tendency."
"Only around you, and that's deliberate." She tried not to enjoy herself.
They turned into a narrower street that looked even older and more quaint than the ones they'd been on. "So did you get your Four Cornerstones in a thunderbolt from God," he asked, "or did you read them on a greeting card somewhere?"
"From God, thanks for asking." She gave up on her attempt to stay aloof. "Not in a thunderbolt, though. We moved around a lot when I was a child. It kept me fairly isolated, but it gave me time to observe people. As I got older, I started working different jobs to put myself through school. I read and kept my eyes open. I saw people succeed and fail – in jobs, in personal relationships. The Four Cornerstones grew out of all that observation."
"I don't imagine fame came instantly."
"I started writing about what I was observing around the time I entered graduate school."
"Academic papers?"
"At first. But that began to feel too limiting, so I condensed my ideas for some of the women's magazines, and that's how the Four Cornerstones were born." She was rattling on, but it felt good to talk about her work. "I'd begun putting the lessons to use in my own life, and I liked what was happening, the way I felt more centered. I organized some discussion groups on campus. They seemed to help people, and they kept getting bigger.
A book editor started attending one of them, and everything took off from there."
"You enjoy what you do, don't you?"
"I love it."
"Then we have something in common after all."
"You truly enjoy those parts you play?"
"See, there you go with that snotty thing again."
"It's just hard to imagine loving a job that glorifies violence."
"You forget that I usually die in the end, which makes my films morality tales. That should be right up your alley."
The crowd jostled them apart as they entered the piazza. She gazed around at the open stalls displaying everything from baskets overflowing with fruits and vegetables to brightly colored toys. Pots of herbs scented the air, along with braids of garlic and strands of peppers. Clothing vendors sold silk scarves and leather purses. Colorful bags of pasta rested next to jewel-like bottles of olive oil. She passed a pushcart holding an array of earth-toned soaps that were studded with lavender, poppy seeds, and lemon peel. As she stopped to smell the lavender ones, she spotted Ren near a wire birdcage. She thought of other actors she'd known. She'd heard them talk about how they had to look internally to find the seeds for the character they were playing, and she wondered what Ren saw inside himself that let him portray evil so convincingly. Leftover feelings from his deviant childhood?
As she approached, he gestured toward the canaries. "I'm not planning their demise, in case you were worried."
"I suppose two small birds aren't enough of a challenge for you." She touched the latch on the cage door. "Don't get a big head about this, but objectively speaking, you seem to be a terrific actor. I'll bet you could play a great hero if you set your mind to it."
"Are we back to that again?"
"Wouldn't it be nice to save the girl for a change instead of brutalizing her?"
"Hey, it's not just women. I'm an equal-opportunity brutalizer. And I tried saving the girl once, but it didn't work. Did you ever see a movie calledNovember Time? "
"No."
"Neither did anyone else. I played a noble but naïve doctor who stumbles on some medical chicanery while he's fighting to save the heroine's life. It tanked."
"Maybe it was a bad script."
"Or maybe not." He glanced down at her. "Here's the life lesson I've learned, Fifi: Some people are born to play the hero, and some are born to play the bad guy. Fighting your destiny only makes life harder than it needs to be. Besides, people remember the villain long after they've forgotten the hero."
If she hadn't caught that flicker of pain on his face the day before, she might have let it go, but delving into people's
"Only around you, and that's deliberate." She tried not to enjoy herself.
They turned into a narrower street that looked even older and more quaint than the ones they'd been on. "So did you get your Four Cornerstones in a thunderbolt from God," he asked, "or did you read them on a greeting card somewhere?"
"From God, thanks for asking." She gave up on her attempt to stay aloof. "Not in a thunderbolt, though. We moved around a lot when I was a child. It kept me fairly isolated, but it gave me time to observe people. As I got older, I started working different jobs to put myself through school. I read and kept my eyes open. I saw people succeed and fail – in jobs, in personal relationships. The Four Cornerstones grew out of all that observation."
"I don't imagine fame came instantly."
"I started writing about what I was observing around the time I entered graduate school."
"Academic papers?"
"At first. But that began to feel too limiting, so I condensed my ideas for some of the women's magazines, and that's how the Four Cornerstones were born." She was rattling on, but it felt good to talk about her work. "I'd begun putting the lessons to use in my own life, and I liked what was happening, the way I felt more centered. I organized some discussion groups on campus. They seemed to help people, and they kept getting bigger.
A book editor started attending one of them, and everything took off from there."
"You enjoy what you do, don't you?"
"I love it."
"Then we have something in common after all."
"You truly enjoy those parts you play?"
"See, there you go with that snotty thing again."
"It's just hard to imagine loving a job that glorifies violence."
"You forget that I usually die in the end, which makes my films morality tales. That should be right up your alley."
The crowd jostled them apart as they entered the piazza. She gazed around at the open stalls displaying everything from baskets overflowing with fruits and vegetables to brightly colored toys. Pots of herbs scented the air, along with braids of garlic and strands of peppers. Clothing vendors sold silk scarves and leather purses. Colorful bags of pasta rested next to jewel-like bottles of olive oil. She passed a pushcart holding an array of earth-toned soaps that were studded with lavender, poppy seeds, and lemon peel. As she stopped to smell the lavender ones, she spotted Ren near a wire birdcage. She thought of other actors she'd known. She'd heard them talk about how they had to look internally to find the seeds for the character they were playing, and she wondered what Ren saw inside himself that let him portray evil so convincingly. Leftover feelings from his deviant childhood?
As she approached, he gestured toward the canaries. "I'm not planning their demise, in case you were worried."
"I suppose two small birds aren't enough of a challenge for you." She touched the latch on the cage door. "Don't get a big head about this, but objectively speaking, you seem to be a terrific actor. I'll bet you could play a great hero if you set your mind to it."
"Are we back to that again?"
"Wouldn't it be nice to save the girl for a change instead of brutalizing her?"
"Hey, it's not just women. I'm an equal-opportunity brutalizer. And I tried saving the girl once, but it didn't work. Did you ever see a movie calledNovember Time? "
"No."
"Neither did anyone else. I played a noble but naïve doctor who stumbles on some medical chicanery while he's fighting to save the heroine's life. It tanked."
"Maybe it was a bad script."
"Or maybe not." He glanced down at her. "Here's the life lesson I've learned, Fifi: Some people are born to play the hero, and some are born to play the bad guy. Fighting your destiny only makes life harder than it needs to be. Besides, people remember the villain long after they've forgotten the hero."
If she hadn't caught that flicker of pain on his face the day before, she might have let it go, but delving into people's
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