Nine Perfect Strangers

She was too ashamed and too vulnerable without her clothes on to confess.

‘What is the director like?’ asked Frances, thinking of the reverence with which Yao had looked at that closed door.

Silence.

Frances watched Jan’s feet in their chunky sneakers. They didn’t move.

Finally, Jan spoke. ‘She’s very passionate about her work.’

Yao had also said he was passionate about his work. It was the theatrical language of movie stars and motivational speakers. Frances would never say she was ‘passionate’ about her work, although she was in fact passionate about her work. If she went too long without writing she lost her mind.

What if she was never published again?

Why would anyone publish her again? She didn’t deserve to be published.

Don’t think about the review.

‘Passion is good,’ she said.

‘Yup,’ said Jan. She chose another spot for knuckle-digging.

‘Is she possibly too passionate at times?’ asked Frances, trying to understand the point, if any, that Jan was trying to make.

‘She cares a lot about the guests here and she’s prepared to do . . . whatever it takes . . . to help them.’

‘Whatever it takes?’ said Frances. ‘That sounds –’

Jan’s hands moved to Frances’s shoulders. ‘I need to remind you that the noble silence will begin in just a few moments. Once we hear the third bell we’re not allowed to talk.’

Frances felt panicky. She wanted more information before this creepy silence began.

‘When you say “whatever it takes” –’

‘I only have positive things to say about the staff here,’ interrupted Jan. She sounded a little robotic now. ‘They have your best interests at heart.’

‘This is sounding kind of ominous,’ said Frances.

‘People achieve great results here,’ said Jan.

‘Well, that’s good.’

‘Yup,’ said Jan.

‘So are you saying that some of their methods are possibly a little . . .’ Frances tried to find the right word. She was remembering some of those angry online reviews.

A bell rang once. It reverberated with the melodic authority of a church bell, clear and pure.

Damn it.

‘Unorthodox?’ continued Frances hurriedly. ‘I guess I’m just cautious now, after my experience with that man, that scammer. Once bitten –’

The second bell, even louder than the first, sliced through the middle of her cliché so that it hung foolishly in the air.

‘Twice shy,’ whispered Frances.

Jan pressed her palms down hard on Frances’s shoulder blades as if she were performing CPR and leaned forward so that her breath was warm against Frances’s ear.

‘Just don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. That’s all I can say.’