But if he was there—Katia felt her throat trembling as she sang. If he was there, it was a whole different story. It meant, simply, that everything she’d felt in the bookstore was real. That thought made her so happy, she deliberately shoved it to one side.
Almost done. The last eight bars—Katia sang as well as she could because if he was there, she wanted him to hear her voice at its best. She actually managed to put all thoughts of Tom out of her head for long enough to finish the song, stand up (without catching the dress on the piano bench, a mistake she’d made at least once), and smile at the audience, bowing graciously.
Bring the lights up, Katia mentally urged the stage manager. Bring the lights up so I can see him. Was he there or not? Enough suspense already. It was too exhausting.
There was the familiar thunk of the machinery as the spotlights went out. The house lights (such as they were) came up right then, and Katia stood on the small stage, blinking to clear her eyes, peering out at the collection of candlelit tables that filled the room…
And there he was.
Katia stared at his unmistakable, beautiful face. Tom was staring right back at her, as if mesmerized. An incredible rush of relief and excitement coursed through her. She almost lost her footing on the stage, she was so happy to see him. She nearly tripped again, stepping off the stage in her high heels.
Tom was standing up awkwardly, with that same shambling style she remembered. He looked different—he was more carefully groomed. His hair was combed down flat now, and his clothes were pressed. His hair looked longer, actually, but that had to be an illusion. It was just the effect of its having been combed.
“Hi,” Katia said. Immediately she cursed herself for not coming up with something more clever than that.
“Hello,” Tom said, looking back at her. It was strange—she saw none of the adorable rakishness she’d seen in the bookstore. The boyish charm had shifted into something else….
And that was fine. She felt it, too—the gentle slide into a new rapport between them. They couldn’t flirt like school kids forever, though she really hadn’t minded it so much. It hadn’t exactly been under her control. But perhaps this vibe was better. More real.
“I’m so glad you came, Tom,” Katia said truthfully. She was forcing herself to be much more direct. He was actually here—he had come as promised—and he deserved more than just her patented Katia attitude.
“Well…” Tom froze for a moment. His eyes suddenly widened, almost as if she’d somehow surprised him with something she’d said. “Of course… I’m here, Katia,” he replied finally, though quite awkwardly. “I… wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”
“For the world, huh?” She grinned at him, hitting him lightly on the arm. But even that seemed a little strange. Yesterday she hadn’t even allowed herself to touch him. He was just as cute as the day before but somehow not untouchably cute. “Pretty high stakes for someone you just met,” she added, trying to keep up her end of things.
“Well—nevertheless.” Tom grinned that familiar smile, which, as predicted, did still make her somewhat weak in the knees.
Except it didn’t. That was the funny thing—she couldn’t put her finger on it, but the smile had changed somehow. Like the weight of the world had landed on Tom’s shoulders. “Is everything okay, Tom? You seem—”
“Everything’s just fine, Katia,” Tom said. He had come to his senses apparently and was making a sweeping gesture, pulling out a chair for her to sit down. “Won’t you join me for a drink?”
“I’d be delighted,” Katia said. It was like playing along with a pantomime, like they were total strangers (which, she reminded herself, they practically were). She nodded courteously and accepted the chair he’d pulled out. “So how’s the paper going?”
“Paper?” Tom blinked at her so innocently that she swatted him on the arm again. She could do that quite easily now.
“Your thesis,” she told him with mock frustration. “The one you got the book for yesterday afternoon. I do have a reasonably good memory, Tom.”
“All right, I’m sorry. Listen, here’s the thing—”
Here it comes, Katia thought, depression sinking over her like a heavy blanket. Here comes the bad news. He’s married. He’s divorced. He’s going to prison. He just got out of prison. He’s—
“I’m not Tom.”
Katia wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “W-what?”
“I’m his brother,” the man before her said, his head lowered as if in shame or embarrassment. “His twin brother. My name’s Oliver.”
“His—you’ve got to be kidding.” Was this another one of Tom’s new annoying traits? A practical joker? It wasn’t very funny. She looked back into his eyes, considering whether or not to scold him for this ridiculous prank, but…
But the thing was, Katia realized, the longer she looked at him… those really weren’t his eyes. She could have forgotten a lot of things, but the eyes? She couldn’t have possibly forgotten the eyes. She’d stared straight into them for some infinite amount of time the day before. And these eyes… they were the same color, but they were not the same eyes. And slowly, dazedly, as she examined his every word and his every feature, the different attitude, the lack of adorable confidence, the generic mannerisms, and particularly the longer hair… it all made sense. That was why he was having such trouble with their conversation.
It wasn’t him. It wasn’t Tom.
“What, you’re like the evil twin or something?” she said with a laugh. “Trying to play some mind games with me here?”
“No! Nothing like that,” Oliver assured her with a laugh of his own. “I didn’t even know you two had met,” he added vehemently. “I just… saw your flyer, and…” He trailed off and averted his eyes with what seemed like embarrassment again. “I mean… how do you know he’s not the evil twin?” he added with a smile.
Suddenly her heart kind of went out to him for a second, though she had no idea why. There was something a little… lost or helpless about him. In a sweet way. And now that she realized he wasn’t Tom, he had a sweet smile. It wasn’t bad. It was no Tom smile, but it had its own charm. And it was his—it was honest. She could see that right away.
“Wait a minute,” she said, her back suddenly stiffening up with a new horrible thought. “He didn’t send you here in his place, did he?”
“No,” Oliver assured her. “No, no, no. He would never…” Oliver dropped his head in his hands momentarily before turning back up to her with nothing but heartfelt contrition in his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I never should have played with you like that. I don’t know why I… This entire mix-up is entirely my fault.”
The more he talked, the guiltier Katia felt for having judged him so harshly. He was right. He was far from an evil twin. He was kind of a sweetheart. In a three-legged puppy dog kind of way.
And now, with a moment to think on it further… maybe Tom was the evil twin in this scenario.
Evil enough to stand me up, she thought. Although maybe that wasn’t fair, either. He hadn’t exactly promised he would be here, had he? Katia was confused. Well, how could she not be? The situation had completely changed again—and she still hadn’t gotten a drink. Who knew? Maybe Tom was just a pretty face. She wasn’t sure of any of it anymore. The Tom-Oliver trick had completely disoriented her.
“Oliver,” she said suddenly, “I’m sorry. Let me buy you a drink. Okay?”
“W—what?”
“You don’t have to keep paying. And the cover’s very expensive here. You know what? Come with me to Chumley’s.”
“Really?” Oliver smiled in complete surprise and delight, unabashedly, and it was worth it just to see that. Just to make someone that happy. “Okay—I’d love to.” He sprang to his feet and hurried to get Katia’s chair—something she could definitely get used to—and by the time they were halfway through the crowd, she had taken the first steps toward putting Tom out of her mind. He had, after all, apparently had no problem p
utting her out of his. Why should she be any different?
Not that it was easy…
She placed her arm in Oliver’s and walked to the door at the front of the club.
But there’s that disgusting freak again.
The redheaded weasel, lurking yet again, in the shadows near the door. Leering at her as he always did.
“That man’s always staring at me,” Katia told him as they moved for the glowing red exit sign.
“He—he can’t be the only—” Oliver stammered. “I mean, I’m sure you get lots of… well, I was staring at you, too,” he said finally, blushing madly as he completed the sentence in a near whisper.
“He’s different,” Katia said, turning her gaze away from the weasel. “He gives me the creeps.”
They hurried out of the club and into the cool night air. Oliver held both doors for Katia on the way out, and she did her best to forget about the redheaded weasel. And to forget about Tom.
OLIVER
Was there life before Katia?
I can’t remember. I honestly can’t—it’s almost like it was a gray blur before I met her. She completes me so thoroughly.
Before Katia, I was a different person. I don’t think I was fully alive. At least, that’s how it feels—how I remember it. It’s not that I didn’t have things I did every day. I went to school and I had jobs, and I’ve done well for myself as an agent. I suppose I used to think of that as a full life.
But I was an idiot. That was a shell of a life. A crude black-and-white outline of a life. And now I know that, finally. Now I understand what I was missing all those years. I just want to make up for lost time. And this past month has done just that. It has been like ten boring “Oliver years” compacted together into a month of real visceral human experience.
This must be why Tom chased all those girls over the years.
Except, I take that back. This is different from that. It has to be. I can’t remember everything Tom’s said about the girls he’s dated—and some of them were quite pretty and seemed interesting, I suppose, each in her own limited way, but I don’t know if Tom’s ever been in love—really in love—the way I am now. Inseparable, I mean. And it is like that for her, too. I can see it in her eyes.
We haven’t even kissed yet. That’s how slowly we want to take things. That’s how much we want to savor all the suspense and glorious tension that comes before that kiss.
But when that kiss comes…
1983
It was the only thing he’d been thinking of all day, even when he was typing like a madman: The Bitter End, 8:30.—Katia
Caffeinated Dance
OH MY GOD—I’M DONE.
Tom couldn’t believe it.
He couldn’t believe he’d made it. It had been nearly impossible to concentrate. Katia’s face had floated so maddeningly across his eyes countless times as he’d doggedly poured more coffee for himself and squinted at his typewriter through the long nights. He thumbed through the Thucydides time after time, and every time he had seen her face, the impish smile with which she’d asked him for something to write on. But Agent Rodriguez was right. The Latimore translation of Thucydides had been the missing piece of the puzzle—a puzzle that was now complete.
Tom leaned back in his chair, grinning like a shark as he tossed the final page onto his cluttered rolltop desk. And without another thought, he literally bounced up to his feet with whatever was left of his energy. Because, damn it… he had to dance now. He had to. His legs ached in protest, but they could take it.
Finally, when he was quite sure he would either pass out or explode, he gave up his caffeinated dance and gathered the final typewritten sheets, collecting them and shoving them together with the rest of his thesis.
But something caught his eye. There was a page on the desk he didn’t recognize. A plain-looking sheet of typing paper that had apparently been crumpled in a ball under all his new stacks of typed-out text. Tom smoothed out the crumpled paper and stared at it with his hyperactive bloodshot eyes. If, after all this madness, he’d handed in a thesis with a missing page…
But, he realized, this wasn’t part of his thesis. In fact, it wasn’t even his own writing. The numbered sequences and scribbles were unquestionably his brother’s work.
Tom fell back into his chair and stared wide-eyed at the crumpled numbers that Oliver had obviously left behind at some point. And within only a moment or two, staring at the page, his mind buzzing incessantly with caffeine and elation, Tom saw something. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something about the numbers—about the sequence—that looked familiar. No, not familiar, exactly, but… organized. Logical. Like there was a pattern there, a subtle one, but a pattern nonetheless. A code. This was a numeric code. And in his bizarre overtired and euphoric state, Tom was quite suddenly seeing through it.
This says something, he realized. In English. Grabbing a pencil, Tom scrawled madly on a pad of paper, turning the numbers into letters. It took a little while—maybe forty-five minutes or so; Tom didn’t notice time passing at all.
But when he’d finished, he had a string of letters. Most of the letters read like nonsense. But in the middle of two of the lines Tom had found the two very clear English phrases jumping out on the page: Employ the First Principle, it said left of center on the third line down. And then, toward the end: To win her back.
Win her back? Win who back? Tom had no idea what it meant. Still, he thought, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes, not a bad day’s work. Was this the “code” that had been driving Oliver so nuts lately? The message they’d intercepted from “the Organization”? Probably not. But Tom let himself feel a moment of genuine pride, anyway. He’d actually done what Oliver, Agent Rodriguez’s “resident genius,” hadn’t managed to do.
But all thoughts of the CIA and codes blew out of Tom’s mind the second he glimpsed his watch: 8:00. That gave him only a half hour to get down there. He had finished his thesis just in time. He wouldn’t have to wait one more day before he could finally hear her sing, as he’d promised to do so many shameful weeks ago. It was the only thing he’d been thinking of all day, even when he was typing like a madman: The Bitter End, 8:30.—Katia.
Semi-telepathic Message
THE FEELING THAT RAN THROUGH TOM’S body was indescribable. Standing near the seedy-looking nightclub entrance, with his hands in his overcoat pockets, the harsh March wind cutting through his too short hair as he squinted up at the black sky and heard Katia’s voice for the first time… Even ignoring the completed thesis and the broken code, Tom was overjoyed.
He pushed open the door and walked into the club. It was dark, and his eyes took a moment to adjust. A hulking man to one side stopped him, pointing at the sign that indicated the cover charge. Tom fished out a five-dollar bill and handed it over without looking.
And there she was. He was spellbound. The bookstore, four weeks ago, had never really been out of his mind—but seeing her again brought it all back, as if it had happened moments ago.
“And you’ve tied your tie too tightly, too,” Katia sang. “I think I could share my history with you….” She was looking at one particular table—the one closest to the stage. A man was sitting there. Tom could see him in silhouette. Of course Katia couldn’t actually see that table, Tom realized. The spotlights were shining in her eyes.
Tom moved through the crowd toward the small stage. There was nowhere to sit except that front table with the one man. The closer Tom got to Katia, the harder it was to think clearly, but he knew he couldn’t just stand in the front of the club, blocking everyone’s view. Hopefully the man would understand.
Tom made it to the front table and gently tapped the man on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” he whispered, leaning down. “Do you mind if I…?”
That was when the man at the front table turned—and Tom’s body seized momentarily in shock.
“Oliver?” Tom whispered.
It was. It was his brother in the flesh. Tom f
ell into an unusually silent confusion. He could solve all forms of equations and theorems and identities, but seeing the simple mirror image of his brother at this table had left him utterly dumbfounded. And Oliver didn’t seem much wiser. In fact, he seemed almost… alarmed.
The brothers stared at each other, motionless. Katia’s voice had completely disappeared as their eyes locked in the darkness.
“Tom?” Oliver whispered, looking sharply at him. He had come to his senses—he was reaching to pull out another chair. “Sit down, sit down.”
“Thanks,” Tom whispered back, feeling no other real choice at this point but to take the chair. Conversation was out of the question while Katia sang. Tom’s ten thousand inquiries would have to wait. Or maybe there was really only one inquiry. That being, What the hell are you doing here?
Onstage, Katia was still singing—she hadn’t seen or heard a thing.
Offstage, Tom realized that Oliver was staring avidly at Katia.
“I can wait for you…” Katia sang. Her fingers caressed the ivory keyboard. Her eyes closed as the passion of the song overtook her. Now she was holding the last note, playing the heartbreaking chords that ended the song.
And she was done. The small audience erupted into applause as the lights came back on. Blinking in the sudden brightness, Tom rose to his feet, clapping. Glancing over, he saw Oliver doing the same. A few people in the crowd were staring at them—noticing the identical twins, behaving identically—but they were both used to that.
Katia was coming down off the stage, heading toward their table just as everyone was sitting back down. Her eyes were focused on Oliver—and then suddenly she saw Tom. And she stopped in her tracks.
Before Gaia Page 6
