Page 82 of Born for Starlight

"Only the sitting room," Matthew said, before I could take a breath to ask. “And only when there is an op going on.”

Beto developed a sudden fascination with his coffee. Layla did not bother hiding her smile.

We went over it one more time. Where I'd sit, where Costa would sit, what I would agree to, what I would leave for Matthew to refuse. At seven forty-five, Matthew and I went back through the connecting door, and it clicked shut behind us like a stage manager calling places.

Matthew straightened the flowers on the table. Nervous.

Matthew Grainger, nervous. Now that was really something to see.

"Last chance," he said. "You sure about your role?"

"What role?" I gave him my sweetest smile. "I'm just an ignorant actress. Nobody tells me anything. I don't have a role."

"Angelica." He growled like a bear who’d had his honey pot taken away from him. Maybe I should start calling him Winnie the Pooh.

I giggled.

He looked at the ceiling. When he looked back at me I could tell staring at the ceiling hadn’t helped.

The knock came at eleven sharp.

Frederico Costa filled the doorway with cologne first and himself second. Fifty-something, heavy through the chest, a suit that cost real money and a watch that cost more than most Brazilians made in a year. He took my hand and I had to let him, even though I knew the stench of the cologne would be sticking with me.

"Senhorita Drakos. An honor. A true honor. The whole state is talking of nothing else, I promise you. The Secretary of Family Welfare himself sends his warmest regards and his deepest regrets, he is in Brasília, the budget, you understand, but he has asked me to say Brazil embraces you."

I withdrew my hand and stepped back. "That's so kind." I pulled out all the stops on my smile. "Please, sit. Coffee?"

He sat. He took the coffee. He talked for thirty-five minutes, and I only had to say "of course" about nine times.

The visit, he explained, would be perfect. We would arrive at five o'clock precisely. Photographs at the front gates, the light was best there, he had checked personally. Then the welcome.

"Eleven little ones have prepared a song for you, Senhorita. From your film. Six weeks they have practiced. You will cry, I promise you this."

"I have no doubt." Again with a smile.

Then there would be a small tour. The courtyard. Not the dormitories, because they were being renovated.

Oh, really?

Then, at five forty, the presentation of the check on the front steps. All the press would be in attendance, vetted as well, questions submitted in advance, nothing improper.

"And I must mention, forgive me, the photographs." He pressed a hand to his chest. "Our children's faces cannot be published. The privacy of minors, it is the law, you understand, we take it very seriously at Aurora."

I'll bet you do.

"Refreshments after the press departs. If time allows, maybe some time with the choir.”

"It sounds wonderful, Senhor Costa. Truly." I leaned in and clasped my hands, the earnest lean, the one that closes deals. "I'd love one more thing. A real tour. I want to see where the children live. And I want time with them. Not the performance, not the cameras. Just me and the kids. The little ones. The shy ones who hide in the back. Those are always my favorites."

Matthew's glare hit the side of my face like a laser beam.

Costa's smile froze. "Ah. Senhorita, your heart, this is why all of Brazil loves you. But the routines, you understand. Our psychologists are very firm. New faces, even a beautiful famous face, they disrupt the little ones. And there is the health of it, several of our residents are delicate just now, the doctors advise no contact. And as I said, the west wing, sadly, is under renovation. Safety. Insurance. You understand."

"I understand completely." I did not move an inch. "And I'd still love it. I was one of those children, Senhor Costa. A Brazilian orphanage, thirty years ago. The shy ones in the back are the reason I'm writing this check. I want time with the children, where they live. You can make this happen. You are a man of power. I can see that."

Sweat came up on his lip, and he dabbed it with a folded handkerchief. But he was also puffing up like a peacock.

"I will try." He tucked the handkerchief away at last. "For you, Senhorita, I will try. I promise nothing. But I will try."