Orpheus and the Pearl & Nevermore (7 page)

Catherine turned to Mrs. Wallston. She had
known this would happen, but she still wished she could stop or at
least slow the tears flowing down her cheeks. It was just unseemly,
not to mention painful. Mrs. Wallston reached up and touched the
moist skin, right on the one scar she had made weeks before, and
very gently took one of the drops off Catherine’s cheek, balancing
it on her fingertip. She held it up to the sunlight, then placed it
on her own eye. She blinked, and for the first time, Catherine saw
her eye sparkle, the way it must have in life.

“
Catherine? May I finally
call you that?” Catherine nodded. “You healed my soul, while my
husband’s science could only fix my body. Your skill, and most of
all, your love finished what he could not. Please don’t ever cry
again when you think of me. I couldn’t bear for my memory to bring
you anything but joy, for that is what you have brought
me.”

“Perhaps his science was inadequate, but it was he
who healed your soul as well, for it was he who had hurt it. I only
helped you realize it, and gave you the strength to move on. You
were the first person I ever helped heal, and that memory can only
bring me the greatest joy, for the rest of my life.”

They embraced,
Catherine’s heart again beating against Mrs. Wallston, who pressed
her face into Catherine’s curls and breathed her in, slowly and
deliberately, sharing a love that surpassed not only sexuality, but
any bodily form or limit whatsoever.

The End

* * *

David Dunwoody

Thanks to Jodi Lee and Belfire: for bringing this
story to un-life, and for making un-life look so damn good.

* * *

Malcolm Witt died in his sleep at 11:07 PM.
Four minutes later, his body rose and walked from the room. Malcolm
watched it happen.

6:25 PM

H
e was nervous enough as it was, and it showed—in his
flinching countenance, in the way his fingers danced restlessly on
the steering wheel, in the way his tightly-wound gut pulled him
forward in his seat and the way he kept his upper arms pressed to
his sides, fearing sweat. His mood was evident enough already, and
the cloying dampness in the air was making it worse. Regardless of
his composure, a sheen was forming on his brow.
Maybe,
he thought,
the air will have the same effect on everyone
else.

He was sure he’d be the only one under scrutiny. His
stomach made another quarter-turn, and he was nearly hunched over
the wheel.

It had been threatening to rain all day. The
slate-gray sky was now mottled with black bruises, and Malcolm knew
it would be pouring by nightfall. “So there’s that to look forward
to.”

“
I’ll drive home,” his
brother told him. “Relax.”

“
I know
there’s nothing to be upset about. Not now. What’s the point?
I
know
that, but
I’m ready to come apart.”

“He won’t even be there.” Ray patted him on the
shoulder. “You know, you didn’t let on how worked up you were over
this.”

“
I didn’t think I was,”
Malcolm sighed. “And by the way, I’m sorry we’re going straight
from the airport to dinner. It’s just not as easy as it used to be
to get people together.”

“
No worries,” Ray said.
“It’ll be a nice time. I’m looking forward to it. I want you to
have a drink and mellow out. Or two. I’m driving home.
Okay?”

Big brother never failed to come through.
Malcolm’s tension eased, if only a little.

Malcolm’s circle of friends was modest, and it had
been over a month since he’d seen most of them. There had been
e-mails and phone calls offering their encouragement, of course,
but it was increasingly difficult to get more than a couple of them
together at once, even on a Friday night. He knew that was just due
to work schedules, but it had been eating at him
nonetheless—especially because Leo made his own hours, and could
see anyone anytime he wanted—and so Malcolm had become determined
to have an evening out.

And Leo
won’t
be there,
he reminded himself. Leo didn’t even know,
according to Bonnie. Being part of such subterfuge at thirty-five
years of age felt a bit ridiculous, but he told himself it was only
temporary. They’d speak eventually, awkward overtures would be
made, and mea culpas accepted. They’d find something stupid to
laugh about and then these awful boundaries could be
dissolved.
That’s what we both really
want, I’m sure. Maybe he’ll even make the first move.

Malcolm pulled into the parking lot of the
Arthur Arms. “They have an Arms in Portland,” Ray said, “and it
sucks. Have I told you that before?”

“
Probably.” Malcolm killed
the engine. He straightened his jacket and appraised himself in the
mirror. He wanted them to tell Leo he’d looked good. He’d knock
back a couple of drinks and tell some jokes. God, he hadn’t felt so
much as a pang of grief in five weeks, and now this. He supposed he
hadn’t thought about how the breakup might affect other
relationships.

“
I think
we go
inside
the
restaurant,” said Ray.

“
All right, all right.”
Malcolm threw open his door. Cool air kissed his face and, for just
a second, he thought of the thin blue lips of a corpse. At their
mother’s viewing, he and Ray had both noticed that she was wearing
the wrong shade of lipstick. It had looked cakey and absurd, like
chalk on the mouth of a mannequin.

Bonnie was the only one there so far, and
she rose to hug both men as they approached the booth. It was set
into an oak-paneled alcove with mood lighting, far from the
boisterous activity at the bar. “Thank you,” Malcolm told her.

Bonnie slipped back into the rear of the
circular booth. Giving them a look of mock reproach, she said,
“Well, at least you’re not the last to arrive.”

“
My fault,” Ray told her.
“It was my flight. But you got us a great spot.”

“
Did you put it under my
name?” Malcolm asked. Bonnie shook her head. “Oh. I don’t think
either Jean or Saul know your last name,” he said. “I’d
better—”

“
I got it,” Ray slid out
of the booth.

Bonnie’s eyes flitted from him to Malcolm.
“Does he age at all?”

“
Hey.” He pointed at her.
“I need you to focus.”

“
I’m still here for you,”
she said. “I can multitask.”

“
Seriously. Ray’s not
doing anything until Monday. Ask him out tomorrow.”

“
Very well.” She folded
her hands and gave him her full attention. “So, what’ve you been
doing with yourself?”

“
Not much,” he said,
apologetically, but she was listening. “I go to work, I come home
and do lesson plans, I go to bed. I go crazy. I call
you.”

“
You could call me more
often,” she said.

“
It’s just been
weird.”

“
I know.”

Ray returned to the table. “Put it under
Witt. So Bon, what’s new?”

“
Business as usual,” she
told him. Casting a glance at Malcolm, she said softly, “I’m not
allowed to talk about it.”

“
Oh, stop.” Malcolm waved
in at the bar, trying to catch a server’s eye.

Ray laughed. “Maybe we could get into it
later,” he said to Bonnie.

“
Guys—” Malcolm
began.

“
It’s fine.” Ray gave him
a reassuring smile.

Someone bumped against Malcolm’s arm, and he
looked up, expecting a waitress; but it was a thin man with
shoulder-length blond hair. He set a tumbler of Scotch before
Malcolm. “I made it a double.”

“
How long have you been
here?” Malcolm asked with a wry smile.

The man seated himself beside Malcolm with
his own drink in hand, saying nothing. The short-haired man who’d
accompanied him to the booth said, “Forgive Jean, he assumes
everyone already knows who he is.” The man extended his hand to
Ray. “Jordan Saul.”

“
Ray Witt. Nice to make
your acquaintance.” Ray moved closer to Bonnie so that Saul could
join them. Jean, perched on the edge of the seat next to Malcolm,
raised his glass in an unknown toast and drained its
contents.

“
Jean Haniver,” Malcolm
finally told Ray. “Let’s not interrupt his entrance. It should be
over by the third drink.” Jean didn’t respond even to that.
Swallowing a mouthful of Scotch, Malcolm elbowed him. “Ray’s my
brother.”

Jean thrust his hand across the table. “Ray
Witt. Two years Colmy’s senior, single, and a lawyer. You’re here
for the Old Valley hearing. Representing the tree-huggers.”

Ray grinned. “Close. Very close. ‘Colmy’ and
I are three years apart.”

Jean raised an eyebrow and
turned to Malcolm. “So you really
are
thirty-five.” He flagged down a
passing waitress and held up his glass. “This is a vodka tonic.” To
the booth he said, “Sorry about the rudeness of my ‘entrance.’ I
was getting a read on Ray. Didn’t even know Malcolm had a brother.
Could have skipped the routine if he’d simply told
me—
and
introduced
me as Jean Haniver, psychic.”

It was true, Jean had pulled every fact he
knew about Ray from thin air, though they were all adults seated at
the table, and he must have deduced it from simple observation.
Jean could have made an honest living in some science instead of
the Sylvia Browne shtick, but then he probably wouldn’t have had
the books or the TV appearances or the seminars.

It was hard to believe
Saul had mentored him. The two had never been lovers, as far as
Malcolm knew, but had worked closely for years. Saul had been a
nightclub magician at the height of his career; now semi-retired
and managing Jean, he still pulled a bit of sleight-of-hand at
parties, but stayed away from interpreting messages from the Great
Spirit World.
True magic is far too grim
for me,
Saul was fond of saying.
I much prefer card tricks.

Malcolm caught his eye and smiled. When Saul
smiled back, Malcolm could see the silver in his beard. He knew
Saul had to be much older than he looked. Malcolm supposed that was
a bit of real-world magic at work.

When the waitress returned with Jean’s
refill, they ordered their entrees. “I thought you would’ve already
known about Ray,” Bonnie said to Jean with jovial sarcasm.

“
I never go where I’m not
invited,” Jean said, and tapped his forefinger against Malcolm’s
temple. He swayed, just slightly, and again Malcolm wondered how
long he and Saul had been seated at the bar.

“
I am an attorney,
though,” Ray said. “You nailed that. Knowing that much, you could
have guessed I flew in for Old Valley, but how did you get attorney
in the first place?”

“
A magician never...well,
you know.” Jean waved off the question.

Saul crossed his arms with his typical
bemused expression.

Malcolm’s belly was warm with Scotch, and
the muscles in his stomach and chest had relaxed. He went through
another Scotch and most of his manicotti without thought. Things
were going just as he’d hoped.

Ray went on a little spiel about Old Valley,
the storm-water treatment plant that the city had shut down and
sold off. The developer was allegedly using it for illegal dumping.
“It hasn’t been processed at all like it was supposed to be, and
there are still lines that haven’t been sealed. That toxic swamp is
already backing up into the new system, I guarantee it.”

Bonnie set her fork down beside a
half-finished steak. “Delightful.”

“
Sorry,” Ray said, “I know
it’s not dinner conversation.” He leaned over to her. “Let’s pick
it up tomorrow at lunch. I’ve got a whole rap on raw
sewage.”

“
Yummy.” But the
invitation had clearly made her night. Having come down from his
anxiety, Malcolm was able to appreciate the moment.

“
Bonnie and I graduated
from Gibson together,” Ray told Saul and Jean. “Never really dated.
Well, we kinda did. Whatever happened?”

“
Your rotten little
brother wouldn’t leave us alone,” Bonnie shot back. Malcolm laughed
hardest of all.

“
You two are in love,”
Jean said abruptly. The laughter in the booth died. “Well,” he
shrugged, “you are.”

Malcolm was surprised Jean hadn’t really
leapt for the brass ring, and offered to divine the identity of the
man Leo had slept with; then again, he probably already knew. And
with that, Malcolm’s emotions bottomed out and his mind left the
room.

“
Hey,” Ray said, then
again. “Hey—you still with us?”

Malcolm threw the rest of
his drink down his gullet. “I’ll be back,” he said, and motioned
for Jean to move out of the booth so he could get up. The psychic
huffed at having his performance interrupted, but Malcolm heard him
go right back into character the moment he walked away.
So much for friends.
But
he’d wanted things to go on as they always had, right? He was the
one being fickle. He pushed through the men’s room door and
situated himself before the urinal. Another drink, maybe, when he
got back.