el.angeleyes-第10节

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　〃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