Christabel

by Karin Kallmaker

  I unsnapped the clasp on my dress and let it slip low enough for me to step out of. It represented his image of me, a temptation, an object to be lusted after, possessed, debased and thrown away.

  I was no longer a victim. I would decide what kind of woman I was. I held the dress over his shuddering body and let it drop.

  He let out a woof as if bricks had fallen on him. He gazed at me, astonished.

  “Let it be your shroud,” I said, and I turned my back on him forever.

  My mother, my mothers, all my mothers who were me, I could hear their voices joined in relieved release, like the gentle rush of doves taking flight.

  Dina slid back into her body as the presence left it. Off balance, she stumbled to the floor, adding another set of bruises to her aching knees. When the room stopped tipping to one side, she watched Christa walk toward her. She was nearly naked, and she moved like an Amazon warrior. Her eyes were lit like liquid amber, and they danced with celebration of freedom.

  “Do you think anyone would notice me if I went out like this?”

  Dina wanted to say she could hardly breathe for looking at Christa, and she was quite sure the rest of New York wouldn’t be able to handle it either. But her mouth was too dry. She wasn’t afraid, though her heart was pounding.

  She felt like a lake begging a swan to alight on its warm surface. She found the energy to get up, one more time. Christa opened her arms and Dina wrapped herself in them, filling herself with the pure gladness of holding Christa. Green and white light danced around them, infusing the air with joy.

  She remembered, nearly too late, that she shouldn’t turn her back on Goranson. A roar like a wild animal spun Dina to face him. He had Christa’s dress looped between his hands and made to catch Christa around the throat.

  Dina screamed and snatched Christa from his path. She fell back as the air pulsated with an explosion of green light. Then Christa was dragging her away from Goranson.

  “Leave him. We’ve got to get the hell out of here.”

  Dina sobbed with anger and frustration. “He’s never going to leave us alone. He’ll never—”

  Christa’s dress burst into flames as if someone had put a torch to it. He shrieked and tried to let go of it, but the fabric was melting and spreading like burning oil.

  The voice rang urgently in Dina’s mind. You must go. We faced his ultimate evil, and now he must face us.

  At the top of the stairs she swept away the salt and the door opened easily. Christa pushed past her, but Dina had to look back. Whatever he was, she was her mother’s daughter, and she couldn’t just leave him. He’d die without medical attention.

  Daughter of all of us, go.

  Dina found herself outside the closed door with no awareness of having moved. She tried to turn the knob with her singed hands, but it was locked and suddenly too hot for her burns to bear touching.

  She backed away from the door.

  Christa said urgently, “Dina, we’ve got to get out of here. Please, darling, we must.”

  When she saw the fingers of smoke curling under the door she came to her senses. Dina hurried behind Christa up the stairs to the main floor, her nostrils suddenly filled with the acrid odor of smoke. Her skin tingled with heat, and her blistered hands throbbed with each step. For a moment she was bound to the tree, watching the flames come nearer.

  Daughter, go. He did not win then. He does not win now.

  Christa resourcefully stepped into a pair of filthy work overalls abandoned by one of the painters. Pulling Dina unrelentingly with her, they dashed out to the deserted street.

  To Dina, the rain had never been so welcome. She raised her face to the cool drops and accepted the gift of the Sky God.

  A see-nothing, say-nothing cab driver didn’t even give them a second glance as he bore them away.

  “Bella! Bella! One more!”

  George Berkeley leaned into the microphone. “If you want to hear what Christabel has to say, stop blinding her.”

  The flashbulbs continued to pop for a few more moments before they subsided.

  I stepped up to the microphone, cleared my throat and read what George and I had carefully written out.

  “I was as shocked as the rest of the city to learn that the new headquarters for LG Incorporated burned to the ground last night. From what I have heard through the media about the timing of the fire, I was in the building only a few hours earlier.”

  I cleared my throat again. “Leonard Goranson and I, along with our investment advisor Dina Rowland, went to the building after a cocktail party late Saturday night. Our purpose was to admire the plans one more time before the stock went on sale. A short while later, Ms. Rowland and I left together. Mr. Goranson may have left at any time after that. But I have not heard from him today, which is very unusual, and I expect the worst news when the debris is searched.”

  The next part was going to be hard, but it had been George’s feeling that complete honesty was the best policy. I wanted to put this behind me, but everything I was about to say the tabloids could discover and keep in the headlines for weeks. I hadn’t been able to consult Dina about it, but I felt certain, after the kiss she had given me in front of everyone at the cocktail party, that she would not object—that, in fact, she would applaud. I would have asked, but she’d been in a deep sleep from almost the moment we’d arrived at her apartment.

  Her exhaustion was the exact opposite of my elation at finding myself free of the chains of despair.

  “It will surprise many people to know that Leonard Goranson and I were husband and wife.” I let the buzz subside before I went on. “Our marriage was one of convenience and he required it of me before he would take me on as a model. I was not on the best terms with him. Ms. Rowland and I, as many people in her company found out last night, very recently began a romantic relationship.” The buzz returned, much louder.

  “I know that these facts would have come to light sooner or later and have no reason to withhold them. I am as dismayed by this turn of events as anyone, since Mr. Berkeley informs me, as did Ms. Rowland, that under the circumstances, the stock sale of LG Incorporated has been put on hold. If in fact Mr. Goranson died in the fire, it will be canceled. I am guessing that after debts are settled both here and in England, there will be very little left. The timing of this event could not have been worse for me, in the cold, hard light of day. My lack of grief will no doubt cause comment, but as I said before, I was not on good terms with Mr. Goranson. That is all I have to say to the press at this time. I am more than willing to cooperate with the investigating authorities should they require my assistance.”

  I stepped back, and the flashbulbs began again, accompanied by a crescendo of “Bella! Bella!”

  “Why did you hate him? Did you want him dead? How much money did you lose?” The questions overlapped, and I answered none of them. George put his hand under my elbow and escorted me to the anteroom door.

  “You were great,” George said as soon as the door closed behind us. The Press Club staff would eventually clear the room.

  I sat down, weak-kneed, and took a deep breath. “I’m not a good liar.”

  “You only lied about one thing—you know he’s in there.”

  “And I know that he was unconscious when we left.”

  George’s mouth tightened. “I didn’t want to believe Dina. One of the few times my intuition let me down. I’m afraid her credibility is going to suffer. She should have known you were married to him and, considering your...relationship with her, that you would probably get a divorce, taking half his personal assets and half the business in England, which he owned.”

  I was shaking my head. “But I wouldn’t have. I can produce the prenuptial agreement.”

  George grunted. “We’ll have to see how it plays out in the financial press.” He looked at his expertly shined shoes. “Are you really destitute?”

  I grinned. “With friends like you, who could be destitute?”

  He laughed, and aga
in, to my surprise, I saw respect for me in his eyes. I hoped that I continued to have it.

  George saw me into a cab from the club’s discreet rear exit and told me to wish Dina a speedy recovery. As we made our way through midtown, I closed my eyes. I’d told George that Leo had turned violent when I’d informed him I was leaving him for Dina. He’d fallen during a struggle with Dina and hit his head. He was stunned, but very much alive when we ran, afraid for our own lives.

  It was all based in truth, and yet of course it left out so many things. Unbelievable events. George Berkeley was not the kind of man to believe that Dina and I had been rescued by a spirit who had then lifted an incredible burden from my heart.

  I really didn’t believe it myself. Yet I couldn’t deny I had been held by evil. Why was it so hard to believe that good had finally rescued me? Why is it easier to believe I had earned bad things, but not good ones? If it wasn’t earned, it was easy to believe evil had chosen me randomly—then why couldn’t good do the same?

  Regardless, by design or chance, I was free. Free. I didn’t know what to do with a future. But I knew where I wanted it to begin.

  Reassured by the note that Christa had left, Dina decided a long, hot shower was definitely what the doctor ordered. In the bathroom she examined her burned hands and bruises. She looked like she’d walked away from a train wreck.

  The burns were not as severe as they had seemed last night. Her skin was lightly pink, but there was no sign of the blisters. She had expected to feel like a used punching bag for a week, but she could contemplate physical activity. Certainly something pleasant when Christa returned.

  Her mind told her not to take anything for granted. But her heart, after those incredible moments when she and Christa had shared the kiss for Rahdonee and Christabel, could not believe that Christa would not be back, and soon.

  She dried her hair and rubbed moisturizer into every pore of her body. She had no idea what a future with Christa would be like. What would Christa do, now that she was free to do what she wanted? And what would work be like for Dina now that the investment that had earned her a partner’s chair had gone up—literally—in smoke?

  After a large mug of hot chocolate, she opened all the blinds and soaked in surprising and very welcome sunshine. She brought the glass with the sprouted roots to the table and stroked the bumps that promised more leaves. The touch still made her tingle, but that was all it was.

  “You deserve a place in the sun,” Dina told the plant. A place in the sun sounded just fine, but if she had the shortest partnership in Wall Street history, then a place in the sun, the kind of place she would want to share with Christa, well, it would be a long time coming. All at once she realized that where didn’t matter. She and Christa would make their own sun wherever they went.

  She sprang to answer the phone and tried to cover her disappointment when George, not Christa, was on the other end.

  “I thought I’d get the machine,” George said promptly. “Christa said that you were dead on your feet and that she couldn’t bear to wake you.”

  “I was, just about. I’m glad she called you. But I haven’t heard from her—what’s going on?”

  “It’s a slow news day. Turn on CNN.”

  There was Christa, reading her statement as the latest breaking news on the “spectacular, early-morning” fire, courageously contained by firefighters,” that had claimed the life of “one of the most fascinating new designers in the U.S.” Christa was followed by shocked grief from the top employees in the U.K. operation. Then a fire department spokesman commented on how fortunate they were the fire had not spread far from its origin. They promised more information when any more was available.

  “So, George, where does this leave you and me?” She supposed she should just face the music.

  “Christa signed a prenup. Did you know that?”

  “I’m not surprised. I didn’t know they were married until a couple of days ago.”

  “So I suppose I can spin to our clients that you didn’t have to reveal the possibility of a divorce because of the prenup, but...”

  “I screwed up,” she said into George’s silence. “And people are going to be wary.”

  “You’re going to have to face a partners’ review. A week from now, I would guess, after the dust settles a bit.”

  “Okay.” Her thoughts wandered to Christa. She had looked absolutely gorgeous on television.

  “You don’t sound worried.”

  “Of course I am. A week ago I would have been petrified. But I hate to tell you this, you’re second banana from now on.”

  George let out an agonized groan. “Just rip my heart out, why don’t you?”

  “Sorry, that’s the way it is.”

  George sighed. “And as it should be.”

  “George, you’re a romantic! Who’d have thought?”

  “Don’t tell, and I’ll make sure you keep your partner’s chair. But you’re going to have to work your hinder off to stay in it.”

  “Okay. Is that before or after I take a long vacation?”

  “Put a sock in it, Dina. And don’t come to work tomorrow—I’ll handle the press that shows up. I’m sure they are already outside your door, so be prepared to make your statement and move on.”

  After George hung up, Dina saw that the answering machine’s thirty-message memory was full. She listened to the first two reporters demanding information, then deleted the rest. She investigated why the doorbell hadn’t been buzzing on over time and found that Christa had resourcefully turned it off. Smart girl, Dina thought. She called down to the doorman who confirmed that several reporters were hanging around. The phone rang, and a reporter left another message. A few minutes later another called.

  Well, this wasn’t going to be fun.

  She stretched out on the sofa and closed her eyes. For a split second she saw Goranson’s convulsed body as the flames from Christa’s dress spread over him.

  From far away, inside her mind, bells whispered, He is the past. She is the future, all your futures.

  There was a knock at the door and Dina rose to peer through the security glass. A flash of red hair, a smile like moonrise—she pulled the door open.

  The future spread out in front of her like an unpainted canvas. She became the canvas and a vibrant, laughing Christa dipped her hands into Green.

  Epilogue

  “Take a deep breath,” Julia’s photographer advised her.

  “Shut up, Mickey,” she snapped.

  “Blow me, Julia.”

  She pushed open the building doors. After they gave their names to the receptionist, they had a few minutes to look around.

  “Get some shots of the tree,” Julia said.

  Mickey was already setting up. “I know my freakin’ job.”

  “I can do without the freakin’ attitude.” Photographers.

  “Bite me.” His camera whirred. Julia knew from experience Mickey wouldn’t hear another word she said.

  The tree was beautiful. She walked to the railing that circled it and looked down. When she’d read up for the interview, she’d learned that tons and tons of earth had been brought in to fill in at least one lower floor to give the gigantic oak sufficient room to grow. And grow it did. Ten years and it looked almost mature.

  She had the weirdest urge to climb it.

  She chided herself for the foolish impulse. This was the big time and in just a few minutes she would be interviewing two very influential women. Influential? Hell—rich, beautiful, famous and best of all, lesbian. No time for games.

  She had lain awake most of the night mentally schooling herself to remain calm. This interview was her big break and was going to be a tremendous challenge.

  The elevator doors opened behind her. She turned, hoping it would be an escort to the interview. Her composure was disrupted right away by the approach of Liza Brightly. God, the woman aged as beautifully as Katherine Hepburn. Julia felt like a gauche school girl by comparison. Liza still modeled
, but her real contribution to the company was in management. Julia’d been warned that she managed people, particularly reporters, very well.

  “It’s a pleasure,” Liza said. It sounded like an invitation to entirely inappropriate behavior. Wow.

  Her handshake made Julia feel just a bit wobbly in the knees. Mickey took a picture of Liza in the elevator, and more as she led Julia through a maze of cubicles and hallways. As they approached the president’s office, Julia was aware of how the light increased. The entire building was like that—light everywhere from skylights and picture windows. It was as if someone couldn’t stand even a hint of shadow in spite of being right in the middle of one of the most densely populated places on the planet. And here, in front of the holy of holies, the office of Christabel herself, another skylight let in direct sunshine.

  It made Julia want to go to the beach.

  She pushed the irrelevant thought from her mind, only to moments later be completely discomfited by Liza Brightly’s nearness as she turned back after knocking lightly on the door.

  “When you’re done I’d love to talk to you about your impressions,” she breathed. “Maybe we could go for a drink?”

  Wow. All Julia could think was wow. She nodded, praying Liza didn’t notice she was goose pimples all over. Wow.

  The door opened and a young woman peered out. There was a burst of music, which Julia recognized from a recent Christabel ad campaign. A man’s voice pronounced, “It sucks! It just sucks!”

  The young woman nodded to Liza, then gestured to Julia and Mickey to follow her into the room.

  There was a babble of voices, and then, as if a bell had rung, they fell silent. Julia paused in the doorway and let Christabel’s contralto voice wash over her.

  “No one is happy with the way this campaign is going, including me. The ship has sunk, so let’s move on. Henry, you’re absolutely right, it just sucks. Which means you bring the Thai food for tonight’s creative session.”