This is a
continuation of CHAGRIN IN THE HILLS (Pt. 1/WFOL 2013 & Pt. 2/2013 Conzine)
The uncertain essence of romance
“The very essence of romance is
uncertainty.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being
Earnest and Other Plays
As Devin spun his tale this
rediscovered Catherine Chandler followed his request to drive them to the
Brewery parking lot, “So I was in the Keys leading fishing charters when I
heard about the band getting back together and I took Vincent up to see the
motor home, poor guy got stuck in the back bedroom and I couldn’t get him out.”
The exchanged looks, Catherine’s was incredulity, Devin’s was feigned innocence
then he continued. “Vincent is in the motor home parked outside your office,
has been for a couple of days.” If Devin had hoped this news to calm her it
hadn’t. She shook at the thought of not remembering him and how it might affect
Vincent. She couldn’t bear to break his heart a second time.
Nervously she turned her car into
the parking lot alongside the motor home with the crazy paint job. “Do you want
me to go in first, to let him know you’re alive?”
“No, Devin, just take me in with
you – it’s best he hears it from me.” She dabbed at the runny mascara and
smoothed her hair. Pocketing the car keys she followed Devin to the door.
Devin slammed his palm on the
door twice,“Hey, Vincent, you decent?” Devin stuck the key in the lock and
opened the door, to find Vincent bleary eyed with three empty beer bottles in
front of him.
Vincent’s chin balanced in the palm
of his hand, his elbow on the table, his eyelids fluttering at Devin’s words.
“One must think like a hero to behave like a merely decent human being.” [1]
Not understanding exactly what
Vincent meant Devin stepped into the motor home. “I brought someone by to see
you; she’s missed you for a while.” Devin watched Catherine outside the
motorhome as he speculated how this reunion would go. Devin curiously watched
her reactions to Vincent’s voice.
“All days are nights to see till
I see thee, and night’s bright days when dreams do show thee to me.” [2]
“OK, Vincent.” Momentarily
frustrated Devin raised a palm to stop her for a moment then he stepped up to
gather up the beer bottles and fish dinner wrappers from the dinette. Scurrying
to straighten up his brother he caught Vincent’s broad shoulders to give him a
good shake, “Are you up to receiving a guest, bro?” Vincent put one furred hand
over the other as he straightened up and exaggeratedly ran his tongue over his
parched lips. Devin quickly caught the hoppy scent of his beer breath and
uncapped a bottle of water, “Drink this!”
Vincent accepted the bottle only
to rattle off “Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with
mine.”[3]
Once the bottle was drained,
Devin discarded it and returned to the half opened door to ask worriedly, “Are
you ready for this, Catherine?” She cautiously nodded as she stepped up into
the motor home, her heart singing. Devin stepped behind her as Vincent stood to
receive his ‘guest’. There was no staring at his singular appearance; instead
she experienced profound warmth as it rose from her toes to the roots of her
hair. He stood, feet planted wide for balance, his strong arms folded over his
broad chest. His golden hair, although unkempt seemed to glow from the lights
behind him. His stature dwarfed the motor home ceiling and he stood with that
darling tilt to his head. Time apart evaporated as every moment of their life
together collided in Catherine’s heart. She bolted toward him, throwing her
arms around his waist, burying her nose in the suede of his vest. His scent
carried experiences too numerous for her mind to recollect. Their sighs melded
until words could form. “Oh, Vincent, we’re together again.”
“My dear, dear, Catherine, “As
soon as his hands touched the warm flesh of her forearms he knew she was no
apparition. This was indeed his Catherine. They embraced both crying at the revelation.
Devin felt like an intruder as he watched his brother embrace ‘his’ Catherine
and tenderly kiss the top of her head. He silently made his way out, locking
the door behind him to sit in her car.
“I felt you die in my arms”
Vincent repeatedly kissed her forehead as he accepted her kisses on his bared
throat.
Catherine shook her head
actively, “It was the drugs, when they went to do the autopsy they found my
heartbeat.” They drew back to see each other a few years older yet no worse for
wear. Shocked back to sobriety he gathered her back to where they could sit
together, they sat back against the bed’s headboard as they began to impart
their separate stories.
Devin watched headlights scan the
parking lot. He cautiously regarded the dim light leaking from behind the
blinds and drapes of the motor home. He heard a car door open and an irate Joe
Maxwell closing in on Catherine’s car. Devin was stuck; even lowering the seat
there was nowhere to hide. Opening the door would only alert Joe to his
location. Better that than to have Joe storm the motorhome. Devin left the car
to face Joe.
As he stalked toward Catherine’s
car Joe’s acerbic wit kicked in, “So is it DERVISH or Jeff Radler?” Joe’s posture stood ready for a good old
fashion rumble. Diffusing the fight with a shrug and grin Devin led him further
from Catherine’s car and the motorhome. The
smart ass Devin replied, “Sort of neither, Joe. I mean I could be Dervish if
the money’s right. However I was born Devin Wells, been Devin Wells for a few
years now.” He tried his best innocent look.
“Whoever you are, where did you
take Catherine?” Joe stood, fists at his waist, feet spread for that fight.
“I took her to see a friend; my
brother thought she was dead, so I’d appreciate if you’d give them a chance to
reconnect.” Devin immediately questioned what he had just said to Joe in his
uber-protective mode.
Joe immediately challenged Devin,
“Your brother? Is he the elusive Vincent?” At Devin’s nod Joe meant to
step around Devin, who threw an arm up, blocking Joe from moving closer to the
motorhome.
“Let’s give them a chance to
talk, OK? She’s fine, he’s fine, let’s you and me be cool about this, OK?” Joe
reconsidered what Catherine’s happiness meant and he halted midstep.
Looking over Devin’s shoulder
toward the motorhome for reassurance Joe demanded, “You swear she’s OK?”
Devin nodded “Totally, the safest
she’s been in years”, then threw an amiable arm around Joe’s shoulder and
asked, “Have you ever partied with a rock band?”
When Joe heard no wailing or
arguing from the motorhome he and Devin climbed back into his car for the
lakeside arena leaving Vincent and Catherine finally alone.
“You’ve got some nerve, Wells.
Wells….Wells? Have you got a relative named Jacob Wells?” Joe settled into the
seatbelt and held off starting the car.
Devin smirked back at Joe as he
made himself comfy in the passenger seat, “Crusty, sometimes imperious, you
know him?”
“Yeah, long time ago, another one
of Cathy’s odd cases. Something about your family always gets her caught in a
wringer.” Joe threw the car into gear and goosed the accelerator.
“Kismet? Didn’t you wonder how
she solved cases, who her contacts were on the street?” Devin watched Joe’s
face in profile. He caught Joe’s jaw harden as he drew the car over to the
curb. Devin took offense at the abrupt stop and leaned over the console, “What
are you planning? Bring Chandler back to NY and throw her up on charges? Have
her disbarred?”
Now Joe was chin to chin with
Devin, he caught the scent of ‘Rockstar’ sweat and weed and beer and sat back.
He was still thinking like ‘Joe Maxwell, DA’, a job he hadn’t wanted and no
longer had. Joe softened back to his side of the car. ‘No, Devin. I owe Cathy
everything. Her ‘death’ brought down untold duplicity in New York.”
There was a beat of silence while
they gave each other hard looks. “Her blood bought me a chance at bringing
justice to the city and once she wasn’t there the fight didn’t hold any value
for me.” Joe’s voice relaxed, “I bought a place on the island, went into the
B&B industry with my Mom.”
Devin sat gobsmacked. Joe had
left his career and New York? He was speechless, as if there was no one to
fight.
“Anything she did was history and
as much as I want to know I’ll have to wait until she tells me herself. She
always kept secrets.” There the edge was back in his voice.
Devin’s voice hovered over a
whisper, “She kept my brother’s secrets.”
Joe’s hands tightened on the
steering wheel as he checked the rear view mirror. He pulled into the empty
road rolling Devin’s words in his heart. “Then I’ll wait. I’ll stay her friend,
I’ll be there for her and I’ll wait.”
Devin drew his hand over his
face, as if to wash away his expression, “Joe, that’s the smartest thing you
could do.”
They made small talk about their
lives since Catherine had ‘died’, Joe recounted her visiting the Island and
their long conversations about her love’s face whom Catherine could not
‘place’. Forging a new rapport through discussing Catherine they soon arrived
at the venue.
Pulling past the guards at
Devin’s wave Joe parked and ruminated a second, “Serious about this party offer?”
Devin tossed back his head and
let out a naughty chuckle, “How else am I going to tell whether you’ve got the
stuff to hang with my family?”
“I gotta make a phone call first.” Joe dug in his pocket as
he exited car and scoured the area for a pay phone.
Their love was more than a
memory. Across time their love knew no boundaries, it would know no end.
Face to face in the near darkness,
Catherine scrambled to let the moon shine on the planes and curves of Vincent’s
noble face. Her hands framed his jaw as her thumbs verified the fine golden
hairs that she began to recall so fondly. Wanting to draw closer to him she
crawled in his lap, a knee on either side of his hips.
Catching a deep breath Vincent
moaned, “Catherine, you’ll be my undoing.” He drew her back from his hips in
the guise wanting to see her face, her breasts heaving under her silk shirt and
her trim waist caught in a butter soft belt.
“Take me home, Vincent, where we
can be each other’s undoing.” Her soft, desirable lips’ kisses found the tip of
his nose and her tongue sought that delicate pink flesh in the split of his
upper lip. The union of their lips strummed a thunderous chord in each of them.
Catherine proposed, “Perhaps we
can talk Devin into driving us home to New York?”
Vincent looked askance, ‘While we’re
in this room for hours alone?” he stretched out his legs and welcomed her
weight over him as he reclined back, “Let me simply hold you for a while, let
me adore you within my arms” His words were the right words save for his rather
dubious tone of voice at being in a room for 9 hours with basically nothing but
Catherine and a bed.
Catherine sat up, straddling his
waist and rested her palms on his chest. “Before we leave, I wish you could see
my home. I need to gather a few things, I have a small woods behind the home I
want you to see it.” Catherine regarded their surroundings, as she caught a
whiff of the scent of ‘captive’ Vincent. “How many days have you been cooped up
here?”
“It’s been awhile.” He
reluctantly lifted her blessed weight off of him to find a paper and pencil.
“Let me leave Devin a note.” Looking out at her sedan he suggested, “I can ride
in your trunk.”
Catherine playfully swatted at
him, “You will not! The whole city is here at this concert, practically. If you
want to lie in the back seat I’d understand, but not the trunk!” She wrote out
her phone number and address and stuck it in the frame of the mirror. “I’ll
start the car and turn off the overhead lights, OK?” She could barely let go of
his warm hands, yet she wanted to leave the cramped motorhome and take him with
her.
As Catherine wound through the
streets toward Moreland Hills she drove past locations that reminded her of New
York and their past – she drove past a symphony hall and thought of cuddling
under the park’s band shell. With each of these reminiscences she realized
where their relationship had always stalled. Passages of their life careened
through her head, Winterfest, their Halloweens, their Anniversaries, their
candlelit nights on her balcony never reaching the ‘end’. Now she realized she
was taking Vincent to her large and tunnel-like home, in a secluded and silent
neighborhood. Would he walk over the threshold?
Vincent’s adventure persisted in
his mind as he rode in the backseat; his legs folded up, enveloped in his cloak
he watched the city lights moving over them inside the sedan. He shook his head
at his predicament then weighed the sides of the argument he and Father would
have on his return. Regardless of all the opportunities for being seen he had
found his love and she was alive. He was also heading toward her home that she
had described as large and isolated and his reservations were all too familiar.
Fear’s time needed to end.
Driving the car into the garage
she lowered the garage door and killed the motor. Yes, she was in Cleveland and
YES, she had Vincent within her reach. Drawing reassuring deep breaths she left
the car and Vincent followed her into the home, marveling at the warmly
decorated home so different from her park side apartment. Parts of it reminded
him of chambers Below and it soothed his heart that her style had mellowed in
her new life.
After Vincent had taken in the
entire downstairs he shook his head, “Catherine, how can you leave all this?”
She ignored that question, there was nothing preventing her from following him
home. “Is that a swimming pool out back?” Vincent stood at the doors enjoying
the moonlight dancing over the water’s ripples and the natural landscaping
surrounding the patio. His face pressed against the cool glass and his large
hands splayed on the glass door as he looked over the moonlit backyard and the
black horizon of the woods against the indigo sky. Innocently, his warm breath
fogged the glass, leaving nearly a perfect impression of his spectacular face.
Staring at the impression, she almost forgot to speak.
“Yes, and I have a bathtub nearly
that large upstairs – where I’ll allow you all the privacy you need. After a
few days in these clothes wouldn’t you feel more relaxed after a good long
soak?” That did sound tempting to him yet could he bear to be apart from her?
Catherine approached the rear staircase and held out her hand to him. How could
he not follow her?
Catherine dialed the dimmers to
near candlelight as Vincent padded curiously from room to room. He saw the pair
of overstuffed wing chairs covered in calf colored leather in front of a
fireplace. Oh, how life would be if they could retire here nightly? Catherine
silently thanked whatever Gods brought Vincent back into her world and she
retrieved a few fluffy towels and a small laundry basket. She smiled softly as
he arrived in her bedroom suite. Her soft voice cut the silent tension, “Put
your clothes into the basket and slide it outside the bathroom door and I’ll
get them washed while you soak, OK?”
Vincent stood now nearly deserted,
“I can scarcely bear to be apart from you, Catherine.” His whispered voice was
smoky and deep, exactly the way she recollected him. Her spine tingled that
perhaps Vincent would invite her to share the tub, yet she wouldn’t push him.
Did he still have his bond? Could he tell how anxious she was?
“We have forever, Vincent” Her
hands were pressed flat against his chest; she felt the tremor of his anxious
heart. “ – go and relax.” Once she carried away the basket of his clothes into
the laundry room Catherine held each piece affectionately, the aroma waking
sensations all over her, their walks in the park, their walks in his world.
They were everything to each other, hadn’t she told him one night ‘What we have
is everything’? She remembered their kiss in the golden light of the park’s
culvert.
Not feeling Catherine’s hovering
he’d dropped the clothes into the basket and opened the door enough the push
the basket into the dim hallway. Vincent stood, stripped of all cloth barriers,
covered in only his apprehensions. He imagined the months they had been
separated and if she came into this bathroom to wash away the memories of
Gabriel’s filth. Her perfumes and soaps infiltrated his lungs, both calming and
exciting him. Against his wishes he grew tumescent and tingled for her touch
under different surroundings than New York ages ago.
Now dusting off his suede vest
and shaking out his black cloak she dropped each piece of washable clothing into
the machine and dialed it almost in a trance to startle as the phone rattled
the silence.
“Radcliffe, you OK?” Joe yelled
over the concert’s noise.
Her smile was serene, reflecting
in her words. “I’m super, Joe, it’s all good.”
He voice was tense, “When are you
coming back to the B&B?”
She didn’t want to lie yet she
could bear to tell him to truth, “Joe, it might be a long, long time.” Her
voice registered sadly with him.
Surrendering Joe offered, “OK,
Radcliffe, you know where to find me. I won’t forget you.” And after an audible
hitch in his voice he ended his conversation, “This isn’t good-bye, right?”
“Right, Joe, this isn’t good-bye.
I know where you live!” Their voices silenced as their minds settled the issues
between them “Give your Mom my best, alright? Joe, you know I love you.” They
were silent for a moment before Joe’s line clicked off. Catherine lowered the
receiver to the cradle realizing she indeed had been loved all her life by so
many wonderful people.
In the semi-darkness Vincent turned
slowly as the scent of candle-smoke and lemon oiled furniture in her spacious bedroom/bathroom
seemed to engulf him. In her rebirth Vincent recognized she had adopted various
tunnel habits. He could see the furniture had been thoughtfully chosen from the
conditions of the eclectic and love-worn pieces. He further darkened the lights
in the bathroom so he could watch the moonlight as it played over the odd
shaped lake in her back yard.
Popping the window open he listened
to the foxes barking to each other and he realized how much a part of his life
Central Park had always been. The frogs’ songs kept his company as he lathered
himself with the ginger soap and mindfully explored where their bond had gone.
He felt her joy, pure joy at their reunion.
Catherine made her easiest phone
call to Monica, explaining that she could see clearly who she was and where she
was going. She left a message at the brewery that she was sorry she
‘disappeared’ at the concert. She explained a family situation had arisen and
she’d be leaving for New York within the week. Mentally she began writing her
resignation letter and truly regretted suddenly parting, however she rejoiced
in the circumstance of finding Vincent and her memories.
She pulled the realtor’s
magnetized business card off the freezer door and left a message to the realtor
with a date to list the home. Then she opened the phone book to a car rental
agency and left a message about leasing a windowless cargo van one way to New
York City. She’d driven longer distance, besides; Vincent could keep her
company on a piece of furniture between a few cartons. Catherine Chandler was
going home; all of this could be sold. Fiona Charles would be a scant memory
within weeks.
Reaching into the Pool Bath
closet she pulled out an extra-large sweat suit and returned upstairs,
“Vincent, I’m leaving some clean clothes right outside the door. I’ll be
downstairs fixing us a snack, OK?” Catherine heard the tub jets wind down and
his “Alright, Catherine.”
In soft light she set the kettle
on and prepared two mugs for tea. She carved some sharp cheese and salami
slices and set the bowl of fruit onto one end of the ample dinner table. Who
would have imagined her one and only guest tonight would be her forever love,
Vincent?
As the kettle began to sing she
heard his bare feet padding down the wooden back steps. Pouring the water into
the teapot she watched him gracefully approach her. His towel dried hair
appeared longer and darker than she remembered. His height was exactly as she recalled
yet without his many layers of clothing he was more approachable. It was if
they were another couple on this suburban street just settling down for their
evening tea. She smiled at the ginger
hair peeking out of the neck of the zippered hoodie. Vincent felt her joy as they
silently embraced and together they shared the thought of no shadow of another
parting from each other. [4]
“Oh, Catherine” her name of his
lips flowed like honey as he moved to sit across from her at the antique wooden
table. One hand held his steaming tea while his other hand travelled across the
table to seek her touch. Then each of them selected some things from the plate and
they ate silently. They enjoyed the scent of the chamomile as they beamed at
each other between bites. Vincent had
not remembered when they had this much silence between them, no music, no
incessant pipe code or friendly interruptions.
He focused to broaden his newly
recovered bond that had evaporated with his illness years ago. There on the
edge of his consciousness he felt a growing delight from Catherine’s direction.
She pushed her plate aside and put her chin on her palm to appreciate the play
of light across the golden hairs on Vincent’s face. Under the table she knew
his feet were bare so she toed off her socks and sought the warmth of his
lightly furred feet.
Vincent straightened suddenly,
“Catherine, how can your stockinged feet be so frigid?” He immediately captured
her feet to sandwich them between his. He seemed to blush at the accomplishment
as her feet warmed. He felt a bit of her ‘melt’ with his bold move. How long
had Vincent wished their past had gone differently? His mind was in turmoil,
what to say or do next?
Catherine melted into the warmth
between his two large feet, now her other hand came up to hold her face steady,
her elbows propping her up. What if this is what every morning could be like?
What if they could end each evening over tea to climb into bed together? She
caught herself thinking too far ahead.
The velvet hammer of his words
punctuated the silence, “Whatever is going through your mind right now, my
love?”
Honesty won out, “Vincent, what
if we could end each night like this?” her jaw remained resolute, her smile
broadening.
“Then I would consider myself
extremely blessed.” His palms were on the table half way between them so she
extended her hands to lay gently over his.
“This is within our grasp, all of
what we’d dreamed of.” Her fingertips drew lightly over the tops of his furred
flesh tingling him delightfully.
“Our dreams are fantasies,
Catherine.” His fingertips caught hers with a heavy sigh and a shrug of his
broad shoulders.
Turning her wrists under she
wrested her fingers from his light grasp to gently trail her fingertips up his
palms and fingers, “Vincent, our dreams were illustrations from a single book our
hearts were writing.”
His breathing startled at the
feeling her nails on his flesh, rasping, “Catherine, I need to ask your
forgiveness.” His face was obscured, his chin tucked to his chest.
“My forgiveness?” She shook her
head in ignorance. “For what?”
His voice a husky whisper, “I had
violent nightmares about what I did to you. Yet when you collapsed in my arms I
had lost the words.”
“For what?” Of course she had a
laundry list of bones she wanted to pick with him, whatever distressed him this
long? He had retracted his hands to fold his arms over his chest.
“After we were separated I fell
into a delirium. They I moved you and I was stymied as where to find you.”
Catherine watched the color of
his eyes darken to blue smoke, curious about his confession.
“When I came out of my delirium,
I had visions of. . . . “ Vincent swallowed hard, and shook his head to dispel
the image pummeling his conscience. With a deep breath he took a sip of tea and
then recovered enough to speak. “I forced myself on you; the sounds you made
were unimaginable. I can’t fathom why you’d even have me alone in your home.”
His arms unfolded, only to have him drag his clawed fingers through his drying
hair.
Catherine rose to stretch across
the table, “No, no, no, Vincent. You never forced yourself on me. We’ve never
known each other that way.” As if she hadn’t wanted to know him! She thought
she had come out of her amnesia, what fresh layer of hell was he uncovering? She
knew she would have remembered them like that. She reached for him and with
grateful eyes he loosened the grasp he had on himself, “Vincent, it had to be a
terrible nightmare, you have never forced yourself on me. We have never known
each other that way.” She warmed his hands in hers as their eyes met, “I would
love to love you, I was always sure you knew that.”
“Catherine, they were abominable times,
days locked in Gabriel’s cage while they forced me to watch you on the monitor.”
Now his hands drew together clasping at first then wringing each other. “I had nightmares
while they forced me to see what they were doing to you.” Catherine shook her
head, trying to erase the glimpses of their ‘experiments’. “Then, Catherine
once they sedated you they brought me to you.” Vincent’s head hung in shame; it
was a violent attack, I fell prey to my
animal self.” His tone displayed his hatred of that side of himself, his voice
muffled by his hands.
Crestfallen at his pain she confessed,
“I wish you had understood how I wanted to love you and be yours.” She eased
back into her chair.
His self-derision continued, as
he retold nights of their baiting him into sexual situations, while he felt
their eyes through the mirrored glass. Vincent’s head hung, his hair curtaining
his expression.
Catherine’s head shook, all these
years, lost in an amnesiac’s fog to come back to understanding this?
“Catherine, they spoke --- as if
they wanted me to know their insidious plans, as if I would take some brazen
pride in being the father of their new generation.”
The dawning understanding of all
their guarded ‘study’ sickened her. “Why, Vincent?” she shook her head, her
brows knitted.
“They intimated their process,
not their reasoning.” Vincent raised his head and searched the room for
something other than Catherine’s eyes.
He could not bear to reveal all he knew. “Once Gabriel knew the black book
was not in your possession, that you didn’t know where it was and once he saw
me, his plans altered.”
Catherine’s eyes narrowed, “Altered?”
“Eugenics, for a loss of a more
insidious term.” An ill silence fell over them. Nervously they picked at the
shards of cheese, he watched her pull apart the bread and chew on the crust.
The savory taste of the cheese and meat had turned sour in his mouth, he
apprehensively poured more tea. Her eyes begged him to continue. His sandy, low
voice whispered, “You would be the Mother of them all and I would be a new
generation’s stud. Their medical circus revolved around their watching us.
Gabriel’s proclivities were more voyeur than participant.” His arched brow rose
higher to accentuate his words and her generous mouth straightened in
understanding.
“But ---“She had no recollections
of any of that.
He raised his palm, wishing to
purge himself of the experience. “He, Gabriel, thought we could entertain him.
Thought I would be more….entertaining….if I knew what he wanted from me.”
Vincent went silent remembering the day long lectures on ‘releasing the beast
within’, that Gabriel felt his ‘release’ would be more effective. Their hearts
thumped in the silence as Catherine fought for a true understanding of
Vincent’s subtext. Only when Vincent looked away at the clock over the stove
did Catherine’s eyes widen.
Her head tilted as his frequently
did, “Did he think a bedtime spectacle would create a wilder child?” and that
comment caused Vincent to bolt upward from his chair, breaking the silence.
TBC
[1] May Sarton
[2] William Shakespeare,
"Sonnet XLIII"
[3] Ben Jonson's 1616 poem
"Song. To Celia."
[4] "I saw no shadow of
another parting from her." for the 1863 edition of the novel Great
Expectations.
