Nine Perfect Strangers - Liane Moriarty Page 0,143
point to them at all. Friends were an indulgence.
Frances winced. “I did totally forget a good friend’s birthday this year, but that was because I was caught up in this internet scam and I was so distracted that day, and then it got to midnight, and I thought, Oh my God, Monica! but it was too late to text, so—”
“What about your family?” Heather interrupted, before she heard this Monica’s life story. She found Frances to be quite flaky. “Do you have family?”
Heather looked over Frances’s shoulder at her own family. Zoe was sitting with Jessica, their heads bowed close, as if they were two friends sharing secrets. Napoleon and Ben walked as they talked, Ben listening intently and nodding respectfully like he was one of Napoleon’s best students. She didn’t know what was going on with Napoleon right now. It was like an imposter was doing an excellent job performing the role of Napoleon. He was saying and doing all the right things and nearly getting away with it, but there was something just not quite right.
“Yes,” said Frances. “I have family.” She looked uncertain. “I guess I’m not that close to my immediate family. My father died and my mother remarried and moved overseas. The South of France. I have a sister, but she has a lot on her plate. Their day-to-day lives wouldn’t be impacted that much if I was gone.”
“Of course their lives would be impacted,” said Heather.
“Well …” Frances gave the blank screen a nervous look. “I’m not saying they’d dance on my grave.”
Heather looked at her, surprised. The woman looked genuinely frightened. “You do know you’re not really on death row, don’t you? This is just a stupid power game for that maniac.”
“Shhh,” hissed Frances. “She could be listening.”
“I don’t care,” said Heather recklessly. “I’m not scared of her.”
“I kind of think you should be.” Frances shot another uneasy look at the screen.
“It’s fine, I’m going to play along,” said Heather, to comfort the poor woman. “I don’t think you should be executed.”
“Thanks so much,” said Frances.
“So what else should I say?”
“Appeal to her ego,” said Frances. “Start out by saying that it’s true that Frances’s life didn’t mean all that much until this point, but now she has done this retreat, she has been rehabilitated.”
“Rehabilitated,” said Heather.
“That’s right.” Frances was as jittery as a junkie. “Make sure you use the word ‘rehabilitated.’ I think she’ll like that. Make it clear that I’ve seen the error of my self-indulgent ways. I’m going to exercise. Eat clean. No more preservatives. I’m going to set goals.”
“Good morning, my sweetie pies!”
Masha’s voice boomed through the room as her image flickered to life once more on the screen.
Frances gasped and swore, clutching Heather’s arm.
“It is time!” cried Masha. She took a long deep drag of a cigarette and blew the smoke out the side of her mouth. “It is time to play Death Sentence. Wait. We’re not calling it that, are we? It is time to play Death Row. A much better name! Who thought of that name?”
“But it’s not time yet!” Napoleon looked at his watch.
Heather stared at the screen. Masha was smoking. She didn’t know why she was so surprised after everything else that had happened, but it was shocking and distressing, like seeing a nun lifting her habit to reveal suspenders.
“You’re smoking!” accused Jessica.
Masha laughed and took another deep drag. “I am smoking, Jessica. Occasionally, in times of stress, I smoke.”
“You’re high,” said Ben tiredly, sadly, and Heather could hear in his voice the years of resigned disappointment suffered by an addict’s relative. Ben was right. Masha’s eyes were glassy, and her posture was strange and stiff, as if her head wasn’t attached to her body and she was worried it would roll off.
Masha held up an empty smoothie glass. “I have taken steps to reach a higher level of consciousness.”
“Is Yao okay?” asked Heather. She tried to keep her tone respectful, even though her throat burned with hatred. “Could we please see Yao?”
The screen of the camera seemed to be angled differently from the previous time. Masha stood in front of a window in what looked like her office, although it was dark outside, so it was impossible to tell for sure.
“He is not your concern right now,” said Masha. “It is time for you to present your cases for your clients. Will they live? Will they die? This is such a stimulating and thought-provoking exercise, I think.”