Blood Games. Faye Kellerman

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СКАЧАТЬ You were …” She clutched her backpack to her chest. “Just … fantastic!”

      Gabe said, “Thank you very much.”

      “I mean it was like …”

      She didn’t finish the sentence. Silence ensued. It was awkward.

      “Thank you. I appreciate it.” Gabe picked up his coffee cup and sipped it, his eyes slipping back to his paper.

      “Do you like opera?” she blurted out.

      Gabe put down the paper. “As a matter of fact, I do like opera.”

      “You do?” Her eyes got wide. “Well, that’s good. Then at least these won’t go to waste.” She put down her backpack and started rummaging through it until she found what she was looking for—an envelope. She offered it to him. “Here you go.”

      He regarded her for a few moments, then took the envelope and opened it up. Tickets to La Traviata this Sunday at the Music Center. First row loge. “These are good seats.”

      “I know. They cost me a lot of my own money. Alyssa Danielli is playing Violetta. She’s wonderful, so I’m sure it’ll be wonderful.”

      “Then why aren’t you going?”

      “I was gonna go with my sister, but she flaked on me. I just couldn’t compete with a pool party and the lure of Michael Shoomer.”

      “So why don’t you find someone else to go with?”

      “No one my age is going to want to spend their Sunday afternoon at the opera.”

      “What about your mom?”

      “She’s busy. She’s not interested anyway. The only reason my sister agreed to go is I told her I’d clean her room. So I guess now I don’t have to do it.” She looked wounded. “You might as well use them. Take your girlfriend.”

      “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

      “Well, then take a friend.”

      “I don’t have any friends. But … I certainly will use a ticket if you’re going to throw them away. Are you sure?”

      “Positive.”

      “Then thank you very much.” He handed her back the envelope with a single ticket.

      “You’re welcome.” She heaved a big sigh.

      Gabe tried to stifle a smile. “Would you like to go together?”

      The kid got excited. “Do you have a car?”

      “No, I’m only fifteen. But we can take the bus.”

      She looked horrified. “A bus?”

      “Yeah, a bus. That’s how you get around if you don’t have access to a car.” Her complexion darkened, and Gabe pointed to a chair. “Why don’t you sit down? I’m getting a pain in my neck looking up at you … although it’s not that far.”

      “I know. I’m a runt.” She sat down and glanced over her shoulder, speaking softly as if they were conspiring. “Do you know how to get to the Music Center by bus?”

      “I do.”

      “Where do you find a bus?”

      “At a bus stop.”

      She bit her lip. “You must think I’m a doofus.”

      “No, but you’re probably a pampered pooch who’s been carted around her entire life.”

      Instead of taking offense, she nodded. “Carted everywhere except where I really want to go.” She sighed. “I love Alyssa Danielli. Her voice is so … pure.”

      Gabe sat back in his chair and gave her face an honest appraisal. He admired passion in any form, but classical music was something he could relate to. “If you want to go to an opera so bad, just go.”

      “It’s not that simple.”

      “Why not?”

      “You don’t understand Persian culture.”

      “Is there something in Persian genes that make them not like opera?”

      “My father wants me to be a doctor.”

      “I’m sure there are doctors who are opera fans.” He took a bite of his bagel. “You want some coffee or something?”

      “I’ll get it.” She stomped away, but left her backpack behind. A few minutes later she was back with something foamy. A sheen of sweat coated her forehead. “People are starting to come in.”

      “That’s good. It’ll keep the place in business.”

      “I mean it’s …” She glanced at her watch and sipped her coffee. “Is taking the bus dangerous?”

      “I wouldn’t go in the wee hours of the morning, but this is a matinee.” Gabe rubbed his neck. “If you’re going to continue to talk to me, could you please sit down?”

      She sat.

      He said, “Look … whatever your name is. How about if I give you directions by bus? If you’re at the bus stop, then we’ll go together. If not, I’ll buy you a CD and write you a review.”

      She sighed. “Maybe we can go by cab.”

      “A cab is like twenty times the money.”

      “I’ll pay for it.”

      Gabe stared at her. Who was she? “I’m not pleading poverty. I’ll pay for the cab if you definitely go. Otherwise, I’m going to go by bus.”

      “How about this?” the girl said. “You’ll pay for the cab if I go, and if I don’t go, I’ll pay you back.”

      Gabe shook his head. “This is getting very complicated.”

      “Please?” she implored.

      “Fine.” He rolled his eyes. “You’ll pay me back for the cab if you crap out … which doesn’t make any sense because I have to pick you up anyway and by that time, you should know whether or not you’re going.”

      Her big eyes got even wider. “You can’t pick me up at my house. I’ll meet you a few blocks away.”

      “Aha.” Gabe got it. “You’re sneaking around your parents.”

      “Sorta.”

      “Jeez, it’s not like you’re going to a rave; it’s a freakin’ opera.” When she didn’t say anything, he said, “It’s not just the opera; it’s going with me to the opera. Because I’m not Jewish.”

      She stared at him. “You’re not Jewish?”

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