Paolo and Johnny arrived all of a sudden. Their appearance took me by surprise. We’d been in Malibu awhile. Sometimes it seemed as if the outside world didn’t exist. There was just this moment, and the next, a long stream of moments held together by a sense of anticipation. In the morning when I stood in front of the mirror, I didn’t necessarily see Vicki Wilson, or Vittoria Paris, or Mrs. Paolo Orsini. I didn’t see the woman from the tabloid sites, or the doll-eyed girl from Texas, or any of the other people I have been reported to be. I just saw a woman regarding herself in the glass, posing in her white shorts—lips pursed, not entirely pleased with her looks but at the same time possessing a hint of vanity, of surreptitious pleasure, as she turned her heel and admired the curve of her body. She had a nice tan, after all. She lay down on the bed, admiring herself in a different way, indulging herself in the way people sometimes do. She put a hand on her stomach, then lower, sliding beneath the tan line. Maybe she thought about the swimmer then, or someone else, or no one in particular. Maybe she thought only of herself. It was only an interlude. Already Paolo and Johnny climbed from the limo, arriving with their bags from LAX.

––––––––

Paolo’s eyes held an unusual luminosity. He’d always possessed a light in his eyes—but the light had grown feverish. His illness had worsened since I left Italy, and he’d been consulting with a Chinese herbalist in Rome. He measured a honey-colored liquid from an amber bottle into a cup of tea, and soon the feverish look gave way to something glossier.

“Have you missed me?”

“Too much,” I said.

“The investigation— it’s in recess.”

“I thought this was all over.”

“It’s never over,” he said. “They have a new angle.”

I wondered why he’d come to Malibu when there was so much at stake in Rome. Something crossed his face, a raw glimmer.

“Your brother—” Whatever he’d been about to say, he changed his mind. Or else it got lost in the glossiness from that amber bottle. “I came to be with you, and to rest. There’s a regimen, certain herbs . . . but it can be very taxing. I started it, but then . . . I thought, all in all . . . I thought it might be better to go through the regimen here. Rather than in Rome . . . surrounded by people I can’t trust . . .”

The old committee had reconstituted itself—bolstered by the new religious cast to the senate—and been meeting behind the scenes with people who had once been close to him, former employees and associates, including his sister’s husband, Dazio’s stepfather, who’d lost his role at Uzio Station to Johnny.

“Your pain?”

“It’s not so bad.”

“You look tired.”