Love's Rendition
Part 20
by Tragedy88
E-Mail: Tragedy88@goplay.com
Disclaimers: See
Part 1.
I
couldn’t remember ever having had a better time. The fire had glowed and crackled- a hazy red that highlighted
Allison’s hair- as we’d sipped our
cocoa and lounged on the couch.
Eventually we’d finished our drinks and I’d sprawled out on the carpet
in front of the fire.
Allison had tossed some pillows down
and joined me. We’d talked about this
and that, and nothing in between. She
had a new show coming up, I had just finished another painting.
For the first time in my life I fell
asleep next to someone, not worrying if they’d steal my shoes or cut my throat
during the night.
I’d awoken briefly as Allison
carried me to my room and deposited me on the bed. I’d mumbled something, and she’d ‘shh’ed me and told me to go
back to sleep, tucking me in with a gentle kiss on my forehead.
But I had no way of knowing that
once Allison left she’d gone to her own room and stayed awake for hours.
•••
The
next morning I asked Allison if I could borrow the limo. She’d raised an eyebrow, but nodded without
question.
I had forty bucks left so I asked Ed
to drive me to the grocery store first.
I came out with two bags of stuff, handed one to Ed, then asked if he’d
drop me off a block from my old apartment.
The other bag rested lightly in my
arms as I walked around the alley and came up by the fire escape. A wicked smile crossed my lips as I ascended
the walk to the loft window. I flipped
the broken latch and crawled across the sill, dropping softly onto the bare,
hardwood floor.
No one was in the loft, or appeared
to be anywhere else in the apartment, as I made my way quietly from room to
room.
Doug’s was first. Blue dye in his Head and Shoulders, and
Frosted Flakes in the bed. Angela and
Julie’s beds both got rice, and so did their toilet and tub. With any luck they’d think it was
maggots. Torch, last but not least, got
his green hair dye traded with guacamole.
I turned his stereo up to the last notch and walked into the kitchen.
I went directly to the circuit
breaker behind the door and cut the power.
Oh I had such a cruel little bone in my body. My mission complete I returned to the fire escape. I felt a little guilty, but it was all
harmless. So they’d have to buy
groceries, maybe get a splitting headache from the stereo…all in all it was
enough revenge for me to forgive and forget.
Ed met me with a wide smile. “Mission accomplished, Grace?”
“Yup, on to step two.” Step two was the York bridge. Ed glanced at me curiously. “It’s all right,” I told him as I exited the
limousine. “I’m just going to give this
to an old friend.”
He looked at the other bag, the one
filled with actual food, and nodded.
“I’ll be right here when you’re finished. Unless you’d like me to go with you?”
“No thanks, Ed. I’ll be fine.” Slowly I wandered beneath the bridge, shivering as the wind
screamed through the old supports, like Banshees on the moor. The shadows were freezing and almost
everyone was converging around blazing barrels. The professor wasn’t in his usual spot and I glanced around curiously. It took me a moment to realize all his stuff
was gone, and new pieces of board and blankets held up the walls of his
dilapitated ‘home.’
Any icy shiver seized my body. “Professor?” I called. A dirty, dishwater colored blond head
appeared from the jumble of blankets.
“Get out of here, this space is
mine!”
I just looked at him. “Where’s the Professor?”
“Dead. Now get out of here.”
I stumbled backwards, dropping my
bag of food. “No. Can’t be.
I saw him just the other day….”
“It’s true, now go away,” the man
mumbled as he ducked back inside.
In a daze I went from barrel to barrel,
but everyone said the same thing.
Dead. Frozen solid. Heart attack. There were no usea for platitudes and niceties on the street.
As I stumbled to the limo Ed raced
towards me, cursing under his breath that he never should have let me go
there. “Are you hurt?” he asked, and
grabbed my shoulders.
“No. I’m not hurt.” I shrugged
away from his hands and leaned against the cold, black side of the limo, closing
my eyes. A low moan started deep in my
throat. Ed gently touched my shoulder.
“Are you sure?”
“Sure. Sure. Just take me ho-
back to Allison’s, please.” He helped
me into the limo, where I rested my head against the passenger side window and
closed my eyes again.
Nooo….
•••
“She’s
in her room, Miss,” Vella said quietly from the entryway hall, as if afraid
that she’d wake Grace. “Ed bring her to
a bridge-“
“Bridge?” Allison’s voice rose as she tried to get around the maid.
“Wait!” Vella grabbed her employer’s arm, a mistake that could cost her
her job, and halted Allison in her tracks.
The icy glare that came her way took her voice for a split second before
she spoke forcefully. “She very
upset. You go- go- rushing in there,
you scare the girl.”
Slowly Allison nodded. “What should I do?” she asked softly.
“Let Grace rest. She cry herself out, be very tired. You wait.”
She looked at the maid for a long
moment, her heart aching to go to the young woman, find out what happened and
make it all better. “I’ll let her
rest,” she assured Vella as she handed her coat and suitcase to the young maid
and headed to her own room to change.
She showered, dressed in comfortably worn
jeans and a dark blue, long sleeved Polo shirt with a little horse embroidered
on the breast pocket. That was as long
as she could wait before she found herself standing silently in the doorway to
Grace’s room.
The artist was sprawled across the bed, covers just barely over her
legs. Her hair was rumpled, her blue
sweater- Allison’s blue sweater- exposing a pale expanse of stomach. She moved and let out a small groan.
“Hey,” she said, sleepily.
“Hey,” Allison replied, crossing the room. “Mind if I sit down?”
Grace moved over slightly and patted a spot on the bed beside her. “Are you all right?”
“I guess.”
“Wanna tell me why you were at the
bridge?” Allison asked as she absently
plucked at the comforter.
•••
I
looked at Allison in the dim light of the bedroom and felt my heart clenching
all over again. “The Professor’s dead,”
I said bluntly.
She raised a puzzled eyebrow. “The Professor and Mary Ann?”
Despite the circumstances I felt a
small smile tugging at my lips. “No, an
old friend. He…helped me out when
I…. Well, when I was at one of the
lowest points in my life.”
The
worst thunderstorm of the season seemed to be focused on the city, or more
specifically, on the small, dirty alley I’d run to for cover. Rain plastered newspapers and litter against
the walls, and soaked me to the bone. I
was cold, tired, hungry and dirty.
A
rat scurried by my feet, making me jump.
A sinister shadow loomed by the dumpster. I raced headlong onto the sidewalk, and towards the cover of the
York bridge.
People roamed from barrel to barrel, exchanging
conversation and warmth. A horde of
nameless, faceless people in a world of shadows.
I found a crumbling bridge pillar to shield me against
the worst of the storm, and my fears, and sank down to the damp concrete.
A shadow passed by me, stopped and turned. I felt my heart leap into my throat, as a
deep, gravely voice asked my name.
Hesitantly I looked up into dull gray eyes.
“Grace,” I whispered.
He knelt down in front of me. I backed up against the pillar.
“No fear, my girl.” He smiled
kindly. “You’re new to York.”
I nodded at his ‘almost’ question.
“Since then I’d always had someone
to turn to,” I whispered shakily and wound my arms around myself in the vain
attempt to ward off the chill that had entered my body. “Whenever I needed something - just an ear
to talk to- he was there. Until today.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s- I tried to help him. I went back for him, Alli.” I looked helplessly at her. Her pale eyes were dark and shimmering. She reached forward and tenderly touched my
cheek. “He wouldn’t go…. And now he’s
dead.”
“It’s not your fault,” Allison tried to reassure me.
“I-I know that. But it still hurts. Here.”
Distressed I tapped my chest, just above my heart. Her warm hand suddenly covered mine and
pulled it gently to her lips. She
kissed my knuckles and laid my palm against her cheek.
I forgot to breath as my heart
pounded a staccato rhythm against my ribcage.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, then
kissed my palm, and then my wrist. I
opened my mouth in silent protest.
Allison’s free hand touched my lips.
“Don’t say anything. Just close
your eyes and rest now.”
She kissed my palm again. I felt her warm breath caressing my skin and
a tingle travel the length of my arm.
“Close your eyes. Good.
Now,” her voice lowered.
“Imagine your favorite painting.
What does it look like?”
“The one with the mountain. The snow swirling down…like a perfect
Christmas,” I replied sleepily. Her
lips twitched upward into a smile against my hand.
•••
Allison
watched Grace slip into sleep with the image of a snowy mountainside, and held
onto her hand a lot longer then necessary.
Gently she traced her fingers, to the tip and back to the knuckle, then
slowly down her arm, eliciting a trail of goosebumps and a soft moan.
She stopped abruptly, laid Grace’s
hand on the bed and slowly backed to the door after pulling the covers up over
the sleeping artist.
Quietly she made her way down the
long hall to her office and sat behind the desk after pouring herself a shot of
whiskey.
Her kisses wouldn’t have stopped at
Grace’s wrist if not for the haunted looked on her friend’s face. She’d wanted to hold Grace, comfort her,
love her, and take away the hurt. But
Grace had been hurt so many times in her life that Allison refused to do it to
her again.
So she sat, for a long time, looking
out over the darkened gardens, holding a tiny cottonball Santa in her hand.
•••
(c) 2000, Tragedy88