Coming Attractions (8 page)

Cory rustled at the doorway and Helen continued her survey. Finally, she walked to a grand piano that faced a wall whose windows held no drapes. Cotton clouds and blue sky reflected clearly from the top of the ebony instrument. She touched the polished finish and noticed, in another corner, a life-size porcelain statue.

“Apollo. The god of music,” she said.

She attempted an abrupt about-face, but still another item on the wall stopped her. There, in a black frame, stood Cory and her delicious half-moon grin, shaking hands with Queen Elizabeth. Beside the photograph hung a framed program. Helen read the entire page. “By Royal command, in recognition of her outstanding contribution to the arts, Coryell Chamberlain performs Brahms and Borodin, in the presence of Queen Elizabeth II, at The Royal Albert Hall, eight p.m. on August twenty-first, nineteen ninety-four.”

Helen completed her about-face and glared at Cory. “You were commanded by the Queen? Well, isn’t that special?” Helen scoffed. “Doesn’t that make you a knight or something?” She stepped up to Cory. “Are you trying to make a fool of me?”

Cory stood erect, surprised by Helen’s anger. “No. Helen, I—”

“When did you plan to tell me? You said you’re a musician and I’m thinking, okay, a local with talent, but this—” She glanced around the room, shook her head, and pounded out, through the double doors. Cory followed.

“You don’t understand. Let me explain.”

“Do you know how foolish I feel? You’re an international celebrity and I didn’t recognize you. Obviously, I’ve had my head up my ass for three years, but you didn’t have to keep this from me.” Helen found the kitchen and grabbed her jacket. She turned to Cory. “I prefer honesty to half-truths.”

“Helen, performing for the Queen was a great gig. It doesn’t mean—”

“Last night I marveled at how real you were.” She looked into the eyes that began to pull her under again. Along with her anger, she felt arousal, which left her with two options: either get the hell out of the building or begin to remove those sweats that looked adorable on Cory. Helen hoisted her pocketbook over her shoulder. “I’ll find my way out, thank you.”

Pushing past Cory, she wouldn’t look at her. Embarrassed, she wanted first to run hard and then deal with the anger.

“Wait,” Cory said as Helen blindly made her way toward the entrance. “Let me explain.”

“You have nothing I want to hear.” She closed the door firmly behind her, loud enough that it echoed in the hallway. “‘A musician,’” she said sarcastically and entered the elevator. “‘Known to dabble,’” she mocked. “All of a sudden I have fucking nobility on my hands.” She pounded her hand against the back wall of the elevator. “Damn it. I never say that word.”

The Carnegie Hall poster, those green eyes. Helen thought she’d probably passed the music hall a dozen times while those eyes watched. She remembered the poster now, the way Cory seemed to beckon her. She’d never given those eyes a second thought. That would have been a slap in the face to her devotion to Chelsea.

Helen hurriedly walked the distance to Lincoln Center. She sat at the edge of the fountain and pigeons gathered around her. They cooed and seduced her for a possible meal.

“Don’t tell me,” she said to the feathered creatures. “You’re really doves incognito.” She reached toward a bird that had ambled close to her feet. “Don’t be afraid,” she said, and the bird took flight. Helen leaned her elbows on her knees. She buried her face in her hands and tried to justify how she felt.

What are you afraid of?

“She lied to me.”

She didn’t. She is a musician.

“She held back. I don’t like her ways.”

You like pain?

Helen looked at the granite walkway beneath her feet. “I’m fine.”

You’re a spider web. The dead cling to you.

She looked at the steps across from her. “How can I trust her?”

She meant no harm. She’s been used.

“I won’t be her savior.”

You could be her lover.

Helen bit her lip. “There’s plenty of women for her to lure into her life.”

Don’t be afraid.

“Of what?”

To admit how lonely you really are.

Helen wanted to cry. Not for half-truths but for the three years she’d lost. Dead time. Safe time. Now this woman had barged in and slammed her life into a tailspin. She spiraled downward, faster and faster. She closed her eyes. Tears spilled from them.

“I am lonely.” She wiped the tears with her palm and breathed a sigh of relief.

Intimacy was a ghost for her. Sex had become four minutes of self-gratification on the nights when she had felt emotionally close to Chelsea. And now, this woman, this Cory Chamberlain, had her feeling that another human’s touch had no equal.

No equal. She wondered about Cory’s breasts. She could feel their smooth curves warm her cheeks and palms, could feel them pressed against her own breasts. She laughed at the irony, remembering her inability to structure a proper sentence in Cory’s presence and realizing that now she wanted nothing less than to feel all of Cory against all of herself.

“Okay, Townsend, settle yourself.” She took a deep breath and looked around the outside of the performing arts center. “Now what do I do? Go home and clean something? Oh, I’m getting awfully good at that. The whole place looks like the Ajax white knight moved in.”

Helen cringed and groaned. “Damn it. Knighthood is reserved for Englishmen. I know that. I don’t even know if the Queen still does it. Of course she does. Maggie Smith, Anthony Hopkins, Paul McCartney.” All wore the modern title of Dame or Sir. “Cory must think I’m an idiot.” Helen pushed herself up from the fountain. “Well, little birdies, I’ve my intelligence to prove.”

She made a single phone call before leaving. “Hi, it’s Helen Townsend. Can you have the
Princess
ready in a few hours?” She looked at her watch. “Four sounds perfect.”

*

The return walk to the Dakota afforded her time to pull her emotions together. By the time she reached Cory’s door, she felt more comfort with the direction she was about to take. She knocked softly on the apartment door.

“It’s open.”

Helen opened the door. “You don’t say that in New York and survive,” she said in warning, and closed the door behind her.

Crouched in front of the aquarium, Cory swung around, lost her balance, and fell to her knees. She blushed, then smiled bashfully. “I’ve misplaced my social graces as well. I had a feeling it was you.”

“Proper position for a knight to greet her lady.” She dropped her pocketbook and jacket to the floor. She approached slowly and knelt in front of Cory. Her eyes never strayed from Helen.

“It was a Royal Command Performance.” She took Helen’s hand, brushed her lips across the fingers, kissed the tip of her thumb. “Knighthood is reserved…” Her voice mingled with the soft sounds of a bubbling aquarium.

“I know,” Helen said. “I came back to…to tell you…” She moved forward and nuzzled Cory’s ear. “You’re a tease.” She bit into Cory’s neck. “An attractive, soft, warm, and wonderful tease.” She licked the abused flesh.

“No.” As Cory pulled Helen’s mouth close to her own, her eyes searched Helen’s. “This is real.”

Their mouths came together. Cory’s tongue slid deeply into her and Helen hungrily captured each stroke. Her hands swiftly traveled over Helen’s breasts, down her sides, and beneath her sweater. Her fingertips painted lightly over Helen’s belly while warm lips rained kisses onto Helen’s face.

“Come to my bed,” Cory said.

“No.” Helen released Cory’s hair from the elastic and gathered it into her hands. She nuzzled the cool thickness, breathed the lilies. “I want you here. Right here in front of the fish, but not now. Not yet.” She moved away and took a deep breath. “We’re going for a ride.”

Chapter Eight

“Where are we heading?” Cory asked while they sped along I-684.

“Westchester County Airport.”

“Oh. Is someone waiting for you? If I’d known you had other plans, I would have invited you for another day.”

“No other plans,” Helen said. “There’s something I want to share with you.”

“Okay.” Cory turned in her seat to face Helen.

“How was your trip to Boston?”

“Perfect. The Pops pianist had taken ill and they called me to cover for him. I always have fun with that group. I was also asked to conduct two pieces.” She held her arms in the air and motioned a down beat. “There’s nothing like conducting a group of talented musicians.”

“Multitalented, huh? I have to admit that I don’t own any of your recordings.” She pulled into the airport. She hadn’t been there in months and it was time to spread her wings. “Follow me,” she said when they left the car.

A short walk later, an airport official met Helen on the tarmac.

“It’s good to see you again, Helen. The wind is a little tricky today, but I don’t think it’s anything you can’t handle.” He took the pre-written flight plan that she handed him and tucked it into his jacket.

She grabbed Cory’s hand. There was a hesitation to Cory’s step as they followed him to a white Piper Tomahawk. On the side of the fuselage was the word
Princess
painted in pink. “She looks great, Bill.”

“The mechanics checked everything and I took her on a trial run. She’s purring like a kitten.”

Helen ran her hand along the propeller of the single engine plane. “Thanks,” she said and turned to Cory. “Ready to go for a ride?”

“You’re a pilot?” she asked.

“Taught to fly by my father and I was licensed at eighteen. Come on. Let’s have some fun.”

Bill assisted Cory onto the wing and buckled her into the copilot seat. Helen visually inspected the outside of the plane. After determining that all was safe, she hoisted herself onto the opposite wing and climbed inside the cockpit. She was proud to share this time with Cory, and it felt like a playful “look what I can do” after seeing Cory’s music room. Not that she needed to get even, she only wanted to feel special, something more than a writer for a newspaper.

Helen turned the key, and the single engine coughed and the propeller finally spun on the nose of the plane. She adjusted her headset. Each gauge showed the proper reading and the gas tank registered full. She checked the position of the flaps.

“Good afternoon, control tower. This is KNP twenty-three ninety. Do I have a clear runway?”

“KNP twenty-three ninety, this is Westchester tower. You’re clear for runway two. Repeat. You’re clear for two.”

“Thanks, Westchester,” she said and maneuvered the plane into position. Cory watched every move she made. “Why so quiet?”

“I didn’t know if I should speak.”

Helen laughed. “It’s okay. It’s not like we’re heading into the night for a secret bombing mission. Let’s get into the air. We’ll talk there.” She adjusted her mic again. “Tower, this is KNP twenty-three ninety and we’re ready for takeoff.”

“KNP twenty-three ninety, this is Westchester. You have a nice tailwind for takeoff. The sky is yours. Have a great flight, Ms. Townsend.”

She powered the throttle and the Tomahawk roared as it picked up speed down the runway. Around 800 feet, she pulled back on the control and the
Princess
climbed into a cloudless blue sky. After she arced the wings toward Connecticut, Helen leveled off at 8,000 feet and set a cruising speed of 100 knots.

“It’s a beautiful day,” she said and removed her microphone.

Cory glanced around the panel of switches and lights. “Don’t you have to set vectors or something? Coordinates? How do you know where to go?”

“We’ll just cruise the Berkshire Mountains. They’re kind of like up the block. They’re familiar.” The plane was jostled by light turbulence and Cory gripped her seat. “It’s a little windy.” A stronger bounce rocked them and Cory turned ashen. “It’s okay,” she reassured her. “I’ll take us up a little. The air might be smoother.” She reached for the controls but Cory stopped her.

“No. Not higher.” She grabbed Helen’s hand. “I have a fear of flying. I do it a lot, but I usually take a sedative first.” Frightened eyes stared into Helen’s.

“Oh my God. Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have never made you go through this.” She took hold of the controls just as the plane hit an air pocket. The drop lifted Helen against her belt and the plane plummeted several feet. When Bill mentioned the wind, she wished she’d cancelled the flight, but pride had stopped her.

“Oh, Jesus. Helen!”

“We’ll be okay. We’re going back.” Strong wind pounded the aircraft and Helen looked over at Cory. “There’s a bag to your right, if you need it.” The plane dropped again and Cory grabbed the bag. Helen put on her headset. “Westchester tower, this is KNP twenty-three ninety. The wind is kicking us around and we’re returning for landing.”

The plane continued with fitful rocks and dips during their flight. Once more, the Princess dropped and Helen cursed the turbulence. She hated wind when flying and understood the horrors it could present. She was once a passenger with her father when they were snatched from the sky and forced to make an emergency landing in a rocky field. She tasted the terror of grazing a grove of trees and not knowing if the landing gear was intact. Her father had handled the plane through to an abrupt stop, but the force had broken Helen’s leg and her father’s wrist. It could have been much worse.

On her approach to Westchester, the wings tipped left and then right, but she brought the plane in like the professional she was. When the landing gear hit the runway, she sighed with relief.

“We’re down,” she said and made the short taxi back to the tarmac.

“I’m sorry I spoiled your day,” Cory said before they exited the plane.

“You spoiled nothing, but you should have told me of your fear and I shouldn’t have assumed you wouldn’t mind flying.” She nodded toward the bag. “Still empty, huh?”

“Fortunately.” She unbuckled her seat belt. “Can we leave now?”

“Yeah.”

*

Cory’s color came back and she was calm in the car. Helen nearly laughed when she remembered how quickly she’d snatched the barf bag from the door. At the same time, she was thankful she didn’t have to break out the cleaning products.