XLI.Joan
SHE hadn’t heard from Lew and that didn’t feel right.
Pradeep was in town. She fucked him, over at the Four Seasons. He went to the bathroom and shut the door. This time he didn’t light incense. A minute after he settled back in bed the smell from his offal wafted out like half-burnt oatmeal.
When Joan told him she’d had an affair with Lew, the consul clucked and laughed. He wagged his finger and said, “Naughty.” She was about to get pissed when he reversed himself and told her it was probably a good thing. Pradeep really had a gift — the unctuous diplomat through and through. In this case, she needed someone to sponsor her insanity.
“You know,” said Pradeep. “It’s actually quite a smart move — he likes a ‘raider.’ He hobnobs with the corporate raiders, no? So he admires bravado, especially in a brainy woman. Look, this isn’t a guy who gets threatened by men or women. So don’t beat yourself up. And you know you’re toe-to-toe against Rem and God knows who else. Because Lew’s not going to tell you. I agree, he will use Goldsworthy either way. Goldsworthy is not your concern. It’s the secret ones who are your concern. But I don’t see this ‘alliance’ as a problem. This grande affaire. The odds were always stacked against you, Joanie, and you know it.” He pronounced against like an Englishman, which had a way of comforting her. “Did you hear he was going to do something in bronze?”