Re: B&B: Cat & Jack
"Oh, Jack, everything is always easier in the dark." She had absolutely no doubt about the veracity of those words. Cat was born in the dark, and she was more comfortable there than in any amount of sunlight. The suit she wore, that was precisely the same as these parties. Darkness was hiding, and people revealed things when they believed themselves to be anonymous. The entirety of the world knew that, and she chuckled at the fact that he might be oblivious. "You can't argue with me that anonymity doesn't make people show their true faces, Jack. I'm sure there are countless of studies that say as much."
He splashed drink into glass, and she tsked and shook her head. "Do you know what I find enthralling about you? You assume the entire world works the way your mind works. You're assuming about the stories I wanted to hear. You were wrong then, and you're wrong now. You try to cast your world view on the world, and I find that delightfully ironic, given your profession. You interview, you report, but you have no idea how to listen." She could've continued to pretend she hadn't shared time with him in that weight room, but why bother? That was probably indicative of her mood. And, fickle kitty cat that she was, she might still entirely deny it all come morning.
She moved her pawn without looking. Cat, she was no strategist. This chess game was a perfect microcosm for how she lived her life. She jumped without looking. She took risks. She liked risks, and she had no fear of the potential fall. Unless we were talking about emotions, but that was a pesky little business, and she wasn't interested in thinking about it.
She took her drink when he handed it back, and she let herself have the pleasure of a long swallow. "I'll let you speak for the cat. I suspect he's been maligned in worse ways during his lifetime. Tell me about Rilke's poetry. Read me something." She crossed her leg at the thigh, and she pronounced Rilke correctly.
"Ah, running instead of facing the temptation. I know how that goes." She took another sip, and she wondered who he'd sold up that river. Not his grandmother, but someone. Perhaps, she decided, it was the dead wife. He seemed obsessed with her, and wouldn't that be a neat little quandary. "Is it working out for you?"