Again (18 page)

She shifted off the mattress delicately, grabbed her clothes from the chair, and started for the door. She would dress downstairs to make sure she didn’t wake him. She turned at the door to look at him. The shuddering had stopped. There was only the peaceful up and down motion of deep breathing. She opened the door, shut it lightly and made her escape.

R
hea looked again, covertly darting her eyes from the woman to a row of books sitting on a nearby table. But the glance confirmed what she had suspected for moments now—the woman
was
staring at her. Had been staring for some time.

Rhea looked around the room. There was a black girl, about her age, a few tables over reading a book. In a chair beneath one of the windows, an older black man sat leafing through a paper.

So why was the white woman staring at her? Yet there wasn’t that look of disdain, the curling up of the nose to say: “What are
you
doing here?”

It wasn’t a sexual thing, either. She wasn’t getting that type of vibe. Besides, the woman had to be in her fifties, with graying hair and not-so-supple skin. Still, she was nice-looking for someone that age. No, it wasn’t that. It was more like…like the woman was trying to figure out whether she knew Rhea or where she knew her from.

Rhea realized she had let her glance last too long. Because now the woman was rising from her chair—and was walking toward her. Rhea quickly tried to feign interest in one of the reference books she had just opened. But the woman stopped at her table and stood over her. Rhea recognized the scent of Tabu that her mother used to wear.

“Excuse me,” the woman said, her voice a soft rasp. “I don’t mean to disturb you, but may I speak with you for a moment?” Before Rhea could come up with some reasonable excuse why she wanted to be left alone, the woman sat down in the opposite chair, setting her large purse on the chair beside her.

“I really got to get back to my studying, so if you wouldn’t mind…” Rhea started.

“Yes, I know,” the woman interrupted. “Your ‘studying’ is why I’m here…at least, I think it is. I can’t be quite sure. My premonition wasn’t too specific. But I knew I’d find you here. I need to talk with you.” The woman stopped, looked around the library with interest. “I always liked the Newberry, but I admit I haven’t been here in quite a while. I see they’ve changed it some.”

Rhea’s exasperation was rising. Usually, she was over-accommodating to the point that friends used to take it for granted that she would do whatever requested, no matter how extreme the favor. Her grandmother got after her about that. “You let people walk over you enough, you won’t be able to wipe off the shit they leave on you.” Only recently had she taken the words to heart. Some people didn’t like it, so she was down by a couple of “friends.” Still there was something about her, maybe her youngish face, that made her too approachable by beggars, fools, and crazy people. She was pegging the woman as the last of the three.

“Look, I really don’t have time.”

The woman was reaching into her purse and pulled out a pack of Camels, looked up as she seemed to remember where she was. Shaking her head, she put them back. “What was that? Oh, yes, I won’t bother you for long. And no, I’m not some crazy woman. I’m something loopier than that. I’m a psychic.”

Rhea had had enough. She slammed her book closed, rose to leave. Then the woman said something extraordinary.

“I need to know who Rachel is.”

Rhea froze in the middle of pushing back her chair. “What?” But, of course, it was a coincidence, or something like that because…

“Rachel is the name; I’ve been hearing it quite a bit lately. Yesterday I had a premonition of you sitting here at the Newberry, and I knew I had to find you. I’m not certain what your connection is to this woman. I have to admit, sometimes my signals can be off a little,” the woman said, staring at Rhea’s face curiously. “But I have a feeling that I’m right on target. You see, I think Rachel is the key to something that I need to find out. So I need you to tell me about her.”

Rhea didn’t know whether to sit down or leave. Her instincts were divided, pulling at each other.

“I hope I don’t have to do some parlor tricks to keep you here. By the way, my name’s Carmen, Carmen Carvelli. And I think your name is hhhmm…Thea? No, not Thea, but something close to it.”

Rhea’s legs felt shaky and she finally sat down. The woman leaned forward. “I didn’t come here to shock you, or to bother you. But I do need information from you. It’s very important. So please tell me, who is Rachel?”

Rhea only knew one Rachel. It was impossible that this woman would know that. Maybe her grandmother had told her….

“How do you know about Rachel?”

The woman’s smile was docile, but Rhea could see the exasperation in her eyes. “Like I told you, I’m psychic. Guess I’ll have to prove it, won’t I? Um, let’s see…” She stared at Rhea, a look that went on a little too long, and now Rhea was starting to worry about her safety. She peeked over at the overweight librarian, but even if she called out for help, his girth would impede an immediate response. Which wouldn’t help her if this woman had a knife or a gun.

“You’re going to get a B on your history final, and let’s see…yes, I believe you’re going to get an A in music. So, you’re a violinist? I know, you don’t believe me now, but wait a week. That’s when your grades are due. Then if I leave my number with you, you’ll call and tell me what I need to know?”

Rhea didn’t know what to think. Of course, there were ways this woman could have found out about her courses. Maybe, she was even stalking her. Still those grades would be nice—if it were true. Rhea admonished herself for the thought. There was no way.

“If you’re a psychic, why can’t you find out about Rachel yourself?”

The woman shook her head. “Doesn’t work that way. Wish it did. Could save me a lot of aggravation. But you see, sweetie, you’re my link. I don’t know why or how. I just go where the signs lead me. I’ve done this before, and I’m hardly ever wrong. Now we can meet up after you get your grades, or you can call. Or better yet, you can just tell me what I want to know now, and I’ll be out of your hair in a matter of minutes. The choice is yours.”

Rhea couldn’t explain the sudden defensiveness she felt over Rachel. Rachel had been hers for weeks now, the puzzle, the enigma that she had been slowly uncovering. Suddenly, here was this woman, who had to be some sort of kook. Yet if telling her the truth would make her go away…and she didn’t have to tell all she knew….

“Why do you want to know about Rachel? I mean, what do you already know about her?” Rhea asked.

The woman named Carmen Carvelli—or at least who claimed the name—seem to ponder the question, as though she were trying to decide how much to tell Rhea. Rhea decided if there was going to be an exchange, it was going to be quid pro quo. She wasn’t saying anything until she’d figured out the woman’s angle and what game she was playing at.

The woman came to a decision. “Rachel figures into the life of someone very dear to me,” she said.

Rhea smiled inwardly. She knew it. This woman didn’t even know Rachel wasn’t alive. She thought Rachel was a living blood-and-guts person.

“I also know she’s been dead for some time,” the woman continued. “I’ve picked up that much, at least. But I don’t know when she died—or for that matter, when she lived. I don’t know the circumstances of her life or death. I just know that she did exist. And because she did, someone’s suffering now.”

This woman wasn’t making any sense! How could Rachel’s life—or for that matter, her death—over a hundred years ago have anything to do with the present. Unless…unless this was about money. Maybe there was some property somewhere, a house, old jewelry that was unclaimed, that this woman was trying to get ahold of. Somehow she’d found out about Rhea’s research. Probably through her grandmother, who might have told the woman in innocence, not knowing she was a con artist.

“Did my grandmother tell you about me?” she asked, not trying to keep the suspicion out of her voice.

“I don’t know your grandmother, dear. Really, I don’t. By the way, the man getting up from the chair. The dark-haired one in the blue blazer and brown pants…Lord, what was he thinking?…he’s about to stumble.”

As both Rhea and Carmen Carvelli watched, the man began walking toward the double glass doors of the room. He made it halfway across and then—he stumbled. Just a little bit. But enough.

Rhea’s nerve endings were near to snapping. “He’s working with you,” she accused. “You must think I’m stupid.” Why did everyone think she was so gullible?

Mrs. Carvelli smiled again, but the smile didn’t reach her brown and unnerving eyes. “How unfortunate to be so cynical so young. Here, one more parlor trick for you. My last one for today. That piece of paper you were looking for this morning—the one with what’s-his-name’s phone number—Ronald…aahh, yeah. It’s in the front compartment, not the inside like you thought. By the way, I don’t see a future with him…which I think might be good for you because I think he’s gay.”

Rhea sat unblinking. It seemed she had forgotten how. These were tricks. But she had to see for herself. She had looked everywhere for that piece of paper this morning. No one knew that she even had it as she had copied his number from a friend’s phone book—on the sly, of course. But she rummaged through the front pocket of her purse, touched on her mascara, her lip gloss, a nail file, a paper clip, her grandmother’s receipt from the cleaners (she still needed to pick up her grandmother’s lavender dress), and deep, deep down she felt the edge of a torn sheet of paper, pulled it out—and found Ron’s number, hastily scribbled in red ink. Ron, the tight end on the school’s football team, the one who half-smiled at her that one time, so she’d let herself think that maybe, somehow…. But, she guessed it wouldn’t be the case. Not now. Because this woman wasn’t the phony she had first thought.

Rhea sighed and sat back in her seat. “What exactly do you want to know?”

Carmen Carvelli smiled. This time the smile did reach her eyes. They were beautiful.

“Everything you know, dear. Everything.”

Rhea began her tale. In the back of her mind, she anticipated receiving her final grades. A, B and an A. Not bad.

D
avid’s smile was a facile copy, stretching muscles that didn’t want to work. The man sitting across the desk from him seemed nervous one moment, cocksure the next. Thirtyish, but already balding, his features were normal but asymmetric. The blue eyes were icy, the mouth a thin bow. David peered at the resume again. Langston Murphy, Developer. Not a long time in the business since his credentials only stretched back five years with a little-known firm called Anders & Sons. David figured a Murphy wasn’t exactly a “Son” and probably didn’t have much of a chance of achieving partner status, thus his seeking other opportunities. He had called David early this morning, asking for this meeting. Or rather, this impromptu interview. David reluctantly agreed to see him. Obviously, the word was out, even before he had taken steps to find replacements for Rick and Clarence.

Meanwhile, his erstwhile partners had already cleared out their offices, not bothering to fight for the space. David found out that they were renting an office a little farther north in Old Town. Not cheap, since realty there was astronomical, but the area was trendy. Probably Clarence’s choice, who figured a little more wasted money would impress.

David sat half-listening to Langston delineate his work history, which wasn’t anything extraordinary. A school, some low-income housing on the near South Side. David looked at the photos of the jobs—again, nothing impressive.

Even as he pretended to listen, he sat wondering why Tyne hadn’t returned his calls. Seven of them all together, left over a space of five days and nights. The time expanse between today and the wonderful night they had spent together. At least, it had been wonderful for him. Maybe, this was payback for his not calling after their first time together. Or maybe, she was really busy. Or maybe…He did a mental shake. There were two many
maybes
, not the least of which might be she had tired of him. Or maybe she regretted sleeping with him.

They had been physically intimate, but without the emotional intimacy that should precede the act of two bodies coming together. To him, the sex hadn’t been just sex, no matter what she’d said. It had been a culmination of months of expectation, a waiting for someone coming over the horizon—and he had known she would be there. His dreams had led him to her.

He could believe in prescience, could allow himself to believe that he had a little of his mother’s “gift.” But what he didn’t want to believe is that all of that had led to just physical encounters and that was all he should expect—or want.

“So I think that I have something to contribute.” The words interrupted his thoughts.

David looked down at the paltry resume again, thought on the old adage about beggars not being choosers. Looked into the eager, almost desperate, eyes of the man in front of him.

“I’ll think about it and give you a call,” was all he would promise. There had to be someone better. He didn’t ever want to settle.

He stood up, signaling the end of the meeting. When he shook Langston Murphy’s hand, his own hand came away with the slight dew of palm sweat.

He told the man to shut the door behind him. Once it was closed, David reached for the phone.

Sherry sipped a can of Diet Pepsi while watching two monkeys caw to each other, their spidery legs dangling from fake branches against a blue-lit backdrop of trees and mountains. One monkey began teasing the other, reaching over to tag his partner on the cheek. The other took the bait and followed suit as the first began swinging through the intertwined branches, leading a merry chase. They were happy despite their captivity. Or more likely because they weren’t aware they were captives, having known no other home but this.

Sherry looked over at David, who seemed distracted as he watched the same tag-race game. This early weekday morning, they were the only ones here. She could tell that his mind wasn’t with his body, that he was functioning on automode. No wonder with all the crap coming down on him. Damn that Rick! She had only met the guy a few times since he and David became partners, usually at some formal functions, and once at a Cubs game at Wrigley Field. From the first handshake, the way he had held on just a little too long, and his pathetic attempts to impress her with his credentials, she had immediately sized him up as a smarmy weasel, more suited to selling used cars than architectural services. Still, she had held her tongue. She held it now because frankly it wouldn’t do any good to tell David he shouldn’t have gone into business with the little putz. David was only too conscious that he had made an error in judgment.

“You know, you can start breathing any time now,” she said, watching him. “If you stay in that position too long, the attendants will mistake you for one of the props and put you in storage.”

She thought she detected a glimmer of a smile. He straightened from his half-stoop over the bar fronting the monkey display. But the glimmer became a shadow, and as quickly disappeared.

“So now you got me here, you need to unload, start unloading. Otherwise, I got to get back to work, because the monkeys aren’t doing it for me.”

He half turned, his eyes finally connecting with hers. They were a dull reminiscence of their usual carefree glint. “What’s been going on? I haven’t seen you in a while,” he said quietly.

So, he was going for the small talk. Major avoidance—typical Dave move. She sighed as she realized she had to play along, or else he’d stand here for half the day pulling this James Dean nonsense.

“I’m doing fine. Matter of fact, I met somebody at a party a few weeks ago. I would have called, but you’ve been pretty much out of touch. Guess someone’s been keeping you busy.”

She saw a flicker, then stone. “Yeah, I’ve been busy,” he said. “How’s she working out?”

Sherry knew who he meant. “OK, I didn’t know I had to give you a report on your recruit, but I can honestly say she’s working out fine. Then you should know that since you two seem to be…um, ‘friendly.’”

“I’m glad,” he said, his attention back on the monkeys, who were swinging back and forth on a couple of limbs. “I haven’t talked to her in a few days. I figured she was busy working on an assignment. That she was too busy to call.”

Sherry’s hackles went up. Trouble in paradise, already? No way did she want to get in the middle of this, which, if things were going southward, would mean an awkward situation for her. “OK, not trying to be callous, but whatever’s going on is between the two of you, so please don’t try to pull me in. All I can tell you is that I’m not working her to death, so if she’s not calling, well…” She shrugged.

He was quiet for a moment, his repose thoughful. Then in an upbeat tone he turned and asked, “So who’s this someone you met? Give me credentials, so I’ll know if she’s good enough or not.” This was said with a smile that fell flat.

“Candy,” she answered.

“Aahh, c’mon, Candy?” he stood up straighter, his smile broader. “Sounds like a
Penthouse
playmate. I thought you were into the mother earth intellectual.”

“Hey, you’re prejudging. Candy is short for Candace, and she’s a graduate of Vassar who’s currently pursuing a PhD in Greco-Roman history at Northwestern. So, her intellect is very stimulating.”

“Uh huh, yeah, right, her intellect. Give me the numbers.”

Sherry shook her head. “Why are men so focused on the visuals? Don’t you know there are other attributes to a woman?”

“And again, uh huh,” he said, throwing her a look. She was glad to see the twinkle back in the eyes, though.

“OK, OK. Something like 38-26-37.”

“Not bad, not bad,” he nodded.

Sherry was more at ease with the buddy-buddy exchange that was the norm of their conversations. She didn’t like to see him down, of course, but she felt helpless to make him feel better. She didn’t want to complicate her life, so she didn’t particularly want to know if things weren’t working out between him and Tyne, especially since she had decided to keep Tyne on permanently.
Elan
’s first issue was due to hit the stands in a few weeks. They were running Tyne’s story on the cover.

“Yeah, well, we’ve been out a few times now,” she said before draining the last of her Pepsi. “And as much as I would like to stand here all day talking about her inimitable charms, I got a column to write and some proofs to go through. So, if you feel like shooting the breeze some more, let’s get together later after work. What about The Closet?”

Already he was shaking his head. “You know how I feel being around a bunch of male-hating females.”

“David, we’re not male-haters, just female appreciators. And you know the place is male-friendly, so don’t even start. Besides, you got to pick last time. And I know you want to talk about something, something you obviously don’t feel comfortable talking about here.”

He shook his head, the action one of sad defeat. “I guess I just wanted to know I still had a friend in the city. I seem to be a pariah lately.”

“OK, if you’re through attending your solo pity party, I can promise you you have plenty of friends, and as for that double-crossing asshole, you’re better off without him. You have enough talent and perseverance to get through this setback. As for your love life, you make your own choices. You walked away from Karen, which I’m not saying was a bad thing, but again your choice. I’m not sure what’s going on between you and Tyne, but if it’s not meant to be, no use trying to force it. Maybe she needs some breathing space.”

Consternation froze his features, as though the object of his frustration were standing before him. “Hey, I’m not crowding her. She’s the one who thought I was trying to throw her off, but I wasn’t. I don’t know if she’s trying to get back at me or what. All I know is she’s not returning any of my calls. So I guess it’s over.” He sighed, his shoulders sagging again. “Whatever it was.”

“I suggest you ask her then. Although, I am
not
suggesting you bring this to the office. Leave a message asking her to let you know whether you should even bother calling again. And if she ignores that message, well then fuck her. Or rather, stop fucking her. And get on with your love life. Cause you have to know you’re a stud. Hell, even I’ve noticed, woman appreciator that I am. So you definitely won’t be lonely for long.”

He seemed to ponder her words. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks. I knew you would put things in perspective. Sometimes, I just need a swift kick in the ass to get me going again. I always know you have the shoes to get the job done.” He looked down at her red Manolo Blahnik slingbacks that matched her red pantsuit. Pointy-toed with four-inch heels.

They started for the exit, and just in time. Sherry could hear the echos of tiny voices rounding the bend near the entrance on the other side. The exhuberant yelps echoed through the building. Sherry, not much for children, thought sadly that it was too bad that such excited innocence would be muted one day. But that was the way of the world.

New York—September 1879

Joseph stared at the words, rereading them, first in sequence, then skipping to those few killing passages, trying to find meaning in them. Or rather, to find anything but what the words actually said, to read some latent message in the letter that said he was still part of her, that they could still be together. But the pain radiating in his head told him that the words truthfully spoke their only message—she would not see him again. Ever. She stated that she could not continue with this “madness,” the word underlined twice. That “the price was too high” for both of them to continue their affair. The knife in his heart turned to see her signature, so beautifully written, as though the missive were nothing more than an invitation to tea.

He tossed the pages and they drifted downward onto the oriental carpeting of his room. Pacing between the bed and the windows, he looked out at points as though he expected to see her walking up the circular driveway.

Price too high?
The words rang like a hollow bell in his head. What price was too high for her? To leave a bunch of uppity Negroes who thought their world was the height of society, when in fact it was nothing more than grand pretensions and apery? He was the one who would be throwing everything away! Who would be walking away from the true society with all of its luxuries and privileges. And he would be doing it for her! But obviously that wasn’t enough. What more could he do to prove his love?

He had felt tremendous heartache when his mother left him, when he finally understood that she had held him in so little regard that she hadn’t even taken pains to disguise her suicide or to make sure he wouldn’t have to see her like that. What had hurt most was how easy it had been for her to leave him, as though he and his father were indistinguishable. As though his love wasn’t enough to make her overcome her unhappiness.

He had thought the pain of losing her incomparable—until this moment.

Outside, the gardener was setting down the autumn floral to replace the summer blooms now dying. Fall was near; everything was destined for death. Soon, the trees whose leaves were only now starting to turn would be bare, their naked branches making the landscape gloomy and dark. Inside his soul, it was winter already, everything cold and fading.

Except the ember still burning, that refused even with her words to die away. If he had any pride left, he would toss away the letter and with it every memory of her. She wasn’t worth it, he tried to tell himself. He had been crazy, yes “mad” as she so cruelly put it, to have even entertained the thought of more than just a dalliance with her.

The sun was setting, causing shadows to play along the walls. Unkindly, as though the devil were mocking him, one of the shadows seem sylphlike, its outline feminine, a specter to momentarily taunt him. He looked around. The English wood furnishings were rich and elegant, a nod to his mother’s sedate tastes. The massive canopied bed was too big for just one, but he had never had a desire to share it with another. Until Rachel. Of course, she had never been to his room. One of his many regrets was the dreadful places he had to use for their unions, rooms that could not but further degrade her.