by Julie Drew
Bizzy shot Beckett a nasty look. “Don’t undo my work here, Beckett,” she said, then turned immediately back to Tesla. “You do have a style,” she assured the girl who looked skeptically at herself in the mirror. “And this is a part of that style, it’s just the dress-up version and you’re not used to it.”
Tesla considered that as she looked at this unfamiliar self. Her wild, curly hair was caught in a loose knot at the nape of her neck, with a few long curls that escaped near her face. Bizzy had found the dress at a vintage boutique, and Tesla had to admit it was beautiful as she touched the fabric of the skirt again, though she wasn’t generally fond of dresses. It was a simple design, with cap sleeves, a deep, round neckline and an empire-waist skirt that fell easily, without embellishment, to mid-calf. But its simplicity was a deception; this dress was all about the fabric. It was some kind of satin, she thought, a heavy, watery dark-chocolate color—at first glance, anyway. When she moved it gleamed subtly in the light to create a suggestion of metal: brown became copper, bronze, gold, the sharp and indestructible became molten, forced into shapes and uses with hammer and fire. Bizzy had lent her a pair of boots that alone would have persuaded Tesla to wear whatever the other girl wanted, they looked 19th century, straight out of an Alcott novel, actual bronze boots with tiny stacked heels, a dozen grommets up the front of each boot for the laces that ended at mid-calf to meet the hem of the dress.
Tesla turned a little left, then right. She loved the colors that moved through the dress and interacted with the light they absorbed, reflected, and changed. Where Beckett was all in-your-face fantasy, Tesla was more smoke and mirrors, illusion that allowed her to feel a little hidden. She realized that Bizzy was right, this did suit her. The deep color of the dress turned her hair into smoldering embers, her skin a silky alabaster that fairly glowed. A dust of pink blush on the apples of her cheeks, a little black mascara, and barely-tinted lip gloss was all the make-up Tesla would allow, and she had refused all jewelry until Bizzy had come up with a simple, brown velvet ribbon which she had wrapped with some kind of thin, pliable copper wire and tied around Tesla’s throat, with a bow at the back.
Copper wire, Tesla mused. Who has uninsulated wire in their jewelry box?
“Yeah, I guess I like it,” she said as she met Bizzy’s eyes in the mirror and smiled at her. “Thanks, Biz. Although I feel sort of naked without my messenger bag.”
Beckett snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. Steampunk is totally hot. You look fantastic.” When Tesla blanched in surprise at the compliment, she added sweetly, “For you.”
“There’s the Beckett we all know and love,” Bizzy murmured as she put the last touches on her own costume. She had opted for black tights, black ballet slippers with wide, pink satin ribbons that criss-crossed up her calves, a short black tutu that stuck out straight in every direction with layers and layers of tulle, and a very—very—tight, long-sleeved black T-shirt with AC/DC written in shiny silver letters across the front. She had removed all the jewelry from her piercings, except the tiny silver studs in her ear lobes and one to match in her nose, and she wore fingerless black lace gloves, and a studded black dog collar. Instead of her usual spiked hair she had slicked it back with a severe side-part, and it lay close to her skull, bone-straight, tucked behind her ears in a kind of Garbo-gone-Black-Swan. Carefully smudged black eyeliner and nude lipstick completed her ensemble, and she looked, astonishingly, beautiful. She had managed to suggest a delicate, fragile femininity that was emphasized, rather than negated, by the severity of her hair and the heavy-handedness of the dog collar and make-up. Unexpectedly sweet, wistful and vulnerable, Tesla thought as she began to realize that there was an artistry to this stuff.
“If we’re finished admiring ourselves, we should probably get downstairs,” Beckett said. “The boys were reluctant enough to get dressed up. I suspect that if they have to wait much longer they’ll revert to their usual grunge in no time.”
In the second-floor sitting room Finn and Joley sat in the club chairs by the fireplace and chatted easily, as if they were both accustomed to formal clothes. When the girls walked into the room, they stood up.
“Hello, you stunner,” said Joley in response to Beckett, who led the way in the girls’ grand entrance.
“Thanks,” she said sweetly and further dazzled him with her smile.
“You all look fabulous,” Joley said magnanimously, though he only gave Tesla and Bizzy a glance.
Finn remained by his chair and looked at each of them in turn. “Absolutely true, you do,” he said easily as his eyes returned to Tesla.
There was a knock on the front door below, and Bizzy left quickly to go down and answer it while Joley and Beckett flirted quietly by Lydia’s favorite chair.
Finn sauntered over to where Tesla stood, his eyes never leaving her, and it made her nervous. “Nice dress.”
Tesla fidgeted and smoothed the fabric over her abdomen. “Well, I’m not sure—“
“You’re perfect,” said Finn.
Tesla blushed, felt her pulse in her throat, but as soon as she realized it was a struggle to meet his eyes, she made herself meet his eyes. “Thanks,” she said brightly. “You look pretty great yourself.”
Both he and Joley had opted for simple, elegantly tailored black tuxes. While Joley had worn the traditional bow tie, however, Finn had opted for an unusually high-collared white shirt with a black pearl button closure at the throat, and no tie at all. His long curls were caught loosely at the nape of his neck and tied with a thin black silk ribbon, and the sharp points of his collar jutted out from just under his chin. He looked like the rakish young lord from the cover of one of those heaving-bosoms romance novels.
And it was totally working for him.
“I do what I can,” he said as he gazed slightly upward and off into the distance, his idea of a GQ pose.
Tesla laughed—they clearly had different ideas about what sort of cover he should grace—and then turned at the sound of Keisha’s voice.
“Tesla, get over here and let me look at that gorgeous dress!”
“Keish!” Tesla squealed as she ran to her friend, who had come up the stairs with Malcolm. Bizzy stood next to them and beamed proudly, as though she had produced them from thin air just for Tesla’s pleasure.
“What are you guys—wait, are you coming to the party?” Tesla asked as she finally registered Malcolm’s monochromatic, dove gray suit, shirt and tie, the exact color of his eyes, and Keisha’s little black dress, her sheer hose, the four-inch heels and fire-engine red lipstick.
“I got them press passes,” Finn said, his hands in his pockets, ruining the line of his jacket, which somehow made him look even more attractive.
“He said they should come,” Bizzy interjected, breathless and talking fast. “He said you should have some fun for a change. He said it would make you happy.”
“Biz,” Finn growled.
“Oh, get over it,” Keisha said to her cousin. “Your secret is out. You’re a nice guy.”
“Slander,” Finn said, feigning outrage.
Keisha gave up. “Fine—you’re not that nice.” She turned to Tesla. “He finally forgave me for crashing his stupid party. I told him he could buy me a new dress for tonight to show he really meant it, but he just laughed. I had to spring for this myself. You like?” She turned gracefully and all eyes went to her legs.
“I like,” said Joley with unabashed enthusiasm from where he still stood beside Beckett, who had begun to scowl as soon as Keisha and Malcolm arrived.
“We’d better go,” said Bizzy. “Lydia’s already there, and she said not to be late.”
“Who’s got Max?” Beckett asked.
“He’s home with Aunt Jane,” Tesla said. “He said he wouldn’t wear a tie unless he absolutely had to.”
“Off we go then,” said Finn as he opened the door and ushered everyone out and down the stairs like a herd of cattle through the front door. “Anyone wearing heels that they can’t walk tw
o blocks in will be left for dead, the vultures will pick their bones clean, and they’ll have no one but themselves to blame. You know who you are.”
Keisha and Beckett looked at each other and raised their eyes to the heavens, sisters for just that moment as they wondered why they hadn’t been blessed with escorts who understood that a limo was always in order for a swanky party.
The Institute of Experimental Physics held its twenty-fifth anniversary Gala, carefully planned to wine and dine its generous donors and, simultaneously, introduce and welcome its new Director, Dr. Erik Van Alden, in the grand ballroom of the University President’s mansion. The mansion was one hundred and fifty some years old. It sat atop the county’s largest hill on the north side of campus and overlooked the university and the town in which it resided. Tesla had seen the mansion from the street a million times, but she’d never seen it like this: each window brightly lit, small twinkly lights in the branches of every tree that bordered the broad, circular drive from the street up to the front of the house and back out again. Cars lined the nearby streets, parked there by red-jacketed valets who met guests at their cars as they pulled up to the massive, double front doors of the residence.
Keisha still grumbled because they had to walk to a party of this caliber—uphill, no less—and Beckett’s unusual silence when there was complaining to be done suggested her complete agreement. The others ignored them both and took in the splendor of the place as they approached the entrance, manned by two men in dark suits who carefully checked invitations and IDs before they let anyone inside.
“Really?” asked Malcolm, amused as they waited in a short line at the door. “At a science gig?”
“Yes,” Bizzy said. “Dr. Abbott told me there would be tight security. The Institute does some highly classified work, not to mention all the government contracts. Some of these quirky old professors with tape on their glasses are doing groundbreaking work. There are plenty of people who’d like a chance to chat with them, for whatever reason.”
Too bad my dad didn’t have this kind of protection, Tesla thought, then forced herself to smile and join the banter that had of course ensued after Bizzy’s serious statement.
“You’re not just a geek, you’re a geek-fan-girl,” Malcolm said to Bizzy, who immediately punched him in the arm.
“Awww,” said Keisha quietly in Tesla’s ear. “Baby’s first flirt.”
Tesla laughed, and then they were at the door, their invitations scrutinized by the guys in suits who, once they were close enough, Tesla could see had some kind of transmitter wire that ran from their earbuds into the collars of their suits. She was dying to see them talk into their watches, but they refused to oblige her.
Inside the massive front door a formal hallway with gilt mirrors on the walls led them, along with the crowd, about thirty feet into the interior and through a tall arched entry to the left that, once they walked through it, proved to be the ballroom. It was a spectacular space, with high ceilings, molded plaster, enormous chandeliers, and more mirrored panels on the walls. A band played some kind of old-fashioned music, but it was kind of cool, Tesla thought. Both sides of the enormous room were lined with long, linen-covered buffet tables that sported china plates, crystal stemware and punch bowls. The tables groaned under the weight of massive fruit bowls, mounded plates of cheeses, meats, and tiered towers of tiny, bite-sized desserts. Small tables were scattered around the room, with comfortable chairs for intimate seating, so guests could eat, converse, or simply rest and watch the dancers in the middle of all the splendor.
There were dozens of couples on the dance floor already. Most of the men wore tuxedos, though a few wore elegant white dinner jackets with black trousers and bow ties. The women’s clothes were as varied as they were. Tesla saw several brilliant, jewel-toned saris, sparkly, modern cocktail dresses, ball gowns, slinky, form-fitted dresses that couldn’t possibly have had underwear underneath, and even a few poufy, frilly numbers that looked like giant wedding cakes.
It was awesome.
Keisha left immediately to dance with Joley and Tesla watched them twirl away.
“We’re going to get food,” Malcolm said, and he and Bizzy left, too.
“I’m certainly not hanging out with you wall flowers,” Beckett said dismissively and made a straight line for a group of young men in tuxes that looked, collectively, like a Ralph Lauren ad. Every last one of them turned to watch Beckett approach, and she was surrounded in just under twenty seconds.
“Well, that leaves us,” Finn said cheerfully. He grabbed Tesla’s forearm and headed toward the nearest table with her in tow.
“I guess,” she said lightly. She had sworn to try to match his cool, noncommittal tone.
“Are you okay now?” he asked quietly as they sat down. “Leaving the photos with Sam? You were kind of freaked out yesterday.”
At Dodie’s yesterday—was it only yesterday?—she had explained to Sam and Finn about the déjà vu she’d experienced when she looked at the photos on her phone, and her realization that these were the very same photographs that had arrived for her father’s birthday, in an album, only a few days ago. Photographs that no one remembered. She couldn’t get her mind around it. The photos were of Tesla and her family, eight years ago. She and Max were little kids then. Her mother had been alive. And none of them had remembered the photos when they’d arrived a few days ago, because they hadn’t yet been taken. It had all become just a little much, what with future events that were actually past events, and the past that now happened in the present when they jumped back in time.
“Yeah, I guess I’m okay with it,” she answered hesitantly. “I’m not really sure what choice I had.”
“Good,” Finn said. “We all agreed that what we do now can affect the past, which can then change the future, and that sort of obligates us to make what has already happened, happen.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said. “But doesn’t it bother you? I mean, this is a pretty simple, insignificant example of that. My dad got the photo album a few days ago in our present time, and since then we’ve travelled back, and it turns out I took the photos, and so I left Sam the pictures, back in the past. I bought the album, gave him money and my future address and the date for him to ship them, from me. I even described the picture of my mother in her lab, the last one in the album, and asked him to take that picture and include it. That guarantees that the future event of my dad’s birthday—the one that happened a few days ago—will happen the same way it’s already happened.”
“It’s almost impossible to even talk about, isn’t it?” Finn asked. “At least in a way that doesn’t make us sound like morons.”
“Thanks,” Tesla said dryly.
Finn laughed. “You know what I mean.” They sat at one of the round tables and their chairs faced each other instead of the table. Their knees almost touched.
“I like that thing around your neck,” Finn said suddenly, his eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her, his expression unreadable. “It’s—rough. Utilitarian. Bizzy’s got talent—the contrast with your skin is—”
“I found you,” said a deep voice just beside them.
Sam towered over them and his black hair and eyes shone. His shoulders looked enormous, his white dinner jacket no less brilliant than the teeth he flashed when he smiled and held out his hand to her. “Dance?” he asked.
Tesla glanced at Finn, who shrugged, a clear indication that it didn’t matter to him one way or another. “Sure,” she said, stung. “I would love to dance.”
CHAPTER 29
They walked out onto the floor without a glance at Finn, who sat and watched them go, his expression unreadable. Tesla turned to Sam, who gently took her into his arms, one hand on the small of her back, the other holding her hand firmly in his own. On the beat he whisked them off, and Tesla gasped. “I don’t really know how to dance to this music,” she stammered.
Sam laughed. “It looks to me like you know how.”
It kind of did, T
esla realized. Sam was sure of the steps and knew how to guide her. She relaxed, then, and began to understand the pattern and the rhythm. Her confidence increased and she began to enjoy it, unconsciously aware of exactly how many inches separated her from the other couples that twirled around them on all sides.
“Too bad we don’t dance like this anymore,” she said. Her dimples flashed as she smiled up at him.
“We can dance like this anytime—every time—you want to,” he said, mesmerized by her eyes. And just like that, he knew he could be reckless.
Tesla’s cheeks flushed pink. “I could get used to it.” She felt sophisticated, older, maybe even a little dangerous as Sam’s arm tightened around her waist. She’d felt in charge with the younger Sam, like she was the one who would or would not make things happen, and somehow that feeling lingered, even though this older Sam was anything but a pushover. Be careful, she thought. That kind of attitude is trouble and you know it.
“I didn’t know you would be here tonight, Sam,” she said quickly. “I haven’t seen you since before the jump.”
“I’ve been busy—I am in medical school, you know. And I’m here because all the science-related departments were invited. I’m certainly glad I decided to come—you look beautiful.”
They danced for a while in silence, and then Tesla said aloud what had bothered her since she and Finn had jumped back to the present last night. “Sam, why didn’t you tell me before I jumped that Finn would come too, and that I would give you those photographs to send to my dad eight years later?”
