Rapture

by Thomas Tessier

  He had found himself returning to Diane. She became Georgianne in a bikini, or in a slip and bra, or in a teddy, or in black patterned stockings with her skirt riding up while she sat and read a book and Jeff watched. But the satisfaction he got with Diane was diminishing, the illusion more difficult to maintain. Georgianne was under his skin, in his blood, and no substitute would do. Diane's hair didn't smell the same as Georgianne's, her body didn't feel quite the same in an embrace. Even when they both had their clothes on, Diane's breasts lightly touching his chest somehow felt wrong. Jeff had two Georgiannes locked in his head-the one from high school and the one who lived now-and Diane couldn't fully translate into either of them.

  Jeff liked to regard Georgianne as a special project. He couldn't give up on her. As an intellectual puzzle, he thought she might still be solved, that he would finally figure out what it took to win her. And on an emotional level, the idea of abandoning her never had a chance.

  It hurt him that she never called. She hadn't lifted a finger to contact him at any time since they'd met on the street in Danbury almost exactly a year ago. During the period when he was calling her twice a week it was understandable, perhaps. But in February, March, and April it wasn't. Their last conversation, after all, hadn't ended on a sour note, not openly, not really. By then, he thought, she owed him at least one damn phone call. She had the three numbers at which he could be reached, Lisker-Benedictus, his private line at work, and his home telephone, but the call never came. She just let him go.

  Through the rest of February and into March, Jeff had experienced a growing sense of disbelief. Could she really forget about him so easily? Was that how she regarded their friendship-if he called or was there in person, fine; otherwise, she didn't give him a thought? It was a shocking conclusion, one that he refused to accept. Hadn't she told him she felt bad about not staying in touch with Mrs. Brewer, her long-time neighbor in Millville? Perhaps it was just Georgianne's way, a fact of no particular significance. Besides, she had more than enough to keep her busy. Her life was in a state of uncertainty. She had to decide about her job, her house, her whole future, and all of this coming in the aftermath of her husband's death and her daughter's going away to college.

  By April, Jeff was actively planning how to get himself back into Georgianne's life. A telephone call. A long letter. A surprise visit. He considered these ideas among others, but nothing appealed to him. Points of access were limited. He blamed himself for the failure in February and he knew that a rerun would be disastrous beyond words.

  It was around the middle of April when he began to think about Bonnie. He had met her only a couple of times, almost a year ago now, but whenever she came to mind it was as a potential ally. The girl had seemed to like him well enough, but beyond that superficial impression was the fact that she wanted to be a scientist. Jeff was a computer scientist. Bonnie would understand him and respect him for what he was and what he did. Her way of looking at things, he reasoned, could not be so very different from his. There had to be a meeting point, a common ground between them, and that in turn might provide the key to Georgians.

  Knobs, the fellow who had sold Jeff the coke and the phony driver's license, was taking a short but mandatory sabbatical at a state facility. His soul mate, a petite Brazilian transsexual known as Creamy, was looking after the family business and had provided Jeff with the Jonathan Tate identification. The fee was higher this time, adjusted apparently to take account of the inflation rate in Brazil. Jeff paid, but he shook his head all the way back to Santa Susana, wondering why he had bothered with this pointless charade. His meeting with Bonnie would be friendly. There was no hostility or rivalry involved, as there had been with Sean. There would be no unpleasant confrontationover what? Either Bonnie could help him or she couldn't, that's all there was to it. But if he didn't need to cover his tracks, the urge to do so proved irresistible. It was as if he had to take that one little step away from himself before he could act. And to act was everything.

  He spotted her that first afternoon. It was nearly half past two when Jeff looked up and recognized Bonnie. How easy it proves to be, he thought, suppressing a grin and turning his head down to the book. She clicked past, a glimpse of boots, black jeans, and a high fanny. Jeff trailed casually after her. Bonnie's hair had become a full, flowing mane. She went into the Science Center and took a seat in Lecture Hall C. Jeff thought about sitting a few rows behind her, but decided it was a bad idea. It would be a poor setting if she happened to recognize him there. He bought coffee instead and waited at one of the Cinzano tables down the hall, next to the Cabot Science Library. If Bonnie left the building the same way she had come in, she'd pass him again.

  He was reluctant to approach her and introduce himself on campus. He was afraid she wouldn't be able to give him more than a few minutes before she had to hurry off to another class, a meeting with her adviser, or some other scheduled appointment. He wanted time alone with her, and he thought his best chance would come if he caught up with her out on the street. He waited and read. Apparently a one-megaton warhead could wipe out greater Waterbury. Ah, but there were at least two contradictions in that theory.

  Bonnie reappeared an hour later. Jeff followed her outside. She was strolling now, rather than walking purposefully. He adjusted his sunglasses, lit a cigarette, and trudged slowly a safe distance behind. She passed Memorial Church, the Widener, came out on Quincy Street, then turned up Massachusetts Avenue toward the Square. At the newsstand, she bought Interview and Elie. Jeff was ready to intercept her if it looked like she was heading back to campus, but she crossed to Au Bon Pain, where she bought iced tea and sat at a table by herself. Jeff smiled. If he had stayed there, she would have come to him. But he didn't mind, he was pleased. It was still the first day, after all, and he'd wasted very little time. He kept his sunglasses on and sat down across the table from her.

  "Hello, Bonnie."

  She looked up, a blank expression on her face.

  "I said: Hello, Bonnie."

  Now she sat back and smiled.

  "Hi, Jeff. What took you so long?"

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The sunglasses didn't help. They might even be what Bonnie was smirking at, so Jeff took them off. She must have spotted him earlier, at the Science Center. He found it hard to believe, but why else would she look so unsurprised and act as if she had been expecting him?

  "So you do recognize me?"

  "Sure. Who else could you be?"

  Jeff was trying to figure out the expression on Bonnie's face. A smile, a residual smirk, a look of curiosity and interest. It had something of the arrogance of youth about it too, as if she were thinking, I know this guy, I know what's going on here. Jeff didn't fear this, but he didn't like it either.

  "I thought I would surprise you," he said, trying to smile sheepishly. "But you've surprised me instead. Did you know I was here?"

  `l had no idea you were within a thousand miles of Cambridge, but I always thought we'd meet again sooner or later. Funny, isn't it? You don't look like you did last year, but I knew it was you the minute you sat down."

  "Very sharp," Jeff conceded gracefully.

  "Well, Mom has mentioned you from time to time, and I did think about you when I drew up my list."

  "List?"

  "Yeah, it must have been last October," Bonnie said, "after I'd been here long enough to get settled and know my way around. One night I sat down and made out a list of every person I knew, from family right down to the slightest, most casual acquaintance. Did you ever try to do that? It's scary how many people you know. Anyhow, you were on it, of course."

  "What was the purpose?" Jeff tried to sound amused, as if he were listening to some odd college anecdote.

  "I wanted to see if I could think of anyone who might have a reason for killing my father, and I thought a list would help. Most murder victims die at the hands of someone they already know."

  "I've heard that," Jeff said. "What did you decide?"


  A distant sadness appeared in Bonnie's eyes, but she blinked it away instantly. "Oh, I threw the list away a few days later. It didn't help, and I couldn't come up with any ideas that made sense ... and I had too much to do here. It's not healthy to let yourself be obsessed with death."

  "But you must have discussed it with your mother."

  "Just, you know, right after it happened, and with the police," Bonnie said. "After that, no. She wouldn't mention it, and I never wanted to bring up the subject. It's hard to talk about on the phone, and whenever I see Mom I don't want to ruin the good mood, you know?"

  "Sure. It was terrible, what happened to your dad, but, as you said, you can't let it become an obsession. He'd want both of you to get on with your lives."

  Bonnie nodded. "It had to be a case of mistaken identity. My father was the wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time."

  "I agree completely." A tightness that had been gathering in Jeffs chest began to ease somewhat. "So, what made you think we'd meet again?"

  "I don't know; it was just a feeling I had." Bonnie shrugged, then smiled again. "What are you doing here?"

  "I got in earlier this week. I had some business in Boston, but that's all taken care of now, and I have a couple of free days, so ... I thought I'd take a look around Harvard and see if I could find you."

  "Well," Bonnie said. "Did you go to my room, or try to get me on the phone?"

  "No. I was just on my way to check the student directory when I noticed you crossing the street."

  "I see. That's interesting. I guess it means that my mother doesn't know you're here."

  "Uh . . . no, she doesn't," Jeff said. "I didn't know I was coming east until the last minute and I wasn't sure I'd have any free time, so I couldn't really make any plans."

  "And you found me, just like that." Bonnie's smirk gave way to a smile of playful complicity. "Don't worry, I won't tell Mom about it."

  "We can talk about that later. What's your schedule?"

  "Nothing serious," Bonnie said. "Anyway, I haven't missed a class or a lecture all year. I was just going to study this weekend. But you're the visitor-what do you want to do?"

  "Let's put it this way," Jeff replied with a broad smile, feeling that things were finally beginning to go his way, "I'm the one with the money. It's my treat, whatever. You tell me what you'd like to do. Anything."

  "Anything?" Bonnie's eyes widened.

  "Sure, why not?" Jeff made a motion to leave. He was afraid someone Bonnie knew might appear at any moment. "Come on, let's walk while we discuss it."

  "Okay, fine."

  Bonnie grabbed up her notebooks, and they left the cafe, walking down Dunster Street toward Memorial Drive and the river. Jeff put on his sunglasses again.

  "Are you sure I'm not taking you away from anything important?"

  "I could take the finals tomorrow," Bonnie answered nonchalantly. "My grade point average is three point five."

  "Jesus," Jeff muttered.

  "Who were you seeing on business?"

  "Wang, and Prime," Jeff replied, smiling to himself. It was just like his first conversation with Georgianne on the street in Danbury. He had his story ready. "We're just in the process of sounding people out. We need someone to produce a special component we've designed. In quantity."

  "Is it for Star Wars?"

  "Hey, please." Jeff looked suitably distraught.

  "Sorry. I get you," Bonnie said quickly. "Where are you staying?"

  "At the Hyatt.*

  "That's handy," Bonnie said. She stopped and sat on the coping of a low brick wall. "Maybe not to Wang or Prime ..."

  In Los Angeles they told me it was convenient."

  it is, to Harvard."

  She had an odd look on her face, and she seemed to be appraising him in a new light. Jeff felt mildly uncomfortable, but all he could do was stick to his story.

  'Why are we stopping here?" he asked, lighting another cigarette and looking around. They were still surrounded by college buildings.

  "I've decided what I want to do," Bonnie said.

  "What?"

  "Have a drink. No, a couple of drinks. Three."

  Jeff laughed. It was going to be all right.

  "Let's go by the numbers, kid," he said. "One is first, then we'll see."

  "Terrific. Outrageous." Forget the smirk, the grade point average, the casual arrogance; at that moment Bonnie was just another excited teenager. "I've never been out with an older man before, you know."

  "Come on, let's find a bar."

  "Well, that's a problem. Maybe. I'm eighteen, and the drinking age here is twenty-one."

  "Aha, I see. You want me to start off by breaking the law and contributing to the delinquency of a minor."

  "Jeff, come on. You're kidding, right?"

  He smiled and took her arm, and they continued on toward the Charles. Yes, it was going to be just fine, he thought. She didn't even have to be told to call him by his first name. He liked that. He still wasn't sure what to say to her or what to expect from her with regard to her mother, but he felt calm and confident now. After all, if he couldn't deal successfully with Bonnie, a teen-ager, he had no business even dreaming about Georgianne.

  "I have a bottle of malt Scotch back at the hotel," Jeff told her. "I could get away with buying you drinks in plenty of places, but it might not be so easy when you're dressed like that and carrying schoolbooks."

  He spotted an empty taxi and flagged it down. A little while later they were in his room on the ninth floor of the Hyatt.

  "Fantastic," Bonnie exclaimed while Jeff was closing the door behind them. She dropped her books on a chair and went to the large window. It was a clear, bright day, the sky a deep blue, and now the sun was just beginning its descent. Students dismantled an eight-man shell on the riverbank next to the Boston University boathouse. Across the Charles, Boston sprawled to the south and east. The view was impressive, and Bonnie was taking it all in. "It's just fantastic," she said. "I've never been in a hotel like this. When we came up for our visit last year, we stayed at-I forget the name, but it was one of those motor inns. Ugh. But this ..."

  See? It doesn't take that much to dazzle her, Jeff told himself as he tossed his jacket over her books. He got two glasses from the bathroom and poured an inch of malt in each. Take it slow: he didn't want a drunk teenager on his hands. Bonnie was at the television set. She had turned it on and was scanning the channels expertly.

  "There we are," she said happily. "Do you watch MTV?"

  "I don't see much television."

  "Me either. This is a treat."

  Bonnie increased the volume and began dancing in front of the set, her eyes following the cascade of video images. Better this than quiz shows or soaps, Jeff decided. He handed Bonnie her drink.

  "Cheers," she said with a bright smile.

  "Cheers."

  "Wow, smooth," she said after her first sip, but then rushed into the bathroom. She reappeared a moment later, having topped up the glass with water. What had been an amber liquid was now straw-colored.

  "To tell you the truth, I don't drink much."

  "No kidding."

  "I might have a beer in the dorm. You know, on the weekend, when there's plenty around."

  Jeff nodded. There she was, precocious as hell, but still only an eighteen-year-old kid, a newcomer to a glamorous new world. This is an adventure for her, he reminded himself. A secret meeting with an older man, a friend of her mother's, drinks in a luxurious hotel room with a penthouse view of Boston. All this-and MTV! It meant nothing to Jeff but he had to remember that it amounted to a pretty bold departure from routine for Bonnie.

  He crossed the room, sat in one of the armchairs by the window, and lit a cigarette. Bonnie hadn't settled yet but she was drifting his way, swinging her body lightly to the music. He looked her over carefully now. She was a good inch taller than her mother, and the boots she wore increased her height. The black jeans were tight, but the silver-gray sweater was loose, w
ith sleeves pushed up to her elbows. She also wore a Liberty scarf around her neck and a cluster of cheap bracelets on one wrist. Georgianne would never put on such a mix of things, he thought.

  The music didn't interest him at all. He used to like rock, but what he heard these days made him think of processed cheese. The videos were just fancy wrapping, dream sequences, and dark-side fantasies. A cover for bad music. On the TV screen now, shots of Duran Duran performing were intercut with shots of a young woman exciting her nipples with an ice cube. Jeff almost laughed.

  "So you really came all this way just to see some people about a little computer part."

  "That's business," he said, shrugging.

  "Mm-hmm. But I know what you really want to do."

  "What's that?"

  "You want to talk about my mother."

  "How is she?" he asked tonelessly.

  "Pretty good."

  Bonnie smiled devilishly, as if they were playing some kind of game. She took the other armchair and stretched her legs out on the coffee table. It didn't seem like the sort of gesture she would make naturally, but perhaps the whiskey was getting to her already. Jeff studied the scarred soles of her boots for a few seconds.

  "I haven't talked to her in a while," he said. it must be ... oh, ... a couple of months now, I guess."

  "You used to call her all the time."

  It was a simple statement, but one that Jeff knew demanded a response. Bonnie waited.

  "Well, not all the time," he said. "But I did a better job of keeping in touch than I have lately, yes. I was very worried about her, suddenly alone there. You know. It must have been a rough time."

  "Yeah." Bonnie looked out the window, fixed on something in the distance for a moment, and then turned back to Jeff. "Is that all?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "You were just calling her all that time because you were worried about her?"

  "Sure. Why?"

  "I don't know." Eyes out the window again. "I had the impression there might be more to it."

  "What?"

  "I don't know."

  "What did your mother say?"