Whispers Read Online Free PDF

night like this, with so much to celebrate—there ought to be candlelight, soft music, good wine, a special someone to share it with.”
    She grinned. “Wally, you’re a closet romantic.”
    â€œI’m serious,” he said.
    She put one hand on his arm. “It’s sweet of you to be concerned about me, Wally. But I’m perfectly all right. I’m happy when I’m alone. I’m very good company for myself. There’ll be plenty of time for a meaningful relationship with a man and skiing weekends in Aspen and chatty evenings at The Palm after The Hour of the Wolf is finished and in the theaters.”
    Wally Topelis frowned. “If you don’t learn how to relax, you won’t survive for very long in a high-pressure business like this. In a couple of years, you’ll be as limp as a rag doll, tattered, frayed, worn out. Believe me, kid, when the physical energy is all burnt up, you’ll suddenly discover that the mental energy, the creative juice, has also evaporated with it.”
    â€œThis project is a watershed for me,” she said. “After it, my life won’t be the same.”
    â€œAgreed. But—”
    â€œI’ve worked hard, damned hard, single-mindedly, toward this chance. I’ll admit it: I’ve been obsessed with my work. But once I’ve made a reputation as a good writer and a good director, I’ll feel secure. I’ll finally be able to cast out the demons—my parents, Chicago, all those bad memories. I’ll be able to relax and lead a more normal life. But I can’t rest yet. If I slack off now, I’ll fail. Or at least I think I will, and that’s the same thing.”
    He sighed. “Okay. But we would have had a lot of fun at The Palm.”
    A valet arrived with her car.
    She hugged Wally. “I’ll probably call you tomorrow, just to be sure that this Warner Brothers thing wasn’t all a dream.”
    â€œContracts will take a few weeks,” he told her. “But I don’t anticipate any serious problems. We’ll have the deal memo sometime next week, and then you can set up a meeting at the studio.”
    She blew him a kiss, hurried to the car, tipped the valet, and drove away.
    She headed into the hills, past the million-dollar houses, past lawns greener than money, turning left, then right, at random, going nowhere in particular, just driving for relaxation, one of the few escapes she allowed herself. Most of the streets were shrouded in purple shadows cast by canopies of green branches; night was stealing across the pavement even though daylight still existed above the interlaced palms, oaks, maples, cedars, cypresses, jacarandas, and pines. She switched on the headlights and explored some of the winding canyon roads until, gradually, her frustration began to seep away.
    Later, when night had fallen above the trees as well as below them, she stopped at a Mexican restaurant on La Cienega Boulevard. Rough beige plaster walls. Photographs of Mexican bandits. The rich odors of hot sauce, taco seasoning, and corn meal tortillas. Waitresses in scoop-necked peasant blouses and many-pleated red skirts. South-of-the-border Muzak. Hilary ate cheese enchiladas, rice, refried beans. The food tasted every bit as good as it would have tasted if it had been served by candlelight, with string music in the background, and with someone special seated beside her.
    I’ll have to remember to tell Wally that, she thought as she washed down the last of the enchiladas with a swallow of Dos Equis, a dark Mexican beer.
    But when she considered it for a moment, she could almost hear his reply: My lamb, that is nothing but blatant psychological rationalization. It’s true that loneliness doesn’t change the taste of food, the quality of candlelight, the sound of music—but that doesn’t mean that loneliness is desirable or good or healthy.” He simply wouldn’t be able to resist