Hallie's Comet

by Denise Dietz

  “How we feel. This is happening to us, remember?”

  “Speaking of remember, do you remember anything from your dream states?”

  “Trances, Gabe. Please don’t be subtle.”

  “Do you remember anything, Hallie?”

  “No. Except for the wind tunnel inside Elk Creek, which wasn’t really a trance, and the one in New York, when my sister-in-law gave birth. I delivered her baby. Why are you grinning? Don’t you think I can deliver a baby?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “If you say it’s because I’m a woman or because I have maternal instincts, I’ll strangle you. That’s what Ivan … what a friend of my brother’s said. ‘Since women have the babies, they know how to deliver them,’ he said. I only wish he could carry a baby around for nine months. And go into labor!”

  “Tell me what happened when your sister-in-law gave birth.”

  “I called her Scarlet and mentioned Gabriel and I think I saw Knickers. She was about to boil some water.” Hallie sighed. “My paintings are the clues, Gabe, but I don’t feel the compulsion to paint right now. I feel peaceful, happy. Maybe that’s because I’ve been here before. There was a cabin, not far from this very spot. I can see a crude corral, a shed for the horses, an outhouse, a vegetable garden and a clothesline.”

  “A clothesline,” he echoed.

  “Yes. I see drawers hanging from—”

  “Drawers?”

  “Not bureau or desk drawers. Panties. Loose-fitting panties gathered at the knees. That’s how our little girl got her nickname.” Hallie stared into the distance. “Knickers lived in the cabin, along with her pets. And Gabriel.”

  “No, honey. Knickers lived in a parlor house. Damn! Listen to me. I’m talking as if she really existed.”

  “She did exist.” Hallie auditioned a smile. “But I think she might have grown some before she shared the cabin with Gabriel. I think they were lovers.”

  “And I think you’re letting your imagination run wild.”

  “Well, there’s one way to find out. We’ll simply bide our time until my next painting. What are your plans for tonight?”

  He glanced down at his watch. “It’s three-thirty. I want to shoot a roll of film before the sun sets. Then I’ll drive us to Woodland Park. I promised Josh we’d pick up a pizza and rent some videos. He promised he’d secure Napkin in the yard.”

  “That’s not necessary. I like dogs.”

  “Do you like slobber? Pizza just happens to be Napkin’s favorite snack. He’ll even eat the box. That reminds me. Josh mentioned a hypnotherapist—”

  “No! No way, Gabe! I don’t want to go into a trace. I want to come out of one.”

  “More than one. What are you afraid of?”

  “I’m not afraid. Sunsets scare me, not some stupid spellbinder.”

  “Sunsets scare you?”

  “Did I say sunsets? I meant…” She paused, very close to tears. “I don’t know what I meant.”

  “Hush,” he soothed. “I’ll protect you from sunsets. And dragons. Okay?”

  Nodding, she watched him bend and retrieve the blanket. Then she grasped one end and walked backwards. Folding the blanket lengthwise, she stepped toward him, until their eyes met and their fingers touched.

  “You’re right, Gabe. I’m afraid of a hypnotist.” Dropping the blanket, she squeezed his hands. “I’m afraid I might never wake up.”

  He released his end of the blanket, disentangled her fingers from his hands, pressed her face against his shoulder, and gently massaged her shoulders.

  I’m afraid I might not want to, she thought.

  THIRTEEN

  It’s Monopoly time again, Hallie mused. Colorado Monopoly. You can land on Bennett or Myers Avenue, rather than Park Place or Boardwalk. Pass Go, collect two hundred dollars, throw the dice, and advance to Woodland Park, a picturesque municipality where the mountains rise up above God’s feet and tickle his knees.

  Joshua Quinn’s house looked like a Monopoly house. Small and red, it boasted gingerbread trim painted lavender, salmon and teal. The trim proclaimed that an artist lived there, perhaps even the very same artist who had created the illustrations for a popular Hansel and Gretel book, where the children were black and the witch was white and the colorful candy-and-pill-coated cottage stood within a maze of tenements. A much more effective message than “just say no.”

  Stepping from the Blazer, Hallie stretched while Gabe retrieved a large pizza box and four DVDs, leaving his camera bag on the back seat. The bag’s zippered compartment held rolls of film, ready for processing. Gabe had clicked away while she assumed various poses. But she wasn’t a professional model. Despite his encouragement, she’d felt unnatural, stiff, as if she were an Old Homestead mannequin.

  How could he use those photos in his catalogue, especially since she’d worn her turtleneck and jeans? He had emphatically stated that she didn’t need to slip on the authentic nineteenth-century clothes he’d brought along.

  Was he afraid she might retreat into one of her trances?

  When developed, would Gabe’s pictures elicit the same emotions she had experienced at the glen? The feeling that she’d been there before? Happy? Cherished? Loved?

  After driving away from Cripple Creek, those feelings had diminished. Well, not really. Because Gabe evoked the very same sensations, not to mention lustful exultation.

  Lustful exultation? Holy Moses! “Tell it like it is, kiddo,” Marianne would say. “Sesame Street’s Big Bird introduced the O-word yesterday.”

  During her few brief moments of unrestricted passion, Hallie had experienced pulsating bursts of pleasure. But now she wanted more. She wanted fulfillment. If fulfilled, would she explode? People don’t explode except verbally. Wrong! She’d been on the verge until Gabriel suddenly developed scruples.

  Gabe, not Gabriel. Why couldn’t she keep them straight?

  Bringing her attention back to Gabe, she saw him striding up the cobblestone path. “Hey, Beast,” he yelled, “hide your dog!”

  Too late. A cross between a Shetland pony and a grizzly bear threw his weight against the screen door. It opened, and Napkin leaped the porch steps in a single bound. Faster than a speeding bullet, he hurled himself toward them — a furry, canine Michael Jordan.

  Hallie scurried up the path and rescued the DVDs while Gabe shielded his chest with the pizza box.

  Undaunted, the pony-bear-dog reared up and washed Gabe’s face with a tongue the size of a skateboard.

  Josh stumbled onto the porch. Abruptly summoned by Gabe and Hallie’s arrival, he had vacated his shower. Dripping wet, he wore a pair of Disney boxer shorts. Tinkerbell. “Napkin,” he shouted, “get in the house!”

  “Napkin, get down!” Gabe ordered sternly.

  “Napkin, get inside!”

  “Beast, get dressed!”

  “What? Oh.” Josh disappeared.

  Overcome with the giggles, Hallie watched Gabe and Napkin perform a dance that was half jitterbug, half waltz.

  The pizza box had been flung skyward and it now decorated the lawn. Incredibly, it was still intact. Should she rescue the pizza? Or Gabe?

  Before she could make a decision, Josh appeared again. He had thrown on jeans and a plaid shirt, unbuttoned. In his hand he clutched three large dog biscuits. “C’mon, baby,” he pleaded. “Look, baby, biscuits. C’mon, baby.”

  Baby? Hallie couldn’t help it. Doubled over with laughter, she sank to the ground. A big mistake. Napkin abandoned Gabe and loomed above her. Beethoven with an attitude. The movie dog, not the composer.

  “Biscuits!” Josh yelled, his voice desperate.

  “Pizza!” Gabe shouted, snatching up the box.

  “Napkin, get in the house,” Hallie said, her voice firm.

  The dog stopped growling, turned tail, and walked meekly up the porch steps. Then he plunked his butt down and wagged his tail as he waited for someone to open the door.

  “How’d you do that?” Gabe extended his hand and helped h
er rise.

  “New York has animals bigger than Napkin, only we call them wolves. Human wolves. The best way to deal with a wolf is to never beg and never show fear.” Despite her brave words, she began to tremble.

  “Right.” Dropping the pizza box next to the scattered DVDs, Gabe drew her into his arms. “Beast,” he said, “get rid of that stupid mutt.”

  “I once enrolled Napkin in an obedience class,” Josh muttered. “They used dog biscuits as a reward. Napkin toppled the trainer and chomped down every biscuit. Then he threw up all over a Chihuahua named Peewee. Peewee’s owner threatened to sue.”

  The bang of the screen door emphasized Josh’s last words.

  Gabe pressed Hallie’s face against his shoulder. “Delayed reaction, honey?”

  “No. More like emotional stress. I couldn’t stop laughing and now I’m crying. If there was a Chihuahua handy, I’d probably throw up.”

  “Poor baby.”

  “Baby?” She started laughing again. “Josh called Napkin baby,” she gasped between giggles. “Did you hear him?”

  Alarmed, Gabe held Hallie at arm’s length. Her eyes still brimmed with tears but her laughter continued bubbling up and spilling over. If she didn’t stop soon, she really would become sick. Should he slap her face? No. He couldn’t. He’d never slapped a woman’s face. Frustrated, he followed his only other impulse. Cradling her cheeks with his palms, he lowered his head and kissed her mouth.

  Her laughter subsided as she molded her lips to his. At the same time, she reached up to wind her arms around his neck. Gabe felt her lips part. Thrusting his tongue inside, he savored her sweet breath. Although sheathed by a shirt and bra, he could feel her nipples harden. Releasing his mouth, she licked the scar that adorned his chin.

  The sun was sinking fast but they were out in the open. He hesitated. Then passion replaced reason. Sensation consumed sanity. Belting Hallie’s waist with his hands, he lifted her off the ground and carried her toward porch shadows.

  Sobbing anew, this time with desire, she straddled his hips.

  His fingers traveled down her spine. When they reached her buttocks, he maneuvered one hand between her spread thighs and pressed, as hard as he could, against her zippered fly.

  She whimpered and Napkin barked. Her breathy whimper came from deep down inside her throat. Napkin’s strident bark came from the back yard. Which meant his brother would reappear any minute. “Josh,” Gabe whispered into Hallie’s ear.

  Hallie shivered. Gabe’s breath had created new ripples of desire. But she merely un-straddled his waist. As her sneakers touched the path, she tried to regain her composure.

  “I wish,” she began.

  Gabe said, “You wish what?”

  “I wish we were Knickers and Gabriel, snuggled together inside their cabin.”

  “We’ll snuggle later.”

  She shook her head. “Josh would know if we, uh, snuggled. It would show.” Striving for humor, she said, “I’ve never felt this way before, so impulsive, so uninhibited. Do you think it’s the altitude?”

  FOURTEEN

  Hallie stared skeptically at the pizza box that decorated Josh’s glass coffee table. Cheese stuck to the top of the box and cold grease saturated its bottom. Earth-stained paw prints almost obliterated the cardboard’s red logo.

  “Have you warned her about the altitude?” Josh asked Gabe

  “Yup,” he said. “But I think Hallie and I both need a drink. Your damn mutt played tic-tac-toe on my chest with his nails. And he scared Hallie breathless.”

  Great ad-lib, she thought, still breathless from Gabe’s kiss.

  “I’ve got a bottle of chilled champagne,” Josh said, his expression smug.

  Gabe quirked an eyebrow. “What’s the occasion. Your new contact?”

  “Nope. Join me in the kitchen, Scarecrow. Please excuse us, Hallie. You can choose the first movie.”

  Gabe followed his brother through an arched doorway. “Why the champagne? What’s up, Beast?”

  “I’m so embarrassed, Scarecrow. I’ve made such a fuss over Hallie O’Brien, bent your ear countless times, but what I felt was infatuation.”

  “Infatuation,” Gabe parroted.

  “That’s right. When true love strikes, it takes your breath away.”

  “Breath away.”

  “And who do you think causes me to lose my breath? None other than Kayla Partridge.”

  “Kayla Partridge.”

  “Must you repeat everything I say?”

  “Who’s Kayla Partridge?”

  “My princess. The girl next store. When Kayla posed for Puss in Boots, she was in high school. Now she’s in college.”

  “Aha!” Gabe grinned. “Do you love her?”

  “I think so. I’ve got all the symptoms.”

  “Does she love you?”

  “Not yet. But she will. I’ll woo her with candy, flowers and books.”

  “Poetry?”

  “No. My books.”

  “Children’s books?”

  “Yup. How can she resist?”

  “You love the girl next door.” Gabe laughed. “That’s wonderful.”

  “Will you do me another huge favor, Scarecrow?”

  “Anything. Name it.”

  “I told Hallie I’d show her the sights, but Kayla’s only planning to be here a few days. Then she goes back to school. I hate to ask, but would you look after Hallie?”

  “Absolutely. Not a problem.” Laughing again, Gabe ruffled his brother’s hair. “Silly old Beast.”

  From the living room, Hallie heard the sound of Gabe’s laughter. He had a nice laugh. He had a nice everything. With a sigh, she studied the rental DVDs. She’d been surprised when Gabe suggested The Princess Bride. Hallie adored the movie and found new things to grin over every time she watched it.

  The other DVDs were action-adventure flicks, starring Keanu Reeves, Samuel Jackson, and Charles Bronson. Marianne loved old Bronson movies, but Hallie hated them. If Bronson established any kind of relationship, his girlfriend almost always got killed. Were a few weeks, months, even years of rapture worth getting killed for? Or was it better to die of old age, an unloved, raptureless spinster?

  “My brother likes movies with car chases and explosions,” Gabe had said inside the video store. “But I’ve seen enough death and destruction.”

  Death and destruction! The words sounded familiar. Of course they did. Hadn’t her mom used those very same words to describe Cripple Creek’s saloons and brothels?

  “Where did you see death and destruction, Gabe?” she had asked.

  “I was once a photojournalist.”

  “Photojournalist? Oh! Ohmigosh! They … everyone called you Gabriel Q. I’ve seen your war photos.” Excitement building, she said, “I’ve even seen you in Newsweek. You looked different. Your hair was shorter. You had a mustache and beard. That’s why I didn’t recognize you. At the airport. But I read the Newsweek article, so my Gabriel portrait was probably—”

  “Subliminal? No. I don’t believe that anymore. You didn’t paint me. You painted Gabriel no-last-name.”

  Hallie brought her attention back to the videos. Should she honor her host and choose an action movie? Before she could decide, Gabe and Josh reentered the room. Both were grinning from ear to ear.

  “Forget the DVDs,” Gabe said, “and join us in a toast.”

  Puzzled, Hallie accepted a goblet filled with champagne.

  “To love,” said Gabe.

  “To love,” said Josh.

  “To love,” Hallie echoed.

  But other words reverberated inside her head. Words that made her heart rise and beat against the pulse at the base of her throat. Words that, had she said them out loud, would have strangled her.

  Death and destruction, death and destruction, death and—

  FIFTEEN

  “I warned you about the altitude,” Gabe said. Circling Hallie’s waist, he guided her toward the front door.

  “Bilge water,” she state
d indignantly.

  “Bilge water?”

  “Horsefeathers, Gabe. The altitude’s not affectin’ me. You are.” A bemused smile spread across her face. “I had to toast love, didn’t I? Then I toasted Josh and his princess. Then the princess bribe, then Keanu and make-my-day Charlie.”

  “It’s the Princess Bride and ‘make my day’ was Clint. Do you remember anything about the Keanu Reeves movie?” Gabe’s voice was filled with amusement.

  “Not much,” she admitted. “I wanted to leave so badly. I’m going to pose for you and this time I’ll model like a model. Not a mannequin.”

  Ushering Hallie inside, Gabe kicked the door shut. “What are you talking about?”

  “Boudoir photos. You have clothes from the nineteenth century. I saw camisoles and negligees when I painted my bullfight.”

  “You painted a bullfight?”

  “I primed the canvas with white primer-paint, so it’s all gone. The bull won’t die and the little girl can stop screaming.”

  “When did you paint a bullfight?”

  “Last night. You were sleeping. You looked so handsome, so sculpted, like an ad for an exercise machine. But I wouldn’t charge for handling, Gabe, not one red cent.”

  “Hallie, you’re tipsy,” he said, bathing the hallway with subdued illumination.

  “I feel fine, Mr. Q. Please shoot me.”

  “I’ll shoot a few pictures of you. After that, it’s off to bed, okay? Promise?”

  “Cross my heart.” She pressed his hand against her left breast, smiled again, then turned and raced toward the costume alcove.

  Fumbling for the light switch, she felt her heart beat wildly, and the loud thump wasn’t effectuated by champagne or even the brief press of Gabe’s warm hand. Up until tonight events had been so serious. Now it was time to have some fun.

  In other words, the chaste maiden wanted to be chased.

  And caught.

  Momentarily, she wondered if she was really and truly the pragmatic Alice W. O’Brien her family knew and loved. Maybe she had shed her skin. Like a snake.