KALEIDOSCOPE II PART 2
By Cynthia Hatch
Their pace was slow, prolonging the time together. Already she was regretting the moment when that powerful hand would let go of hers.
"I don't think I’ll ever get over the way our two worlds can exist so close together and be so completely different. Up there, if anyone came barging into another person's apartment unannounced, the way they do here, he'd probably be clobbered with a blunt instrument -- at the very least."
"A rather extreme form of greeting." Vincent ducked his head to follow her through a low archway.
"My world is made up of extremes. People are very insecure, It makes them wary of everybody."
"Because they don't know one another. Here everyone is a friend -- someone to be trusted."
"Even so, Vincent, there must be times when people want privacy, times when it would be very awkward to have a visitor."
"It is customary here, Catherine, to call out before entering someone's private chambers. If they aren't prepared for company, they can say so."
"Well, it's a courtesy I seldom see extended to you." It seemed as if people were continually popping into his chamber unannounced.
"I am somewhat of an exception."
She looked at him. "You mean, because you can sense when someone's approaching."
"Usually."
"Were you always able to do that?" she asked.
"Mmm. It was a gift very useful to a child, Catherine, and one I abused rather shamelessly."
"How?" She was intrigued by this glimpse into a time before she knew him, amusement rising in her voice. "Vincent, you're not going to tell me you actually misbehaved?"
"All children misbehave, Catherine,' he answered diplomatically.
"Yes, and most of them get caught. I can see it now -- a bunch of little boys all up to something they shouldn't be, and just as they're about to be discovered -- someone sounds the alarm, and they escape -- no punishment, no justice." She shook her head in mock disillusionment. "I don't know, Vincent. That's pretty deplorable."
"I told you it was shameless." He didn't look particularly worried that her opinion of him might have been damaged. "You might as well know the worst, Catherine. Devin and I would stay up long past our bedtime, sometimes just talking, sometimes fighting or thrashing around in some noisy game. Father would hear us in the solitude of his own chamber and finally become angry enough to make his way to ours. He would storm through the entrance in his nightshirt, only to find two boys sleeping peacefully as angels."
"Did he actually fall for that?'
"Probably not, but he could never be entirely certain. He hesitated to disturb us for fear that we might genuinely be asleep. He would simply regard us suspiciously, sigh and return to bed."
"Poor Father," she said as sympathetically as she could, though the laughter was in her voice.
"And you, Catherine. Did you never misbehave when you were small?"
"Absolutely not. I was the best little girl in the world, always trying to please everybody. Daddy called me his little princess."
Vincent shot her a sidelong glance that told her she wasn't getting off that easily.
"It's true," she insisted archly. "I was so sweet it was almost disgusting, until, of course . . . They had come to the steel door that marked the Central Park entrance, and she let the remark trail off, teasing him.
"Until what?"
"Well, until I didn't get my own way, of course."
"Then what did you do?"
"Oh, I'd throw a horrible tantrum. It didn't matter where we were or who was around. I'd wail and stomp my feet. Sometimes I’d actually throw myself on the floor, kicking and screaming."
"Catherine, that is shameless."
"I know." She looked up at him, trying to appear contrite, but his reaction took her completely by surprise. His hand came around her neck, pulling her to him, and he bent his face to hers, kissing her full on the mouth. It was a gentle kiss and over almost before she could respond, yet when he released her, she leaned against him, needing his support. "I -- I wasn't prepared for that."
"I'm sorry." He nuzzled at her hair. "I needed you to know that I forgive you for the sins of your childhood."
She pulled back to look at him. "I appreciate that, Vincent, but it's only fair that I show you I've forgiven you too." Her fingertips traced lightly over the stubble on his chin, and he lowered his head to accept her kiss. Would she ever master the trembling that the taste of him awoke? When they parted, she was grateful for the strong arms around her. Rubbing her cheek against his chest, she could hear his heart pounding in her ear. "Vincent, isn't there something else you'd like to confess? I’m sure I can think of all kinds of terrible things I've done, if you'll just give me a minute."
His soft laugh whispered through her hair. "Catherine, I would like nothing better than to forgive you all day long, but I should see what Father wants."
"I know, and I'll bet anything that Joe won't be able to resist calling me, day off or no day off. Will you come to me tonight?"
"That depends," he answered cautiously.
"On what?"
"On whether you intend to greet me with a blunt instrument."
She grinned. "Believe me, Vincent, clobbering you is easily the farthest thing from my mind."
"Then I'll be there," he promised a smile in his eyes. He reached up to pull the lever, and the circular door slid open. He unlatched the iron bars beyond, his eyes never leaving her face, and she passed through.
A million things that should be said whirled through her mind, as they always did at parting, but when she opened her mouth, all that came out was, 'Goodbye." Words were unimportant. They would have been inadequate to express the deepest of her feelings, but she saw in his expression, as he stepped backward into the warm light, that the essence of them had flowed silently from her heart to his.
The door slid shut. Once this formidable reminder of the barriers that separated their two worlds might have made her shiver, but now she preferred to think of it as reassuring, a shield keeping him and his secret world safe from violation.
A positive outlook came easily these days, and she smiled to herself, as she straddled the little rivulet that coursed down the center of the pipe and made her way to the opening. The culvert's mouth framed a picture of dripping trees and rain-speckled grass, but a fierce summer sun was burning its way through the steamy trails of clouds to obliterate any sign of the storm that had obviously dominated the early morning.
She stepped cautiously out onto the grass. In her haste to get to him last night she had worn the first shoes that came to hand, a pair of delicate leather flats that were immediately soaked through, probably ruined, but the squishing sound they made as she reached the pavement, hardly registered. Her thoughts were for their lightheartedness this morning, for the giddy, soaring joy that was a part of being in love. a part she'd nearly forgotten, a part he'd never known.
His first tentative reaching out -- to Lisa long ago -- had slammed back at him with distorted horror, mocking his human pretensions, driving him far into the shadows of his soul where the flames of desire could not beckon. The silent, hopeless longing that had flowed beneath the surface of their own love had lent a note of melancholy even to their happiest moments, and now that they had dared to challenge that hopelessness, there was the ever present fear of the consequences.
She respected that fear, not because she believed in its validity, but because he did. Nothing he had ever done -- not the risking of his own life, not the killings in her defense that he paid for with pieces of his soul -- nothing had showed her so clearly the depth of his love or the strength of his courage, as the simple act of kissing her. They had faced a barrier that seemed impenetrable, and in one simple act of faith, passed through it together, feeling it shimmer and dissolve like the mirage it was. On this side the world looked the same, and yet, it wasn't. Perhaps the other had only been a reflection, where love could be sensed but never touched. Here love spoke not only in words, but also in the sweet, searing promise of a kiss, a lover's touch.
A young couple was walking toward her, alms around each other's waists. The boy whispered something, and the girl slapped his arm and kissed him; they were both laughing. Not long ago the scene might have made her feel wistful, but today she felt only happiness for the two strangers, for herself and for him.
Never, among all the adjectives she'd thought of to describe him, had she ever included the word "impulsive," but how else to classify that kiss he'd stolen? He had done it purely because he wanted to and was secure in the knowledge that it would delight her. At last he was learning firsthand that love could bring pleasure as well as pain, that its physical expression could be joyful and life-affirming.
Suddenly she was glad that they'd agreed to explore this new stage of their relationship slowly. He deserved the time to savor every step in a world that was new to him. Did he truly realize how new it was to her -- that nothing in her experience had prepared her for the feelings he so effortlessly aroused? She was glad, too, that the obtuseness of New Yorkers allowed her to pass through the park with a silly smile on her face and never draw a second glance.
She entered the lobby of her building, shoes still making rude noises, the ankles of her jogging suit drenched through. In the elevator she removed the sorry looking Capezios and carried them into the apartment, noting that the answering machine was signaling a message.
'Good morning, Joe,' she sang at it in passing. "You'll just have to wait."
She changed and whipped up a quick breakfast, enjoying it at leisure with the morning paper, then went out to the terrace to water her rosebush, but it wasn't necessary; its leaves were still slicked with the morning rain; droplets sparkled like jewels in the folds of its petals. Water had pooled in the uneven places on the tile floor, and it struck her that tonight might be a good time to reissue that invitation to Vincent -- the invitation to come into the apartment.
He seemed to regard the crossing of that threshold the way he might view a request to walk through fire or swim through shark-infested waters. No, on second thought that wasn't accurate. She was sure no such physical challenge would faze him in the way that self-imposed restriction seemed to do. The more she thought about it, the more she wasn't sure that this was the right time. Even if he was willing now to take that step, it was bound to bring with it a certain discomfort, an awkwardness that would disturb their newfound harmony. She finally decided to shift the responsibility to the weather; if the sun could succeed in making the place dry by nightfall, she'd dismiss the idea for now. If it was, still damp when he arrived, then simple courtesy would dictate a suggestion to go inside.
What a cop-out, she told herself. She suspected half her purpose in standing here, speculating about what might happen hours from now, stemmed from a reluctance to play back the message on her machine. It might not be from Joe after all. Maybe it was from someone she'd really like to talk to, a friend only in town for the day, the mayor informing her that all crime had officially been wiped out in the five boroughs, thank you very much, and they really wouldn't be needing her any longer. She pushed the button.