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simple.
    "You'd like a bit more mystery," he nodded. "Hidden
motivations, complex revelations. Ah, yes, like your Jonathan."
    How did he know this about me? I didn't know how
much information the auction people collect, in the folder
that's available to interested buyers. But I guessed there would
be some pretty elaborate psychological profiles in there. And,
oh shit, of course-he'd read your note, Jonathan. Well, after
all, I thought, Stefan wouldn't have given it to me without
routing it by his boss first. He'd read it and he seemed to
find it amusing. Or perhaps not so amusing. A hint of rancor
crept into his voice.
    "Oh, yes," he said, "I've met him...he puts in an occasional appearance at a party or exhibition. I think Ms. Kate
Clarke must have introduced him to me a year or two ago."
    He grimaced slightly.
    "Quite the master," he said, "for a girl who's read so
many books. Fancy bastard. Handsome, too. And he seems to
have had all the time in the world to amuse himself by playing at being in love with you. Kept you guessing, I expect.
Was he really in control of things?, you wondered-or was
he secretly pining, no, what's the word? oh, languishing, yes,
that's it, was he languishing for your little soul?

    "He wants you to guess about it all this year," he added,
"on my time. Well, you have my permission. As long as your
body is obedient. I'm less concerned about your soul, I guess,
than he supposes he is.
    "He spoiled you terribly," he concluded, "but he didn't
ruin your good instincts. I think a little simplicity, as you put
it, will improve you tremendously."
    "Avignon," he chuckled, as the waiter came back into
the room with the first course, "Avignon, March 15 next
year-well, the Place d'Horloge is a nice venue for a reunion.
And we'll keep you too busy to fret much about it in the
meantime. But," he trained his glasses at me, "it's rather an
old story, don't you think, Carrie?"
    "Yes," I said softly. "Yes, thank you, Mr. Constant."
    And then we both turned our attention to the food that
the polite waiter was setting out. Oysters. Very cold, with a
peppery sauce. Lots of them, too, piles of them. I'd never had
oysters where you didn't have to count how many you could
have. The waiter opened a bottle of wine. He didn't make a big
deal of staring at my breasts, but he didn't look away either.
I dipped an oyster into the sauce and swallowed it slowly.
    "It's very good, Mr. Constant," I said.
    "Yes," he answered placidly, the rancor drained from his
voice, "and it's nice to watch you, Carrie."
    "Thank you, Mr. Constant," I breathed, trembling.
    "What else did you talk about?" Jonathan asked sourly. Well, it's
no fun being dissected so neatly by someone you have absolutely
no memory of meeting. Still, he enjoyed thinking of her, eating oysters in her pretentious collar, bare, painted breasts above the
punk Roissy dress.

    Carrie scanned his face.
    "He didn't say anything else about you," she assured him, a
small, opaque smile on her lips.
CARRIE
    A girl who's read so many books. I didn't usually associate
the bookish side of myself with the outrageously got-up girl
who'd allowed herself to be sold to the highest bidder. But
maybe there was a connection. Enthrallment to narrative, the
joy of being ravished by the text. Interesting. And interesting that he knew it about me. It gave me the courage, during
dessert, to check up on something. It was in my contract, but
you couldn't be too sure.
    "Mr. Constant, I will get some time to read, won't I?"
    "An hour or so," he answered, "most afternoons. There's
a small library, and we can download books from Project
Gutenberg."
    "Thank you, Mr. Constant. And will Stefan be training
me?"
    He laughed. "Stefan? What gave you that idea? Oh, the
punishment today. Nice job, don't you think? But no, he's my
secretary. He works for me on the financial end-well, that's
what I hired him for. But he also does chores for me, when
I don't have time