Moondance (10 page)

She slowly got up from the curb and forced herself to walk, thinking about the present, imagining her past as invisible footprints behind her and her future, gleaming and unknown. She walked deliberately, twisting and turning further north, until she looked up at a house that felt familiar. She had no idea what time it was.

The house was smaller than most in this area, with a dramatically peaked roof and an art deco motif under the eaves. The windows were beveled glass and there was a grand stained glass window on the west side. Althea imagined it overlooked an elegantly carved wooden staircase bathed in a rainbow of soft artist’s light. A navy blue Saab convertible was parked in the driveway.

This was the kind of house that she’d buy for herself. This was her future. She stared at the house and noticed that when she squinted, it turned into a face: a crescent-shaped window on the third floor winking and the delicate deck curved into a toothy smile. She squinted and the house grinned. When a tongue flicked from its mouth, she took a step back.

Embarrassed, she scrutinized the veranda. There was no one there
Maybe I imagined it
and just as she turned to go back the way she came, a man, his blue-black locks pulled back in a ponytail today, his fair skin gleaming and his long coat falling perfectly across his shoulders, walked down the short driveway toward her.

She knew it was the same man, the one with the group of kids just after Tori and Kevin.
The green-eyed one. The one that stayed dry in the rain
. She had thought about seducing this man, fantasized about it after she saw him, but instead of being drawn to him, she felt her heart contract in fear and she tripped on the curb behind her and fell. She could see his outline as she got up and imagined the amusement in his face. Filled with humiliation, tears of anguish rising in her throat, she turned and ran, her feet slapping the wet pavement, droplets of water in her shoes and on her cheeks.

A block later, she felt a sharp cramp in her side. Her nose stuffed with tears, she leaned against a telephone pole to steady herself.
Thunder
rumbled and it began to rain. She felt bewildered and confused at her own reaction. She was shaking.
What was happening?
Tentatively, she walked, hunched over, sobbing softly, wanting to fall into bed, wanting to turn time back, wanting to be invisible.
They aren’t worth it
. Sophie’s voice.
I understand anger
. Celia’s voice.

Althea walked, one step in front of the other, forward and then left and then right and right again, moving into the anger because it hurt less, immersing herself in the physical, what was in front of her, how it felt to move, the rain on her face, the white of her breath in the chill air.

I chose to forgive her
, Celia said, and Althea walked faster
they betrayed me, I owe them nothing
.

Or do you?

A dog bounded toward her, undernourished, hair matted, black and white, some spaniel blood. Althea stepped out onto the road, her hand stretching toward it. The sound of a car screeching to a halt startled her and she locked eyes with the white-haired driver whose slack mouth tightened into a lipless line.

Althea turned away from the man, her eyes darting left as if in slow motion, from street sign to street sign, turning in a circle until she was in her original position, Celia’s voice and the flash of green eyes far away.

Althea blinked. She didn’t know where she was.

chapter 13

“I’M HERE TO SEE Stephen Wu,” Michael said.

The woman was skinny, impeccably dressed, with glowing bronze skin. She wore three silver rings on her right hand. Her left hand was bare. She had a lovely accent he couldn’t quite place, possibly South African.

“Mr. Wu has been called home on a family emergency. We are uncertain of his return. He asked if we could call you to re-schedule.”

Michael felt a mixture of relief and frustration settle over him. This would have been his third interview with the bank. Stephen Wu was the senior vice president of the Wealth Management division. The position was a stretch for Michael, but the bank was willing to talk with him because of Lara. The position offered a significant increase in salary, but the truth was that he wasn’t sure banking was where he wanted to be.

He was told to block two hours for the interview, so he wasn’t expected back at work right away. In the building’s granite-lined concourse, Michael headed toward First Canadian Place in search of a Starbucks. The working population’s drug of choice.

As he walked, he tried to remember the grid in this area of downtown. He followed his hunch and turned right. No more signs for First Canadian Place. Swearing softly, he turned and felt something push his left arm, followed by stinging heat.

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry sir!” The woman was short and round, with a piercing stare, a pale complexion, frizzy red hair, and an expression not unlike the woman he saw last fall on the side of the road. But unlike that woman, this one wasn’t afraid to say what was on her mind. She had been carrying a Styrofoam tray of coffee. Now much of it was cooling on Michael’s shirt.

“You’re coming with me.”

Michael had an image of being carried back to the woman’s office, where she asked him to take off his clothes and change into something more comfortable. He bit his cheek to stop himself from smiling.

“That’s okay, it was an accident,” he said.

“I can fix you up.” She looked him over. “You’re about his size.” She grabbed his arm.

She was like the Borg, he thought. It was futile to resist.

The company’s twenty-first floor reception area was glass, brushed steel, and eerily quiet. The woman bustled by reception, dragging him by his elbow. He thought that any moment now, she’d take him by the ear.

A few doors from reception, she stopped, looked around, put her hand flat on his chest, and pushed him into an office where she closed the door behind them. He stumbled to a stop.

“I’m Violet,” she said, extending a chubby hand. Her gaze was direct.

“I’m Michael. I was on my way to —”

“Don’t you move!”

Moving was the last thing on Michael’s mind. He surveyed his surroundings. The office was enormous, with windows lining two walls. The mahogany desk was spotlessly clean. There was no paper in sight. Did someone actually work here?

Violet sat behind the enormous, flat computer screen, her hand covering a cordless mouse which clicked like manicured nails on glass.

“Ah hah!” Violet sounded like she had just discovered the Caramilk secret. She rummaged through the top drawer of the desk while she muttered a string of obscenities. Abandoning the drawers, she moved to a mahogany cabinet and pulled out a key.

“Derek’s files are in here. He doesn’t do paperwork — that’s my job. You should have seen the place when I first started here. He comes across all mister perfect, you know,
above it all
, but he’s really a slob.”

“I know what you —”

“Ah ha!” The first “ah ha” paled in comparison. With a flourish, Violet pulled out a plastic bag, handed it to him, then turned away.

Without a word, Michael changed shirts in the cavernous office.

• • •

WHEN MICHAEL RETURNED TO Exeter, his boss Ralph cut him off.

“You still okay for our four o’clock?”

Michael nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. When we’re done, there’s something I’d like to speak with you about.”

That afternoon, Michael told Ralph that he was looking for another job but that he’d prefer to stay with Exeter. To stay, he wanted a raise and he wanted to hire an assistant. Before he left, Michael called and left a message for Violet.

• • •

WHEN MICHAEL WAS DEPRESSED, Dr. Reynolds often suggested that he consciously modulate his thoughts. Sometimes he tried. More often than not, he would con
template the scariest thing he could imagine. He’d observe this possibility as if it was a rare, poisonous plant under glass, understanding that he would die if he ate it and simultaneously knowing that discovering how it tasted was the most important thing in the world.

So imagine your wife leaving you. How it would feel? It’s not something you want, but there it is. Try it on. Settle in. How would it feel to give in to the visions, the images, the compulsions?

He imagined telling Lara that he didn’t want to leave Exeter. He’d be open and logical, his face a mask of neutrality. Underneath, he’d be consciously aware of the decision’s monstrous implications, embedded in a place where logic did not reside, a place where his reality fragmented into vision, the fear greater than anything he’d ever known.

chapter 14

“ALTHEA BRECHT.”

Outside the Maddy, Dr. George O’Sullivan stood next to her, close enough that she could smell the smoke on his jacket and the cinnamon on his breath.

“Dr. O’Sullivan.” she said.

“I see you’re surviving.” His gaze was steady and unblinking.

“Yes, so far so good. Though our OB assignment is due in a week, and I’m wondering how we’re going to pull it off.”

“You’ll get it together. It’s all part of the MBA experience.” He smiled. “Do you smoke?” She shook her head. He lit a cigarette and looked at her through the haze, his head tilting. She looked for Celia and glanced at her watch. It was 12:15. She was sure they had planned to meet tonight.

“So tell me about your experience,” he said. She turned toward him, looking into his eyes, feeling a bit dizzy. She answered him, deliberately holding his gaze, describing her group members, their classes so far, her impressions. He asked about her background, and what she was planning to do after.
I plan to write
. The thought came like a whisper. She pushed it away.

“Management consulting.”

“That’s a good route to go. You’ll learn a lot.” In addition to investment banking, management consulting was a popular career choice for MBA grads. The starting salaries were high, the signing bonuses plentiful, and the travel worldwide. Some stayed in consulting for their careers, others left to enter senior-management positions on the client-side.

Althea nodded and broke eye contact, looking over Dr. O’Sullivan’s shoulder. No Celia. O’Sullivan finished his cigarette.

“So, Althea Brecht. Will you go for a walk with me?”

Without waiting for an answer, he dropped his cigarette, and turned north along Madison. Althea followed, feeling the excitement in her chest. With the exception of the odd siren in the distance, it was quiet. In the dark, he looped his fingers around hers lightly and she pulled away. Then he talked, describing the houses they passed, the architecture, some history of the area. She listened, barely following his words, just aware of his presence, his voice, the wind, the occasional whiff of smoke.

He stopped. Althea looked up to see a small park. He turned toward her, his eyes never leaving hers. Though he wasn’t touching her, she felt pulled toward him, and like the flip of a switch, her decision:
this time, she wouldn’t run away
.

He took her hand and led her further into the park until he stopped at a tree and pulled her into him. They stood chest to chest, and she could smell fully the cigarettes on his coat, and the warm cinnamon gum between his lips. Without warning, he slid his hands into her hair, pulling until her head tilted up.

“Althea Brecht,” he said, and his voice was low and even, with no more hesitation than his hands, which moved to her face, tracing her lips and pulling her lower lip down before he kissed her, slowly, then more insistently, pressing into her, his tongue seeking. She kissed him back deeply, standing straight, her hands on his shoulders, aware of his erection, the hard roundness of it, how his lips felt, tasted, the scratch of his cheek, the touch of his glasses on her cheek as their heads tilted to find a new position, the fineness of his hair, and the slow movement of his hips as his erection grew. She felt it all, yet she was utterly detached, as if she was watching from somewhere above herself, as if it was a movie she’d already seen.
Tori and Kevin at the countertop
. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tensed, frozen. His voice found her.

“I wanted to do this the first time I saw you,” he said as he wound his fingers into her hair, more firmly this time, his other hand sliding under her jacket, then on her skin, moving to her breast. Holding her, he rolled them over on the tree as if they were lying on a bed. She followed passively.

If he had pulled her down onto the lawn right then, Althea would have gone, if he had undressed her here against the tree, she would have let him, but instead of doing either of these things, he removed his hand from under her shirt, and moved away. His absence was like a physical vacuum. She stood still, until he took her hand and led her silently back the way they came.

They didn’t speak. He didn’t ask to come into her studio, but his smile lingered. As he opened her car door, he kissed her softly on the mouth, catching her lower lip in his teeth, and pressed a card into her hand.

Inside her studio, Althea took off her clothes in the dark and got into bed, her mind swimming, still feeling his body against hers, how his mouth tasted, his unwavering eyes, his smooth fingers on her skin, the feel of his erection and her mounting desire. This was only the fourth man she had ever kissed — there had been no one since Kevin, and it felt so different, different than anything else she had ever felt.