ShadowDance

     Abby had flown out of the store, and by the time she arrived at Carol’s apartment, her expertly styled hair was in disarray, a sheen of perspiration shone on her forehead, and her silky blouse was clinging to her upper back in a way that made her cringe.  She knocked at the door while trying to catch her breath and push a few errant strands of hair behind her ear.  Her thoughts were scattered at best, but if forced to distill them, she’d go with, “what am I walking into?”

     Carol opened the door, her head leaning to one side, a blank expression on her face.  Abby entered wordlessly.  After two decades of friendship, the women often communicated with meaningful glances.  It was enough, now.  Abby noted her friend’s gray pallor, the strained eyes, the stiff shoulders.  She wore a pair of ancient pedal pushers and a white cotton blouse.  Her feet were bare, and it seemed to Abby that the only color in her entire appearance was in her polished fingers and toes, painted in that shade of rich red that was so synonymous with Carol.

     Abby took a deep breath, grabbing the blond’s hand and pulling her toward the sofa.  She sat down near her, reaching to put out the cigarette that burned in an ash tray on the coffee table.  Nodistractions.  With a pointed look, she said, “Tell me.”

     Carol reached for Therese’s note, handing it to Abby with a hand that shook slightly.  She found this aggravating, and her jaw muscle clenched.  “Please read it.”

     The auburn-haired woman did so willingly.  Twice.  It was very straight-forward, she thought; honest and direct but not unkind.  A sudden wave of déjà vu hit her, and she was back in a room of a dim, cold hotel, watching Therese read a letter from Carol.  She had looked terribly young and innocent and frightened, and Abby knew a fleeting moment of chagrin for her own reserved demeanor on that terribly hard day.  It had been a very hard day for all of them.

     Setting the paper aside, she took a measured breath.  “Carol, tell me what you’re thinking.  Tell me what you want me to do.”

     Carol’s agitated shake of her head spoke volumes.  “I don’t know, Abigail!  ‘I don’t know where Therese is’ seems to say it all, don’t you think?”  The words were forced; a hitch in her voice propelled itself to the surface.  “She’s not a child, so I think I can assume she’s safe with a friend-- but Christ, this is New York City, and apparently she did leave in the middle of the night!”  She seemed to turn even more pale upon hearing her own words.  “Christ!  What was she thinking?”  She practically launched herself from the sofa, pacing to the sliding door in her long strides, wringing and clenching her hands as she went.

     Abby watched in a state of uncertainty, then plunged ahead.  “Carol, Therese is smart.  If she left in the middle of the night, she wouldn’t have gone alone.  She probably had a friend come meet her here in a taxi.  And she did say she was feeling uneasy and frightened.”  She paused, looking at Carol’s stiff, slender form, the top of her head haloed by a slanted ray of sun.  “I’m sure she’s fine!  She needed space…needed some distance for a bit.  That’s all.  The two of you are going through this fucking Harge thing again!  You’re both over the top with stress.”

     Carol turned around.  “It’s not like her, you know.”  Saying this, she came back to the sofa where she sat and reached for her cigarettes.  Abby watched her friend light up, her hands still with a slight quiver.  She blew out a blue plume of smoke, eyes narrowed against the sting.

     “It’s not like her.  Therese is not one to leave.”

     Abby’s perfectly sculpted brows arched.  She nodded her agreement.  “I think you’re right.  Maybe this bit with Harge is just too threatening for her.  And whatever is happening between the two of you…maybe it’s just too much.”

     Carol’s eyes flashed.  “Well, maybe it’s too much for me, too!”  She looked around, knowing Benny was still with the neighbor, wishing she would have gone to get him first.  Her hands itched for the feel of his silky fur.  Abby watched her carefully, hurting for this woman who was her dearest, closest friend.  God damn you, Harge!

     “…and then what will I do?  No Rindy, no Therese…”  The blond could sense tears threatening, and she shot off the sofa again, this time to pace, as if trying to outrun her own life, yapping at her bare heels.  There was a long, narrow table against the living room wall, its surface scattered with family photos and mementos.  Sr. Alicia had given them a small, framed copy of the Prayer of St. Francis.  Lord,make me an instrument of your peace… Yes, but later, not now.  Now was not a time for peace.

     Carol felt a chill come over her, a disquieting cold, here in the warm apartment on this hot summer day.  She turned back to Abby, whose eyes regarded her almost without blinking. 

     “Carol, you’re white as a sheet, honey.”  Abby rose to her feet, coming to take her friend’s hands in her own.  “Your hands are freezing!”  With growing concern, she pulled the obviously troubled woman to a dining room chair.  “Sit here.  I’m going to get you a glass of water.”  Abby tried to control her racing mind.  What in the world?  What was going on?  Is she going to faint?   She filled two glasses with tap water, rushing back to Carol, who sat obediently at the dining room table and was staring at one of Therese’s photos, which they’d had enlarged, professionally framed, and mounted on the dining room wall.  But her blue gray eyes looked haunted, despite the photo’s stunning beauty.  Jesus.

     “Here, Carol.  Drink this!  Maybe you’re dehydrated or something,” she commanded, noting her own racing pulse.  The lovely blond obeyed, which only served to make Abby more nervous.  The friend she knew would bitch, not comply.

     “Do you know I almost killed a man?”  Her voice was tremulous.  “I held a gun, I pointed it at him.  It was loaded and ready to shoot.”  Now, Carol shivered.  Abby took both their glasses and almost slammed them on the table.  Then she reached for the shaking woman and pulled her into her arms.  But Carol only continued, “I was so close to pulling that trigger, Abby!”  Her voice was a whisper.  “My god, I almost killed that detective.  I would have been in prison!”

     Abby held Carol in the embrace wordlessly, until her shaking ceased.  Then she leaned back and looked directly into her eyes.  “Carol--yes, you could have killed Tommy Tucker.  But you didn’t.”  She bit back bile that rose in her throat at the mention of the detective’s name.  She despised the man.  “And if you ask me,” she continued, “he deserved it!  I would have shot him in both kneecaps without thinking twice!”

     Abby studied her friend’s face, her haunted eyes, seeking some sign that Carol was edging away from the precipice where she seemed to be teetering.  But the blond looked so unnerved, so uncharacteristically raw and uncertain that she felt flummoxed.  I don’t know what to say or do.  I don’t know what you need.  She closed her eyes for a moment, but the answer wasn’t written on the backs of her eyelids any more than in her thoughts.

     Abby clasped Carol’s hands once again.  “Carol, listen to me,” she gently commanded, taking a lungful of air, “what you did to Tommy, with that gun—it was heroic!  It was valiant, dammit!  That man—at the behest of Harge, no less—violated you and Therese!  What he did was an assault!  Exploitation.  Blackmail.”  Abby felt a surge of rage, of white-hot anger against injustice and cruelty and inhumanity.  Her eyes watered so profusely she could barely see.

     “And you rose up like a lioness.  A fucking warrior, if you ask me.  Joan of Arc!  Harriet Tubman!  An Amazon queen!  You showed him your strength—and your decency, goddammit!  You pointed the gun.    But you didn’t shoot.  You were better than Tommy Tucker, honey.  He slithers, Carol; he’s a snake.”  Abby sat back, exhausted by her speech, deeply moved at the grace of the woman in front of her.  “And you are a star.”

     The seconds ticked by. Perhaps it was the heartbeat of silence that finally seemed to draw Carol from her frozen stupor.  Her eyes gradually lost their wan appearance, and the rich, blue gray shade that returned looked as if it had been drawn from a spring of life-giving color.  Her cheeks turned pink again, which was to be expected in the warm and humid apartment.  She ran her tongue over her lips and rolled her shoulders and neck a few times.  And when she reached over to give Abby’s hand a tender squeeze, her own was warm once again.

     Carol held her companion’s gaze for a moment, clearing her throat.  “Thank you, Abigail.”  She breathed deeply, pursing her lips as she exhaled.  “I haven’t been myself…obviously.”  She pushed soft strands of hair behind one ear, and her long fingers stopped to fiddle with an earring.  Then her hands spoke, fluttering as if trying to pull words out of air.

     “It’s…alarming to remember…the rage I felt.  To hover there, contemplating murder.  It terrifies me still.”  She expelled a huge breath; a release.  Her eyes wandered, taking in this space where she made a home with Therese.  “And now…” She paused, shaking her head.  “Abby, I would never want to leave Therese.  Ever.  But lately, this crap with Harge again…and pulling her into it…”  She clutched at her heart with another shake of her head.  “Maybe to give her freedom from me is more loving, you know?”

     Abby grunted, or maybe it was a snort.  “Bullshit!  Bull-shit, Carol!”  She shook her head, auburn hair flying in a wave.  “You’ve obviously been scared.  And it makes sense.  Harge is pulling his crap again and I guess it’s taking you back…”  She stopped, gritting her teeth momentarily.  “But what the hell are you thinking?  You don’t go entertaining these thoughts without talking things through with Therese!  Jesus!”

     Abby rose, grabbed the cigarettes from the coffee table, and proceeded to light one for herself and another for Carol.  The two of them had a long history, and they always seemed to do their best problem-solving while smoking.  Now, she gazed at her friend, who was inhaling smoke with a look of pure gratitude.

     “I don’t know how this all will work out.  But it will, Carol!  You’ve been running away each night.  I see it.  Theater and parties and drinking…” She exhaled a large cloud of blue smoke, finding the haze oddly enticing.  “Maybe it’s time you face this more directly, talk to Therese and see how she’s feeling…”

     Carol nodded, but clearly hesitated.  “I know, Abby.”  She felt antsy again, agitated, and rose to walk into the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee.  She could feel her anxiety rising.  “It would help if I knew where she was.”  Busy with her task, her eyes wandered, spotting the Times on the counter.  It was yesterday’s edition, still unread.  The headlines involved the ongoing conflict in the holy land, Arabs and Jews killing each other. 

     As she filled the coffee pot with cold water, Carol heard the oddest voice speak in her head: Tell theIsraelites to move on.  She squinted, shaking her head.  God, she was tired and stressed and her head felt fuzzy.  But the voice spoke again, and quite clearly: Tell the Israelites to move on.

     “Oh, for the love of god…”  She didn’t have the energy for this. 

     “What are you mumbling about?”  Abby stood in the archway of the door, looking at her companion in confusion.

     Carol was about to reply when the phone rang.  Her eyes flew to the offending object, so often the bearer of bad news as well as good.  It rang again, a jarring tone, a knife through the air.

     “Answer that, Carol.  It may be Therese.”

     The blond picked up the receiver, her hand shaking.  “Yes, hello, this is Carol.”  That her voice could sound pleasant, measured, cultured, was a thing of wonder to Abby.

     “Carol!  Hi, it’s Elaine Hartsell.  Before I say anything more, I want you to know.  Therese is here with me…”