Kiss (6 page)

“ . . . I'M BLIND. I'M EMPTY. I'M
stupid. I'm wrong. . . .”

Gaia wasn't quite sure how this had happened.

She'd gone from being a bleak New York casualty, a teenage runaway, to being a frivolous club kid. Here she was, sitting in a round, red velvet booth at a downtown club surrounded by New York's young indulgents, listening to a band, Fearless, whose name and lyrics dogged her life in the creepiest way.

“ . . . I need you to tell me I'm not what I am . . . .”

The singer was ranting. Gaia stared into her vodka and tonic and tried not to think about it too much.

Most of the people at the table, including Mary, were on their third drinks before Gaia had drunk a third of her first. She didn't like alcohol very much. For one thing, it didn't taste good. Maybe that was babyish of her, but it was true. Besides, from what she could tell, the real reason people drank was to dull their fear. Not what Gaia needed. What if alcohol consumption pushed her from zero fear into negative fear? Gaia slid the sweaty glass a few inches toward the center of the table. That didn't seem like a good idea.

She turned her head as Mary tugged on a piece of her hair and then glided toward the dance floor. “You're having fun,” Mary shouted over the din. It was more command than question. “Want to dance with us?”

“No,” Gaia mouthed. It did actually look like fun, but somehow it didn't seem right, punching Ella out cold and hitting the dance floor in the same two-hour period. She felt obligated to remain dysfunctional and sullen for at least another hour.

Still, she couldn't help smiling at Mary, who was whirling like a dervish through the crowds. Mary was a wild dancer, not surprisingly, and her hair paid no attention to gravity. Gaia couldn't help admiring her. Mary had none of the self-consciousness that sometimes made it embarrassing to watch a person dance.

Gaia glanced at her watch. If she was leaving town, she needed to get going. Traveling on Thanksgiving was notoriously bad. It would be smarter to catch a train or a bus tonight. That way she could sleep in transit and not have to pay for a place to stay.

All of Mary's friends were dancing now. Gaia was alone in the booth. The place was packed, and she felt a bit self-conscious taking up this seating area for eight. She realized a guy standing by the bar was looking at her. No, make that staring. He appeared to be at least thirty. Ick.

Oh, shit, he was coming toward her. She directed an intensely unfriendly expression at him.
Go away now. I do not like you.

He turned back to the bar. Ahhh. Good. Gaia had to hand it to herself. She could give a mean look like nobody.

Gaia gazed around the club. She'd never been to a place like this before. It was loud. It was dark. People were having fun. It seemed like a great place to go if you were a bored New York City kid looking to hook up. It was a weird place to go shortly after you'd decked your so-called foster mother, on a night you were running away for good.

But what if she
were
just a regular kid, stressed out and angst ridden in a contained, urbane, happy kind of way, looking to hook up? It was a fun game to play sometimes.

She scanned the bar. There was a guy near the front windows who was sort of cute. He had hair the same color as Sam's. His nose and chin couldn't compare, though. And he appeared to be at least five inches shorter than Sam.

Another guy in a booth two away from hers had a good smile. Nice teeth. A little crooked. His eyes were nice, too. Not like Sam's, of course. Not turn-your-world-over nice. Besides, he was wearing one of those big, fancy metal watches. She hated those.

She slid her drink around in its little puddle on the glass table. The volume in the place notched up even higher. She turned to the entrance and saw another cluster of people packing themselves in. Her eyes froze. Oh, wow. There. That guy was beautiful, Gaia thought distantly. Tall, perfectly built. He had gorgeous red-brown-blond hair, neither wavy nor curly but somewhere in between. Just like Sam,her mind informed her dreamily.

Holy shit. Gaia sat up very straight. He wasn't
like
Sam. He
was
Sam. Her mind raced. Her heartbeat quickened. Goose bumps sprouted on her arms.
Almost like fear.
But not fear. Something else.

Gaia's eyes darted to the faces of Sam's nearest companions.

Clunk. Down slid her hopes.

Yes, indeed. The good-news, bad-news duo. Hateful Heather was in her usual spot right there beside him. Why
shouldn't
Sam and Heather make an appearance on this night from hell? How could it be otherwise?

Gaia averted her gaze. She pointed her face at the tabletop. She really didn't want them to see her. A word from Heather might just throw her over the edge.

Suddenly she felt terribly conspicuous in the booth by herself. Where were Mary and all her friends? Why couldn t they park their damn butts in the booth for five minutes and stop having so much fun? Grrrr.

Gaia rested her face in her hand, using her fingers to cover up almost the entire part of her face that Sam and Heather could feasibly see from their angle. She would just stay like that until they got busy dancing or went to the back, and then she'd leave. She'd head for the bus station. Fine.

Oh, no.
She couldn't actually look up to confirm her suspicion, but she had a terrible feeling that the group, which included her favorite couple, was heading straight toward her booth. There was definitely a shadow moving in. No. Go! Go!

“Excuse me? Would you mind if we shared your booth?” It wasn't a voice she recognized. Could she get away with not looking up?

“Excuse me!”

Go away, she urged silently.

“Excuse me!”

All right, that was annoying. She snapped her head up just as Heather and Sam registered the reality of whom they were about to share a booth with.

Who looked least happy? Sam? Heather? Gaia? Hard to say.

Gaia thought she gave a mean look, but Heather's was better.

Gaia shot to her feet. “All yours. I was just going.”

Six pairs of eyes stuck on Gaia as she fumbled to put on her parka. It seemed to take two hours. First it was inside out. Then she couldn't get her hand through the sleeve. As she grabbed for her bag, she knocked over her drink and spritzed the group with watery vodka and dead tonic. Why couldn t she keep her beverages to herself?

She couldn't bring herself to look at Sam. This wasn't happening.

“Gaia, wait.” It was Mary, suddenly positioning herself as a bulwark between Gaia and the booth stealers. “Where are you going?”

“I — I gotta go. Now.”

Mary looked around. She took in the presence of Heather. A light dawned in her eyes. “Hey, if it isn't the charming Ms. Gannis. Gosh, I remember the last time we were all at a party together. You were riding quite the welcome wagon that night.”

Heather was silent.

Mary gave Gaia a confident smile and spoke loudly enough for Heather's benefit. “Don't worry, Gaia. If Heather treats you like that again, I'll smack her.”

Heather looked stunned. A couple of Heather's friends seemed to think Mary was kidding around. Gaia didn't look at Sam to gauge his reaction.

Mary attached herself to Gaia by the hand, and Gaia let herself be pulled toward a waiting group that, for the moment at least, could pass as friends.

“Bitch,” Mary mumbled to Gaia, not letting go of her hand. “Let's get out of here.”

Gaia felt like crying as she bobbed along after Mary. Nobody ever took care of her like that. Gaia was so taken aback, she didn't know how to feel.

Following the electrified red hair, she experienced a rush of real warmth in spite of the stiff, late-autumn breeze.

Maybe there
was
a reason to stay in New York for a while longer.

HEATHER FELT LIKE SHE WAS CHEWING on a lemon. She couldn't seem to get the sour taste out of her mouth or remove the pinched expression from her face.

Sam sat down next to her, stiff as a two-by-four, saying nothing.

That was the best strategy. They would just let this pass and get on with their night. No need to talk about it.

“Who is that girl?” Sam's friend Christian Pavel wanted to know.

“You mean Mary Moss? The redhead?” Heather heard her friend Jonathan Singer respond.

“No, the blond one.”

Heather waited numbly for the conversation to be over. She tried to think of some effective way to change tracks.

“That's Gaia Moore,” Jonathan said flatly.

“She's unbelievable,” Christian said.

Every person at the table waited in uncomfortable suspense to hear the precise way in which Christian Pavel found Gaia Moore unbelievable.

“She's gorgeous. A total goddess. Do you know her? Can you introduce me?”

No one said a word. Heather's mouth was drawn up like a twist tie. She felt like crushing all ten of Christian's toes under the table.

Sam cleared his throat. “H-H-Have you all seen this band before?” he asked the group gallantly, putting a wooden arm around Heather's shoulders.

Conversation resumed. Heather watched Gaia's back disappear through the door. She wished she could give Gaia a poisonous cloak.

Then again, Gaia's phlegm-colored jacket was pretty poisonous as it was.

SAM SAT IN THE BOOTH, AS CROSS and sullen as a sleep-deprived toddler. Too sullen to drink. Or dance. Or make small talk.

He was annoyed at Heather for being his girlfriend. He was annoyed at Christian for looking lustfully at Gaia. (That was
his
department.) He was annoyed at Gaia for a whole list of things:

1. Not being his girlfriend;
2. Looking so spectacularly beautiful;
3. Ruining his life;
4. Ruining his relationship;
5. Not meeting his eyes for a single second tonight;
6. Not being his girlfriend.

Mostly he was annoyed at himself. For blundering deeper into the thing with Heather. For being so goddamned stiff and awkward tonight. For not talking honestly with Heather about what was really going on. For having blown a perfectly good chance to do so.

For still staring at the door fully forty-five minutes after Gaia had walked through it.

My Dear Gaia,

Having seen you so recently (though you did not see me), my pain at being apart from you is only stronger. You have grown into a formidable woman, Gaia, as your mother and I knew you would. Your strength and intensity still astound me. I see now that you have the spirit to fight fiercely for your life, and that is a great comfort to me.

My other comfort is the knowledge that at last you have a good home with my kind old friend George. It's a safe place. I trust George will do his very best by you. I'm glad to know you'll have Thanksgiving there, with someone who truly cares for you.

Each year at Thanksgiving, I write to tell you that you are my reason for thanks, my reason for living. Each year, with my heart full of hope, I pray that next year we'll spend this holiday together. And though realism chips away at my hope, I'm still praying.

Know that I love you, Gaia. That you are always in my heart.

Tom Moore signed the letter and thought about Katia. Twice a year he allowed himself to cry for her, and this was one of those times.

When he was done, he walked to the file cabinet. The top drawer was stuffed full of letters like this one. He found the manila folder labeled Thanksgiving Letters and dropped it in.

He dug his hand in the pocket of his corduroy trousers and felt the penny that lay in the bottom. Perhaps, with luck, this would be the last time he would need to write to Gaia on Thanksgiving.

Gaia clutched the stretchy plastic in her fist as they rose under a cloud of helium, higher and higher.

WHAT
THE DEVIL
WENT ON THERE tonight?” Loki's voice thundered.

Ella stood before him, heavy with a strange mixture of shame, pride, and frustration. Her jaw throbbed, and her tongue felt like it belonged to somebody else. “We fought. She punched me. She left.” Ella didn't bother to mention the part where she got out her gun and went after Gaia, fully intending to blow her brains out. Luckily that part didn't appear on the surveillance tape.

“Stupid woman, have you lost your mind?”

Ella cupped her jaw tenderly. There would be no sympathy from him. That was certain. “The girl hit me.”

“I would have hit you, too, the way you carried on,” Loki said sharply.

Ella held her painful tongue. It was as expected.

“Absurd self-indulgence,” he spat, pacing across the soft, honey-colored herringbone floorboards. Last month he had a vast loft above the Hudson River. Tonight she'd been ordered to meet him in a starkly modern apartment building on Central Park South. He'd only be there so long as he kept perfect anonymity. Then he'd relocate again. “Why I put up with you, I do not know.”

Ella remained quiet. He'd get bored of the tirade eventually. The greatest mistake would be to attempt to defend herself. That would only inject a surge of energy into the project. Where Loki was concerned, what the world gained in a terrorist, it had lost in a lawyer.

His angry voice faded into a dull roar. Ella stared out the large picture windows, waiting for him to be done. Three-quarters of a mile uptown, the enormous helium balloons for the Thanksgiving Day parade were rising to life from the lawns of the Museum of Natural History on Seventy-seventh Street. Long ago, in her other life, she'd gone with friends to watch.

That was before Ella had been “discovered.” Well before Gaia had come into their lives, a much more perfect fulfillment of Ella's early promise. Ella felt a wave ofnausea climbing her chest.

“Ella!”

She turned to him. Oh. He was finished, then. He'd asked her a question of the nonrhetorical variety. “I'm sorry?”

“You are sorry. A truly sorry creature. I asked you why you were caught with your arm in Gaia's coat.”

“I was planting the tracking device,” Ella replied.

“And were you able to complete that
onerous
task?” His voice was laced with sarcasm.

“I was.”

“Fine. And I gather you've chosen someone to perform the job?”

“Yes.” Ella fiercely hoped he would not ask who that was.

“Well, then. With any luck we'll be done with Tom shortly.” He smiled the least cheerful smile Ella had ever witnessed. “That should be fun. And then the real plans begin.”