Gone-Girl-by-Gillian-Flynn

AMY ELLIOTT DUNNE
TEN DAYS GONE
We drive my car across state lines into Illinois, to a particularly awful
neighborhood of some busted river town, and we spend an hour wiping it
down, and then we leave it with the keys in the ignition. Call it the circle of
strife: The Arkansas couple who drove it before me were sketchy; Ozark Amy
was obviously shady; hopefully, some Illinois down-and-outer will enjoy it
for a bit too.
Then we drive back into Missouri over wavy hills until I can see, between
the trees, Lake Hannafan glistening. Because Desi has family in St. Louis, he
likes to believe the area is old, East Coast old, but he is wrong. Lake
Hannafan is not named after a nineteenth-century statesman or a Civil War
hero. It is a private lake, machine-forged in 2002 by an oily developer named
Mike Hannafan who turned out to have a moonlighting job illegally disposing
of hazardous waste. The kerfuffled community is scrambling to find a new
name for their lake. Lake Collings, I’m sure, has been floated.
So despite the well-planned lake – upon which a few select residents can
sail but not motor – and Desi’s tastefully grand house – a Swiss château on an
American scale – I remain unwooed. That was always the problem with Desi.
Be from Missouri or don’t, but don’t pretend Lake ‘Collings’ is Lake Como.
He leans against his Jaguar and aims his gaze up at the house so that I
have to pause for appreciation also.
‘We modeled it after this wonderful little chalet my mother and I stayed at
in Brienzersee,’ he says. ‘All we’re missing is the mountain range.’
A rather big miss, I think, but I put my hand on his arm and say, ‘Show
me the inside. It must be fabulous.’
He gives me the nickel tour, laughing at the idea of a nickel. A cathedral
kitchen – all granite and chrome – a living room with his-and-hers fireplaces
that flows onto an outdoor space (what midwesterners call a deck)
overlooking the woods and the lake. A basement entertainment room with a
snooker table, darts, surround sound, a wet bar, and its own outdoor space
(what midwesterners call another deck). A sauna off the entertainment room
and next to it the wine cellar. Upstairs, five bedrooms, the second largest of
which he bestows on me.
‘I had it repainted,’ he says. ‘I know you love dusty rose.’