“True,” he said, standing and helping her up. “Maybe it is the key. The key to the dream. A doorway to this place for us together.” He pulled her close and helpfully stretched Kate’s arms around his waist and so she hugged him. Heaven forbid that she ever protest his embrace. She hadn’t. Wouldn’t. Not ever, she didn’t think.
His back was in the sun and his skin burned beneath her fingers. His chest smelled like sunlight and chlorine. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to just be, to not think of the next moment or the one after that, or the second when she would wake up and remember that it was all just a dream. This was something, this whole thing. It was more than just Kate and a figment of her mind. She knew that, somehow. He was a part of her, now, but not a construct of her subconscious. He was a part of her the way her childhood was and all the places she’d been during those years—a place that existed both inside and outside her. Like a swing-set that lived in her memory but that had also been a very real place that she formed herself around as a little girl—touching it, climbing it, seeing the world and the light change as she swung to and fro. Will was like that, only he lived and breathed, somehow, both within and without her.
“I think you’re onto something, Kate. The key. Yes. I don’t remember how long we’ve been meeting in the dream, the memories become fuzzy. But I do remember that before I started being more conscious of what was happening, I would wake up into the dream in your arms.”
“So, do you think you became aware before I did?” she asked, taking a step away to look into his face.
“I think so, yes,” he said. He bit his bottom lip in consternation and his eyes became distant as though he were digging through his memories. “Because I remember dreams where you didn’t remember me, but I remembered you.”
“I remember that, too, or at least, I recall waking in the dream and then recalling who you are after a while,” she said, crossing her arms. She felt cold, and so she imagined herself into a clean, dry outfit—gray denim shorts, red slip on shoes, and a black T-shirt.
“Ooh, black. Edgy,” Will said, his smile flaring up like the rays of the sun. His eyes crinkled and the light reflecting off the pool water danced in them.
Kate blushed. “This is how I dress in real life.”
“It’s nice,” he said, studying her. “I have an idea. Dress me how a modern guy dresses. Like your friends. How do they dress? Or how would you want me to dress?” He held his arms out to his side and looked down at his half-naked body. “Remember the underwear. I always like to be modest.” He said with a wink.
“Are you serious?” She couldn’t believe what he was offering. Was this a dream, after all? She chuckled. It was every girl’s dream, or at least Kate’s, to have her very own Ken doll. Well, not entirely. She didn’t want a puppet. But she did have fantasies of being able to have her own J Crew model or GQ guy at her disposal. When she imagined her nebulous, hopefully married, future, she was with a well-dressed, sexy guy in a cabin, sitting in front of a fire, dressed in sexy pajamas, sipping coffee and talking. The world was perfect there, though why they were always in pajamas, she didn’t know. Perhaps because there was something just kind of intimate about that kind of clothing.
“Yes, yeah, I am,” he said, spreading his legs and lifting his arms so he looked like the guy in the Da Vinci drawing, the naked man in the circle, except Will wasn’t quite nude. And he was sexier than that scraggly-haired creature, too. “Come on, Kate. Do me up. Make me over. I have no idea what route the world has taken since I died—er, uh, moved on, I mean.” His eyes flashed in her direction and he grinned, teasingly.
“OK. Fine. I’ll dress you, Mr. Eager-Beaver.”
“Hurry up. My arms are getting tired.”
“Weakling.”
“Don’t start with me, Kate. You know I’m the perfect male specimen.”
“For me, you are, anyway,” she muttered, taking a deep breath, staring at his body. It was so—so—Will. So him. Like the Coldplay song. She suddenly realized she wouldn’t care if he was obese and buried beneath layers of blubber, or if he was old and decrepit. He’d still be Will. His skin and bones had turned into something beautiful. So beautiful. So very Will. What she loved was beyond the flesh. Or the appearance of flesh, since they were just in a dream.
“Come on, look, my strength fails me,” he joked, letting his arms begin to sag.
“Right, right, here goes.” She discarded thoughts of playing a prank on him and conjured up a pair of black skater shorts, a plain white T-shirt that was kind of tight, and leather flip-flops. He looked good and could rival even Ty for how hot he looked in the outfit.
He inspected the shorts with his hands, patting them on the thighs and turning. “Sandals?”
“You don’t like it?” Kate asked, worried.
“And this is how men dress now?”
“Not all men. There are too many styles going on to keep track of. This is how the guys I like dress.”
“‘Guys you like’? You like more guys than me?” his eyes narrowed as though this was the first time he’d considered that Kate might have a life outside the time she spent with him in the dream. He avoided her gaze, still inspecting his new, strange outfit.
She froze. “Uh, no. Not really. What I mean is, the guys who catch my eye. I like this style. It’s casual, but not grungy.”
“Grungy? I’m sorry Kate, some of these words you use, I’m just not familiar with the way you use them. Grungy. Like dirty?”
“Exactly.”
“These sandals are a bit, I don’t know, effeminate.”
She burst out laughing. “If you think that, you should see the metrosexuals!”
“Metro-what?”
“Never mind. It would take forever to explain.” She sighed and waved a hand dismissively.
“You can tell me over dinner. In Paris.” He came to her side and took her hand. “We might want to dress up when we get there. This is sort of casual for what I had in mind.”
“That should be easy enough,” she felt a surge of giddiness and put a hand over her mouth. “Paris? I’ve always wanted to go there.”
“And you will. At least, a dream version of Paris. La ville de l’amour!”
***
Dusk descended as they walked up a narrow avenue and arrived in a square near the Seine. As they stood at the edge of the river, the city lights blinked on. The Eiffel Tower stood like a golden exclamation point, illuminated against the dark blue of the evening sky. She never imagined it would be so big in real life. It was amazing. She exhaled softly, content, feeling like this life with Will was heaven.
“What do you think?” he asked, quietly.
She took a deep breath, suddenly overcome with a strange shyness. Why? she wondered. Was it because he was doing all this to impress her. She crossed her arms over her chest self-consciously. “It’s beautiful,” she said.
“Isn’t it?” he squeezed her hand. “Kate, let’s go over here. There’s a restaurant I want you to try.” He stopped before they’d gone two steps. “Wait. I almost forgot. Do you have a dress you could wear? Something high end? Like maybe something Audrey Hepburn wore in one of her movies? It’s not necessary, because, well, this is a dream. It might be fun, though.”
She laughed at the idea of trying to be like Audrey Hepburn. “No problem. I mean, me, Hepburn. We’re like sisters. No big deal. Right?”
“Kate, come on. You’re as pretty as Hepburn,” he said, putting a hand in his pocket and cocking his head to one side. “I knew her. You have as much class as she did.”
“Thanks,” she said, wanting to avoid further discussion on the subject. What did he know of her? He knew this dream facade she put on. But who was she, really? Was the dream-Kate more authentic than waking-Kate?
To humor him, she focused her mind on a black narrow strapped dress that reached her knees. Something she thought she remembered from Breakfast at Tiffany’s or maybe it was in Charade or How to Steal a Million.
Will let o
ut a low whistle. “See? Wow. That’s the ticket. Now, for me. A dress like that needs its counterpart. OK then, hang on.” Beneath the soft glow of a street lamp, she watched his gaze focus on an empty park bench as his mind turned inward in concentration. A half second later and he was wearing a sharp, black tuxedo, with a matching bow tie and a white dress shirt—the kind of thing James Bond would wear. He glanced down at the suit and brushed some unseen lint or dust off his arms, adjusted his bow tie and then smiled at her. He was immaculate in a tux. Kate wanted to tear it off him in some fashion or another, rather than go sit in a restaurant around a bunch of strangers—even a dream room of strangers—but . . . well . . . that was just being animalistic and unappreciative of the finer things in life, wasn’t it?
They passed other couples walking arm-in-arm along the Seine. Laughter drifted up from a dinner cruise ship floating by.
The problem, Kate thought to herself while they strolled across the lit up avenue as night deepened, is that I don’t have normal access to these “finer things” in life. When she woke up, she’d be more depressed and bereft than ever. She’d be alone, having tasted not just of Will, but also of the elegance of upper class life. Her own would feel so empty.
Soon they were seated in an opulent restaurant where only a few others dined in silence at exquisite, white tables beneath a crystal chandelier. Everything was white or cream and delicate and Kate’s seat was a comfortable armchair rather than a hard straight-backed number. Self-consciousness plagued her like a cloud of gnats and she kept clearing her throat and adjusting her place-setting as though there was something wrong with it.
Their server brought dinner without having them order, which she assumed was some part of the script Will devised for the date, rather than how things were always done in upscale restaurants. But maybe it was how it was done. She wouldn’t know.
The food was amazing, but somehow she felt silly eating it. She was a giant red splotch on a white canvas—she didn’t fit in and the certainty that others noticed pervaded her thoughts. Kate fumbled with her glass of champagne as her sweaty fingers slipped on the stem and the liquid sloshed over the edge and landed on her plate. At least it didn’t stain the tablecloth.
She was used to fast food and diner food, not stuff that needed a special wine or champagne to go with it, or where she needed to dip her fingers in a little bowl of hot water to clean them before she partook of dishes with her fingers. The plates that were brought to her made her nervous—shards of colored sugar stuck out at odd angles from a plate of food that she didn’t dare to touch, let alone eat. It was too beautiful.
At last Will noticed her discomfort and stopped eating. “What’s wrong?” He cocked his head to one side. The question was sympathetic, not aggressive.
“Nothing,” she said, smiling, opening her eyes wide, and shaking her head. “It’s amazing. The food is—it’s indescribable.”
“Good,” he said, the corners of his lips turning up. But he kept watching her, the concerned expression in his blue eyes never vanishing.
She tried to blend in, to fit with her surroundings, to sink into her seat and mold into the environment like a real high class woman would do. They had several pre-main courses, whatever they’d be called in such a posh place.
Soon Kate began to feel sick inside like she was faking something. Being rich. Being elite, or something. Oh, she knew how to be snobbish about her musical taste, but not about her station in life. She got the American class system all too well and she was not in the upper echelons of it. That was the view from below—you saw the pyramid crushing you and knew it. The question she always wondered was, did those at the top know it?
She tried to keep Will engaged in conversation, but their surroundings just didn’t invite it. What little conversation they managed seemed stilted, flat, and withered.
But it was Will’s date. Not Kate’s. And he was trying to be sweet, so she resolved to power through it. She had just begun to think about how Audra would handle the date (perfectly, like a natural), when Will wiped his hands and mouth on his immaculate cloth napkin, dropped it on his plate and stood. He extended his hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
Kate gaped, feeling like a jerk, like a failed actress, a woman who couldn’t even pretend to enjoy the amazing atmosphere. She stared at his hand. His fingers were long and slender, his nails clean and trimmed. Then she saw the smile in his eyes. That open look, devoid of disappointment or judgment, loosened the knot of fear in her gut for having let him down. After all, what was lost? A few moments of dream time, not an entire fortune. Right?
She took his hand and they ran for the door like a couple out of some Taylor Swift music video, not even bothering to put on a sophisticated air. Other couples stopped their soft chatter to stare, dismayed at this offensive display of gaiety.
Outside they stumbled, laughing, onto a small patch of grass across from the restaurant where a man had stopped with his terrier. The stranger eyed them with a dismayed expression as he puffed on a cigarette. He shook his head in a “crazy foreigners” kind of way before strolling away with his small dog.
Will ran his hand through his hair and cleared his throat. “Wow. That was . . . fun. The running away part. Not the stuffy old dinner.” He stopped and waited for Kate to turn to him before he said, “One of the things I learned in acting school that has stuck with me ever since is to know your audience. I failed at that tonight.”
She began to protest, feeling just a tad insulted. He held his hands up and then took her by the arms and squeezed gently.
“Hang on. I didn’t mean it like that, sweet Kate. I meant that I should have known better what kind of environment you’d flourish in. Not some stifling, expensive restaurant. I should have asked what you’d like to do best.”
“Well, maybe. I guess.”
“That’s what a real gentleman would do.” He ran his fingertips across her cheeks and through her hair.
“I wouldn’t know, but I like how you are with me,” she told him.
“Thanks. So, what would you like to do? The night is still young and the city is yours,” he said, gazing into her eyes. This, she thought. Stare into your eyes until I wake up? Or just never wake up?
“Well, I guess when one is in Paris, one goes to the top of the Eiffel tower?” she said, turning to look up at the glowing, airy tower.
“Done. But no cheating. Let’s ride the elevators the way ordinary people do. What do you say?”
“I’m down with that,” she told him.
“‘Down with that’? What sort of expression is ‘down with that’?” he asked with a laugh. They turned and began walking toward the tower. He hung onto her hand as they crossed the pavement and then Kate felt right. Like them—Will and Kate. A power couple. Yin and yang. Waking and sleeping. Night and dark. Living and dead. Two parts comprising a whole.
She leaned into him and he draped his arm across her shoulders. She noticed how she fit right next to him perfectly, her shoulder beneath his arm, snug against his ribs. They were how they should be, having dropped the facade of being something beyond what they were. What that was, Kate couldn’t say, except that she felt it.
She sighed, remembering that she couldn’t use expressions from her normal life. “It’s just something people say, I guess. I don’t even know where it came from, to tell you the truth. If you dissect it, I suppose it sounds really stupid.” They strolled across a bridge where couples kissed in the shadows or nuzzled beneath the yellow halos of streetlights.
“You never sound stupid,” he protested.
“Except the times when I’ve been stupid, to you,” she reminded him. She could hear romantic music floating across the water from somewhere out of sight. The odor of water and baking bread closed in around them for a moment before they reached the other side of the river, and then it faded.
“Well, but who remembers stuff like that? I’m not a grudge-holder,” he said, giving her a reassuring squeeze.
“I h
ighly appreciate that. And for the record, I’m not either. Usually.”
“That sounds perfect for me.” He glanced at her and she winked. A smile burst across his face and the light in his blue eyes from the illuminated tower ahead made her heart stop. She’d never get over that: how a look from someone—the way they caught your gaze, the way their smile turned a key in your chest that opened up doors you hadn’t realized were closed. She was caught by him so thoroughly.
This isn’t real. The words spiraled in her head, neon, like a bad montage from the drunk, despondent part of a romantic drama. She ignored it, that nagging reminder, that sinister whisper. But she knew. It was impossible to escape. In fact, she knew that the illusion that it was real was the more dangerous lie. Who gives a shit? she asked, angry at herself for almost spoiling the moment. Let her live this. Let her have this. For once.
“Oh, hey Kate, remember this?” he asked, producing the dragonfly ring from a pocket.
Kate smiled at the familiar trinket, feeling a tremble in her lips.
“I wanted you to wear it tonight. Would you? Do you mind?” He arched an eyebrow as he asked her. A moment from her waking life thundered through her head and her vision blurred. She stumbled and caught herself.
“Whoa, you OK?” he asked, catching her with his free hand. He stopped and steadied her by the elbows.
“Sorry, yes,” she laughed awkwardly. “I don’t know what happened. I’m fine now.” She couldn’t explain seeing the dragonfly symbol in an episode of his TV show. No way. He’d think she’d gotten all obsessed over him. Obsession was ugly. She had to be cool. She diverted his attention from her stumble by bringing up the dragonfly ring. “Well, you know how I feel about it. It’s clunky and awkward. But for you? I guess I could bring myself to tolerate the enormous thing.”
A Boat Made of Bone (The Chthonic Saga) Page 18
