Page 8 of The Game

I have a color?

And in a final flurry, I stand up and the shirts are tried on and Serge and Anita do some extra things to my face. I think maybe they’ve finished.

Julio appears suddenly in the doorway. He raises his eyebrows when he spots me, giving me an approving nod. “Much better,” he says.

“How are they doing with Anna?” Anita turns to him to ask.

“She’s out of the shower,” Julio says, waving his hand in front of his face. “We’re running late. Stressful!” He does jazz hands.

“What do you think?” Anita asks.

The three of them gather together by the door and scan me up and down.

Julio smiles. “Masterful, you guys.” Then he gestures at my hair. “There’s some stray strands near his crown.”

If they’re worrying about the odd hair now, I’m not going to be able to touch anything on my body all night. Serge does something to the top of my head and turns me to a full-length mirror and I take in the total effect. I almost don’t recognize the guy staring back at me: Ostensibly it’s me, but at the sametime everything has changed. My hair’s been transformed into a tousled mess, and somehow it works. The color doesn’t look fake at all; it’s like he’s just given my hair some natural variation by adding a bit of … interest, depth? Jesus, I’ve never thought about my appearance this much. The plum shirt with my dark blue suit is perfect. Who knew? I would never have put those colors together.

“Thank you, guys. This is perfect.”

They all beam, and Serge presses his hand to his chest.

Julio claps his hands. “Okay, I need you in Anna’s suite, pronto.”

As they go out the door, I hear Serge say, “He is literally the easiest guy I’ve ever worked with. I think I’m in love.”

And I laugh at my reflection in the mirror.

What do I do now? A woman with a headpiece appears and directs me down a long corridor to a seating area. And I’m just settling into a chair when another woman, this one wrapped in a huge fluffy bathrobe and with dark wet hair curling right down over her shoulders, slides out of a door that looks like it is part of a wall. With a start, I realize it’s Anna Talanova. She’s small, and her hands are clutched together in a deathlike grip. She’s nothing like the smiling, confident woman in the picture Janus sent me, or the player in her post-match interviews where she glowed with energy and drive.

“Adam! Hello!” She holds out a hand, and flustered, I take it. Her hand is surprisingly big, firm, and warm. “They told me they’d finished with you, and I wanted to come out and thank you for stepping in at such short notice and also to apologize for all the fuss. They employ professional teams for these events and then …” She waves her hand around.

I smile at her. “It’s been fun. I’ve had a lovely chat with Serge.”

She blinks at me. “Seriously? Oh! Okay. That’s great.” Her voice has a slight accent, but her English is perfect.

I grin. “It’s all good. No need to apologize. Just relax and we’ll have a fun evening, yeah?”

She frowns for a second and then a wide smile lights her face. “Yes, fun. I think I remember how to do that from third grade.”

I laugh. “I don’t have much fun myself these days, either.”

“Your business sounds amazing. You’ll have to tell me all about it.” She turns with a wave of her hand and disappears into the door she came out of.

Women always say that, but none of them really want that conversation. It’s as boring and as incomprehensible as you might expect.

When I settle down in the living room, the security lady brings me a coffee and a plate decorated with some tiny canapes, which only serves to remind me how hungry I am. Did I have lunch? I don’t remember it. And I’ve only been sitting there a couple of minutes when there’s the sound of feet scrabbling on the marble floor and an odd-looking brown-and-white fluffy dog with big ears comes barreling into the seating area.

I instantly put my hand down and click my fingers. “Hello there. Who are you?”

He or she charges up to my hand, nudges my fingers, and then licks them. I give her a body rub as I bend down to subtly check the sex.Okay. Lady dog. She jumps up and her tongue swipes across my face.

“Oh Jesus, don’t do that. We’ll be in trouble with Anita.”

She cocks her head at me and races over the room to pick up something in her mouth, before trotting back and dropping it by my feet. It’s a … pink rabbit?

A very chewed pink rabbit.

Her big brown eyes stare up at me expectantly.

---