marched over to the table, crushed out the second cigarette like he was murdering it, and picked up the phone. He was blazing red again. 'Wait a minute,' I said. 'Nope, got to go to Hong Kong,' he said. 'No more waiting on the boss lady who's always got to run the scenario, have things her own way.' He was punching in the number. 'That's not fair,' I said. 'The hell it's not.' 'You wanna ride to Hong Kong?' I asked. 'In a nice cushy private jet?' He stopped punching the buttons. 'Nice ride to Kathmandu? And maybe Tokyo after that?' He turned and looked at me. 'We'll steal the plane,' I said. 'We'll go to Venice and --' Hey, I know what we'll do. We'll go to the film festival at Cannes!' 'Can't get into the Carlton now. Everything's booked. Let's go to Hong Kong.' 'The hell with the Carlton. The Club has its own houseboat there. We'll go there first, then we'll steal the plane and go to Hong Kong. It's going to make them furious when we steal the plane.' 'And we get married in Cannes. Maybe in a little French church.' 'Jesus Christ. A church.' 'Come on, Lisa!' He slammed down the phone hard enough to break it. 'Martin was right about you,' I said. 'You're a romantic. You're mad.'
'You're figuring it wrong,' he said. 'I just like it when things are a little risky. I like it when it's a little dangerous. You know what I mean?' He looked ominous for a second, his eyebrows knotted, his mouth just a tiny bit hard. Then the smile came back, sort of irresistible. 'Like skydiving off a cliff ...' I said. 'Kind of ...' 'Like pushing an Ultralite plane as high as it will go ...' 'Sort of ...' 'Like wandering around El Salvador and Beirut with a war on ...' 'Maybe, a little ...' 'Like signing up as a slave for two years at a place like The Club.' 'Yeah.' He laughed, but very quietly, almost as if it was meant to be secret, as if the joke was something I couldn't really fully appreciate the way he could. He was next to me in a second, his arms right around me, and didn't give me a chance to turn away. 'Don't do that,' I said.
'I'm trying to think.' Those blot-out kisses, scent, taste of Elliott, Elliott's lips, Elliott's skin. 'Now you know it's going to be worth it,' he said. 'Stop,' I said softly. I couldn't see anything. Absolutely paralyzing kisses. 'I wonder why the hell I'm bothering to fight.' 'Hmmmm. I'm wondering the same thing,' he said. 'God, I missed you. And you wore this damned white dress just to drive me out of my head, didn't you? And this damned white hat.' He wouldn't stop kissing me. He was undoing the buttons at my neck. 'Stop it, wait till we're on the plane.' 'What plane?' he said. He was reaching up under my slip, pulling at my panties, ripping the zipper down the back of the dress. 'Will you cut it out, you're tearing the dress, damn it. All right, I'll do it. Now, stop it. Wait till we get on the plane.'
'Do what?' he asked. He was pulling my hair down, pulling off my hat. 'Get married, damn it!' I shouted. 'That's what!' I went to slug him but he ducked. 'You will. You'll marry me!' 'Well, that's just what I was trying to say while you were tearing my clothes to pieces, for God's sakes.' 'Oh, my God, you mean it. You'll do it! Oh, shit Lisa, I'm scared to death.' 'Goddamn you, Elliott.' I swung at him with the purse and got him as he put up his arms. He was laughing. 'Well, come on then for Chrissakes,' he said ducking the next swing and catching me by the waist. 'Let's get out of here. Let's go to Cannes, baby doll. And Hong Kong, and Venice -- I don't care where we go!' He pulled me towards the door. 'You're breaking my ankle!' I said. I tried to fix my zipper while he and the driver threw his bags in the back of the car. He ran back into the house to lock up.
It was really night now, and the view of San Francisco was burning out there beyond the edge of the garden, and when the house went dark, it was the only light I could see. My heart was pounding the way it had that very first time years and years ago when I had crossed the bridge into the city with Barry, that faceless kid whom I never knew. It was pounding the way it had the day I went to meet Jean Paul, or drove south with him to the master's estate in Hillsborough, or went to see Martin at The House. But this time the old raw excitement was mixed with a new emotion, too rich and exquisite to be anything but pure love. Elliott was two steps away from me and the driver had started the engine. And I was holding on to my hat and looking up at the constellations the way I had a thousand times on this mountain ever since I was a little girl. 'Come on, Mrs. Slater,' he said. He picked me up the same way he had in New Orleans and set me down inside the car. I clung to him as the limo made its awkward lumbering turn on the narrow hillside, tumbling us even closer together. 'Tell me again that you love me,' he said. 'I love you,' I said.