If It Were Not So - Part 6
By Jo Anzalone and Sharon Ferguson
"Hello, Cort," Bud said, smiling pleasantly.
"I'm Bud." Setting the things he was carrying on one of the chairs,
he stopped in the center of the room, just letting Cort look at him.
And look Cort did. Then he turned, cocking his head,
looking at Rachel. "Who? ...
What?"
Rachel sighed. This would be hard and only Bud knew
just...how...hard. She smiled reassuringly at Cort then said to Bud, "I
trust you. I'll be quiet and let you handle this."
"Thanks, Rachel," Bud grinned, then focused
all his attention on Cort. "Some day, I hope to get smoother at this Cort,
but, well, this has only happened a couple of times, so there's precious little
to base anything on. Especially with you."
He pulled out a chair, turned it backwards, and sat straddling it,
indicating that both Cort and Rachel should find seats, too. When they had,
side by side on the window seat, he rested his elbows on the back of the chair,
folded his hands and leaned his chin atop them.
"I've thought and thought the last three days about the right way
to do this. And I think I know...I hope I know. But I see the first question in
your eyes, my brother, and it is the first that must be answered. "You're
right. I do look like you. In almost
every way I look like you." He chuckled, lifting one hand briefly to run
through his short hair then patted his belly. "With a few notable
exceptions." His eyes were quiet, serious again. "We have the same...source... Cort. When
you can get the concept of that, everything else is is built on it."
Cort was silent, listening intently. He recognized
this man as the source of the voice he'd heard talking with Rachel as he woke
after surgery. Unlike Sid, this man, this...Bud...had been nice to her. Just
the fact of that made him inclined to be patient, to hear him out.
"I understand Rachel has spoken to you
about...movies, right? But that you've never seen one?" Cort nodded. Bud reached for his coat,
pulling a flat, square object out of a breast pocket. He held it up so Rachel
could see.
"Oh...my! What a great idea, Bud!" she
exclaimed.
"I hope so, Rachel. I'm counting on it, in
fact." Again he looked at Cort.
"This is a movie, Cort. Well, the latest home version of one,
anyway, and it's why that strange flat box has appeared under the TV on the
shelf. "Would you watch this with me? After you see this, I think much
will be explained, and then we can talk some more."
He got up, popped the DVD into the player and turned
on the set. Rachel closed the curtains then sat back close beside Cort, pulling
his hand into her lap, weaving her fingers through his. "He's right, Cort.
I think if you see this, it will help you understand."
Cort had seen a little television the last couple of
days. It had been one of the ways Rachel
had been getting him used to what the modern world looked like, sounded like.
He had great reservations about much of what he saw there,
In the darkened room, the screen was suddenly filled with the words, "LA Confidential." Cort saw familiar eyes fill the screen. Bud's eyes. His eyes. He watched, looking from time to time from the TV to Bud and back again. He blinked, startled by the level of pain he saw in the man who had called him 'brother.' Rachel watched his face as he watched the film, wanting to see all the expressions that washed over his features. She thought he might ask Bud to stop so he could seek some explanation here and there, but he didn't. He seemed just to want to see the whole thing. Bud watched him, too, rather pleased, actually, at the level of empathy he observed. After the shoot out at the Victory Motel, Cort looked questioningly at Bud, wondering about the outcome...as did all first-time viewers. Had Officer White been killed as it seemed? Then the relief of the scene in the back seat of the car, mingled with concern over the obviously grievous facial wounds. Even Bud could never watch that without his hand moving to his left cheek where the bullet had exploded outward.
Then the car drove down the street and Bud rose,
turning off the television. "And,
that, Cort is a movie. My movie. That was my life, my reality, and I was there
inside it, in the endless loop of it. Until...," and he smiled at Rachel,
"one time...one different time. I,
of course, had no awareness of the loop. For me it happened...once. But at the
end, this one time...," he shook his head a bit, "now that I
understand that there were countless times, this one time, someone else walked
into the movie. It was a man named Terry
Thorne." He smiled again at the memory.
"Terry has his own movie. He looks like you, too, Cort, only just a
bit older. I'm hoping you'll be able to meet him soon. Anyway, when I was shot
to pieces in the motel, he gathered me up and brought me here. Just as you were
brought, Cort. Right here to the medical center. Geez, was I a mess! Half my
teeth gone, tongue practically severed, cheek shredded." He shook his head
again. "Not to mention bullet holes in several other parts of me. Back in
the 1950's where I'm from, I would never have been able to talk again."
Cort listened, absolutely fascinated. "But those
clever little nanobots Rachel's been telling you about," Bud continued,
"they did their stuff." He waggled his jaw from side to side.
"Like your hand, Cort. You probably, back in the 1880's, would have lost
the use of it." Almost unconsciously, Cort flexed the fingers of his right
hand, then made a fist with it. The cast had already been taken off and the
hand was feeling close to normal.
Bud saw the movement and got up, walked across the
room and squatted on his heels in front of Cort. "That was my movie,"
he repeated. "You have your own."
He locked his eyes on Cort's, probing. "Do you understand what I'm
trying to say? Like that, like mine, you, too, have a movie."
Cort licked his lips then looked at Rachel. "Do you have a movie, Rachel? Is he saying everyone has a movie?"
She smiled up at him, loving him more than she could
possibly say. "No, Cort. I don't have a movie."
Before either Bud or Rachel could say more, Cort
suddenly asked, "Does...Sid?"
Rachel quickly looked at Bud, alarmed, but Bud,
keeping his voice even, soft, replied, "Yes, he does, Cort. But I don't
think you should see that one just yet."
Cort's mind raced. Good Lord! Did that mean Sid looked
like him, too? "Many?" Cort
asked hoarsely. "Are
there...many...movies? With men who look like me?" His pulse was beginning
to speed up rapidly and he felt slightly clammy.
"Only a couple of dozen," Bud answered,
"but a new one comes along every other year or so."
"New ones? There are...new ones?"
"I expect there will be, for some time," Bud
said. Then he sighed. This was so damn hard to explain.
Cort was centered on Rachel again. "Why?" he
asked. "Why are you not in a movie, too? There are women in movies. Ellen.
Lynn. They have movies."
She could see he was beginning to be upset about it.
She looked quickly, desperately at Bud. "Oh, Cort," she sighed,
gripping his hand hard. "Not everyone has their own movie. Movies
are," she searched for the right words, "a special thing. A wondrous
thing. And to...to...be in one...is...is...a...a...privilege."
"She's right," Bud interjected, coming to
her rescue again. "They...."
But Cort spoke again, his mind in a whirl. "Am I
not...real?" He felt some of the clutching lostness rising up again.
Bud stood then, gripping Cort's arm, hard and
firm. "Feel that?" he asked. "I'm real. So are you, Cort.
We've just been, let's say, moved...out of the reality we lived in to come to
another."
Cort buried his face in his hands a long moment,
trying to think. Rachel and Bud
exchanged concerned glances. Then Cort's shoulders started to shake. Rachel was
horrified.
Cort lifted his face then, laughter bursting out, a
mixture of strange giggles and fat chortles. "This," he gasped,
"has got to be the DUMBEST piece of shit I ever heard!"
********************************
She couldn't help it.
Something in her snapped when Cort made his
declaration. Later reason would look
upon the next few minutes with some degree of shame, but at the time, at that
moment, all Rachel could think to do was stand up, walk across the room, pick
up the suitcase Bud provided and start throwing in whatever belongings were
left that needed to be collected for their departure. She had no response to
his outburst. None at all. She didn't trust herself with the first words
that popped into her mind. She
couldn't! Not if she wanted to save
herself the explanations and mea culpas later.
Later regret would also have her apologizing profusely
to Bud for her reaction, for not coming in as backup to his effort, even though
he swore he was rather admiring of her self-containment. For a moment there, he admitted, despite the
wisdom he held of his own reaction, he was on the verge of losing his temper as
well.
She didn't dare look at Cort as she packed...just a few
more things...all her books and papers and things had been taken care of...it
was just a few of the items left scattered she tried to gather. And the room went deathly quiet when she
began this. When Bud tried to speak to
her, she quietly and firmly said "Take these things out to the car We'll be along in a minute."
Then she grabbed a cottonball, a bandaid and Cort's
arm to pull the IV stint and cover it with protection. Then she grabbed his
hand, and pulled him out of the room into the hallway, where an astonished
nurse was furling into a glower dark enough to curdle the milk. Rachel glared back.
"We're leaving," she informed, her tone a
low growl. Not without the doctor's
orders, began the nurse, planting her feet in a stance that meant
business. "Tell him to send me a
bill," Rachel snapped, and walked past her to the exit into the parking
lot, pulling Cort along with her.
Bud leaned against his car, trying not to look as
embarrassed as he felt, but he could see Rachel was trying to contain
herself. Cort was looking pretty stormy himself,
finally pulling his hand away from Rachel and following of his own accord. All three of them climbed in, with Rachel and
Cort in the back, with a very large space in between the two of them.
"Its just down the road," Bud informed them,
glancing back and decided it wouldn't have mattered if he had told them the car
would elevate. Cort was looking at
Rachel as if he didn't know what to say and Rachel looked as if she had a
million things to say and was utterly confused about where to start. "Just five minutes," he trailed
off.
Oh boy.
She didn't feel like crying. Far from it.
She felt like...felt like...well, she didn't know what, because all the
things that sounded like a good way to satisfy her urge to scream went against
every thing she believed about being gentle and kind. But the pent up aggravation, the highs and
lows, the extremes of which they were all a part of seemed to culminate in
this one...growing....bubble...of....
Cort's hand snaked across the car seat, seeking hers.
Rachel looked at it.
Then she took it in her own and looked up at Cort.
She hoped she hadn't made the car swerve when she
threw herself into Cort's arms, even though she looked up to find that he had
turned a bend in the road and began pulling into the long drive leading to the
guest cottage.
There was a virtual forest of pines in the acreage
making up the front yard of the cottage, tall, tall, tall... with pine cones dotting
the landscape, azalea bushes growing hither and yon, a dirt road winding its
way through. The house itself was
wood frame with a large curving porch, painted blue, with white gingerbread.
Beyond, they could see a stable and yards.
Rachel was too tightly pressed to Cort to notice if he was interested. She needed to be alone with him. She needed to let it all out.
Bud gave her the keys to unlock the door as Cort
slowly climbed out, looking around, taking measure of everything around
him. Bud grinned sympathetically at him
and began to remove the bags from the trunk.
Cort joined him, moving almost mechanically, as if he felt saying
nothing was the better part of valor.
Rachel delivered the keys back to Bud and swept up the
bags and returned to inside the house.
Cort stood watching after her, looking very lost. Bud stood with him for a moment before
speaking.
"Just give her a few minutes," he said as a
beginning.
Cort started out of his reverie.
"I tried to ..." he said.
"I know," Bud interjected.
"And I was only..." Cort added, bafflement
rising in his voice.
"I know," Bud repeated.
"But that's how I ..."
"Look," Bud said, hands in his pockets,
trying not to laugh, trying not to sigh with his own exasperation. "I know your world has been turned
upside down. Twice, if I'm not mistaken, according to Rachel. You don't know who or what to trust. But she's been with you the whole time. You can be sure she will be with you from
here on out. God knows I wish I had had
someone like her when I arrived."
Cort just looked at him. Bud pointed the way with an
elbow akimbo,
hands still in his pockets.
"Go on.
This place is yours until you decide what it is you want to do, where
you want to go. That'll never
change."
Rachel heard the door close softly, as if Cort was
afraid that if he closed it too hard, the whole thing would shatter. She had collapsed on the floor next to the
couch, her head resting on arms propped up on the couch seat. She felt the cushion nearest her go down as
Cort sat on the couch next to her, arms propped on his knees as he leaned
forward to talk with her. Several minutes
of silence passed before he spoke.
"Rachel," he said, so sorrowfully, so painfully
quiet, "don't be angry with me."
She lifted her head to meet his gaze. "Not anger, Cort. Just...frustration. I've tried so hard..."
He nodded vigorously.
"I know, I know..."
Rachel wrapped her arm around his, locking his gaze
with hers in an intense focus.
"Cort, you need to talk to me," she
said. "I mean, REALLY talk. Tell me what it is you are thinking, what you
don't believe. Because I've been trying
so hard to get you to see...to prepare you...to...to get you to understand, so
that you can have something to work with," she spilled. "This is far from any game you've ever
known. This *is* reality," her free
hand poked at the seat cushion, "and I am just as bound up by it as you
are...but I've tried, Cort...oh I've tried.
And you're the first one I've tried this with. The others...Bud, Terry, John...they were in
one place one minute, here at NanoCorp the next...no explanation, no
preparation. They all had to deal with it
whether they wanted to or not. You,
however...*you* I wanted to handle differently, even though Sid and Terry
insisted the same things as before. I
thought I could do better...and I tried to find a way to tell you, so many
times! But things kept happening...and I
spent so much time..." she was panting slightly as she pushed so many
words through in coherent sentences.
"I spent way too much time, Cort.
That's why I got in trouble, why Sid began yelling at me...he wanted me
to just snatch you. Was why Dimetri made
fun of me....he knows what the procedure is...and I defied it, because I wanted
to give you a chance...a chance to believe..."
Her head fell back on to the rim of the couch cushion,
hiding her face. "I just wanted you
to believe me the way I believe in you."
************************************************
Softly, he stroked her hair.
"Rachel?"
She turned, looking back up at him, listening.
"I...," he stammered, "I want you to
know something. Guess I haven't really...said...it. Been too busy with all my own thoughts, my
own pain. But," and he continued stroking her hair, his fingers wandering
through it as though it were some field he wanted to test the ripeness
of. "Rachel." He loved saying her name, loved the sound of it moving over
his tongue, loved how his lips formed it, making it all audible and alive.
"You...you came there, to a place you didn't know, a place where ugliness
and hurt were all there was. And you
brought with you..." He leaned now kissing her hair here and there as he
spoke. "You brought with
you...healing...and beauty. You brought
peace...and belonging. I think I was too
sick too know the fullness of all you brought."
He shook his head, remembering.
"But most of all, Rachel, you brought
yourself...and you gave it to me.
I've...I've never had anyone give like that to me...not since I was a
boy. But the giving you brought was...different...from that because you
are...well...." he smiled "You are not my...grandmother." He did a series of little kisses, leading
down toward her ear, letting his mouth linger there, kissing around, atop,
behind it.
"And you brought me your love. I was
so...lost...and all I had was the horizon...nothing but that. But you stood there...between me and all that
emptiness...and...and...I can never forget that, would never want to forget
it. Sometimes, Rachel, I felt like I was
baking alive in some desert waste...and then you would come, standing
close...and I could rest in the shade of you. Do you have any idea, Rachel, of
what you've done for me? Don't think I
don't know."
She gave a little shiver of delight with the way his
lips moved around her ear. Raising her head slightly higher, she watched him,
her eyes intense... but she remained silent, wanting to hear all he had to say,
needing to hear it.
Using his hands, softly, slowly, he lifted her face,
holding it cupped between his palms. He cocked his head, just looking at her,
then he leaned forward...taking her lips with his...leaving them there a long
moment with only the gentlest pressure.
Then he leaned back, just a bit, still holding
her. "I love you, Rachel. I love
you...so much."
Together they rose to their feet.
"I love you, Cortland Wells," she murmured.
"I love you with all my heart. And it's real, my love. I'm all too aware
of how horrible all these changes are. And if you never believe anything about
what Bud and I showed you back in the clinic, that's fine." She gripped
his eyes with hers. "I mean it when I say I love you. There's nothing more
real than that. I don't know how else to show you except be here for you. I'll
be here for you no matter how crazy and dumb everything else is."
He met her gaze, saw her love and even her desperation
pooling there. "I believe in you,
Rachel. In all this madness...all this change...in all that is still yet so
unknown...that's the one sure thing I have. That I believe in you." He
stroked her cheek softly. "I may still have a bit to work out with all
that Bud said...about movies and all...but I know that I love you, and that
that is real. I'm not sure how much anything else matters but that. That and
that you love me. That matters more than anything."
Still holding her right cheek cupped slightly, he
moved his left hand behind her head in that way a man has of saying 'I want
everything you are.' He kissed her then, fully and completely, done with all
the sickness and the drifting, needing her to see how much he wanted her. And,
oh God, how he did want her! His lips, his tongue, were hungry for the taste
and the touch of her. He sought for her, wanting no part of her he had not
found, had not joined himself with.
Moving his hand from her cheek, he leaned, sliding it
behind her knees, lifting her as he settled back onto the couch, reclining her
across his lap. And still he explored her mouth, wanting more. Finally, he
moved his lips, working
A short, sharp gasp escaped his lips and he stopped,
holding perfectly still, then lifted his head, seeking her eyes. "Ellen," he said, shaking his head
from side to side.
"Ellen?" she repeated, confused, hoping
desperately some massive hurt was not about to crush her.
But he found her lips with his again, kissing softly
around her mouth before he sat upright, trying to find the words he wanted to
say. "Do you know what happened with Ellen...with her and...me?"
She nodded, almost holding her breath, wondering where
this could possibly be going, trying to steel herself in case he was about to
shoot her in the heart.
He licked his lips, thinking, then drew in a long,
slow breath. "For years, Rachel, I...I...well, I was a priest." He
looked at her earnestly, almost shyly. "And then, when Herod came to
reclaim my life, and everything was...gone, and...," he closed his eyes,
tipping his chin just a little, "...and she came back, found me in that
room where they were beating me, and...," he squeezed his lids tighter,
"and we knew we had to fight each other the next day." He looked back at her
then. "God, Rachel, death was just...everywhere. And she... we...."
"I know, Cort," she whispered. "I saw
it."
"You SAW it!" he gasped.
"Well, not all of it. But enough." Way MORE than enough!
He reddened considerably beneath his tan. "It's
that, Rachel," he managed finally to continue, his voice cracking a
little. "It was my...first...since."
He looked at her, needing her to understand what he wanted to say.
"And it was lust. Just
He closed his eyes for a long, slow blink.
"If we were back in my time, and I met you and
we...stayed...there...in my time.
I...," he touched her cheek with his finger, "I wouldn't be
doing this. Not yet. I'd want to. But I wouldn't touch you
like...that." His eyes traveled
over her breast, down to her thigh.
"What is it, Cort. What do you want?"
"I want," he smiled almost yearningly,
"I want to treat you like I would...like I'd treat a lady...in my time. I
want to...to...court you. I want to come to...that...when it's right." He
covered his eyes with his hand a long moment, asking, "Is
that...foolish...of me, Rachel?"
***********************************
The silk thread between them had become a ribbon. A
river of ribbon, ever strong, ever compliant, stretching and holding until
their binding was absolute.
Cort's rain-soft voice drifted over her, shimmering
along her senses while his fingers wove through her hair until she felt her
heart expand the way it did that afternoon when he took her hand and kissed
it. Bright silk ribbons floating, waving
against a pure blue sky crossed her eyelids as she rested her head on her arms,
listening to the words he gently poured into her ear. Such things he said...the way he said her
name...all sprinkled with the touch of his lips...a bounty of beauty in answer
to a simple need of hers...and now he blessed her with a fullness of his heart
that made hers want to grow the size of the house they were in.
Tendrils of desire curled their way through her as his
mouth explored and found the secret spot behind her ear, causing her to lift
her head, yearn for more, shiver, drink his words of wonder and gratitude at
her coming to him. Ribbons tied to a
tree in a field of green and he lay beneath, stretched out in all his
masculinity, watching with her the tendrils wave upwards, caress with a breeze
passing over tall grasses...
Then he leaned and bound her mouth with his lips,
gentle as a ribbon kissing the sky, framing her face with both hands until all
she could feel were his lips...could feel the words he said : "I love you,
Rachel. I love you...so much." The euphoria carried her to her feet,
reaching up with the ribbons...his arms surrounded her...she hardly knew how
words made it out of her mouth whole; burrowed deeper into his embrace, seeking
refuge, staking claim for her own. The
expanding heart now shook with joy. *He
loves me...he loves me...*
Then he claimed her mouth again with all the strength
of silk. Shimmer became euphoria,
soaring ribbon in the clouds. Hands
pulled her to him to cover, to join, every ribbon crying up into the sky
"union...NOW!" She gasped when
he scooped her up and sat down on the couch, cradling her in his lap, tucking
her into the couch corner while he leant and took her mouth with his again,
lips firm as silk. His hands wandered,
found her breast; she arched to his touch, his implication. The ribbons cried out again...
"Ellen."
Cort pulled away.
Rachel blinked at him, trying to bring her eyes back
to focus. "Ellen?" she
croaked, her nails digging slightly into his shoulders. *Please...no more surprises...*
He knew what she was thinking though, and kissed her
again before straightening up, his own look of euphoria morphing into one of
troubled consideration. She slid her
legs off his lap as he tried to explain, tried to verbalize an event that had
shaken him so, all part of the trap, all too much a part of his experience
now. Trauma lasts a lifetime, she
reminded herself, trying to stay calm for his sake. She took his right hand in hers, stroked it,
kissed it.
"I know, Cort.
I saw it," she replied when he fell silent to the dismay of his
memory.
As expected, he was horrified by this...horrified for
her.
"Not all of it Cort. But enough," she added, thankful Bud
*had* explained movies before this. She
wanted to go on and say what else she had seen : a generous heart that held no
malice for Ellen, no disdain for her need....just recognition that it wasn't
love...not the love he really wanted.
But he was doing more than confessing, Rachel realized. As he spoke she recognized a fear in herself,
a ridiculous, childish, trollish fear that he would compare her to what he
experienced with Ellen. His next words
were not only revelatory, but the most freeing words she had heard in a long,
long time: he wanted to court her.
As in actively pursue her, prove his worth, lay out a
path for her to follow, follow...home.
A silk ribbon departed from the tree and went merrily
on the wind. She followed it as it
floated away and down and saw...saw home, a house of gables and porches, open
wide and full of life. And wending its
way between that abode and the tree where they sat: a ribbon, a path. A carefully curving band built for her.
Could he see her answer in her tears? She smiled up at him with all the radiance
she could feel.
"Honor me with your courtship, my love. I'd be the foolish one for scorning it,"
she said.
**************************************************************
They had talked quietly for some time, kissing often,
then she had gone to her own place for a while to get ready for a, how had she
put it, "something I think you'll enjoy."
He smiled, remembering the delight in her eyes as
she'd spoken. Quickly she'd explained
the intricacies of telephones, refrigerators, stoves, and the like, but now
that he was alone for the first time in this new place, he felt the need to be
outdoors. He stood for a while on the
porch, just looking around the area of the house. It was a painted house, neat,
clean and with all that fancy white trim.
So unlike anything he'd seen in Arizona where brown and tan seemed the
full range of the color scheme. He touched the wall. Almost a sky blue. Color.
He liked it.
Walking toward the white railing of the curving porch, he set one of the hanging pots of ferns slightly swinging...just because he felt like it...then sat on the railing, looking out at the grounds. Pines everywhere. So many you couldn't tell you were near a city. He liked that, too. Instead of using the stairs, he swung his legs over the railing and hopped down between two large azalea bushes. Those were new to him. He wasn't sure just what they were, but they were mighty pretty, covered with soft pink blossoms like they were.
He let his palm glide lightly over the one on his left then
walked out on the lawn, turning his head up as he went, enjoying the height of
the great trees. The smell was wonderful and he stopped, just breathing it
deeply into his lungs. Squirrels seemed to be everywhere...and birds. He
wandered aimlessly for a long time, just...being. Once he stooped, picking up a
huge pinecone, squeezing it slightly, enjoying its give beneath his fingers.
After his talk with Rachel in the house, he'd felt
this sense of peace descending, wrapping itself about him like an
often-laundered quilt, soft, with no stiffness at all. And here, out among the
pines, that peace only seemed to increase.
The tall, straight trunks of the pines soared up and the sunlight
filtered down, bringing to his mind the stories Father Michael had told him of
the great cathedrals of Europe.
Father Michael. In an area deep with pine needles and
sheltered by a clump of giant azaleas, he sank slowly to his knees, closing his
eyes. Such a sense of his beloved small chapel surrounded him. So he folded his
hands, his lips moving in prayer. He had thought...perhaps...God no longer
would listen to him, not after all the things he'd done, the choices he'd made,
and he'd not prayed, not really prayed, since that moment in the street before
he'd shot Foy.
Everything in this new world, this time, was
different. Except for God. God had not
changed and as he prayed, Cort finally understood that. He spilled his heart
out, there in the pine needles, telling God things he suspected God was well
aware of, and...yet...he needed to say them.
And he felt that welling rush of love that he'd thought was gone, was
lost to him forever. It was hard for him, harder than for most, because he had
lived so long, so intimately with guilt and even now wasn't sure he had a complete
handle on it. Guilt had become his old friend and constant companion and in
Redemption, again his tormentor. But, here, in this place, with Rachel's love
filling him, he began to hope again...more than in all the years since Father
Michael had died, since he had...killed...Father Michael.
And, then, he stopped telling God what was in his
heart and lay flat on the needles, face down, his hands folded under his cheek,
and listened to the heart of God. It was amazing what one could hear when one
took the time to do that. He listened not with his mind or even his heart, but
rather with the center core of every cell that was him. And it came to him that
his guilt was framed in his sense of failing both God and himself and that that
was encompassed as the failure of love...a failure that does, that must, create
a sense of unworthiness. The failure of love, the death of love, how could it
be set right?
He rolled, then, onto his back, looking up the shafted
light to the canopy of the great tree above him. And it was as though he heard
God saying, "Cort, I AM love," and suddenly the great truth of that,
of what God had done to set it right did not so much hit him as...flow through
him, bathing all his cells in the light and the truth of it. He lifted his
right hand, the one so terribly injured just days ago, and he turned it in the
light, letting the sun backlight it so that its edges glowed in the beam. And
he knew, he understood, that Love had come, had died, and yet...lived.
And in that knowing, he knew he could yet live.
**********************
The plan had been percolating since the day Cort had
gotten out of the clinic bed and begun moving around without collapsing like
spaghetti noodles. It came to a full
decision when he stopped her in the middle of explaining the telephone to push
away the receiver and gather her up for yet another kiss, then picking her up
to spin her around in a circle or two.
*I know what I want tonight* she thought, as he set her down...for
another kiss...and asked breathlessly into his mouth what color he liked best,
purple or blue. This set off a series of
giggles for the both of them, Rachel for the look of confusion on Cort's face,
and Cort for the unrelated subject. He
shrugged and told her it didn't matter.
Well that was no help, but even then Rachel had
decided: a plummy purple crepe de chine dress, with wide wide skirts that
twirled about her legs in delightful rhythm, a smocked torso that hugged her
body in a way that never failed to turn heads, topped with a peasant style
bodice and neckline with short puffed sleeves.
It was a color and fabric that had the magic of never staying the same
tone in the same light and she had adored it since buying it months ago.
But she had never worn it, since the one it had been
planned for proved to be so not worth the effort, and life at NanoCorp had
prevented any further thoughts of nights on the town. And now the plan was to wear it for a night
of dancing at the local country and western dance hall, the Yellow Rose. This alone was a bit of an event for her, as
it had literally been years since she had spent time in the great swirl of
dancers. The Yellow Rose had been her
favorite haunt before her time at NanoCorp, a place to bounce out her
frustrations with a polka, or challenge friends to the Cotton-eyed Joe. And she had worn quite a repertoire of things
Western and swingy. The new purple dress
would be quite a departure.
*Hardly C&W -- more gypsy in the straw* she told
the reflection in her full-length mirror.
She had her most prized crochet shawl draped across her shoulders,
sparkling with beads and tassels, and a choker of moonstone and amethyst at her
throat. Her hair had gone through an
almost forgotten ritual of shampooing, blow-drying and primping until there was
a cloud of brown waves and curls around her heart-shaped face.
She wondered if she should bother her next door
neighbor, Nan, for an opinion. Rachel
lived in a duplex not too far from NanoCorp, by herself in the one half,
sharing the building with a neighbor she had befriended (more or less); Nan had
been her confidant on more than one occasion and a reliable source of truth
and needed objectivity. Looking out the
window, she saw that Nan's car was gone.
So much for being saved from one's self.
She checked her lipstick once more...oh Lord! Did she have on too much makeup? She had tried to hold back, despite the old
rule of indulgence for the dance hall. A
girl's vanity depended on her ability to maintain a pretty face out on the
dance floor, even if the harsh florescent lights turned that face into a
war-mask. But Cort...he was different,
all right...
Rachel sighed, trying to trim the more obvious flaws
with a wet cloth. *Maybe he'll be too
busy checking out the dress to notice,* she told herself and sighed again. Already the idea of a courtship...a chaste
one at that...was beginning to feel like a dampener.
*Oh, but the time!*
Rachel looked at the clock in her living room. She needed to call the taxi. No driving for her this evening. She wanted to pay as much attention to Cort
as possible; no distraction of bad traffic, ridiculously slow lights, or the
quirks she had developed in driving.
That bad news would come later, she thought, and dialed for the taxi. Fifteen minutes.
She had asked that Cort get dressed in the clothes she
laid out on the bed. She hoped her
choices weren't too much against his own preferences. She had kept it simple, loathe for him to
depart from the clothing she had so come to love seeing on him: black trousers,
black boots, black vest, and white shirt.
Was that silly? she had asked him.
No, no, he said. Never had
occasion for fanciness anyway. She
thought he might have caught on at that moment, but he acted as if he weren't
all that concerned. All he wanted to know
was if she were coming back.
*Wild horses couldn't keep me away.*
Should she try to call him? She picked up the phone and dialed. Busy!
*Well, that's a good thing...right?*
The taxi arrived in time to save her from further
fretting, and she rode off, trying not to imagine the worst, trying to think of
how to facilitate the subject of dancing...had he ever danced? She wondered.
Another fifteen minutes later and they were pulling
into the drive of the cottage. Begging the driver to wait for a few minutes, they would be along
shortly, she climbed out of the car and approached the front door. She was composing a hurried explanation for
her tardiness when she heard a noise off to the side on the porch.
**********************************
Cort had showered in the marvelous indoor plumbing he
figured he could get used to real fast. Looking in the mirror at his damp hair,
he frowned. Too long. He found a pair of sharp scissors in a drawer and set
about restoring his customary length. Ignoring the dryer, he fluffed his hair
with his fingers and let it air dry. He
had been provided with both an electric shaver and some odd little thing with
two tiny blades. He chose the bladed method, missing the size of the blade he
was used to. Toothbrushes and tubes of
blue stuff he liked, wanting his mouth as fresh as possible. He grinned while
brushing, little foamy dribbles escaping down his chin.
The clothes Rachel had laid on the bed for him were
close enough to his clerics that he felt quite comfortable in them. It had been
years since he'd even had to make some choice of what to wear and so he'd just
stopped thinking about such things. Dressing took just a moment and then he
went out on the porch again to wait for Rachel. He knew it would be a bit
before she arrived, but he just liked sitting there watching the sky colors
change as evening came on. He didn't even wonder what Rachel had planned. Figured it would be good, whatever, just
because it would be with her. Was the only thing that counted, that being with
her. So he just sat there, straddling the rail at the far side of the porch,
resting in the moment of the day, content.
Darkness came as he waited and he shifted his study
from the low horizon to the stars that seemed to wink on all at once. Not so
many as he was used to, probably the nearby city and all, but still a fine
display. Then it was that headlights came up the long drive. He watched them,
still so unused to such a sight, shaking his head slightly. A door opened
and...she...was there. Flutterings rippled all through him at just the sight of
her dark form, hurrying toward the house. He pulled his right leg back over the
rail and stood quickly, forgetting about one of the hanging fern pots.
"Aaaah!" he exclaimed, but no damage had
been done to either him...or the pot. Seemed to have attracted Rachel's
attention, though, as she stopped abruptly, looking in his direction. He
stepped out of the shadows, rubbing the back of his head, grinning sheepishly.
Then he got a good look at her, standing there in the pool of light from the
open front door. His hand dropped slowly as his head tilted to one side, his
eyes wide, appreciative, his smile spreading wider and wider. She was
glorious...and so very, very entirely...female. In a dozen quick strides he was
in front of her, his hands on her shoulders, just looking into her face. He
couldn't stop smiling. The sight of her just did that to him. But then he did.
Because he needed to kiss her. Really bad.
********************************
Despite the fact that the taxi-driver honked
ungenerously when Cort gathered her in for another kiss, the ride to the dance
hall was a relatively quiet one. Rachel
was glad it was past nightfall and neither the driver or Cort could see the
flush she knew she must have on her face.
Cort's appraisal of her when he saw her was both...rewarding...and
inspiring. She needed the darkness of
twilight to collect herself after the leap her heart took in seeing him in the
clothes she had picked out, observed his trimmed hair and clean-shaven
face. Simplicity was his finest feature.
"Will you tell me where we're going?" he asked.
"You'll see," she said, coyly.
"I'm sure it will be grand," he replied,
teeth flashing white. He was spending
most of the time looking at her, ignoring the Mecca of lights and buildings and
traffic.
"Well, don't be so hard to please, Cortland
Wells," she sighed in mock exasperation.
He only smiled and kissed her hand again.
The taxi pulled full stop in front of the main
entrance of the Yellow Rose dance hall, handily finding a spot amid the huge
trucks and various other cars trying to find purchase.
Rachel hurriedly paid the driver and came to stand beside Cort as the driver pulled away.
He was staring around with a slightly bemused
look...not suspicious...just a return of the lost look that had been so
prevalent in him. But taking her hand,
he nodded that he was ready to follow her and she led him through the booth to
pay the cover charge.
With one breath of the dance hall air, Rachel almost
felt like she had only missed a few days of dancing rather than three
years. The dance floor itself was
already a-swirl with couples two stepping, line dancing, or just making up
steps as they went along. She basked
under the blast of cold air for a minute, letting hers and Cort's eyes adjust
some to the neon lights, the stage lights, the volume of the band at the far
end of the hall, and the smell of smoke, beer, and perfume wafting
through. She glanced at him once more to
make sure he wasn't thinking of bolting.
Instead, he was watching with some interest.
"Dancing, my love?" he spoke into her
ear. "Is this what you had in
mind?"
"Yes," she spoke into his. It was the only way they were going to
understand each other. "I wanted to
do something fun, that we could both look forward to doing on the
weekends."
He hesitated, glancing around. *Uh oh...he's gonna retreat* Rachel thought.
"I've never learned how," he said, looking a
bit bashful.
"Do you want to?
It's real easy!" She asked. "I can teach you!" She added, when he nodded reluctantly.
"For this kind of music, you only ever need know one dance step. It's called the two-step and its so
incredibly easy that once you learn the rhythm, you could do it in your
sleep! Oh please, let me teach you! If I can teach my cousin the two-step...and
he has feet the size of a Cyclops and as much grace as one, I can teach a sweet
man like you!" She smiled up at him
with all the charm she could pour into her expression.
Yep, worked every time. He acquiesced with a laugh and gestured for
her to lead the way.
They found a table in a far spot where there weren't
too many people roosted yet and deposited her shawl, waiting until the next
full song began. She tried to give him a
brief summary of her experience there at the dance hall, leaving out the little
dramas that she had known, had participated in, and focused on the happiness
she had felt in getting on the slick wood floor and dancing the night
away. They even had a bit of space where
she could show him the correct position of the hands and legs and walk him
through the steps, so that by the next song, he seemed ready to give it a
try.
Smiling brightly, she walked with him to the inside
edge of the flow of dancers, where the slower, less confidant ones kept their
pace. Then, with the starting beat, he
began to lead her around, watching the flow of people around them carefully, looking at her often. She continued to smile encouragingly at
him. "It's working out," she
repeated when he stumbled over her feet.
"Just feel the music."
"Is that why its so loud?" he asked in her
ear. She just smiled up at him and
inclined her body to let him know she was willing to go where he wanted.
You swear you've had enough
You're ready to give up
On that little lie they call love
Then out of the blue clear sky
Fallin' right into your hands
Like rain on the desert sand
It's the last thing you had planned
Out of the blue clear sky...*
(*song :http://www.georgestrait.com/
"Blue Clear Sky" - George Strait*)
By their first circle around the floor, Cort had found
the pace and now led her in a pretty good dance. Something in the way he
gripped her hand made her look up to find him with his head slightly tilted,
listening to the lyrics of the song, repeating the chorus. She was glad he had finally found his dance
legs, cause the next several feet were spent with her blinking away mascara and
tears.
********************************
At first it was a bit overwhelming...the strangeness
of it all, the numbers of people...more than he'd ever seen in one place in his
life. And the sound. The roar of voices, the clatter of shoes on the wooden
floor, the clinks of glassware, and the music. The music was...loud. As he
looked around, it did sort of remind him of a saloon, only multiplied by the
dozens. And no guns. He smiled wryly at
the thought, unconsciously bringing one hand to his neck, the feel of the rope
still a strong memory. There had been
that one split second as the chair cracked in half and he dropped, that one
split second before Ellen's bullet cut the rope, when it had tightened, had
started to do its assigned task. He shook his head slightly, shoving the
thought aside, concentrating now on where Rachel was leading him, glad their
table was off to the side.
Then they were dancing, he was dancing...with her. Not
so hard. Not as much as he expected.
He'd watched a few square dances as a boy, even tried out a few of the moves
himself behind the hay bales, but this was his first real dance. Hadn't been
time to dance when he rode those years with Herod. Afterwards...well... none
then, either. So holding Rachel like he was and leading their joined movement
around the floor...it was new...special. He found he liked it. And the
words. If he concentrated on the words,
he could block out some of the other noise. The words were...good. Like they were being sung right to him. He
wanted to keep them, not to lose them in the swirling sounds...so he began to
sing them softly as they moved. "Like rain on the desert sand...."
He looked down at Rachel when the song ended, seeing
the brightness of tears on her lashes. He knew her well enough now that he had
some fair idea of why they were there. She had experienced the rain on the
desert sand, too. And he was becoming ever more aware of her feelings
concerning him. As he looked at her trying to blink them away so he wouldn't
see, she was just infinitely precious to him and he cupped her face again,
right in the middle of the dance floor, and kissed her softly...and long.
***********************************
With any other man, Rachel might have humored the kiss
for a few seconds before pulling away, to glance around in shy embarrassment for
the display, to make sure that her reaction was kept within the bounds of
social interplay Be sweet, but not
saccharine. Display, but only briefly.
Not that she ever minded open affection. But before, when on the dance floor, a kiss
was a sure set-up for some wicked ribbing by both girl and boy later on in the
parking lot, not to mention expressions of reproof for clogging up the
scenery. And showing off unnecessarily
on the dance floor was always met with reproval.
Cort, however...
It never failed: all worlds and people around her disappeared when he
cupped her face in his hands, pressed his mouth to hers. She'd never refuse him...and now, the garish
glow of lights and audience of people into mere noise and drabble. Who would dare take her away from this?
No one. She
stepped up into the shelter of his body, tilting her head back, submitting....
*Bam!* She was
knocked away as if some small object had hurled itself at her shoulder. Shaken, she stumbled back a step and shook
her head to find the trajectory of what hit her. Cort was already sliding an arm around her
waist, tense with shock and anger himself....
Not but a few feet away hovered the last person she
had expected to see at the Yellow Rose, Bruce McCabe... general contractor,
former romantic interest...who had turned out to be...not so interested in
her. As her vision cleared and she took
in the sight of a man who stood just past Cort's shoulders, seconds passed
before Rachel recognized the one guy for whom she had bought the dress she was
now wearing.
They were also seconds that Bruce grabbed as an
opportunity for a nasty swipe at the both of them.
"Don't you have any sense when to quit,
Rachel?" Bruce sneered, seeming to
have forgotten the little filly hanging off his hands in a pose to dance the
next song. "You can't teach a loser
how to dance...and now you're trying to teach him how to kiss? Get a room!"
"Get a clue, Bruce," Rachel snapped, wanting
nothing more now than to rip his eyes from his sockets. She held onto Cort's hand for support,
overwhelmed by the outrage and disgust that flooded back from her time with
him. "He's finer at everything than
you ever were."
"What armpit of society did you drag him in from?" Bruce retorted. Rachel could see the over-painted eyes of his companion dart back and forth between them, anticipation shining in her face. *Like a hungry bug,* Rachel thought.
