Queer Patterns

by Lilyan Brock

Behind a massive glass-topped desk sat a woman whose deep gray eyes at the moment were upon her. “Nicoli, I’m Sheila Case.”

  The woman’s low, vibrant voice when she spoke fascinated Sheila. “Come in, Miss Case—I’ve been expecting you.”

  Nicoli motioned her to a chair before her desk. Sheila seated, she continued:

  “I believe it was about the part in The Woman Alone that you wanted to see me, was it not?”

  Sheila’s eyes met those of the woman before her. “Yes, it was. Your secretary said you hadn’t signed anyone yet. I was hoping you would give me a chance to read it for you.”

  Sheila trembled under the direct scrutiny of Nicoli’s intent gaze. Why did she feel so shy? Why did her heart pound so? Why couldn’t she say all of the things she had planned to say?

  “I am already familiar with your work, Miss Case, and from what I’ve seen of it, you shouldn’t have any great difficulty with the part. Then too, you’re the type I had in mind.”

  “I’m so glad!” Sheila exclaimed happily. “You see, I’ve always wanted to do something heavier than musical shows— and I’ve always hoped that some day I could work under a really great director, the kind that would make a girl do things she didn’t know she was capable of doing—the kind… you are.”

  Sheila’s eyes spoke of the wealth of admiration she had for this woman whose genius had placed her in the enviable position she occupied. They took in the details of Nicoli’s appearance: strong yet beautifully cut features; well shaped head and short dark hair with its sprinkling of silver; then her gray eyes and their depth. What was behind them? Sheila was surprised to find herself wondering and really wanting to know.

  Her speculations were brought up short by Nicoli’s question: “You’re married, Miss Case, are you not?”

  Sheila nodded an affirmative. Nicoli went on.

  “I merely spoke of it because my cast is filled with the exception of the lead—I couldn’t use a team.”

  Sheila replied quickly, “We’ve agreed to work singly this season if you should decide on me for the part.”

  “That’s splendid,” Nicoli announced abruptly, “because I have decided—I do want you. Now then, let’s get together on salary.”

  After a short discussion, Sheila prepared to leave. It had been agreed that she was to come the following day to sign her contract.

  Reluctantly she bade Nicoli goodbye. The desire to remain and engage her in conversation filled her brain. What was it that made her feel as if she had known Nicoli always? Why in such a brief period did she feel so close to her? What was it in her voice that made her heart leap when she spoke?

  During the short walk to the hotel thoughts of Nicoli persisted—disturbing thoughts.

  Over and over she felt the urge to go back and talk to her again, about what?… it didn’t seem to matter.

  *

  Philip noted the time on his wrist, then resumed his reading. Sheila would be along shortly, no doubt. Perhaps the steps in the hall now were hers. The door opened and Sheila entered, her face flushed with the exciting news she brought.

  “Phil, I have it! The part, I mean. Nicoli said I am just the type—I’m signing the contract tomorrow!”

  “Darling!” Philip grasped Sheila’s hands. “I knew you would! Come here—sit down and tell me what happened.”

  Sheila tossed her small hat on a table and curled herself up on the sofa. Philip joined her.

  “Well, first of all—I was simply panic-stricken when I walked into her office. You know, Phil, I wanted the part so badly and there are so many leading women in New York that she might know better.”

  “That’s true,” Philip agreed; “but they aren’t my Sheila. I know what you can do.”

  As he spoke he studied the bright face before him. Yes, his first impression had been correct: there was a new radiance in her eyes. She was scintillating—brilliant—alive.

  “When do you start rehearsals?” he queried.

  “Day after tomorrow, Nicoli said. The rest of the cast has already been selected.”

  “Good! Now tell me, how did you like Nicoli?”

  “Phil, beyond a doubt she’s the most vital person I’ve ever met.” Sheila laughed nervously. “She made me feel like a child—ready and willing to do her bidding. I’m certain I’ll do my best work under her direction. I can’t help doing it— she’s so dynamic.”

  “I’m so glad you liked her, dear; it will make such a difference. Then too, she is a clever director and her shows are always successes.”

  Sheila’s thoughts went back to Nicoli’s eyes—her voice—the depth she had felt in her—the strange tug at her own senses.

  “They would have to be good,” she told Philip. “They couldn’t be otherwise, coming from her. I’ve never encountered such depth in anyone; she must have a fathomless soul hidden beneath her veneer of abruptness. Personally, I don’t see how anything could fail with her mind for its origin.”

  Throughout Sheila’s long recital, Philip looked steadily at the enthusiastic woman before him. At last something had raised her out of her listlessness and given her a real interest. It was good to see her so alive after the weeks past when he had tried vainly to solve the enigma of her melancholy moods.

  *

  Work on the play commenced. Sheila’s eyes flashed with enthusiasm as she worked untiringly at the theater, and spent hours at the hotel going over the scenes and studying. Philip sensed a change in her, the presence of something intangible that he was at a complete loss to explain, though he racked his worried brain for the solution. At night when he held her in his arms telling her over and over of his love and passionate longing for her, he seemed ever aware of a tautness in her warm body as it lay close to his own. It was maddening to accept her surrender when always he sensed that he possessed only a part of the emotion she was capable of displaying. What could awaken this wealth of hidden passion? What manner of love did her soul cry for?

  As days sped by, Philip was more and more in darkness. Sheila was plainly beginning to strain against the vows which held her to him. Each day lengthened the distance between them, which he began to fear he could never span. They had changed their suite so that Sheila might be alone in the privacy of her own room to better concentrate on the part which seemed to be her whole existence.

  After several weeks of this enforced separation, Philip took her into his arms and implored her to remain with him that night. But in the ebony blackness of the room he knew that the woman he held in his arms was only a part of the lovely wife he so adored. The tenseness that so often before he had sensed was still there, but a new element was manifesting itself. Sheila seemed to be actively repelling his caresses, endeavoring to keep him from possessing even a part of her. Truly this was a new Sheila… a Sheila he was at a complete loss to understand.

  Finally he held Sheila in his arms with her head pillowed on his shoulder while she slept, unaware that his tortured mind kept him awake until the first gray streaks of dawn were visible through the heavy curtains as they hung slightly parted. His brain still groped helplessly about, trying to find the reason for Sheila’s indifference. Why did he feel the presence of something he could not name? What was the power at work?

  The answer came quickly. After several attempts to regain the woman he had known, his harassed mind had failed to find a solution to his problem, and he had simply pleaded with her to give herself to him. It was on this night that Sheila told him that never again could she submit to his desires.

  She had said simply and in almost a childlike manner, “Philip, I’m sorry, genuinely sorry to hurt you—but our lives together must come to an end—we can’t go on—my life and my love belong to”—she had hesitated over the name—“Nicoli. In her I have found what I know now I have been looking for, without realizing what it was that I really wanted.”

  Philip had his answer—an answer of which he would never have dreamed. But suddenly with searing clarity he saw that Sheila was one of the twisted threads
of life which had finally found another like unto itself, and that together the two would form their part of the design of Life.

  Philip Rowan went away, leaving Sheila to her love and life—a life that was to be tossed about in a seething sea of emotion until finally he should learn of her death, and later hear the last words committing her to eternal peace.

  All that he had loved lay in that chapel beyond the reach of human thoughts. The body whose nearness had meant everything to him was destined shortly to become a mere bit of ashes. Ashes—not unlike those into which his dreams and hopes had burned years before. Ashes—cold, gray, dusty ashes —giving no hint of the beauty that once was theirs.

  PART TWO

  Nicoli

  Nicoli raised tear dimmed eyes—eyes that spoke of sorrow deep as the sea, as they gazed hopelessly on the form of the woman lying so quiescent in death.

  Her mind sped back to the day when she first met Sheila Case and started to walk with her along the path that was to extend for nine years—a road traveled daily by the few chosen by God to wander forever. Nomadic souls, finding no rest, but ever pressing forward, searching for that understanding which the world can never give them.

  *

  Nicoli sat writing at her desk in the perfectly appointed room that was her private office. She was deeply engrossed in plans for her latest play, The Woman Alone. For days she had been busy interviewing performers, hiring and rejecting until at last her cast was complete with the exception of a leading woman. Somehow she had not been able thus far to find the exact type she had in mind, despite the number whom the agents had sent to her and the many who had come independent of representatives.

  The phone on her desk tingled. Her hand reached out and grasped it. “All right,” her voice sounded low and crisp to the girl on the other end.

  “Miss Case is here to see you,” she told Nicoli.

  “I’ll see her at once,” Nicoli informed her. “Send her in.”

  She replaced the phone and sat waiting. Sheila Case, she mused. She recalled the young actress clearly; she had noted her work carefully at the time and decided that the girl’s talents were wasted in the light, frivolous shows in which she had appeared. There had been an indefinable something that had kept the memory of her alive. Yes, Nicoli decided, she did have a definite appeal—something that would find its rightful place in drama.

  The door opened, causing her to lift her eyes to see framed in the doorway the actress she had almost made up her mind was the one she needed and wanted. A gloriously rich voice came to her ears. How well she recalled the haunting tones of that voice.

  “Nicoli… I’m Sheila Case.”

  Nicoli forced herself to speak—to break the train of thought that had suddenly risen from out of the past.

  “Oh, yes, Miss Case. Come in. I’ve been expecting you.” She motioned Sheila to her side.

  With characteristic grace Sheila dropped into the chair, sighing softly. Nicoli studied her keenly as they talked: about the new play—Sheila’s ambitions and her desire to work with a truly great director—her desire to work for her.

  Nicoli’s mind told her that here was no ordinary woman, but one born to sway people’s hearts as she swayed their emotions in the theater. The magnetism of this lovely being gripped Nicoli, making her remember the years she had fought to keep in check the side of her nature that she was determined to control—to sublimate—forcing herself to lead a loveless existence that she might adhere to a principle. She would need that principle now as never before, because she knew that in Sheila was a woman whose lightest touch could forever destroy her staunchest resolutions.

  Her eyes watched Sheila’s hands as she held them on the glistening top of the desk—long, slim, tapering fingers that held her eyes, refusing to release them—refusing to allow her brain to function with any degree of sanity—causing her in imagination to see them clasped tightly about her neck or wandering lightly through her hair…

  Nicoli attempted to force her thoughts into a sane channel. Somehow she must conquer the almost irresistible desire to feel the caressing touch of those lovely hands. She must keep her own restless ones from reaching out to touch them. She must mask the turmoil in her soul with a veil of abruptness— Sheila must not be allowed to guess her feelings. Again her eyes were drawn to the alluring figure of Sheila.

  Her throat seemed dry—parched. Why… why couldn’t she tear from her mind the urge to break her self-imposed bonds? Why couldn’t she force out of her mind the desire to fold Sheila’s young body close to her own? It was utter madness to torture herself so. Somewhere in her chaotic mind she must find the strength she so sorely needed.

  Perhaps it would be best, she told herself, not to assign the role to her. How could she hope to stand the weeks of anguish which close proximity to Sheila would cause her?

  Yet how to let her go, wanting her so… no, she couldn’t do that. She must not lose her, no matter what the price.

  Sheila’s lovely face brightened when Nicoli gave her decision. There followed a discussion of the terms of the contract. Quickly they reached an agreement and Nicoli, once more her business-like self, said:

  “If you’ll drop in tomorrow afternoon, my secretary will have the contracts ready for your signature.”

  For a long time after Sheila departed Nicoli sat thinking. What would be the outcome of their close association in the theater? She recalled anew her first impression of Sheila more than a year ago when she had witnessed a performance she had given. Even then the memory of her face and appealing voice had lingered for days. With difficulty she had finally dismissed it from her mind. What would happen now when suddenly she seemed to have lost the desire to forget?

  *

  Weeks of work on the new play followed. For the first time, Nicoli was working with a divided mind; working in daily contact with the woman who was slowly consuming her every thought, becoming more and more of her being… days when in the theater she encountered more and more difficulty in controlling her once amenable mind… forcing herself to work, yet ever conscious of her growing love for Sheila… telling herself that it could not be, that Sheila belonged to Philip Rowan, and even were that not true, she probably would not understand Nicoli’s feelings toward her… warning herself that she must forever force the strange longings out of her heart and out of her life… telling herself that she must forget Sheila Case except as a puppet to be moved about the stage under her direction… that for her she must never be anything else but clay to be molded by her skillful hands into the character she wished portrayed. Sheila must cease to be a woman, a warm, breathing, lovely woman whom she, Nicoli, had grown to want so madly. Never again must she allow the promise of her lips to fan the flames of desire within her, driving out all reason.

  Then there were nights when Nicoli would drive for miles alone, her short hair blowing in the night wind as she drove aimlessly on—or, stopping along the road, she looked heavenward and asked God why in His otherwise perfect universe He had created women such as herself, with the impulses and desires of men and the bodies of women. Certainly this was one of Fate’s crudest jokes: to love so completely that which the world denied her. Why should it be irreconcilably wrong for her to adore Sheila? Surely no man living could love her more tenderly or hold her more sacred.

  Unceasingly Nicoli fought this battle—until the day came when in directing she found it necessary to demonstrate a piece of technique to the actor playing opposite Sheila. She walked over to Sheila, and, trying desperately to master her emotions, held out her arms, folded her close, and kissed her. For a moment her senses reeled as she felt the warmth of Sheila’s mouth and the unbelievable trembling of her body. Was her mind indeed running rampant, or had Sheila’s kiss been a response to the wild longings within herself?

  Somehow Nicoli finished the rehearsal and dismissed the cast. She then gathered her manuscript and notes together and walked over to where Sheila stood putting last minute touches to her make-up before leaving the thea
ter.

  “Tired, Sheila?” she asked in a voice that seemed oddly unlike her own.

  “A little, Nicoli; but I think I’ll get over it as soon as I get out in the air.”

  “You’ve a right to be fatigued. We worked an unusually long time today. I thought I never would make Mr. Sands understand what I wanted in that scene with you in the second act.”

  At the mention of the scene wherein Nicoli had taken her in her arms and kissed her, Sheila’s cheeks flushed. Had Nicoli noticed the trembling of her body, of her lips against her own? Had she guessed the presence of the unusual feeling that had swept her soul? Had she guessed that in that moment in her arms she had seen revealed to her wondering brain the reason for her strange longings? Had Nicoli tried to tell her in that kiss what she felt for her in her own heart?

  Sheila made an effort to answer calmly. “I think he understands the piece of business now, Nicoli. Tell me, aside from that, how did you like the way rehearsal went?”

  “Splendid—the whole thing is shaping up nicely,” Nicoli told her. “I see no reason why we can’t open on the date I set originally.”

  Her cosmetics replaced in her bag, Sheila prepared to leave.

  “I’ll see you at ten in the morning, Nicoli. You said ten, did you not?”

  “Yes. I thought we’d start an hour earlier, so I wouldn’t keep the cast so late again.”

  Nicoli hesitated. Should she ask Sheila the question that persisted in presenting itself? Yes, she would, she decided— she must.

  “By the way, Sheila—I intended to drive out a way to a place I know for dinner. I’d love to have you go with me—unless of course you have to get back to the hotel.”

  Sheila spoke up quickly. “Not at all. I haven’t a thing planned and I’d like very much to go.”

  A voice within Nicoli warned her. She thrust the warning aside.

  “That’s fine; then we’ll walk over and get my car. I always store it near the theater—only a block or so. Shall we go?”

  *

  Life teeming with pleasures, sorrows, and mistakes lay all about them as they drove away in the gathering dusk. Lights were beginning to flash on over the city. One by one they came on, changing from drab pieces of glass to scintillating forms that seemed almost alive—like souls being awakened into the glorious realization of living. The last bit of daylight gave way to their glow and the city lay behind them bathed in light, flooded with the warmth and brilliance of thousands of gleaming globes.