按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
〃Mom； will you be here this afternoon？〃
Laura Nunn smiled。 〃I've got a meeting at the studio at three。'' She always said ''the studio；'' whether it was Paramount or Warners or Disney。 Just like the old days。 〃Traffic's sure to be impossible that time of day…the stockbrokers are all marching off like lemmings to their health clubs or tennis matches； so I can't imagine I'll be home before six。 But I'll have Maria bring your dinner up herself well before then。''
〃No； don't；〃 Tori said。 〃I'd like to wait until you get home； have it in the dining room。〃
Laura Nunn smiled the smile that one hundred million people the world over knew by heart。 〃We'll see； darling。 Now get some rest； all right？〃
When she was alone； Tori breathed a sigh； as if holding her breath the entire time she and her mother had been together。 It was as if she had been in the presence of a high wattage spotlight。 She felt flushed； her skin slightly singed from being so near the preternatural heat。 She wondered； fleetingly； how her father had dealt all these years with his wife's power over people。
Actors were different from mere mortals。 They tried on and discarded identities and emotions as easily as others did clothes。 This chameleon quality so essential for success on the screen made for plex； unsettling； and； at times； eerie family relationships。 It was often like being lost in a wilderness of mirrors。
The trouble with actors。 Tori had learned at an early age； was that they never stopped acting。 You never knew whether they were doing something…such as inducing an emotion in you… because they were genuine or because it was some form of unconscious exercising of their art。 She did not envy her father's life with her mother。
The lace curtains blew against the window sash； bringing into the room the scents of the jacaranda； the lilac bushes； the bou…gainvillea outside。 Drapes whipping； blown inward by a wind through a hole rent by plastique 。 。 。 scorched fabric and flesh 。。。 the scent of death clogging her nostrils like pollen 。 。 。 Ariel； we hardly had time。 。。。
Convulsively； Tori threw the bedcovers off； let her feet touch the Isfahan carpet。 She stood； felt a brief wave of dizziness； went immediately into prana； breathing deeply； slowly； pletely。
She felt as if she had driven all night from San Francisco to Los Angeles； from the darkness into the light； from monochromatic fluorescence to multicolored neon。 The sun struck her across the face； and she closed her eyes； breathing in the scents as if they were memories： cars and chrome； miniskirts and oversized jewelry； hot…rodding in the Valley； hot groping in the back…seat； lipstick as bright as any neon sign； kohl as black and thick as pitch： desperate attempts to escape her sadness； her prison … Diana's Garden。 I don't want to be back。
She stripped； showered in very hot； then very cold water。 Dressed in a sleeveless shirt and shorts； she put on minimal makeup； then ventured out into the hall。 It was quite still。 She could imagine the servants tiptoeing around the estate so as not to wake her。 She put her hands on the polished antique mahogany banister； peered over the pillar railing down to the great entrance below。 A sea of Carrara marble； bronze busts of Cesare Borgia； Niccolo Machiavelli； Cosimo de'Medici； Ellis Nunn's pantheon of the Florentine Renaissance。 It amazed and saddened Tori that Michelangelo； DaVinci； Fra Angelico； Donatello； Cellini； had no place in her father's historical perspective； as if the Italian Renaissance was an age best remembered for its politics and internecine warfare。
Down the hall she opened the door to her mother's study； her father had his in the other wing of the house。 Nothing much had changed here； it never would。 The walls were coated with layer upon layer of black lacquer so that they shone with a kind of opalescence。
These walls； along with a baby grand piano； a Regency fruit…wood escritoire and mode； satinwood side tables bracketing a sofa covered in French floral chintz； were all festooned with a galaxy of framed photographs； mostly in black and white； though some were in color。 These photos were either formal publicity photos or stills from films。 They were all of Laura Nunn。
In these shots； Tori's mother was bathed in a luscious bination of moonlight and dreams。 It was an underappreciated art； Tori thought as she roved among the gallery； to manufacture such ethereal and subtle illumination。 No wonder so many men fell in love with her； and so many women envied her。
The Hollywood Reporter had once dubbed Laura Nunn 〃the Last of the Great Movie Goddesses。'' Over the years； her films had not diminished in impact； in fact； many of them had taken on an added historical importance beyond being directed by Alfred Hitchcock； Howard Hawks； or John Huston。 They were illustrative of a woman refusing to remain in the manufactured star mold that had characterized the studio…dominated motion picture industry。 Laura Nunn might have been a goddess； which
made her something both more and less than most of her fellow performers； but she could also act。 That had made her invaluable。
Tori tried hard not to see herself in her mother's visage； but； as always； she failed。 Her childhood had left her with the vaguely superstitious notion that if she looked like her mother； she would end up being like her。 Of course； her subsequent training had taught her the fraudulence of such notions； but the ties that bound child to parent were； like roots； often resistant to change。
Tori slipped out of her mother's study and into the adjoining suite。 Greg's room。 But here； oddly； things had changed。 She saw the same masculine blue and white theme he had liked； the banners from Cal Tech； the medals； the sports trophies； firsts in the nationals in diving； track； and lacrosse。 She saw the usual pictures of her older brother。 But now there was more。
As if caught in time； Tori gazed at photos of herself； the quintessential cinnamon girl of California； long blond hair streaked by the sun； trim； athletic body with wide shoulders and powerful thighs。 Green eyes； wide apart and so direct they are without a trace of guile； but filled with the spark of petitive fire。 For the first time it occurred to her that all the shots were lit both by sunlight and by reflections from water。 The swimming pool。
The pool at Diana's Garden was both a haven and a repository of memories。 A kind of museum of the mind。 Thinking of the pool； she remembered 。。。 the waiting； the tension at the edge of the diving board； the extension of her body； the launch through space； twisting and rolling as she plummeted down； taking one quick visual fix on the water as she spun； then her breath in her ears； foam in her nostrils； the cool water closing over her head； and her father bent over the side of the pool； saying； Almost as good as Greg does it； Angel。 Almost。。。
I don't want to be back。
Then； stuck in a corner of a frame； she saw two yellowed bits of paper。 Her heart thumped as she reached out； unfolded them。 The first was a newspaper photo of Greg and the cosmonaut Viktor Shevchenko； their hands clasped triumphantly over their heads； smiling at the camera； in their space suits with the special bined NASA…СССР logo； as they headed toward the launch pad at the Tyuratam/Baykonur cosmodrome in Russia。 In the background it was possible to make out the gigantic launch vehicle； the SL…17 Energiya with its six strap…on booster rockets。
TYURATAM； USSR； May 17 （АР）…History was made today as American astronaut Gregory Nunn and Soviet cosmonaut Viktor Shevchenko successfully lifted off in their Odin…Galaktika II module from this cosmodrome deep inside the Soviet Union on the first leg of what is hoped will be mankind's first manned exploration of the planet Mars。
So vast and expensive was this undertaking that the two major superpowers decided to pool their technological resources in the effort。 NASA officials had been on site here for more than a year in preparation for this event。 。 。 。
Tori stopped reading； she knew the events by heart。 She returned to the photo of Greg and Viktor Shevchenko； and was struck again by how similar their faces were； both handsome； strong； confident； as if spacemen were a breed apart； unconcerned by the petty differences of race or nationalism。 But then again Greg； like Tori； was of Russian heritage。 She thought that somehow ironic now。
How proud she had been of Greg that day。 She had been glued to the television； watching the great white plume fill the bright blue Soviet sky until the space vehicle was a mere point of light； glittering like a star。 Reluctantly； she folded the photo away。
Tori had known what the second newspaper clipping would be even before she saw the reproduction； blurred by the newsprint paper； of Greg's official NASA photo。 Perversely； she forced herself to begin reading。
MOSCOW； Dec。 11 （АР）…Gregory Nunn； the American astronaut teamed with his Soviet counterpart； cosmonaut Viktor Shevchenko； was declared officially dead； it was jointly reported by the Soviet news agency Tass and American diplomatic personnel Friday。
Mr。 Nunn had been one half of the historic American…Soviet effort piloting the Odin…Galaktika II module in the firs