is unlisted and the gallery won't give it to me." As we sat in her study and listened, I noticed that Violet's drawn face tightened with interest and her gestures had a quickness I hadn't seen in weeks.
    "This is a girl who calls herself Virgina," Violet said. "With a long second i, like 'virgin' and Vagina.' "
    A young female voice began to speak in midsentence. "... a family. That's how we think of it. Teddy's like the head of the family, you know, 'cause he's older than us."
    Violet's voice interrupted her. "How old is he exactly?"
    "Twenty-seven. "
    "Do you know anything about his life before he came to New York?"
    "He told me the whole story. He was born in Florida. His mom died, and he never knew his dad. He was raised by his uncle, who beat him up all the time, so he ran away to Canada, where he worked as a mailman, and after that he came here and got into clubs and art."
    "I've heard several versions of his life story," Violet's voice said.
    "I know this is the real one on account of the way he told me. He was like really sad about his childhood."
    Violet mentioned the rumor about Rafael and the chopped finger.
    "I heard that, too. I don't believe it, though. This kid we call Toad— he's got acne real bad—was spreading that around. You know what else he said? He said that Teddy killed his own mother, pushed her down the stairs, but nobody found out, because it looked like an accident. That's the kind of stuff Teddy says to keep up his She-Monster act, but he's a super-gentle guy, really. Toad's pretty stupid, and how's Teddy going to kill somebody who died before he was even born?"
    "His mother couldn't have died before he was born."
    Silence. "No, I guess I mean right when he was born, but the point is, Teddy's sweet. He showed me his collection of salt and pepper shakers— soooo cute. Oh my God, little animals and flowers and these two teeny-weeny guys playing guitars with holes in their heads for the salt and pepper ..."
    Violet stopped the tape and moved it forward. "Now I want you to listen to this boy named Lee. I don't know much about him, except that he's on his own. He might be a runaway." She pressed PLAY, and Lee started talking. "Teddy's for freedom, man. That's what I appreciate about him—he's for self-expression, for the higher consciousness. He's going against all that normalcy shit and telling it like it is.