The Angel of the Mansion: The Solomon Family

By Victoria Rich

A young woman writes the word I live and I lived on her mirror, but sees only the reverseevil and devil.

Eighteen-year-old Anis finds herself thrust into the world of fashion on the basis of her stunning beauty. In the midst of her burgeoning career and against all odds, she meets thirty-five-year-old Michael, the scion of the aristocratic Solomon family, whose money has been made in banking for years. In spite of their differing backgrounds, it seems the universe has granted their wish for a unique true love. Blessed with marvelous chemistry, they soon marryan event that marks the beginning of their journey into the mystical world of Michaels family history. As Anis becomes the new hostess of the Solomon family and presides over the mansion in place of Michaels recently deceased mother, she encounters obstacle after obstacle, many of them otherworldly in nature. But her love will stand by hereven if it means losing his own life.

In this thriller, a newly married couple must deal with the intermeshing worlds of fashion, politics, and magic as they face both human and supernatural threats.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781491798478

Victoria Rich

Victoria Rich was born in New York City and has studied comparative literature, the history and practice of ethics, religious theories, and Eastern philosophy. She is also the author of nonfiction research in the field of metaphysics. She currently lives in Greece.

Book preview

The Stranger

O n a lovely October morning, I was resting in my apartment. Outside the window in front of my sofa stretched an imposing range of skyscrapers. It may not an unusual view of Manhattan, but from up there, sky high, beyond the noise and quick pace of the city, it gave the impression of a celestial resort. Isolated from the chaos and bustle of the city at night, I arranged calm evenings with my friends, eating something light or listening to music. The headlights from the neighboring buildings together with the hundreds of lights from the skyscrapers were giving a theatrical view to the apartment. Born in a Mediterranean country, Greece, sun-flooded and with a sweet breeze, I felt nostalgic several times for the moonlit beaches, but looking at Batman’s city, I thought that I was very lucky to get there by myself.

When they showed me my new apartment for the first time, I turned it down. I looked through the glass windows of the twenty-fourth floor and felt vertigo. I felt exposed. While I was going around the rooms, my fear became terror and then panic. I remembered my first psychoanalysis, when I was fifteen years old. The strange Mohican haircut I had had replaced my long brown hair, which made me look like Queen Cleopatra, and no matter how hard I tried to convince my parents that it was the trend, my parents felt that I had to go to a psychiatrist.

Your fears have to do with the standards of your demands, the psychiatrist said. I didn’t fail to fulfill their desires, but after the psychiatrist, I went to a modeling agency and was therefore able to do whatever I wanted with my hair.

Staring again through the windows at the skyscrapers, I decided to prove to myself that phobias were a thing of the past. I moved in immediately and chose to leave the glass walls uncovered in order to provoke me daily.

That morning, tired from hard work and everyday parties, I was enjoying my calorie-rich breakfast I had ordered. Once a month I indulged myself in this fattening treat. I was ready to turn down the sound of the telephone and enjoy my day off when it started ringing. It was concerning a professional offer that I had been expecting for a long time. Hanging up, I was some million dollars wealthier. I had a two-year contract with one of the most powerful cosmetic companies in the world.

The attorneys would again arrange the contracts between the two companies, doing the same economic circle, and all would profit.

I picked at my croissant on the tray and opened my closet. I was going to be celebrating at the best club in the city, The Dragon, which was in the heart of entertainment. All the high society of Manhattan gathered there. Early at night, celebrities went there for either food or work. The customers were always the same. All entered with invitations and bodyguards. Since I was a minor, as were most of my friends, we visited the nightclubs with fake IDs. Not that we fooled the doormen, but at least we showed some documents so as not to provoke.

At this specific club, there was a table in my name because the youngest of the owners often invited me, liking to flirt with me. Making a mess out of my closet, I finally chose the clothes I would wear that night to the party. I left my croissant on my desk and noticed the envelope for the newspaper at which I had been working occasionally as an amateur reporter. They had assigned me to advertise a new product that had come on the market, and I already had the envelope ready. I held it in my hand and thought that I had to inform them at once.

I chose a white leather pair of shorts and a thin light pink sweater. I put on my white boots and set off, taking my raincoat because it was raining. The area I wanted to access was near the underground. I had a lot of time to move about Manhattan, and during the journey, I dawdled as if I were traveling around for the first time. It felt like a journey into the past. I was wondering what good I had done to make life so nice and generous for me.

It was almost noon when I emerged from the underground. I glanced around and realized that I had gotten off at a wrong point. According to the route map, the street I was looking for was not far. For fifteen minutes, I had been walking in what I thought was the wrong direction. I was absorbed in my notes. I must have taken a wrong turn several times. I stood where I was, trying to orientate myself. There was nobody there. I continued, anxious to hear a car so that I could find my way to the central road.

Hearing steps behind me, I stopped abruptly. Barely had I turned when I was lying on the pavement and bleeding. Hours later, I was giving a report to police officers. The only thing I remembered were the steps I had heard behind me. After that, two hands grabbed me from the waist and thrust me against a wall. I felt an acute pain in my forehead. Whoever he was fell heavily on me and started beating me, rage written all over his face. I must have lost consciousness, because when I came to, a group of old women was obstructing my view.

When I was released from the hospital, two police officers asked to take me to the police station to continue my testimony. They asked me so many questions that they made my head ache, not that it didn’t already ache enough. They gave me the name of a detective and told me that he would visit me at home soon. I agreed to attend sessions at the women’s crisis center, and in the end, they gave me a forensic diagnosis. They registered the evidence in their archives, and the case was then under investigation. John, who hadn’t left my side for a single minute, signed the papers and helped me walk to a taxi.

You’ll listen to me because I’m three years older than you, he said. He was clearly trying to create a pleasant mood, but when I’d left the hospital, everything seemed threatening. I got into the taxi quickly and bent my head. The taxi driver looked at me in the mirror discreetly, giving me the impression that he hated me. I got upset, and John put his hand on my shoulders and told me that the doctors had given me medicine to relax.

It took us a long time to get to my apartment, as the traffic was unbearable. We sat next to each other in the taxi without exchanging a single word. The silence continued inside my apartment. I went quickly to the bedroom. Seeming worried, John followed me and asked me whether I should move to his house or if he should stay with me.

I took a piece of paper and wrote I’m fine. it was not the right time for a fight. I knew that I shouldn’t have been left alone and that he had taken responsibility for my safety. However, I wanted him to give me some time to get used to the new condition. I needed to stay by myself, and as always, he respected my wish and left.

Late at night, I was trying to accept what had happened to me. I had turned off the lights and was sitting on the floor with my back turned to the windows of the living room. The headlights of the building across the street were detecting everything. Under other circumstances, that would be enjoyable, but now the beating of my heart got in tune with the slow rhythm of the headlights, which looked as if they were spying on me. Nothing could explain what had happened to me. I was watching the entrance door as if waiting for somebody. I was sure that someone would enter suddenly to harm me again.

John’s phone call interrupted my agitated thoughts and reminded me to take my medicine. I felt better but still sat as before. The headlights were continuing. It seemed as if someone was directing them. I was panicked about the idea that someone was trying to find me. I heard a noise and felt tension from the stitches in my face. It was impossible to see clearly, as the swelling didn’t let my eyes open more widely. I just watched the elevator and waited. All night I was waiting.

The medicine made me drowsy but didn’t kill the pain. The only thing I heard was a strange noise from my nose and the strange mechanism I had in my mouth. I was breathing with difficulty, and there were more than a few that I considered pulling out the long sling they had fixed into my nose to glue the bone. As for my mouth, I still didn’t dare search what had happened in there. They had inserted a metal device that kept my jaws open; it had a small tube that operated with batteries.

The next morning, John found me sleeping on the floor in front of the main entrance. He carried me in his arms to bed. He helped me take my medicine, and then he lay beside me. I’ve been thinking about you all night, he said dramatically. I can’t believe it. His voice was trembling, and his eyes were misty. Anis … tell me who did this. He raised his head and gazed at the two of us in the ceiling mirror. A company I had advertised for had given it to me as a present. I turned my face to the other side so he couldn’t see me. He kissed me gently on my shoulder. I don’t know how to help you. What shall I do? he whined.

He burst into tears, and I turned toward him. I hugged him as tightly as I could.

I opened my bedside table and took out the notepads I had collected from the several hotels where I stayed while I was traveling. I tapped him on the back and put the piece of paper close to his face so that he could read it.

Don’t cry.

I started making strange sounds from the mechanism and the saliva tube. He raised his head, and his blue eyes showed that he was suffering as much as I was. He looked at the strange mechanism in my mouth and shuddered.

How do you find the courage to make jokes? he asked, wiping his eyes.

Go to work, I wrote on another piece of paper and showed it to him. He stood up immediately.

I’m late. I have to leave. What do you want me to bring you when I come back? he shouted, reaching the elevator. I moaned, and he came back. Excuse me. I’ve got to get used to it, he said. He looked at the paper, where I had written Thank you. He took the pencil and wrote, Always at your service.

In a few days, the police appeared in my apartment. They told me that I looked better. They asked me to go to the police station soon so they could ask me some questions concerning my case. I decided not to put it off. Therefore, for the next two weeks, I was coming and going from the police station to help them with the description of the mugger and fill in their questionnaire. The entire procedure was particularly soul destroying, and I decided not to go again. Just leaving the apartment made me feel exhausted.

While I was looking at myself in the mirror, I started thinking that I might never be the same as I used to be. My face was unrecognizable. I couldn’t eat, swallow, or avoid pain. The doctors said that a lot of time would be needed and that they would reevaluate my condition when the wounds had healed completely. The only thing I considered worth doing was visiting the abuse center to attend the sessions and learn the self-defense lessons an ex-policeman taught us.

The police always reminded me to be aware of future danger. If for any reason I perceived that someone was following me or seeking to meet me, then I should report it immediately. The only weird person calling me and leaving messages during those weeks was a man that I had met at a fashion show three months before. I informed them about him, and they told me that they would look into it. It seemed strange that they never mentioned him again.

Before that accident happened, we had gone out to for lunch together several times. He had resented that I had denied all the evening invitations, and one day, in order to impress me, he sent me a limo with an odd driver who seemed more of a commando than a chauffeur. A limo in Manhattan was the easiest thing, and I wasn’t impressed at all, not even with the meal at the tower restaurant. I had to admit that he needn’t have done so many things to impress me. He was incredibly good-looking.

He had a posh beautifulness and elegant demeanor. He was observing everything on me and around me, and he lured me slowly into his arms. Time stopped when speaking. His eyes had the ability to look and seduce. For the first time in my life, I saw such expressive eyes. Powerful, they astounded everyone. He was giving me the impression all the time that he was testing me and that he knew everything. He was holding my hand, caressing my hair, and saying how he felt lucky that I had conceded to go out with him. He exerted a charm on me, and I couldn’t help thinking of him, but I couldn’t forget that such an attractive man would know how to treat women. Besides, he was sixteen years older than I was.

The weeks I had disappeared, he was calling me all the time. He didn’t know what had happened to me, and I didn’t want him to learn about it, let alone see me in that condition. I didn’t bear any resemblance to the model who had attracted him a few months before. He was so attractive! If he hadn’t approached me at the end of the fashion show, I would never have gotten close to him. I was too shy to make the first step. My friend was more daring, experienced, and lively. She was bothering and challenging him all evening, but she was not the only one—many girls were waiting to try their luck with him.

Immediately after the fashion show, we were together at a gathering; the models, the sponsors, the press representatives, and the VIPs were present. My friend was laughing and shouting in his ears, and she was doing anything to touch him. I avoided looking at him, but he was trying all the time to be within my view. When he moved toward me, my mind stopped.

He asked me if I could do something useful for him. We both smiled with embarrassment. He asked me to save him from all the flirting and suggested finding a quieter place. He snatched a glass of champagne at the last moment from a tray carried by one of the staff members and offered it to me. We smiled at each other again. He grabbed my hand with an abrupt movement and closed it tightly on his arm.

As we crossed the room, he returned greetings to his VIP friends. He gave me information about all of them, who they were and why they were there. The world of fashion today concerns all of us, he said. He was joyful, and his voice affected my brain cells like electricity. He wanted to know everything about my job and my life, but I avoided answering by reversing his questions.

I came in my mother’s place, he answered, and his sad look revealed his sensitive side for the first time. My first contact with fashion starts today, and it seems that it will last a long time. I was forced to stare at the bubbles whizzing in my glass. We were drinking our champagne and continuing to look at each other. I felt comfortable with him, but when he told me that he liked me, I felt uncomfortable. I nervously said that I had to make a phone call. Are you leaving? he asked me, and his smile disappeared.

I replied positively and turned my eyes away from his. It was odd, but he made me feel erotic just by talking to me.

Am I going to see you again? he asked hesitantly, coming within my view again.

I shook my head, and he willingly offered to accompany me because it was late. He blinked his eyes in such a cute and calm way, like a mechanic doll. His lips ended in a gentle smile, and I stared absently.

It’s not necessary, I replied abruptly to discourage him. He adjusted his tie and got ready to say something, but I interrupted him.

I’m late. I’m sorry.

Clearly feeling bad, he apologized and left. Not only was nobody waiting for me, but I also had to leave in order to be convincing.

A few days later, a garden of white roses was waiting for me at the agency. There was a card attached:I can’t stop thinking of you. I want to see you again.

—Michael

The next day he did the same again, filling the office with flowers, and all left with a bunch of flowers for their houses. He continued sending them, and the management asked me to do something. All cards had the same message:Say yes.

—Michael

I called him and agreed to go out with him. We’d had lunch together since then, until the moment that the unknown man attacked me.

My phone was full of his voice mails, which typically went as follows: Anis, this is Michael. I’ve called you many times. I would have abandoned my efforts, but something deep inside me tells me to try again. His voice caused me deprivation syndrome. During my stay in New York, I had never had a date. Boys were easy and kind, but I couldn’t decide to trust anybody until I met Michael.

His voice was deep, full of confidence. He was serious and reserved, and every time I heard his message, I felt safety and peace. I wanted desperately to talk to him, but I had just taken the mechanical device out of my mouth and the pain was unbearable. I didn’t even know if I could ever speak normally. I picked up the receiver, not knowing what to say. A difficult dialogue followed, with a great effort from me insofar as articulating words carefully. He insisted on seeing me, although I alleged illness. I was forced to promise that I’d call him as soon as I get well.

I went to the mirror and scrutinized my face. I couldn’t possibly show my face in this condition. I was wondering if I would ever be as I was before. In my mind, there was still that unknown man who attacked me. It was impossible to sleep at nights. It was not only that I hurt a lot but also the fear that at any moment I would see him in front of me again. Who was he? Why did he do it? Questions were constantly tantalizing me day and night. Michael’s phone calls acted like painkillers—his sweet words and his deep, calm voice …

Two weeks later, it seemed as if nothing had changed. As I did every afternoon, I was sitting on my couch trying to relax, drinking a hot drink I had prepared, but the tingle and the pain in my buccal cavity created foaming from the saliva and blood. My taste was distorted and mixed with antiseptic gel and pharmaceutical solution. I wiped my tears before they rolled down on my wounds, and suddenly I jerked because I felt that I wasn’t alone.

I felt a presence near me, and I shuddered. I froze completely. A strange melody, like a religious choir, was repeating and getting louder and louder, to the point that I had to close my ears. Hearing a sound, I took a baseball bat from the side of the fridge. I went close to the closet and bent my head behind the wall that separated me from the elevator. There was nobody. The elevator was closed.

Hearing the sound behind me again, I turned. Something shone in the corridor that led to my bedroom. I gripped the bat in my hands repeatedly, trying to dispel fear. I bit my lips so hard that I didn’t realize that the stitches had broken. I stood outside the bedroom door and listened carefully. All was calm. I looked behind me in the corridor. I was puzzled because the windows were not covered with curtains in order to let sunlight warm the apartment most hours of the day. Deep inside me, I heard bells ringing, but absolute silence prevailed inside the room.

My palms had grown sweaty, and I couldn’t hold the bat tightly. My forehead had crimpled so much that made all stitches hurt simultaneously.

I remembered the breathing lessons that I had taken when I was a little girl to control an asthma attack. My heart began beating normally again, and my oxygen was also flowing naturally. I put the bat to my chin to protect my neck from a potential attack and went toward the living room. I found out that there was nobody. I started crying silently, realizing that I wasn’t feeling well. I had imagined everything, the hymns and the drums.

Exhausted, I sat on the sofa. Michael’s face came to my mind, and his strong eyes shone like wild beasts in the darkness of my thoughts. That calmed me down and drove away the unpleasant feeling of loneliness. I called him without any reservations; we talked until I went to bed, arranging to meet the next day.

As the time was passing, I started getting depressed. I realized that I had lied to him. I had called him to tell him what happened to me, what was happening, but I didn’t do it. The warmth of his voice caressed my ears and seduced me. He made me crave him and miss him, although I didn’t really know who he was. I didn’t want him to see me in the condition I was in, and I was ashamed to tell him that someone had beaten me. I didn’t want him to pity me or see me as an abuse victim. Suddenly, I felt that everybody wanted to beat me. I understood that more sessions would be needed at the women’s abuse center to stop feeling guilty and understand that I was never to blame. Until then, I couldn’t see anybody. The next day I called him to cancel our date. Once more upon hearing his voice, I lied.

How are you, my goddess?

With misty eyes and a faint voice, I made up an excuse in order to gain time. There was a long pause on the phone, and I thought that he would refuse, but he conceded, and what is more, he continued talking tenderly to me until late at night. While hanging up, I realized that the pain of saying good-bye was worse that the pain from the wounds on my face.

I went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. I had the feeling that he was beside me all the time. It intrigued me and calmed me at the same time. It was inexplicable, but I felt as if I had known him for years. I remembered how I had felt when my airplane landed in New York. An unbelievable euphoria had flooded my heart, as if I returned somewhere where they had always waited for me. Now I was wondering whether maybe he had a relation to it.

I was wondering whether it was real what some books wrote about lost souls that sought one another. Was there literally such thing as a soul mate? Had we met in a previous life? Did such a thing exist? I laughed at myself; I fooled myself. That would give an easy explanation to my feelings. All the same, hardly had the past occupied my mind. What I felt I found in the present. There was something powerful in his eyes that made me think of them constantly. I felt that we started something that would last forever. Whoever he was, I wanted to see him again. If only I didn’t make a mistake …

During the next week, I decided to keep busy around the house. I had spent the last of my money on doctors and my housekeeper. I had to take over housework chores. Seeing my laundry that had filled the space, I realized how thoughtlessly and impetuously I used to live as a model. I had so many clothes, and I had never worn most of them. I always renewed them with pieces from the new collection. Each of them cost as much as my rent, and now that I was at risk of losing my apartment because I couldn’t pay it, I started to understand how vain I used to be.

I decided late one night to go to the corner Laundromat where my friends went. In my building, I had to pay much more, and as for my electrical appliances, only my housekeeper, whom I had dismissed, knew how they operated. I was happy that it was drizzling so I could hide my face under an oversized anorak.

Guy was at reception when I left. He was twenty years old, studied drama, and had an affair going with a well-known actress thirty years older than he was. The building where I lived was in a central and wealthy area of Manhattan. Some celebrities who lived there would disguise themselves when they went out because there were groups of reporters everywhere. They were taking snapshots from all the phases of our lives, all the stages of our glory or decline. Then we turned up on TV and in magazines and thought that the whole world hated us.

Guy had asked my opinion about his love affair, and the only thing that crossed my mind was that Mia looked younger and that perhaps she could help him since both of them belonged to the show business realm. That night when he saw me wearing my hood, he was sad. He clearly felt like talking to me, but I was in a hurry and moody.

Hey, Anis, wait for a while. Seldom do I see you lately.

I’m in a terrible condition; another time.

He knew about the incident, and he was tactful. He didn’t create problems for the detectives that the police officers sent at times for my testimonies. That night, however, when I went back home, Guy told me that he was forced to open my apartment to two police officers; they were waiting upstairs. He apologized, but as he explained to me, they must have been important persons. He had recognized one of them because he had seen him on TV giving an interview.

I went up, irritated and ready to fight. I wanted all the intrusions to stop and leave me alone. For them, it was a job; but for me, it was horror, and I wanted to forget. They made me reexperience the incident, and as a result, I was getting more and more frightened. Letting myself into my apartment, I left the sack with my clothes on an armchair and got ready for a fight. But suddenly I saw that one of the two men waiting for me was Michael. The other was unknown; I had never met him before.

Michael?

He approached me and tried to take me under the light. Not wanting him to see my face, I resisted. I accused them of invading my house and asked them to leave. He dragged me under the light as if he hadn’t heard anything. At the view of my face, he looked shocked. He turned abruptly toward the window, but from the reflection, I saw that he had his eyes closed.

Why didn’t you tell me about it? he asked, and he turned again toward me. Whoever did that, he will pay. I swear he’ll pay.

I got upset that he was staring at me while my face was still distorted from the stitches and the wounds. I wanted him to leave.

I turned angrily to the other person. Who are you? Another curious detective! Police don’t have anything else to do these days, do they?

John Gas, manager of the criminal department of New York. I’m sorry for what happened. I only want to be useful in any way. Michael asked me to—

I interrupted him abruptly. I want you to leave.’ I went over to Michael, who appeared charmed by my pictures leaning against a wall. His friend approached me and whispered in my ear.

He’s much in love with you.

Then do me a favor and take him from here. He fell in love with a beautiful face, nothing else. Look at me. Do I bear any resemblance to those pictures?

I stood behind Michael and asked him to turn and look at me. He turned slowly, and after looking thoroughly at the wounds on my face, he promised to take me to the best doctors. I pretended that I didn’t hear him and asked him to leave. I had been tired from the conversation, but more than that, I was ashamed that he saw me in that condition.

I’ll leave only for today. But as of tomorrow, we’re going to live together. We’ll be together in this, he said decidedly.

His words made me feel even more pain. His interest caused me a state of panic. I was suffocating. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. Those days, I had felt myself dying. I’d felt hatred. I was overwhelmed with anger, and I had closed my heart to everybody. I had the right to be violent and negative. After leveling everything, I sank exhausted into my bed, embittered by things that I didn’t understand.

I don’t want you near me! I screamed, which caused excruciating pain to my jaw. The pain forced me to hide my face. I was taken aback when I saw Michael’s eyes filled with tears, and I approached him hesitantly. He leaned his head and turned his back. I glanced at his friend, who was standing in the same place the entire time. He seemed sad and serious. I beckoned to him to help the situation.

He immediately apologized and said that they had to let me rest, and they slowly walked toward the elevator. Michael turned and gave me a strange look, and for some seconds, I had the impression that his eyes had changed color. I didn’t know whether it was the light or my agitation, but a strange light surrounded them, fading immediately after that.

I had a strong desire to ask him something, but I didn’t know what. My heart was sending hits to my body, but my mind held them back and made pain conform and not be expressed. He looked at me as if he understood everything.

Let me show what I can do for you. Don’t send me away, he said, and the pain inside me was soothed. I gave in as if I were hypnotized, and he told me that he would come back the next morning.

The Recovery

W ith a group of men, Michael came to my apartment early in the morning and cabled everything. A surveillance system was installed, with cameras in the entire house and the elevator that let out in my apartment. They changed the entrance code, and late in the evening, when the last had left, he locked the elevator and conducted some tests. I let him move around in the house, and I was limited to my room. When he finished, he came to my room and asked me to come in. I didn’t answer. I shrugged my shoulders and leaned against the window, looking at the building opposite.

He let me know about the schedule for the next few days and asked me to be patient because many doctors would be examining me. He assured me that everything would be fine and thanked me for letting him stay. We were staring at each other. In the end, he smiled and winked. He took a bite from the apple he was holding and glanced around my room. Feeling uncomfortable, I returned to the window. It had darkened, and the buildings around me appeared abandoned, although some lights had been left on.

For the first time, the silence became annoying.

I tried to be honest with myself and determine what really bothered me. The truth is that I was not interested in my recovery. He wanted to be in my life even under these circumstances, and that made me be suspicious. Trying not to be influenced, I objected to his good intentions. I turned back to see if he was still there. He was standing outside my room and staring at something. I realized that he was looking at me in the ceiling mirror.

It’s the first time I have seen so many mirrors! He smiled archly.

If your life is full of poses … I replied coldly.

He nodded his head, drinking the coffee he had made.

While he was hanging about in my apartment, he found the appliances that the companies I had cooperated with from the newspaper and magazines had given to me as presents.

Don’t ask me to help you, he said. You should find out by yourself how they function.

Don’t worry—whatever I’ve learned in my life, I’ve learned it by myself. He took a bite of his apple, and I heard the sound it made while it was being removed from the flesh of the fruit. He licked his lips and raised his brows in a complacent and conceited way that irritated me.

As the next two weeks passed, he continued sleeping on my couch without my knowing a lot about his life. He had said that he was a managing director of a group, and this explained the presence of an old man who brought him clothes and briefcases to my apartment every morning. He dressed in serious and expensive suits, and although I wanted to be indifferent, it was impossible not to notice how good-looking he was. He was out all day, and when he returned, he took care of me as if I were a baby. He smashed food and fed me, in the beginning with a straw and then with a little spoon. He made appointments with the best-known plastic surgeons and skin specialists.

When the time to manage my finances came, he seemed most puzzled. A lot of money had gone through my hands, but I had never thought of saving some of it or being more restrained with my expenses. He undertook to save me from bankruptcy, and he virtually saved my apartment. Although he was giving me lessons about the analysis and development of economy, no matter how much I admired his knowledge, in the end, I admitted my desire to spend irrationally only to feel better.

He appeared to understand my psychology, but he remained firm in his position, claiming that it was not enough for wealth to exist; it had to be harnessed as well. In addition to being so good-looking, he was also smart and realistic, and I looked at him in wonder.

I stopped wondering anymore when I saw him stay awake in front of towers of documents with absolute discipline and self-concentration.

One night when I was in my bedroom, I heard a noise. I thought it must have been one of his books falling to the floor when he fell asleep, but then I heard the noise again. I rose from my bed, carrying the baseball bat, and I put my ear to the door. I heard nothing. I opened the door hesitantly and saw him sleeping on the couch. The lights from the opposite building were shedding light in a violet shade across my apartment, and the two corner glass walls enabled me to have a panoramic view of the city from my living room.

He had been complaining all the time that it was the worst surroundings in which to get some quiet in order to sleep.

All those nights, he never came to my bedroom, except for one night, when he knocked at my door to be certain that I was okay because I was screaming and crying in my sleep. He didn’t come into my room, not even then. I asked myself quite often what feelings he had for me and the real reason he was helping me. I was wondering whether a woman was waiting for him while he was sleeping at my house.

He had decided to make me as I was before, but I was seeing things differently. The arrogance and frivolity that had characterized me were in the past. I discerned danger everywhere. It was impossible for me to trust somebody, even him, although he was sleeping in the living room to protect me from all the others.

That night, I observed his body under the violet shade of the headlights, as the blanket covering him had slipped, leaving the upper part of his body uncovered. He was wearing a white T-shirt. His body was highly trained, and his stature was tall. His face was cold yet beautiful, like those faces that do not let you approach easily but always gain admiration. His eyes, though hard at times, sometimes gave the impression that they could readily be friendly. Most of the time, they were staring inquisitively and incredulously. I had also noticed that his wavy hair fell in front of his green eyes, and as it was dark, it was in contrast with his fair skin. The creaking of the door made him jump up abruptly, and we found ourselves looking at each other with the lights glowing disorderly between us.

I heard some noise, I whispered. After making sure there was no danger, he left his gun on my desk and asked me to continue my sleep and not to be afraid. I heard him walking anxiously and standing outside my door long enough to obstruct the light. He didn’t enter. I felt an implausible desire to touch him, but there was the door between us. Finally he walked away.

As the days passed, the swelling decreased sufficiently, and under the doctors’ recommendations, all seemed to go fine. When he asked me if we could go out together, I panicked. I stared at myself in the mirror with disappointment. My eyes and my nose had been rehabilitated, but I was still swallowing with difficulty. The inner part of my mouth was full of wounds. I still didn’t have the ability to chew without hearing my jaw, so obviously a dinner would be a disaster. He reassured me, suggesting taking short walks in the park, which became longer each day.

One evening he received some phone calls that upset him. It was pouring rain, and he spent a good amount of time in front of the windows, looking at floodlit Manhattan. I pretended that I was reading in my office, located in an elevated place next to the living room, but I hadn’t managed to read a single word since my eyes were turned to him constantly.

He was spending a lot of time with his hands in his pockets, gazing at the skyscrapers. He was still wearing the suit that they had brought him in the morning. He sometimes turned and observed me, and I lowered my eyes in the book. I felt strongly that he needed to talk, but I didn’t try to help him. Suddenly, he went to his things and opened a big leather case. I had seen it long since abandoned next to the closet and had always forgotten to ask him about it. He took out a saxophone.

Do you mind? he asked me, when he saw that I had stopped reading. I shook my head. He stood in front of the window and gazed at the city. He closed his lips around the saxophone mouthpiece and started playing. I was watching his body following the tune. I laid the book on the desk and was lost deep in my thoughts.

I wondered who had called him that late. I wanted to know what he was feeling and what tortured his mind. His body was swaying to the sound of the saxophone, whose sound was getting me down, but I didn’t say anything. It pleased him, and that was enough for me. That night, I withdrew early to my bedroom and left him alone with his thoughts.

Exodus

T he day of the reexamination came, and to my great surprise, I noticed that Michael was more worried than I was. Doctors said that except for some precautions I had to take, nothing showed what I had gone through. Michael took me in his arms and lifted me. He couldn’t hide his joy. He kept kissing me and making me blush.

Today we will dine somewhere very nice, he said joyfully. We usually ordered food because no one was in the mood for cooking. We were satisfied with the pleasant feeling that we derived from tasting delicious dishes. Many evenings we watched movies in the living room, eating hot popcorn with butter and salt, and I enjoyed falling asleep in his arms. One night he left me to get ready and said that he would come later to pick me up.

I opened my closet and laid my most beautiful clothes on the bed. Among them, I saw my small leather shorts I had worn the day of the attack. I recalled that I was ready to celebrate my new contract. I looked at it and relived the moment just before being attacked by that stranger. I remembered my pink sweater covered with blood. A surge of harsh images appeared in my mind, while at the same time, Michael’s voice came from outside my room. He was telling me to dress in warm clothes because it was cold. He knocked at the door, but he got no answer. He knocked again, but my mind was elsewhere. He came inside and took my hands.

They are frozen. Are you feeling okay? He looked tactfully at the clothes spread everywhere.

I wanted to … I paused. I didn’t know what I wanted to say.

It’s extremely cold outside, he said. I’ve got a gift for you in order to warm you. He smiled enigmatically, and I gave him a puzzled look. He let me get ready and said that he would wait in the living room. I got ready quickly, but looking at myself in the mirror, the unpleasant pictures returned. I started not feeling well. A voice was whispering an incomprehensible prayer in my ear, and I screamed to make it stop. I felt dizziness and discontent. Michael knocked at the door and came in, clearly worried.

What’s going on?

I can’t.

He came next to me and hugged me tightly.

You will get over it. You’re very strong.He told me that I was beautiful. I got upset again and burst into tears. My makeup daubed his beautiful clothes.

I am ugly; I’m full of wounds.

He turned me toward the mirror.

He was right; there was not even a sign.

He attacked me because I was beautiful, I continued.

Come, come, Anis, you can’t believe this. It was an accident. It could have happened to anyone. Look at yourself in the mirror. You are most beautiful. Nobody can deprive you from it. To be honest, you are a little more beautiful than before when standing beside me.

I stopped crying and started smiling.

Did you see how I can make you smile? He went out, and before coming back in, he asked me to close my eyes. I chose to keep them open, and I turned my back so as not to spoil the surprise. I felt something soft and smooth on my shoulders, and I turned abruptly. He wiped the mascara that had run under my eyes and asked me if I liked his gift.

I stared at myself in the mirror and forced myself to smile. A white fur coat was covering my tight black dress. It was not the right moment to tell him that I was ideologically opposed to such gifts.

Do you like it? he asked skeptically. I gazed at myself in the mirror again and thanked him, telling him that we could leave.

I ate with difficulty, but my joy was great because the pain had at last vanished. It was a sweet, peaceful evening, and although it had started badly, it ended nicely. When we returned, I went to my bed and he headed for the couch. In the middle of the night, I heard his footsteps going back and forth outside my door. He clearly couldn’t sleep; nor could I. When he knocked at my door, I didn’t answer, and he knocked again, louder this time.

Anis, are you sleeping?

I didn’t reply. He asked again louder, and I was forced to reply.

Not anymore.

We need to talk. He sounded determined.

Now? I replied sleepily.

Now, he answered abruptly. What could he possibly want? I hastily fixed my hair, but seeing the huge pink panther on my black pajamas, I stopped, horrified. I didn’t have time to change.

Anis, what’s taking so long?

I had to think of something quickly. A long time had passed, and I had abandoned the idea that a night like that would ever come. I was wrapped in the quilt that I had thrown on my armchair, and I opened the door slightly. I could hardly see him. He asked me if he could come in. I didn’t perceive what he really wanted, and I stayed there wrapped in the quilt.

Are we going to talk like this? Open the door.

I gave him a suspicious look. Opening the door a bit wider, I held the quilt around me tightly.

Anis, I have to talk to you. I have to tell you some things about me. Such a long time here … with you … Why are you standing like this? Are you feeling okay?

I nodded, and he glanced behind me, scaring me. I got upset. He opened the door wide and came in. He was wearing a longing expression. He took a step forward, and I was forced to take one back. He came closer to me.

Don’t leave. I only want to touch you, he said affectionately, touching my cheek. There is nothing visible anymore, as if it had never happened. You are very beautiful.

His voice went through my ears and made me feel dizzy. I was cautiously accepting his touch. You’ve got an unbelievable charm—it’s almost eerie. Your skin … your smell … So many nights outside your door and I couldn’t touch you, no matter how much I wanted to. I’m thinking of you continuously. I may leave the apartment, but the only thing I have on my mind is when I’ll come back again. I want to touch you …

He put his hands on my waist and pulled me close to him. His lips touched mine. They were soft and warm. He held me so tightly that he probably didn’t realize he was hurting me.

Stop it. You’re hurting me! I complained. His face took on a remorseful expression.

I’m sorry. I got carried away. I felt so … Do you want me to leave?

He gave me an expression like that of a small child who had caused mischief. I didn’t know what he meant exactly. Was he asking me if I wanted him to leave the apartment or just my room? But in any case, I didn’t want him to leave. I nodded. He stood awkwardly and looked around him as if he were searching for something. He tried to touch my hands, but I hid them behind my back. His gaze fell on my pajamas, which had been revealed. He blinked his eyelids so slowly, and I was more ashamed than I had ever been in my life.

What’s this? he asked with surprise, pointing at my bed. He went closer and picked up the fur he had given to me as a gift earlier that night. I had turned it into an improvised quilt. I had folded the sleeves and used them to warm my feet.

Are you mad? I asked him, watching his reactions. He leaned his head as if he couldn’t hear well. He took another glimpse at my pajamas, gave me a strange smile, and left.

I left my room and went to look at the elevator. The skyscrapers were the only witnesses to my unlucky love affair. Somewhere out in the streets, he was walking alone. I was wondering why I was left alone since I craved him as much as he did me. I was so much in love and desperate at the same time that I was feeling as if a train had run over me.

I picked up the blanket, which had covered him earlier, from the floor, and I noticed that he had forgotten his briefcase and his coat. He hadn’t drunk his coffee, and an apple with a bite out of it was left on his cup. I took it and turned it around with my fingers. I found the exact spot that he had bitten, and I brought it to my mouth, matching his print with mine. I closed my eyes and tasted once more his kiss; it had the scent of the apple.

I got back in bed, but I couldn’t calm down. I had a strong desire to feel his hands exploring my body again. I went to the living room and stared at the empty couch. The apple on his mug reminded me of what I had lost. As long as it was there, it would make me suffer. I grabbed it decidedly and ate it. Satisfied, I returned to my bedroom. I thought that he was likely to return due to the cold;, he had gone out in his t-shirt, not even aking the time to put on his jacket. I could have called him, but I didn’t. An incredible sorrow got me down, and I felt lonely.

I took his coat from my bed and slipped under the fur with it. I laid it on the pillow beside me and raised the sleeves to my face, pulling it near me. His smell eliminated my loneliness. It seemed to me that he was there. I couldn’t close an eye all night. I was missing him. I was missing him desperately. I was blaming myself for letting him leave. I accused myself of having thinking of him so much.

I’ll get over it. I have to get over it … My head was aching.

Enough, I said to myself. Forget it. Forget him.

The Friend

T hree days passed without Michael calling. I was going crazy being closed in my apartment. On the fourth day, I decided to invite my friends over for a quiet gathering and to inform them about the latest news from my agency.

The evening flowed pleasantly, and when the time to say good-bye came, I asked John to stay with me. All night I talked with him about Michael, and when he fell asleep, I continued think of Michael and long for him.

The next morning, John was preparing breakfast when Guy, the doorkeeper, informed me that I had visitors. The door of the elevator opened, and two tiny guys started filling my apartment with white roses. His emblem, I thought, my heart beating strongly.

Let me guess, said John playfully as he came out of the kitchen. What are you looking at? They won’t speak. There must be a card somewhere.

There it is … Yes, it’s from him. He says that he will pick me up at eight o clock this evening. I kissed the card and dashed happily to John’s arms.

What are you considering doing? he asked me, serving breakfast. I pretended indifference.

I think you should go.

And if I’m wrong?

There’s only one way to find it out. Do what you feel like doing, Anis … Now, let’s eat before it cools down.

While we were eating, we were silent. John drank his juice and broke the silence.

You know what’s going to happen, don’t you?

I looked away and swallowed a bite of my omelet.

You know what will happen tonight, eh? He smiled archly. I pushed my food aside and went to lie on the couch, embracing the cushions.

Do you think that I shouldn’t go out with him?

John rested his head in his hands and stared at me for a long time. His face was so beautiful.