Page 79 of Casanova LLC

She stopped pacing. Her hand came to the back of the couch, and I suddenly knew what she was going to say. I’d witnessed an unfortunately not-insignificant number of these moments over the years and while the details were always different, the air pressure in the room before they said it changed the same way.

“Quite the opposite. Freshman year of college, there was an incident. I’ve worked through it, it’s nothing more than history now. But it did make me keep men at a distance. Until Richard. And how’s that for irony: he ended up keeping me at a distance.”

“Did you want to be closer to him?”

“No. Yes? I don’t know.” She paused. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say, for a while at least, it was a relief. I was working eighteen hours a day on Visage, my sex drive was… Most of the time I didn’t feel like…” She braced both hands on the couch, dropped her head, and exhaled. Seemed to decide it wasn’t worth exhuming the bodies. “This weekend has awakened something in me. It’s like I was anesthetized, and whether he did that to me or I did it to myself, I don’t know. I don’t know if it even matters. But I’m curious again. That’s what matters now. And I want to understand him. So I can understand myself. Then and now. Which is why…” She looked up at me. “I wanted to go to the ball because I wanted to see if being watched was exciting. See if Richard understood something I didn’t. See if I’d understand him more. See if I’m just a frigid weirdo.”

“Not even close. But I can tell you this: It wasn’t about excitement for him. It was about domination and control.”

“Yes, I get that now.” Her eyes came back to mine. “So what is that, huh? What is that about? Why do men—and I realize it’s not all men, but it’s way too fucking many of them—have this incessant need to dominate and control women?”

“You want CliffsNotes on the patriarchy?”

Huffing a laugh, she threw herself back down on the couch, her robe flapping open, revealing her creamy inner thighs. I forced myself not to notice what I had noticed. Was thankful when she fixed it. But then she reached for her teacup and the robe gapped on top and I closed my eyes. Hopefully it seemed like I was searching my mind for an answer.

A sudden wave of exhaustion crashed over me. My sleepless night and the unexpected turn of events was catching up. Wouldn’t she rather eat dinner and watch a movie?

I knew better than to ask her.

“Okay, so: there’s a lion. In this room. How does that make you feel?”

“Scared.” She answered gamely, the student at the front of the class.

“Why?”

“Seriously? Because it could hurt me.”

“Agreed. Lions are much more powerful than you are.”

“Agreed.”

“And if you had a cage?”

“Great. Lock it up.”

“Are you still scared?”

“No.”

“Feel safe?”

“Yes.” She looked at me as if this were a trick question. “But to be clear: I don’t want to put a man in a cage. I just don’t want to get hurt.”

“So you think the lion represents a man?”

“Yes. Isn’t that what you meant?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. It represents a woman.”

“How?”

“Because we cage things we’re scared of.”

“We’re not scared of women. A woman isn’t going to rip you limb from limb. A woman is?—”

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