The Sparrow, Part 2

(Part 1)

The party was put on by her art friends. They were rich. A father in the government. Their house had burned down in the fires and they were renting in Arcadia from a Chinese man while it was rebuilt. It was raining, cold hard rain. Another wet year. Steinbeck said the rain came in 30 year cycles. But he’d gathered data and made a spreadsheet and the columns with annual inches of rainfall were completely at random. Last year it came late. Half the city burnt down.

The new house had what felt like a hundred rooms. A dozen fireplaces. It must have cost millions but the floors were still fake wood and if you looked too long at the boards you could see the whorls and knots repeat. Long hallways of guest rooms with the doors open and paintings hanging. Notes with the prices underneath. She went to meet somebody and he found himself walking around. In one of the living rooms the Times Square Ball Drop was playing on a big TV. An ageless man with a lean face like a whippet introduced the ball drop guest of honor, chief marketing officer for Kia. The guests were art people. Huddled in groups of 3 or 4. Tall gaunt women in black. Their eyes had force fields that pushed his line of sight to the ground when he looked at them.

Looking for the bathroom he passed doorway where he saw a painting of a topless mermaid with teenage breasts. Inside there was a woman holding a baby in white, maybe one year old. She was pale skinned with brown hair and pretty. The mermaid was too. Her baby burbled. He had a swarthy look about him. I know you, she said.