<0018 The Track Suit>
Guided by Miss Flynn, Cynthia went upstairs and entered the guest room assigned to her.
Miss Flynn opened the door and said,
“This is not the smallest of our guest rooms. But if it feels cramped, please let us know. We can move you to a larger room.”
“Guest rooms? You have more than one?”
Resolving firmly not to be surprised anymore, Cynthia looked around the room.
It was not particularly large compared with the scale of the mansion.
But judging by what Cynthia could see, it was larger than the living room in her parents’ Brooklyn home. Moreover, the bed in the middle of the room looked larger than a double.
“The room is more than big enough. Especially the bed. It looks bigger than my mom and dad’s.”
Only after saying it did Cynthia realize that she had spoken aloud.
Miss Flynn pretended not to hear and continued her explanation.
“Phone chargers are available on the nightstand to the left of the bed. We have both USB-C and Lightning.”
‘Thank goodness they have both kinds of charger.’
As someone who carried both a new iPad mini and an older iPhone, Cynthia felt a little relieved.
Miss Flynn opened the door leading to the guest room’s bathroom.
“This is the bathroom. As you can see, we have prepared a new toothbrush, shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. If you need anything else, please use the intercom on the table at any time.”
“Um… Miss Flynn.”
“Please, don’t stand on ceremony with me, Miss Cynthia.”
Miss Flynn did not lose her smile. Cynthia still could not shake her hesitation.
“Uh, um. Right. Ms. Flynn.”
“Yes, Miss Cynthia. I am ready to hear whatever you wish to say.”
‘Good grief… Not “What is it?” but “I am ready to hear whatever you wish to say.” Even politeness has its own grammar in this house….’
Cynthia fought off a brief spell of dizziness. Looking at the items in the bathroom, she asked,
“Anyway… are there two kinds of shampoo and conditioner? Cooling shampoo, floral shampoo….”
“Yes, that is correct. We have also prepared two kinds of body wash, menthol and floral.”
Cynthia decided not to ask any more questions.
Maintaining a carefully composed but not exaggerated smile, Miss Flynn continued.
“And Miss Cynthia, if you have any laundry, please place it in the basket inside the bathroom door. Please use the separate mesh bag for undergarments. If you leave the basket outside your door, we will collect it at ten tonight, wash and dry everything, and return it by six tomorrow morning….”
“I… I’ll wash my own underwear.”
Cynthia spoke hastily, but Miss Flynn did not lose her composed smile.
“In that case, you will find a mild hand-washing detergent beneath the sink. It is suitable for both wool and silk.”
“Is there anything this house doesn’t prepare for its guests?”
“Ah, there is no sleepwear in this room. But if you need any, please let us know. We have complimentary pajamas and nightgowns for guests.”
“N-no, that’s all right. I brought my own pajamas.”
“Oh, my. I was going to lend you something I wear around the house.”
Louise had entered the room without Cynthia noticing.
Cynthia whipped around and stared openmouthed at Louise’s unexpected outfit.
“…Ms. St.Claire? Why are you wearing a purple track suit?”
“Oh. Purple is my favorite color.”
“Ms. St.Claire. If you will forgive me, may I rephrase the question?”
“Yes. By all means.”
“Why are you wearing a track suit instead of pajamas or a nightgown?”
“Because it’s comfortable.”
Louise answered as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Then she held out the yellow track suit she had been carrying.
“And Cindy, I brought one for you, too. I have worn it three or four times, though.”
Cynthia looked down at the yellow track suit.
It was vivid.
Far too vivid.
“Ms. St.Claire.”
“Yes?”
“Is this another color you like?”
“No.”
Louise smiled very gently.
“That is the color I wear least around the house.”
Cynthia looked at the track suit again. It was a hooded Nike track suit, bright yellow with black stripes down the sides.
It was not new. But neither was it worn out. It was simply clothing that had been sitting in someone else’s house.
“It is very comfortable.”
Louise said.
Miss Flynn said nothing. She merely wore the expression of someone who knew perfectly well that Cynthia had already missed her chance to refuse.
Cynthia accepted the yellow track suit with both hands.
“…Thank you.”
“It will look good on you.”
“But… I’m not Uma Thurman.”
“Oh. That movie was great fun.”
Louise nodded.
“In any case, it will look good on you too, Cindy.”
Cynthia looked down at the yellow track suit once more.
The color was still far too vivid. It even had black stripes down the sides.
Louise was still smiling gently.
Cynthia could not tell whether that smile represented kindness, certainty, or a tactfully worded command from the Devillis family.
<0019 Portrait of the Devillis Family>
“Oh, right. Would you like to say hello to my son before he goes to bed?”
Only then did Cynthia notice a brown-haired boy of about six clinging to Louise’s leg.
Dressed in a black Nike children’s track suit, the boy was clinging tightly to his mother like a cicada attached to a tree.
“Claudie, you should say hello to Cynthia.”
At Louise’s gentle words, Claudie immediately released his mother’s leg.
Then he bowed politely to Cynthia.
“Hello.”
“Ah… hello.”
Cynthia smiled and nodded.
He was adorable. And he plainly showed the signs of having been raised with great care.
But Cynthia felt something a little more unexpected than that.
“Ms. St.Claire, you still look like a college student. I can’t believe you have a son this big….”
The words slipped from Cynthia’s mouth almost of their own accord.
A brief silence followed.
Claudie stared at Cynthia.
Louise’s eyes widened.
“Oh, my.”
Then she said it once again.
“Oh, my, my.”
A deeply satisfied smile slowly spread across Louise’s face.
“Such blatant flattery. What an uncharacteristic slip of the tongue for you, Cindy.”
“What?”
“Please, keep going.”
Louise pretended to be embarrassed, though she was clearly delighted.
Behind Cynthia, Miss Flynn maintained a serene smile and pretended not to have heard the conversation as she checked a lamp in the corner of the room.
Click. Click.
Claudie looked up at Louise and asked,
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“You look happy.”
Louise smiled elegantly.
“I certainly do not.”
Behind Cynthia, Miss Flynn continued to pretend she had heard nothing as she switched the air purifier in the corner of the room to quiet mode, a tranquil smile still on her face.
Beep. Beep.
It was 10:10 p.m.
After taking a shower, Cynthia changed into the yellow track suit Louise had brought her.
Just as Cynthia finished drying her hair, she heard a courteous knock.
When she opened the door, Louise stood there smiling.
“Excuse me. Would you care for a cup of chamomile tea? It may help you sleep.”
“Oh, yes!”
Cynthia followed Louise into the living room.
Two cups of tea sat steaming on the table.
But something else caught her eye before the tea did.
An old portrait of the Devillis family hung in the living room.
“That is Colonel Alphonse Devillis, my ancestor seven generations back. He was an officer in the Haitian revolutionary army and fought against Napoleon’s expeditionary force. After the revolution, he emigrated to Cuba, then moved to New Orleans a few years later.”
In the oil painting, Colonel Alphonse Devillis met Cynthia’s gaze with eyes full of ambition and aspiration.
Cynthia ventured a guess.
“Ah… so the ancestor of the Devillis family was a Black aristocrat of French descent.”
The thought slipped from her mouth before she realized it, and Louise gave a small laugh.
“Oh, our ancestor was not an aristocrat. He was a free man of mixed race, born to a French bourgeois man and his Black wife. He himself was merely a colonial-born member of the bourgeoisie.”
‘B-b-bourgeois!? …That is not very different from what I thought, is it?’
Cynthia could think of no further objection and swallowed her words.
“The land he left behind, and the revenue from resources on that land, such as oil and natural gas… that is what has sustained the Devillis family to this day.”
Louise offered the simple explanation without seeming particularly proud or particularly ashamed.
‘Ah. Ms. St.Claire comes from a family rich in land and natural resources. Oil comes out of the land her ancestor left them. I don’t need to wonder about anything else.’
Cynthia swallowed those words as well and looked away from the portrait.
Though they were only painted figures, Cynthia found it difficult to endure the gazes of Colonel Alphonse Devillis, his wife Madame Devillis, and their young son.
‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry an ordinary person like me entered your great mansion….’
She quickly turned toward the opposite wall. This time, she saw a framed family photograph of Louise, her husband, City Councilman Joseph St.Claire, and their son, Claudie St.Claire.
“My husband is handsome, isn’t he?”
Louise asked with a hint of playfulness.
“What?! Oh, yes! He is! He’s incredibly handsome!”
Flustered by the unexpected question, Cynthia stumbled over her answer and then committed the blunder of asking an unnecessary question in return.
“B-but are you all right, being so far away from your husband?”
The instant she asked, Cynthia recoiled in horror at her own indiscretion.
Louise tilted her head slightly.
“Why?”
“Well, I mean… you’re married, and you have Claudie, but both of you are busy with performances and politics….”
“My husband and I have an excellent relationship.”
Louise said it with perfect composure.
“When we get together, we watch Netflix and have passionate sex.”
“Oh, yes. I see. Of course….”
Cynthia nodded politely.
Then, one beat later, the second half of the sentence replayed inside her ears.
When we get together, we watch Netflix.
And have passionate sex.
Passionate.
“What? P-passionate…?”
Louise calmly drank her chamomile tea.
“Why? What is so surprising? We are married. It is only natural.”
“Yes. R-right. You’re married. Yes.”
Cynthia stared down at her teacup.
Unlike Cynthia’s mind, the surface of the chamomile tea was perfectly calm.
Passionate.
‘No, no. Stop replaying it in my head. Whew….’
Cynthia drained the lukewarm chamomile tea in one long gulp, trying to calm herself, then took a deep breath.
“But….”
Cynthia cautiously spoke again.
“What about your parents, Ms. St.Claire?”
Louise’s expression darkened for an instant.
“My parents… have gone far away.”
Cynthia flinched.
Louise pointed toward a photograph on the wall.
An elderly couple smiled from inside the frame.
They sat in chairs on the deck of a pleasure yacht, smiling as though they had not a care in the world.
‘They have gone far away?’
The atmosphere in the living room suddenly became solemn, and Cynthia lowered her head in confusion.
“I-I’m sorry… I’ll pray for them.”
A brief silence followed.
Louise blinked.
“Oh, my. No. My parents are both perfectly alive.”
“…What?”
“They are on an around-the-world cruise. They were in Greece last week, and I believe they are in Italy this week.”
Cynthia looked back and forth between Louise and the photograph on the wall.
“Then… why would you say it like that?”
Louise remained unperturbed.
“They have gone far away, haven’t they?”
“That’s true, but!”
Cynthia clutched her head with both hands.
Louise looked once more at the photograph of her parents.
“Besides, they went by ship. So they really have gone a very long way, haven’t they?”
“That’s not the point….”
<0020 A Bad Deed at Ten O’Clock>
‘Today’s culture shock was so severe that I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep. But I need to sleep properly if I’m going to practice again tomorrow.’
With that thought, Cynthia plugged her iPhone into the charger beside the bed.
Then she lay down and let out a long breath.
That was when she heard it.
Knock, knock, knock.
A quiet knock at the door.
“Yes?”
The door opened cautiously, and Louise poked her head inside.
Behind her glasses, her eyes glimmered faintly in the darkness.
“You’re still awake, aren’t you, Cindy?”
“Ah, yes.”
Cynthia quickly sat up in bed.
Louise closed the door and entered the room.
Then she slowly approached the bed.
“Cindy. Claudie is asleep now, and everyone who works in the house has gone to rest.”
“Ah… yes.”
Louise came a little closer. A rich, sweet scent of shampoo drifted from her hair.
Cynthia unconsciously straightened her back with tension.
Behind her glasses, Louise’s eyes seemed to glisten in the dark.
“So, I was wondering….”
Louise spoke in a low voice.
“Would you like to do something bad with me… while we watch Netflix?”
Cynthia’s mind stopped working.
A mansion at night.
A sleeping child and household employees who had retired for the evening.
And a married woman separated from her husband, proposing that they do “something bad.”
Cynthia stared into empty space, then at Louise, then into empty space again.
She did not know where to look.
“What?”
“It is a moral transgression. But only for tonight.”
“!!?!!”
Louise spoke seriously to the frozen Cynthia.
“I won’t force you… but I want to do it with you, Cindy.”
“!!!”
“It’s all right. I won’t tell anyone.”
“!!?”
Cynthia could barely breathe now.
Louise quietly looked down at her.
“You don’t want to do it with me?”
“N-no, no. It’s not that I don’t want to.”
Only after the words escaped did Cynthia realize what she had said.
Her face instantly grew hot.
“No, I don’t mean I don’t want to, but that’s not what I mean. No, I mean, I… well….”
Louise continued to watch Cynthia with a serious expression.
Several seconds passed.
Then she nodded.
“We can worry about the calories tomorrow.”
“…What?”
Louise took Cynthia downstairs to the kitchen.
Then she placed two cups of instant noodles on the table.
A moment later, hot water from the electric kettle was poured into the cups.
“I know eating a late-night snack at ten is a bad thing… but we burned a lot of calories today, so it should be all right.”
“Oh.”
Only then did Cynthia reconstruct the meaning of every sentence she had heard.
Something bad, done secretly late at night while watching Netflix, without anyone else knowing.
That meant eating sodium-heavy cup noodles at ten o’clock at night!
“Oh, yes… definitely.”
Cynthia sank into a chair at the table and lowered her head. Her face was still hot.
As though nothing had happened, Louise propped up her phone and played a Netflix documentary.
A reconstruction of an ancient marine reptile drifted slowly across the screen.
‘So to her, sleeping with her beloved husband is a natural and beautiful expression of love, which makes it perfectly wholesome. But eating cup noodles late at night is bad because it is unhealthy.’
Cynthia was relieved. At the same time, she briefly reflected upon her own moral standards and wondered whether she had any right to feel so relieved.
The plesiosaur stared blankly at Cynthia from the phone screen.