Cole Perriman's Terminal Games Read Online Free PDF

to do, arrest me?
    By the time she got off the elevator and found her way to the bar, Marianne was feeling steady again. Like the rest of the hotel, the King Louis Lounge was posh—although here the florid French motif gave way to a darker and more heavily upholstered elegance. Behind a well-polished wooden bar, an array of bottles glittered. Only a few people occupied chairs around the scattered tables. The room was shadowy, and Marianne couldn’t tell immediately whether the friend she planned to meet had arrived or not.
    Then, in a burst of color and motion, a woman with wild, rust-colored hair scrambled out of a booth and charged forward, holding out her arms and calling Marianne’s name. Renee’s warm, chestnut-colored eyes momentarily startled Marianne. No one else she knew had eyes like that.
    Surprised by a rush of emotion, Marianne realized how much she’d missed her friend. Her eyes stung with tears as she threw herarms around Renee, who returned the embrace warmly. Marianne stepped back and saw that Renee, too, was laughing through tears.
    “I can’t believe it’s been a year,” Marianne said.
    “I can’t, either,” Renee said.
    Then came a moment of pleasant confusion during which neither of them had the slightest idea what to say next.
    “Love your outfit,” Marianne said at last, although she was sure that Renee’s tunic and slacks hadn’t started life as an ensemble.
    “Don’t be sarcastic,” replied Renee pertly.
    “Let’s just say you’ve got a knack for making me look stodgy.”
    “You’ve made it so easy,” commented Renee with a little smirk. Marianne caught a sepia-tinted glimpse of the two of them in the mirror behind the bar. Her own sober tan reflection was practically invisible next to the crimson and purple one. Images came back to her, of the two of them in jeans and men’s shirts tied at the waist, or in long skirts, ethnic blouses, dangly jewelry, strappy sandals, and a bright scarf or two.
    In those days, they’d been on more equal terms. Of course, they’d both gone through transformations during the past several years. But Marianne could see that Renee still maintained an air of exuberance, while her own look was now more premeditated.
    My own life is more premeditated.
    The two women settled into a booth Renee had already appropriated. The padded black leather seat curved halfway around a marble-topped table. Above the row of booths, beveled and leaded glass panels, some frosted and some clear, provided a striped view of palmetto plants and the main lobby beyond.
    “Would you like to start with a drink?” a waiter suggested. He took their order and retreated.
    “So, what do you hear from the old gang?” Marianne asked.
    “There is no old gang anymore,” Renee said sadly.
    “Don’t you hear from any of them?”
    “Not a one. And you?”
    “Me neither.”
    “Surely you hear from Evan now and again.”
    Marianne winced. “Only what I read in The Village Voice.”
    “Do I detect a note of bitterness?”
    “Probably. I guess even an amicable divorce brings out a few hard feelings. Actually, he did call about three months back. He was ranting and raving, complaining about everything as usual. But he’s getting attention in the New York gallery scene.”
    “He’s got to love that.”
    “Oh, yeah, Evan loves attention. And God knows, he’s worked hard for it. I hope it lasts long enough to make him stinking rich. I hope he gets famous.”
    “You don’t sound like you mean it,” Renee observed.
    “Really?” Marianne asked. She was surprised. She thought she meant it. She knew the photographs printed with recent reviews were of Evan’s old work and that he was living on borrowed time and borrowed talent. For his sake, Marianne hoped he could rake in a fast fortune and rest on his laurels. His laurels were all he had left.
    “I hope he does well,” Marianne said simply.
    “Of course he will,” Renee said. “You know he’s brilliant. It takes