I did an image search next. Jenn and Tom hadn't been off the mark in their assessment. Tristan seemed to have a penchant for model/actress types. There were several pages of images of him arriving at this or that gallery opening, art show, theater, opera and on and on. Every woman seemed more beautiful than the last. He certainly got around.
I went back to the engagement announcement. The contrast was striking. Elsa looked like Jenn, or any number of pretty all-American girls I had known in college. The women Tristan appeared with in New York were far more like Victoria's Secret models or Hollywood types.
There were a thousand questions I wanted to ask Tristan. But just how does someone start a conversation with "I researched your background on the internet for hours after I learned your fiancé had been killed. Let's talk about it."?
***
Jenn and I had a great picnic. I caught her up on the 'situation' with Tristan. She seemed impressed that I would even have the courage to get as far as I had with him. She knew me pretty well, maybe better than anyone. She knew how out of my element I was.
I filled her in on the things I had learned about him--both the gossip from Tom and the internet research.
"You've got yourself a complicated man on your hands."
I chuckled. "I wouldn't go so far as to say 'on my hands', Jenn. But I do agree that he's complicated."
"You better keep me posted. This ships-passing-in-the-night thing of ours is keeping me too much in the dark."
"It's only going to get worse, too. Tom called and said that Brian is having an early cast party to celebrate the christening of the set tomorrow night."
"I know how that goes. Get ready for some heavy partying and late nights."
"So I've been told. I sure would like to get Tristan alone. But I don't see much chance of that happening tomorrow."
"Raina," Jenn took my hand and squeezed it. "Be careful, will ya? This guy is a lot of things. And now I'm wondering if he's not just a rich playboy, but maybe a dangerous man, too."
"No one has said anything like that! I didn't uncover even a hint of scandal."
"But you didn't find answers, either. Just keep your distance until you know him better."
"Umm…it's a little too late for that."
"You know what I mean. You don't have to take the sex any further and you can certainly reign in the emotions until you know more."
"You're right, Jenn," I agreed. But was she? I felt like a virgin teenager who goes to third base and can't get her mind off of what a home run would feel like. The thought of really fucking Tristan was pretty much running in a continuous playback in my mind.
And the emotional part? There was so much more to him than I originally imagined. I wanted to know more. I had to know more.
Six
Rehearsal couldn't have been better. Somehow having the set nearly complete made the actors really kick their performances up. It was the first run through for Act 2. The men all had their lines pretty much down pat and Tom blocked it quickly with me furiously taking notes of every move the five players would make.
I didn't have any opportunity to talk to Tristan at all. Once in a while we'd make eye contact--enough to raise my pulse a notch or two--and then it was back to work. It was quite amazing to see the ensemble evolve. Every time they took the stage the roles crystallized a little more.
Brian wasn't wasting any time giving his party a kick start. Single malt scotch played very prominently in the script. It was the drink of choice for all the characters and copious amounts were consumed during the action of the play. Brian had decided to liven up rehearsal by replacing the iced tea I always stocked in the decanter with the real deal.
The guys had given me lots of grief about my lousy iced tea. I had been setting up the 'bar' on a couple of saw horses. The 'glasses' were Styrofoam cups and the decanter was a plastic pitcher. With the real bar from Suze's grandmother in place, we had graduated to a nice cut glass decanter and tumblers, also courtesy of Brian who seemed to know his way around a whiskey bottle.
By the time rehearsal broke up, the actors had loosened up and were having a great time with the script. I was glad that that the weekend had dispelled the moodiness caused by Roger's visit to Friday's rehearsal. Now that I knew the cause of all the darkness, I wasn't anxious to see it return.
Brian had an old house right in town, only a couple of blocks from the theater. I left my car in the theater parking lot as did Cole, Tom and Tristan. There wasn't much parking at Brian's and to my disappointment, 'the girls' including Suze and Nicky plus a few other crew members were already at his house getting the food ready.
I have to admit the spread was divine. There was a beautiful ham and little finger rolls from the bakery in town, several different salads, cheeses, little pastries with all sorts of savory fillings and an entire table of luscious looking desserts. It was way more than it seemed a group maybe fifteen people could consume.
Tom and I kind of hung around in the kitchen, nibbling at this and that, listening to the gang carrying on in the living room. I very much wanted to maneuver myself near Tristan, but he seemed content to hang out with the group in the living room. I didn't feel like I quite fit in. I think Tom felt the same.
Suze was quite accomplished on the piano. She was plunking out show tunes while a few of the others belted out the words. Tristan had taken a turn and had everyone in stitches with his excellent rendition of "If I Were a Rich Man" from Fiddler on the Roof. He threw in a convincing accent and even managed a little dance to go along with it.
I was beginning to feel a little sad and neglected when I noticed over Tom's shoulder that Tristan had started up the narrow spiral stairs at the back of the kitchen. Tristan put a finger to his lips and then crooked it around indicating I should follow him. I waited a few minutes until Tom went out into the living room to get another plate. I quickly ascended the stairs and disappeared before anyone returned to the kitchen.
Brian had converted the attic above his house to a loft. There wasn't much head room in parts and there were lots of huge cushions strewn around. In one corner there was a Jacuzzi tub and in another I saw a huge television screen.
"Welcome to Brian's loft o' porn," Tristan greeted me. He was leaning back against a pile of pillows and patted the carpet beside him, inviting me to sit down. "In this room, there is a library of smut so vast that it would take more than a lifetime to view it all."
"Oh? Really?" What could I say to that?
"He's a collector. Little men often have issues, you know."