under one of them was pouring the noisy buzz and burble, the shrieks and bassos profundissimos of laughter, the irrational rapture of mortals who know they have arrived where things are happening. Anyone who had heard it before, the way Magdalena had at Art Basel, would recognize that sound forever after.
Over to one side, at a console, a maître d’ was conferring with six customers, four men and two women. The servitor, i.e., the maître d’, was instantly recognizable. He was the one dressed like a gentleman. That was the way it seemed to be these days. He wore a cream-colored tropical worsted suit and a necktie of darkest aubergine. The other four males, being the customers, wore no jackets. In the contemporary fashion, even among older men like them, they wore shirts with open necks, the better to reveal the way the deep lines beside their noses descended into their wattles, their jowls, and that overture to old age, a pair of harp-string-size tendons on either side of the Adam’s apple. The maître d’ showed them all to the terrace, then hurried over to Norman and Magdalena with a pleasant smile and “Bonsoir, monsieur, madame.” That was it for French, unless you counted the restaurant’s name. “Welcome to Chez Toi.” He had a pleasant smile—and didn’t have what a little girl from Hialeah instinctively feared in a fancy place like this, namely, an attitude of maître de votre destin, your destiny. Norman mentioned Korolyov and his party, and the maître d’ said they were having drinks in the library, as he called it. He led them to the arched doorway of the rapturous noise.
Mr. Korolyov… Magdalena put her hands together and could actually feel them trembling. Now she and Norman were inside the rapturous room. Men and women were gesticulating this way and that for emphasis and rolling their eyes as if I had never heard of such a thing or else My God, how could such a thing be?… and, above all, laughing so much, the world could tell that each and every one of them was an integral part of this exalted convening of the demigods. Magdalena had walked into Chez Toi swearing to Venus, Goddess of Seduction, that she would remain cool, even aloof, as if she could take the men in this room or leave them. Instead, she found herself caught up in the overwhelming status delirium of the place. Her eyes were darting about darting about darting about… looking for… him. The library, as the maître d’ had referred to it, had shelves of books, real books, on the wall, giving the restaurant still more of the chez-toi, your-house, mental atmosphere, but seemed to be used mainly as a small dining room. The tables had been pulled back toward the walls to allow Mr. Korolyov and his party more room to mingle, linger, tingle, blingle over drinks at this, the cocktail hour… but where is he? Suppose he’s not here, and this whole—
—all at once Norman was leaving her side and heading into the madding crowd.
“Norman!”
Norman stopped for an instant and turned about with a guilty smile on his face and held up his forefinger in the pantomime that says, “Don’t worry, I’ll only be a second.”
Magdalena was shocked… and then she panicked… What was she supposed to do, a twenty-four-year-old girl standing here among all these old people—they’re all so old!—and so white!—and she is a little Cuban girl, a nurse named Magdalena Otero, corseted into a bustier shoving her all-but-bare breasts into their faces like two big servings of flan!
And then she was furious. When Norman lifted his forefinger, he wasn’t saying I’ll be back in a moment… oh, no… consciously or not, he was saying I’m Number One and I’ve spotted somebody immensely more important than you and, sorry, but I must lay my Famous Dr. Porn charm on him while I have him in my sights!
What was she supposed to do now? Stand here like a tart on call? Already people were cutting glances at her… or was it just at the bustier and her breasts? ::::::Goddamn you, Norman!:::::: She remembered what Amélia had said. Always look confident… if you have no one to talk to, put on a confident smile. She put on a confident smile… but somehow standing here alone with a confident smile was no vast improvement upon standing here alone with a long face… Ahh! She spotted a painting on the wall nearest her, a big