Kiss

by Francine Pascal

  Mary was bent far over her dressing table. Her eyes, turned now to Gaia, were large. In her hand was a rolled-up tube of paper. On the tabletop was a mirror, and on the mirror were several skinny rows of white powder cut from a tiny white hill. A razor blade winked at her in the light.

  Gaia was naive and inexperienced, but she wasn't stupid. She knew what Mary was doing, and it made her feel sick.

  She stared at Mary for another moment before she turned and left the room. She strode to the guest room and gathered her bag and coat.

  She forced herself to take a detour on the way to the elevator.

  "Mr. and Mrs. Moss," she announced from the entrance to the dining room. "I'm so sorry, but I have to go. Thank you very sincerely for letting me come."

  She made her way to the elevator vestibule without a backward glance. She shrugged on her coat as the car descended. Yellow-green jacket. Red dress. She thought of Ed.

  Outside on the street a siren blared, surprising her with its jarring unpleasantness.

  Butter

  "MY GOD, SAM, THESE ARE THE best potatoes I've ever eaten," Mr. Gannis said heartily, serving up his fourth helping. Sam hoped he wasn't going to be responsible for putting the man in the hospital with a heart attack.

  He looked at the other plates around the table. Each of the four underfed Gannis women still had on her plate an untouched pile of potatoes so calorie packed, they were bleeding butter. Heather met his eyes apologetically. "They're awfully, um . . . rich."

  Dear Ed,

  I'm sorry not to be saying this to you in person, but good-bye. I have to leave New York for a while. Things got out of hand with Ella, and, well . . . hopefully I'll get the chance to tell you about it someday.

  It's time for me to set up a new life. I'm almost of legal age to be on my own now. And with all of my useful skills and abilities -- not to mention my sunny temperament -- I should have all kinds of great job possibilities:

  Waitress

  Counter-person at 7-Eleven

  Tollbooth attendant

  Dishwasher

  So before I go, I just wanted to tell you this one thing, and I hope you'll forgive me for being sappy. But as I wracked my brains to think of stuff to be thankful for, the only thing I felt sure of is you. You are a much better friend than I've ever deserved.

  I will never ever forget you for as long (or short) as I live.

  Gaia

  pennsylvania station

  He wheeled back and opened the door just wide enough so that he could toss the bloody scalpel into the trash can.

  One Way

  GAIA LOOKED UP AT THE BIG destination board that hung above the expansive waiting area of Penn Station. The board operated like the tote board on Family Feud -- its tiles turning to reveal all the destinations. "Survey says ... Trenton -- Northeast Corridor -- track 12 -- 5:09." "Survey says ... Boston -- New England Express -- track 9 -- 5:42."

  The place was ugly and crowded, and it smelled bad. And by the way, she wondered sourly, whose brilliant idea was it to call the train station smack-dab in the middle of New York City Pennsylvania Station? Hello? Ever take a geography class?

  She felt tired and sad and cranky, no longer riding the powerful surge of anger and indignation that made it much more satisfying to run away.

  She eyed the different cities, having absolutely no idea where she wanted to go. If she could go anywhere, she'd choose Paris. The Latin Quarter. She'd sit at the terrace of a quaint cafÈ across from the Notre Dame cathedral. Sip a double espresso as she read some poems from Baudelaire's Fleurs du mal. But that wasn't going to happen. Not today, anyway. She didn't have a passport, let alone money for the flight.

  Hmmm. Maybe Chicago. She'd always wanted to visit the museum there. If she couldn't go to Paris, she could at least sit for an hour in front of Gustav Caillebotte's wall-sized painting, Paris Street, Rainy Day. She first saw it in an art magazine she was flipping through while waiting to have a wisdom tooth pulled. The dreary scene spoke to her. Ambling along a cobblestone street on a gray, rainy day. That was her.

  Engine, engine, number 9, going down the Chicago line. If the train falls off the track, do you want your money back? Yes. Y-e-s spells yes, you dirty, dirty dishrag -- you.

  She waited in the Amtrak ticket line behind a twenty-something couple from Jersey who -- Gaia gathered from overhearing -- had met the night before in an East Village club. They couldn't keep their hands off each other. Pinching, groping, giggling. It took everything Gaia had not to gag before she finally reached the window, where she came face-to-face with Ned, the ticket vendor.

  She leaned forward to speak into the round voice amplifier.

  "Chicago. One way."

  He visibly perked up at the sight of her. His eyes leered at her from behind the thick Plexiglas.

  "Going all by yourself?"

  "Yeah. Is that a problem?"

  "No . . . I just thought . . ." He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

  "Thought what?"

  "I don't know, a girl as pretty as yourself. Just seems like you'd have a . . . companion."

  She sighed. "Well, I'm alone. Is there a sleeping car on that train going to Chicago?"

  He swiveled on his seat and clacked a succession of keys at his computer. "Not until nine-thirty tonight."

  "How about another train, then? Is there any train with a sleeping car leaving soon? Doesn't matter where it's going."

  He looked at her. Then back at his screen. Ten more seconds of clacking. "There's a train to Orlando leaving in about an hour."

  Gaia took a moment to ponder Orlando. It was a light-year away from this rainy day. It was an artificial city populated by tourists and the people who served the tourists. It was the land of water slides and theme parks, of Mickey Mouse and Jaws: The Ride.

  "There's definitely a sleeper car?" Gaia wanted to confirm.

  "There is a sleeping compartment, yes," Ned replied.

  "I'll take it."

  What the hell. She needed a vacation. And a little sun never hurt anybody. If it was warm enough, maybe she'd even buy a bikini. Hit the beach.

  But she still had a whole hour to kill. After Ned slid her ticket under the window, she leaned a final time into the voice amplifier.

  "Is there someplace that sells stamps around here?"

  Getting Acquainted

  THE DOCTOR QUICKENED HIS STEPS as he approached the escalator that would carry him down into the bowels of Penn Station, unquestionably the most hideous train station in the country. But he was pleased to be here. He was downright overjoyed that his target had abandoned her safe perch up on Central Park West and come down here.

  The ugly, subterranean corridors of this station were hardly fit for any human pursuit, but the place fit his needs quite perfectly.

  According to his device, she was less than two hundred feet away. He began scanning the crowds in the hope of identifying her, acquainting himself a little with her face before he went to work.

  Out of Order

  GAIA REREAD HER LETTER TO Ed. She was seated at the counter of a small coffee-and-muffin place in the train station's row of shops and eateries. What a stupid letter.

  She went to crumple the letter, then stopped herself. She needed to say something to him. She thought of him calling her on Friday night at eleven o'clock, expecting another of their ricocheting, sleepy, oddly intimate conversations. He'd call her and find out she wasn't there. Really, really wasn t there.

  Gaia sighed. She propped her chin in her hand. This was harder than leaving had ever been before. None of the other places had Ed.

  Or Sam.

  She folded her letter carefully and put it in the envelope. She wrote out Ed's address and placed the stamp in the corner so it wasn't crooked.

  She felt the eyes of a man slumped at the next table over, hovering on her legs. She turned to him.

  "Letter to Mom and Dad, sweetheart?" he asked. The smell of stale alcohol on his breath made Gaia wince.

  Okay
, she thought. That's it. She was sick of being leered at. Time to lose the dress. First the smarmy ticket vendor, now this loser.

  "That's right. Honey," she said. Turning her attention back to the envelope, she licked the inside edge of the flap and sealed it.

  "I like to watch you do that."

  Gaia narrowed her eyes at the old pervert. Blech. As she got up, she knocked over her half-filled paper cup of coffee so that it spilled into the man's lap.

  "Oh, I'm sorry," she lied. Then she swung her bag over her shoulder and took off.

  A minute later she arrived at the women's rest room. A hand-scrawled sign taped to the door read Out of Order.

  Perfect. She didn't need to pee. She could change her clothes in peace. But pushing open the door, she was immediately struck by the most powerful stench this side of the Hudson. She wanted to bolt, get out of there, but the room was empty -- it would take her only a minute. Slip off the dress; pull on the jeans and sweatshirt. Off. On. Go. Like a pit stop at the Indy 500.

  Just as long as no one lit a match.

  She hurried to a stall. Holding her breath, she quickly slipped off Mary's shoes. She was peeling off the tights when all of a sudden she heard the door fly open.

  "Let go of me!" a young female voice demanded.

  Gaia looked through the crack of her stall: Two thugs had just entered, dragging behind them a teenage girl, dressed in a Nike sports bra, a leopard-print skirt, and just one stiletto heel. The other one must've been out there somewhere, floating among the sea of arrivals and departures. Quickly Gaia pulled the tights back up over her waist.

  "Let's have it, bitch," ordered the shorter of the two, the one with the New Jersey Devils baseball cap.

  "I don't got it. I swear," the girl cried.

  The girl's hair was blond and tangled. She looked no older than Gaia -- maybe sixteen or seventeen. Like Gaia, she'd probably done the rounds in foster care. Like Gaia, she'd probably run away at least once. Gaia suspected she was a prostitute and that the bigger guy was her pimp.

  Each of the men grabbed one of the girl's pale arms, and together they shoved her into the dirty, white-tiled wall. She cried out in pain but managed to protect her head.

  Gaia watched from the stall, letting her anger grow inside her chest. She hadn't had any real release in days. The anger was right there, so easy to call upon. There was her rage at Ella. Her fury at crazy, misguided Mary who had everything in the world and chose to screw it up.

  "We're not playing games this time, sunshine," said the big, bearlike thug, whose belly hung out from a black T-shirt that asked, Got Milk?

  Gaia saw his big, paw hands fumbling, then heard a noise. Flick. The Bear underlined his threat by holding up a fierce-looking switchblade that gleamed under the fluorescent light. "Now, let's see it, or you'll have a brand-new face to look at in the mirror." He held the knife against her cheek.

  Gaia threw open the door of her stall.

  The two men turned to stare at her.

  Gaia forgot until she read the particular looks in their eyes that she was still wearing Mary's clingy, short red dress.

  "Check you out," the man in the Devils hat said, studying her appreciatively. "We've got a regular party happening in here."

  "Get off her," Gaia said.

  "Pardon?" the big one asked, curiosity and amusement flashing in his eyes.

  Gaia came closer. She spoke loudly and enunciated her words clearly. "Get off the girl. Let her go."

  The Bear shook his head. "Is this your business? I don't think so. Why don't you stand aside, sweetheart? It'll be your turn next."

  Gaia liked to protect her conscience by being absolutely clear about her intentions before she did harm. "I'm warning you. I'll kick your ass if you don't lay off her."

  They both guffawed at her. "Len, grab her," the big one instructed the smaller guy. "This is gonna be fun."

  Len did as he was told. When he reached for Gaia's arm, she backhanded him hard against the side of his neck. She caught him by surprise. He staggered sideways. Gaia kicked him hard in the chest and watched him slam into the hand-drying machine and slide to the floor. Len was disappointingly easy.

  "Holy shit."

  Gaia turned her head to see the Bear staring at her with astonishment. She'd talked enough. She went after him.

  The Bear was holding that blade, which made her approach trickier. She didn't hesitate, though. He stood to confront her, as she gambled he would, and she grabbed the knife-wielding arm by the wrist and bent it sharply behind him. She wrenched the other arm back to join the first and pulled him down so she could lodge her knee in his back.

  The Bear groaned in pain. The blade clattered to the ground. The girl backed off into the corner, shivering.

  Gaia let his arms go. Now that the blade was out of the way, she could give him some room.

  He literally growled as he turned on her. He raised his arm to punch her in the jaw, but she caught it long before it landed and took the force of his own sloppy effort to flip him onto the linoleum. It was kind of a trademark move of hers. Effortless. Fairly graceful. Totally satisfying.

  She backed up a few steps and let him get up. She hated herself for enjoying it, but she did. The Bear deserved anything she gave him and much more. He'd obviously spent too long believing that women could be intimidated. Let him remember this.

  It was all he could do to get himself back on his feet. He staggered toward Gaia, swinging at her. His lack of skill was pitiful. There wasn't much point in trying to make it a real contest. She clipped his jaw with her right fist. She very likely broke his nose with her left. She wanted to leave him a memento.

  His eyes displayed real fear now. Although Gaia couldn't feel fear, she was astute at recognizing its signs. Wild, darting eyes, rapid, shallow breaths. Gaia took that as her cue to finish him. She landed a hard, fast blow to a calculated spot under his ear. As expected, he crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Gaia knew he'd feel like shit when he came to. But he would come to and not much worse for the wear, either.

  Suddenly the girl was shrieking. Gaia heard movement behind her. Much closer than she was expecting. Before she could regroup, the smaller guy appeared in the corner of her eye and shoved her hard in the back, sending her sprawling across the floor. Gaia got up fast, but he was barreling toward her.

  Gaia turned, smashing his face with a roundhouse kick so powerful, she was sure she'd knocked him out. But she rushed the kick and threw herself badly off balance. She lost her footing, and her head came down hard against the corner of the porcelain sink.

  Gaia groaned, holding the side of her head. She put both of her hands on the side of the sink for support and swayed back up to her feet.

  At last the wretched-smelling room was quiet. The girl was backed against the tiled wall, gazing at Gaia with a stunned expression. "Are you okay?"

  Gaia nodded. "I think so."

  The girl put her hands up to her cheeks. "God, I don't know what to say. Thank you. I never had anyone stick up for me before. Is there anything I can do for you? Buy you a coffee?

  Gaia shook her head, then leaned herself up against the wall for support. Her eyes closed. Her head was pounding ferociously. She'd hit it hard.

  "Hey," the girl said, reaching out to her.

  "I'll be fine," Gaia tried to assure her. "Just give me a minute." She shielded her eyes with her hand. Her pupils were reacting sluggishly to the bright, fluorescent light above.

  Gaia started to slide down along the wall until she ended sitting up on the floor. Right next to the girl.

  "I'm gonna call 911."

  "No!" Gaia ordered. "I just need to rest." She started to drift, to give in. "Rest," she murmured again. And then she blacked out.

  Unholy Moment

  "ALL ABOARD FOR THE SOUTHERN Star, now boarding on track 12. All aboard!"

  A large segment of the Penn Station crowd shuffled in unison toward the steps that led down to the waiting train.

  He shuffled right a
long with them, his yellow-green eyes darting wildly. Searching for his target. His tracking device told him he was at point-blank range.

  He reached the platform and caught a glimpse of her -- a blond in a yellow-green Polartec jacket, carrying a black messenger bag. She was just stepping into one of the train's sleeper cars. He calmly made his way through the frantic human herd and boarded the same car, but at the other end. He walked with haste and purpose through the car, noticing the blond up ahead. She was scanning the compartment numbers as she advanced, finally entering one near the middle -- on his left. Number 33A.

  He arrived there not more than ten seconds later, pausing a moment to close his trench coat over his tie -- a Salvatore Ferragamo yellow silk, dotted with little teddy bears. A client had given it to him a few years back to thank him for the perfect cheekbones he had given her. And they were perfect. He had truly outdone himself. So in the name of mastery and precision, he always wore the tie for these unholy moments. It had become part of the ceremony. Priests wear their robes; he wore his Ferragamo teddy bear tie under his cheap, washable trench coat.

  He slowly, silently turned the brass handle of the compartment door and entered.

  "Hey!" the blond snarled. "This one's taken."

  "Is that right?" he replied with zero inflection in his voice. Then he grinned like a used car salesman as he stepped inside.

  "Hey!" she repeated. "What do you think you're doing?"

  He just kept smiling and closed the door behind him, pulling down the shade to cover the small window.

  Done Deal

  FIVE MINUTES LATER, HE STEPPED off the train. One of the conductors, doing some final work on the platform, gave him a curious look.

  "Wrong train." The doctor tossed him a shrug, pretending to be embarrassed. "I must be blind."

  He made his way back up the steps, back to the vast waiting room with the giant destination board. On the way he couldn't help thinking that the redheaded woman was a little off in her assessment. The girl was hardly "tough." Annoying, maybe, but tough? And her face wasn't so pretty, either. He imagined a little sculpting work on that nose would make for a significant improvement. . . . Perhaps a little Gore-Tex in those thin lips. An injection for those premature lines in her forehead. Under different circumstances he would have certainly left his card.