“No, nothing like that,” Zarkisian backtracked. His face furrowed with frustration and anguish. “As long as I’ve lived in this country, your American ability to find melodrama in the tiniest of actions never ceases to amaze me.” He ran his hand through his silvering hair to regain his composure. “I was simply wondering how things are going with Miriam in general.”
“Oh,” Evelyn sighed with guarded relief. “She’s fine—in general.” Her throat suddenly dry, she reached for her water glass and tipped over the cognac goblet on the way. “How clumsy of me,” she apologized, righted the glass, and scanned Zarkisian’s face. I must look such a fool. “I never could handle hard liquor, you know.”
“A diva’s precaution,” Zarkisian commiserated and smiled at the flush blossoming along the arteries of Evelyn’s milky throat. “You have to protect your vocal cords.”
“They’re hardly a diva’s anymore,” Evelyn replied though flattered by his comparison. “I’m just a voice coach now trying to cobble together an honest living.”
“As are all of us,” Zarkisian agreed, sipping from his tumbler. “Tell me,” he added after savoring his drink. “Does Miriam make an honest living?”
Evelyn frowned. Back to Miriam again. “If you consider having a vlog spot on Tik Tok, she does.”
“I see,” Zarkisian replied sourly and wrapped his hands around his glass. “She has no plans?” he asked, staring into its shadowy contents. “No ambitions?”
“She wants to be a network reporter,” Evelyn retorted. She hasn’t even done a podcast yet! “Some day.”
“No boyfriend?” Zarkisian continued. “No significant other?” He peered up from his ruminations; his eyes hard as laser beams. “No marriage prospects?”
Evelyn scowled. That’s what this evening’s about? “Miriam’s focused on her career right now,” she explained, trying not to sound defensive. “There’s no one in her love life I know of—not that it matters.”
“Ah, but it does!” Zarkisian’s eyes blazed with sudden passion. “Miriam’s destined for great things I feel, but women aren’t meant to go through life alone.” His gaze softened. “None of us are.”
“That’s pretty romantic,” Evelyn remarked, noting Zarkisian’s wistful gaze. He should show this side of himself more often. “And pretty Old World, too,” she added and her chest tightened with anxiety at the possibility. “You sound as if you have someone in mind.”
Zarkisian’s face reassumed its austere demeanor. “I may have,” he acknowledged. “I wanted to run it past you first.”
“How considerate!” Evelyn scoffed. I hear nothing from him for five years, now this!
“It’s the proper thing to do,” Zarkisian replied, ignoring the derision in Evelyn’s voice. “I should obtain the blessing of the prospective bride’s father first, but since Victor’s not here—”
“Leave Victor out of this,” Evelyn interrupted, shaking with indignation. “You never considered his feelings before.” She sat back in her chair to regain her composure and her perspective. This must be Basil’s idea of a joke. OK, I’ll play along. “Who is this paragon you propose to match with my daughter?”
“Rupert Albrecht,” Zarkisian answered, relieved to return the conversation to a factual basis. “An investment financier from a long and distinguished German family.”
“Not even American?” Evelyn cried in disbelief. “How can he possibly even know her? Or anything about her?”
“Does that really matter?” Zarkisian asked.
“It does to an American girl,” Evelyn declared, wiping the corners of her mouth to repress her indignation. “We still cling to this old-fashioned idea of marrying someone for love.”
“Miriam believes that?” Zarkisian replied with mild disdain. “Perhaps I should discuss the matter with Victor,” he decided as an afterthought, then flashed a devilish smile. “Just tell me where to find him.”
“I have no idea where he is,” Evelyn replied. Some place in the Amazon, last I heard. “But he would say the same thing I did.”
“And where has that gotten him?” Zarkisian snorted and shrugged. “Or you?”
“Better than being here!” Evelyn exclaimed, tipping the table as she surged to her feet. “With you!”
She strode toward the apartment foyer and grabbed her purse and evening jacket from the hall closet, elated by her candor. Basil’s had that coming for a long time.
“Evelyn,” Zarkisian said in a calm voice. “Sit down.”
Wrapping the purse strap around her neck, she grabbed the brass handle of the hallway door and flung it open.
“Evelyn,” Zarkisian called. “Come here and sit down.”
“I’m not a child,” Evelyn declared over her shoulder. “Nor some dog you can order at your command.”
“SIT. DOWN.”
Evelyn turned. Zarkisian remained in the same position she left him, his expression maddeningly calm yet resolute. Don’t lose your resolve now. “I’m finished here.”
“Come here and sit down,” Zarkisian commanded.
“No.”
Zarkisian did not respond. Instead, his obsidian eyes reached out and penetrated hers, engulfing her within a whirlpool of her own defiance. Where can I escape? How? Evelyn flung her arms out in all directions, scrabbling for a handhold, something solid to prevent the intangible vortex from swallowing her up. Zarkisian’s implacable will scoured every corner of her consciousness with the ferocity of a firehose stanching a candle flame and she crumpled to the floor.