Chapter 8 - THE STORY MANHATTAN REMEMBERED
Vanessa returned once.
Not physically.
Through a letter.
Cameron received it at his small apartment in Queens, four years after the penthouse night.
She had married someone older, divorced him, and was apparently suing over lifestyle expectations. The letter was elegant, amused, and poisoned.
Cam,
I saw a clip of your little redemption talk. Very moving. Very modest. Almost convincing.
You always were better when someone else wrote the room for you.
If you ever get tired of pretending boilers and tenants make you noble, call me. Some people are born for penthouses no matter how long their fathers make them crawl through Queens.
V
Cameron read it twice.
Then drove to Nathan’s townhouse.
Nathan opened the door, surprised.
Cameron handed him the letter.
Nathan read it.
His face darkened.
“What do you want to do?”
Cameron said, “Burn it.”
Nathan almost smiled.
“Here?”
“I don’t have a fireplace.”
“Queens has no fire?”
“Not legal ones.”
They burned it in Nathan’s study fireplace.
Silently.
When the paper curled and blackened, Cameron said, “I used to think she saw me.”
Nathan watched the flame.
“She saw the costume.”
“I liked the costume.”
“I know.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“Yes.”
“Could you soften one answer?”
Nathan looked at him.
“No.”
Cameron smiled.
Small.
May you like
Real.
“Good.”
