The Girl With the Jade Green Eyes (18 page)

With a ceremonial bow Slade handed Breedlove the credit card. “You’re also entitled to sit on Kyra’s left at the hearing tomorrow, but sit is all. The pleading will be handled by Abe Cohen. Here’s another prop for the cover story.” He took two wedding bands from the briefcase. Breedlove’s was the larger and heavier of the two rings. “You can place the ring on Kyra’s finger, but I’ll kiss the bride.”

“I’ll put the ring on her finger, but the articles of protocol apply to you also.”

Breedlove slipped the ring on her finger. She held it out admiringly and said, “Now, Breedlove, we can go shopping, and Saturday you can take me to the lake in the mountains.”

“Splendid. We’ll drive up.”

“No, I’ll fly you up in a helicopter,” Laudermilk said. “Where Kyra goes, we all go. Breedlove, you’re the official eunuch.”

Laudermilk was jocular, but Breedlove’s expendability was given official weight by Slade, who unfolded a map of the city on the coffee table to plot Kyra’s shopping tour. If Kyra was threatened by an armed assailant at any point on the tour, Slade explained, Breedlove, as her closest guard, was to interpose his body between the assailant’s weapon and Kyra. “Security is a split-second business. In the time it takes the hostile to waste you, we can liquidate him before he hits Kyra.”

Mason’s, the only Seattle store offering the Polinski Creation, opened at ten. Breedlove and Kyra would arrive at the store at 10:37 in an unmarked green sedan driven by a former member of the Green Beret. After she had finished shopping, the three other members of her bodyguard would join her for lunch at the Mandarin Palace. With its wide selection of vegetables, Chinese food should appeal to her, and the atmosphere would give her some idea of the varied life styles on earth.

Afterward, at Kyra’s suggestion, they would go to a bookstore to augment the library Breedlove had selected for her. She wanted more scientific volumes. After the afternoon’s shopping Breedlove suggested dinner at Pierre’s, overlooking Puget Sound. At a French restaurant that featured old-fashioned cheek-to-cheek dancing, he felt he could review for her the recent history of social dancing and broaden her knowledge of world cuisine. Slade postponed the visit to Pierre’s until Friday night. Abe Cohen was coming by the motel this evening to interview Kyra for tomorrow’s hearing.

After plotting the tour, Slade left for the command room on the first floor to instruct the security guard on the day’s activities. Kyra excused herself to go to her room and dress. As she walked from the room, Breedlove noticed that Turpin’s gaze followed her and focused on her hair, while Laudermilk’s gaze followed her and focused on the sway of her hips.

“I’d die for that woman,” Turpin said.

“I’d rather live for her,” Laudermilk said, “and be her man for all seasons, particularly the early summer season.”

Obviously Kyra had won the hearts of her bodyguard, Breedlove told himself. Turpin’s admiration verged on idolatry, possibly because he was religious and it was his nature to worship something, and Kyra responded to his adoration with gentle sensitivity. After she learned of his practice of saying grace before each meal, Breedlove discovered, Kyra had taught Turpin the Lord’s Prayer in Kanabian, and with that gesture she had earned his fealty. Laudermilk’s attraction to her was more pragmatic.

An atmosphere of wealth hung over the exclusive dress department at Mason’s. A uniformed guard stood at the entrance. No dresses hung on racks in the plushly carpeted area. All the garments were fitted on manikins, and even the manikins were patrician,—here Breedlove saw his first dummy with gray hair. Nowhere could he see a price tag.

He and Kyra were the only customers in the showroom. As they wandered among the displays, a woman wearing a panache of dignity glided up. About thirty, she was trim and poised, with well-groomed hair framing an aristocratic face.

“Good morning. I’m Annette Duchamps. I’d be happy to serve you.” Her softly modulated voice carried a trace of a French accent.

“My name’s Breedlove. This is my wife, Kyra. You advertised a Polinski Creation.”

“Indeed. A masterpiece from a master designer and the only one offered in the Pacific Northwest. If you and Kyra would be seated”—she waved them toward an intimate settee near the window—“it will only take me a moment to bring the item from our humidity-controlled storage room.”

When they sat their knees touched and Kyra said, “Remove your knee, Breedlove.”

“Why?”

“Protocol.” She laughed and stroked his leg. “I can fondle you, but you can’t touch me.”

“What are you going to do with all your clothes?” he asked as she gave his knee a final pat.

“Matty can have them, all except the Polinski Creation. I plan to take it and my Bulfinch as keepsakes of earth.”

Annette returned, bearing the garment in her arms.

“Our model will be here shortly to demonstrate the features of the Polinski Creation, but first I want you to feel its fabric. The skirt is made from genuine Irish linen reinforced with starched damask to give it crispness, buoyancy, and a sparkling Bopeep effect. The jacket is lined with silk to offer the ultimate in caressing intimacy, yet as you can see, Kyra, it manages to capture that casual, nonchalant flair.”

Annette was giving a prepared lecture much as he gave to park audiences, but he had never had such an attentive listener. Fingering the material, Kyra nodded agreement. Beside her Breedlove felt the poignancy of the moment grow almost unbearable. She who looked at the dress with such feminine longing would wear it no more than three times in the setting it was designed for. It would strengthen her affinity for a planet she had grown to love and must soon be leaving.

She was an airy Moses given only a glimpse of the Promised Land. Soon an iron door would clang shut, and she would have to resume an awesome hegira across a void that might reach to infinity and still deny her a home. At the moment his compassion would have made him willing to cry to her, “Stay,” and, like Faust, exchange man’s destiny for Kyra’s knowledge and beauty, but she was not Mephistopheles and did not wish to barter for his soul.

From no selfish motive, he decided, he would not let the dress be a gift to her from the people of the United States. He wanted it to come from Thomas Breedlove, from one man to one woman as a meaningful gift of love, and he would buy the dress for her. He would like to get the price down, but up or down he intended to pay the bill.

With long, jerky strides a model strode from the fitting area, pacing and swirling before them. About Kyra’s size, she wore a platinum wig and green contact lenses. The make-up was an impressive bit of stage business which no doubt upped the price of the garment, but the performance created a paradox. While the model paraded before them in an exclusive Polinski Creation, Kyra held a duplicate of the garment on her lap.

“Notice the lilt and swirl of the skirt, assertive yet effervescent, and the casual drape of the jacket revealing the peekaboo V of the blouse—”

“Hold it, Annette,” Breedlove interrupted. “You said this was an exclusive creation, and I can see two of them before me. If I’m laying out over seven hundred dollars for a yard or so of cloth, I don’t want my wife to be meeting herself when she walks down the street.”

“Mr. Breedlove, I said it’s the only one of its kind sold in the Pacific Northwest. If Kyra buys it, only her size will be selected. The remaining dresses will be held for six months and remaindered by our outlets in Fresno and Tucson. Kyra will never see anyone in Seattle wearing a duplicate of this dress, I assure you.”

“But they’re identical. They must be machine-made, so they can’t be all that exclusive.”

“It’s the pattern that is exclusive, and the dresses are not made by machines. They are handsewn by seamstresses in Warsaw.”

“What if there’s a defect in workmanship?”

“The value of the garment would actually increase. A defective Polinski Creation is a collector’s item… Notice the snugness of the waistline, Kyra. The hugging effect gives one the feeling of being loved. Kyra, this dress is you!”

With a dramatic gesture she leaned down and lifted the dress from Kyra’s lap. Involuntarily Kyra’s hands grasped the garment before she reluctantly let it trail from her hands. Annette was not taking it from her. She was merely holding it at arm’s length, tantalizing Kyra with its nearness as the model wheeled and strutted on the floor.

“Enough, Mona,” Annette called to the Kyra-like model, who wheeled and strode from the showroom.

Speaking now to Breedlove, the saleswoman said, “I’ll leave you alone with the Polinski Creation. I realize it is a family investment and that such matters should be discussed privately.” She laid the dress on a pattern table.

Her work done fully and well, Annette turned and followed the model through a curtained doorway. Kyra rose and walked to the table to finger the skirt. She turned to Breedlove. “I must say you’re taking our cover story seriously. From the way you were eyeballing the lady over the price of the dress—”

“I wasn’t acting, Kyra. I’m buying you the dress.”

“Never! I’ve learned about money since I first saw the ad, and I’m not letting you squander your wages on me. Besides, I have the autographed Bulfinch.”

“The book was a gift of friendship.”

“What greater gift is there?”

“A gift of love,” he blurted out. “I’ll have a long time to make up the deficit in my savings, but how long will I have you? Another five days. I don’t want this to be from the people of the United States, people who don’t even know you. I want it to be from me. Then, long after you’re the reigning queen of some beautiful planet, you’ll wear it and remember the man of earth who loved you.”

“Breedlove, goddamn it, you’ve touched me!” Her eyes misted over. “You make me feel like an earth woman, and I like the feeling, so why do I want to cry? Hug me.”

He put his arms around her and she began to weep against his chest, and the tears amazed her. Probing her own mystification, she mumbled into his coat lapel, “I want you to know I’m crying because I feel loved and wanted and not because you’re buying me that gorgeous little number on the table.”

“You are a woman and you are loved and wanted and it makes no difference whether you came from another planet or fell out of a coconut tree, there’ll never be another woman on earth like you. You’ve given me something very dear by being here. If I should live to be one hundred, I’ll remember your radiance and be happy, and if I die remembering you, I’ll die contented.”

“Hush, Breedlove. You aren’t helping me stop crying one bit.”

He too was beginning to weep. Something was amiss in his emotional machinery. He had not wept since he was a child, and a weeping man was mawkish.

“Your crying’s not helping me either, so go try on the damned dress.”

She looked up to see his misting eyes and said, “I’m off, Breedlove. Somebody’s got to command this ship.”

Wrenching herself from him, she clutched the dress and ran sobbing into the fitting room. Assailed by a throat-tightening sadness, he turned to the window and looked down into the street, seeing it as hazy and blurred. Struggling against his inner turmoil, gulping, focusing his vision, he fought for and regained composure before the elegant and composed Annette walked out to rejoin him, smiling.

“Kyra’s being fitted for the alterations. As soon as she’s pinned up, she’ll be out to model for you. Don’t be disturbed if she seems upset. Young brides usually react that way when their husbands buy them a Polinski Creation. She’ll need accessories for the dress. I’ll give you my card to take to Mr. Landon at the jewelry counter, first floor near the entrance, and you tell him you’ve bought the Polinski Creation. He’ll find just the right diamond to match the dress.”

Accepting her card, he realized that he was being touted and that she would get a finder’s fee from the man at the jewelry counter, but she had earned her commissions. She had solved a problem of conscience for him. Since he was buying the dress, the people of the United States could buy Kyra a diamond.

“When will the dress be ready?”

“Monday.”

“Impossible, Annette. My wife has to attend a very important reception tomorrow morning. That’s why I’m buying the dress—and the diamond.”

Annette’s face fell. “Mr. Breedlove, by working a seamstress overtime, I might get the dress ready by Saturday, but tomorrow is impossible.”

He knew then that Saturday was the earliest he could expect delivery, as otherwise it meant the loss of Annette’s commission. He could set the dancing date at Pierre’s back to Saturday night and they could spend Sunday and Monday at the lake, but Kyra would be disappointed. She had wanted to charm General Norcross with the dress.

“If it’s the best you can do, I suppose I’ll have to be satisfied, but do me a favor, Annette. When Kyra comes out, say to her, ‘Kyra, you’re the height of fashion.’ ”

“Certainly, Mr. Breedlove, for she will be indeed.”

She was. Striding out, imitating the long, mechanical steps of the model who had imitated her, Kyra whirled and posed before them. Annette voiced the enchanted phrase while Breedlove stood mute. From nothing more than a line drawing in a magazine, found on a farm near Spokane, a woman from another planet had selected a garment from an alien culture that seemed specifically designed for her. It enhanced the lilt of her personality while framing her beauty in the perfect frame.

Stricken dumb, Breedlove reached into his wallet and handed Annette his own credit card as a gong sounded somewhere in the dressing area.

“I have an emergency call,” Annette whispered, taking his card and moving swiftly toward the doorway.

Flushed with happiness, Kyra swirled before him and curtsied. “I haven’t heard a peep out of you, Breedlove.”

“I’m speechless. The dress does something for you, and you do something for it, and the two of you keep reinforcing the loveliness of each other until you go beyond the limits of describable beauty.”

“You keep talking like that and I’ll have to sing you back to sanity. Do you think it will make General Norcross vote ‘Yes’?”

“I hate to tell you this, Kyra, but Norcross won’t get to see it. The alterations won’t be ready before Saturday.”