Kaleidoscope ~ The Circle
Cynthia Hatch
Part III
She tossed her keys on the couch and continued on to her bedroom, stuffing her own clothes into the hamper and removing her borrowed ones with care. Better to wash these natural fabrics by hand before she returned them to Jamie. Who would have thought a hot shower would feel so good on a day as warm as this one, but for a week the building's air conditioner had pumped out a relentless stream of synthetic cold, no matter where she set the thermostat. You could live in a place like this and have no idea what the weather was like outside, not unlike the tunnel world.
It occurred to her suddenly that she hadn't had a thing to eat since breakfast. Somehow she hadn't missed it, but now she was ravenous. She wrapped herself in a fuzzy robe and popped some leftover Chinese food into the microwave. When it was ready, she grabbed a fork, eating straight from the carton. She wandered back into the living room, dismayed to see that a message had been left on her answering machine. For a moment she hesitated to play it. Nothing was going to keep her from returning below tonight, but some inbred sense of propriety made her feel obligated to turn it on.
"Hi, Cath, it's Jen. I know you won't get back into town till Sunday night, but please call me anytime before midnight. We keep missing each other, and I really need to talk. Bye.”
Catherine had finished the Moo Goo Gai Pan and was starting on the shrimp fried rice. Her friend's message disturbed her, not that there had been anything urgent about it, but she'd recognized the tone. Since college days, they had turned to each other to complain about men, work and the world at large. Their shared history made it easy to exchange sympathy and advice, that is until the growing demands of their careers had put time at a premium. No, that wasn't all of it, not even most of it, she had to admit. For two year; she'd shared little of her life with Jenny or any of her other friends. It was, Vincent had once warned her, the price she'd have to pay for the secret they shared. She had long ago realized that it was a price she'd pay gladly, as long as she lived, but sadly, Jenny was paying it too.
Their long practice of sharing confidences had become one-sided. Jenny must be hurt that she shared so little of what was really important to her. Becoming mysteriously silent on a subject that used to keep her talking well into the night was no way to encourage someone else to confide her problems. Well, Jenny wouldn't be expecting her to call tonight anyway, but she resolved to set aside a
block of time when they could get together. She'd think of all the things she was free to discuss: her work, other friends, decisions still to be made about her father's estate, everything except the subject closest to her heart.She cleaned up the kitchen with the same urgency she'd displayed since arriving home, as if somehow seven o'clock would come sooner if she hurried, but now there was nothing left to do but prepare herself for tonight, and she didn't want to cut any corners. Maybe Vincent found beauty in her bedraggled appearance this afternoon, but now he would see her at her best. She curled her hair, brushing it back behind her ears, just enough that she could wear the long pearl earrings her father had given her. She took time with her make-up. trying to achieve the elusive effect touted by fashion experts: the look of no make-up at all. The dress she'd chosen had been waiting for just such an event. The saleslady had called it "crystal blue". It had reminded Catherine of Vincent's eyes. It was silk with a low neckline and a skirt that floated just below the knees. The shoes she'd chosen to go with it were thankfully low-heeled: no telling what gyrations would be required to reach Mouse's marvelous theater. She fastened the gold chain with its crystal around her neck and surveyed herself critically in the mirror.
Not too bad, she decided without vanity. Her beauty would be Vincent's gift tonight. She wished it could be more, but she would only give him what she knew he would accept. She picked up a bottle of expensive French perfume but thought better of it. His sense of smell, like all his other faculties, was acute; a fragrance designed to be attractive to the average person might overwhelm him. She was aware of the way he liked to nuzzle her hair, and she guessed that he detected there some scent that was her own. She wouldn't want to take that from him. A shawl of ivory silk completed her outfit, and as she passed through the living room, she retrieved her keys and dropped them into a matching beaded bag. A glance at the clock told her it was just six-forty, but she couldn't wait any longer.
She turned off the lights and slipped out of the apartment. No one joined her in the elevator, so it was easy to bypass the lobby. The subbasement was dark, but she knew her way by heart.
A shuffling sound in front of her slowed her pace. Suddenly, a hideous face loomed in the blackness. Huge blank eyes, distorted features. She gasped and raised an arm in self-defense. Parts of the face rearranged themselves, a pair of dark eyes appeared behind round lenses, as the light moved between them.
"That's Miss Chandler, isn't it?" an elderly voice queried. “Ed Garber - 16B. You shouldn't be down here without some kind of light.” He aimed his own away from them, and a circle of brightness picked out the switch on the wall.
Catherine went to it arid flipped it on, turning to see a vaguely familiar and unsinister little man. "Mr. Garber, you startled me. I didn't know where the switch was."
“Well. it's not good to waste electricity. Have you noticed those office buildings across the way? Lit up like a Christmas tree all night along. It's shameful. Keep that up. and there'll be no electricity left for people who really need it. Get yourself a flashlight, that's my advice. You need something from the storage?"
“Yes, but I can't seem to find my key.” She made an elaborate show of searching through her bag.
“Well, hope you find it. Don't forget to turn the lights off when you're done. The man shuffled out, and Catherine sighed, wondering if he used anything but a flashlight in his own apartment; Rebecca might have a potential customer there. She hurried to turn off the switch and made her way easily through the darkness to the opening. Deciding the beaded bag was a pretty useless accessory for the evening ahead, she slipped it behind a battered carton and passed silently into that other world.
Vincent was not there when she descended into the tunnels; it still must be early. But a moment later he rounded the corner. She had been ready to enjoy his reaction to her appearance, but when he strode into the light, she forgot her intention.
He was dressed all in black, except for a snow white, ruffled shirt. His vest was soft black leather; the boots, she'd never seen before, had the hint of a sheen. His hair seemed to glow with a light of its own.
A laugh of pure delight welled up in her, “Vincent. you look wonderful!”
She waited for him to speak, but instead he slowly shook his head in what she knew was the ultimate tribute - Vincent was at a loss for words. He offered his arm, and together they passed into the warm, yellow glow of the tunnels. There were torches and candles everywhere near the hub of the community; she heard the hum of excited voices.
“One group has already gone below," Vincent explained. “Everyone else is to meet in Father's chamber, so we can go safely together. Of course, those responsible for the production started out hours ago.”
“Including Mouse?"
“Yes. I believe he's stayed safely out of Father's sight all day. If all goes well, he should know nothing of Mouse's contributions until they have been a unanimous success."
“Which, of course, they will be. Who's directing the play?"
“You remember Brooke? She's fallen in love with the words of Shakespeare and worked tirelessly to help the others learn their lines. I'm told she rules with an iron hand.”
“Sweet little Brooke?”
"When one cares passionately about something, Catherine, the courage to defend it comes naturally."
They had come to the entrance of Father's chamber, but Vincent stopped short. A group of children raced past them on the way to join the people gathered inside.
“Catherine, wait. Please.”
Two men approached, still carrying the log poles that indicated they'd been on sentry duty. “Catherine.” They nodded a greeting. Vincent. We're not too late then?”
“No.” Vincent shook his head. When the men had passed, he took her hand and pulled her into the shadows away from the view of those arriving at the meeting place. “Catherine, I owe you an apology."
“For what?” she asked, mystified. She searched his face, but he turned from her, staring out into the tunnel.
“My behavior a moment ago. When I saw you, Catherine. I wanted to tell you - should have told you what was in my heart, but sometimes. . . He looked down, further veiling his expression from her.
“Sometimes what. Vincent?”
He sighed. “Sometimes I look at you, and I feel as though I must be dreaming. It does not seem possible that anyone as lovely - as perfect, as you are, Catherine, could be waiting for me, looking at me the way you do, and I feel that I reach out to you, you may vanish. Another man would have found the words to tell you what you deserve to hear. I could not.”
“Vincent.” She reached up and laid her hand on the soft stubble of his cheek, coaxing him to meet her eyes. The tears that had gathered in his fell deep in her own heart. “We have never needed words for what's between us. I'm not convinced there are any. I don't need compliments. I just need you. Do you have any idea what it does to me when I know I'm going to see you soon? It's as if everything in me comes alive, really alive, for the first time. When I think that I'll be the one by your side when we join the others tonight, it's like - like a blessing that I couldn't possibly deserve. I know that fear you speak of, Vincent - that this is all too good to be true, but if it's a dream, it's our dream, yours and mine together. I'm not going to vanish. I'm real."
She took his hand in both of hers and pressed it to her heart. "You can feel that I'm real, Vincent.” she whispered. “My heartbeat is real, and that's for you too,” She was scarcely aware of what she was saying or what effect it might be having on him. There was only an aching need to ease the pain, but she found herself in his arms. “Please say you believe me."
His grip tightened around her, as if to confirm what she had told him. “I believe you, Catherine,” he said at last, and the soft, rumbling voice at her ear sent a tremor through her.