"So it comes high," she said. "In the real world?"

"That's about forty, fifty feet," he said. "Fifteen meters."

"Ooh la la," she said, pursing her lips. "So a person cannot run away from this."

"Oh no," Marshall said. "You can't outrun a tidal wave. There was a wave in Hilo, Hawaii, in 1957, came right down the streets of the town, tall as the buildings, people ran from it but"

"So that's it?" the American said. "That's all it does?" His voice was growly, like he needed to clear his throat.

"Don't mind him," she said quietly.

"Yes, that's what we do here," Marshall said. "We generate waves"

"Jesus fucking A," the American said. "I could do that in my bathtub when I was six months old."

"Well," Marshall said, gesturing to the control panel, and the monitors displaying data, "we generate a lot of databases for researchers around the world who are"

"Yeah, yeah. That's enough. Boring as whale shit. I'm leaving. You coming, Marisa, or not?" He stood and glared at her.

Marshall heard her suck in her breath.

"No," she said. "I am not."

The American turned and walked off, slamming the door loudly as he left.

Her apartment was just across the river from Notre Dame, and from the balcony in the bedroom he had a beautiful view of the cathedral, which was lighted at night. It was ten o'clock, but there was still a deep blue in the sky. He looked down at the street below, the lights of the cafйs, the crowds walking on the streets. It was a busy and glamorous scene.

"Don't worry," she said, behind him. "If you're looking for Jimmy, he won't come here."

Actually, the thought hadn't occurred to him, until she mentioned it. "No?"

"No," she said. "He will go elsewhere. Jimmy has many women." She took a sip of red wine, then set the glass down on the bedside table. Unceremoniously, she pulled her top over her head and dropped her skirt. She was wearing nothing beneath.