by Nancy Kress
But the degree wasn’t on her mind today. Kaylie was. Kaylie, and the reunion.
Rafe rounded the corner of the science building and waved at her. He had bulked up a little in the past year, but not much. Often he forgot to eat, especially when he stayed at the lab all night. Rafe had tested out of most freshman classes and was officially a second-year student, but he was taking mostly junior classes. In another year and a half he would apply to med school. Amy’s heart quickened at the sight of him. His kiss was deep and sweet.
“Where is this meeting, again?” he said when the kiss was over.
“You know, Rafe, you used to keep track of everything and now I’m the only one who ever knows what we’re doing.”
“I know what you’re doing,” Rafe said, “every little thing.”
It was true. He was interested in her classes, her activities, her mind and heart, just as Amy had always longed for. You feel too much, Amy, Gran had always said. But with Rafe it was safe to feel that much, because he returned it.
She said, “The reunion is at Di Capa’s.”
“Kaylie?”
“She said she would be there.” Amy’s voice was grim.
“So, all of us except Cai.”
“No, Cai’s coming.”
“He is! How did that happen?” He took her hand and they began walking.
“Tommy persuaded him. But I think the real reason is that Cai is finally over Kaylie. He’s bringing a girlfriend.”
“I see!”
“Tommy’s bringing a girlfriend, too. I think it’s more interesting that Waverly will be there.”
“Slumming, I’m sure.”
Amy laughed. “Either that or she’s lining up a future doctor for her future old age.”
“No, I’ll bet she just wants to remind us how much we owe her father. Subtly, of course.”
Amy sobered. “Well, we do.”
“He owes you, too. Waverly might not have gotten out of that hotel fire alive if it hadn’t been for you.”
“Oh, rot. Waverly always gets out alive. Who’s paying for this meal?”
“You are. I got it last time. Besides, I had to requisition more guinea pigs.”
Both of them had enough money to cover the costs of college, but not much more. Rafe could use the university lab equipment for his extra experiments only if he paid for the supplies himself. Research into the effects of various toxins on the amygdalae in the brain was expensive.
Amy’s own classes were going well. She might never find out what her phantoms really were, but she enjoyed her biology classes, she was on the dean’s list, and more scholarships were open to her. She could afford the next three years if she was careful—and if Kaylie didn’t need any more lawyers.
They reached Di Capa’s, an Italian restaurant off-campus, not so far away that the city became dangerous but not so close that many students would be there. Especially not at three in the afternoon. Cai, Tommy, and two girls were already seated at a table in the back. “Hey, Amy!” Tommy called. “Hey, Rafe!”
Cai smiled. Amy smiled back, feeling nothing. Cai was more gorgeous than ever, his dark hair falling across his forehead, his muscular body perfect in a white tee that made his skin even more golden, his blue eyes like a sunny ocean. Next to him, Rafe looked like a scrawny, monochromatic chicken. Amy didn’t care. She was more interested in the girl beside Cai, who was—
Oh my God. It was Aliya Brandon.
Amy managed a smile. Rafe frankly stared, and kept at it so long that Amy wanted to pinch him. Aliya Brandon’s beauty made even Cai look plain. Well, no, nothing could do that, but Aliya was not only spectacular, she was famous. Her skin, the color of milk chocolate, seemed to have no pores and to glow with an inner light. Her hair, deep auburn, framed a delicate face with black eyes and full red lips. Amy had seen that face blown up to ten feet across on a movie screen. And even ten feet across, she’d still had no pores.
Tommy had evidently been learning to do formal introductions. His brow scrunched with the effort to get it right. “Amy Kent, this is my girlfriend, Natalie Smith. And this is my friend Aliya Brandon. Natalie, Aliya, Amy Kent. Rafe Torres, this is my girlfriend, Natalie Smith. And this is my friend Aliya Brandon. Natalie, Aliya, Rafe Torres.”
“Hi,” Amy managed. Natalie, a quiet-looking girl with masses of ringlets, smiled shyly.
“Hello.” Aliya’s smile and her Caribbean accent, musical and husky, seemed to finish off Rafe. Amy had to poke him.
“Hi!”
“Hello,” she said again.
Tommy was practically bouncing in his chair. “I haven’t seen you since a long time!”
“I know. How are you doing, Tommy?” Amy and Rafe sat down.
“Good! I’m doing good!”
“And you still like your group home?”
“Oh, yeah, it’s awesome. And Sam is in jail. Did you know that Sam was in jail?” Natalie nodded vigorously at everything Tommy said.
“Yes, I did.”
“He can’t get at me. But I’m sorry that Kaylie is in jail, too.”
Amy glanced at Aliya. “She’s out. Aliya, how did you and Cai meet?”
“Surfing. I sneaked away from the studio to Malibu, and he was there. I had to sneak because they don’t like me to surf.”
Of course not. Break one of those exquisite bones, chip one of those perfect teeth, and an entire movie could be delayed.
Aliya said in her seductive accent, “I fell in the water and the board hit my head—a beginner’s mistake, really. Cai rescued me.”
Amy nodded. Cai was a rescuer—look how he continued to see Tommy—as long as it didn’t put Cai in personal danger. Like with Violet on the island. Now Cai blushed faintly, and his long fingers fiddled with his water glass. Was he still embarrassed about how they had all parted? Maybe. Yet he’d come today for Tommy.
Or maybe to show off Aliya.
But it could easily be both. Amy knew now how mixed anyone’s motives could be. Look at—
“Violet!” Tommy shouted. He half stood, shaking the table, before his face twisted in concentration. “Violet Sanderson, this is my girlfriend, Natalie Smith. And this is my friend Aliya Brandon. Natalie, Aliya, Violet Sanderson.”
“Hello,” Violet said. She kissed the tops of Amy’s and Rafe’s heads. “You all look great.”
It was Violet who looked great. Her long black hair was twisted in a high chignon. Her body looked toned and fit, kept that way by dancing in a show in New York. She’d taken the train up for this reunion. Things had gone well for Violet since the trials ended. She had resumed her own name, Jane Patterson, but Amy could never think of her as anything but Violet. Now she looked critically at Aliya, who gazed coolly back. Amy waited for the moment of recognition, but it didn’t come. Then Amy realized that of course Violet had already known about Aliya and Cai, and was refusing to act impressed.
Amy realized something else, too—Waverly knew. Aliya was the reason Waverly had deigned to join this party—not gratitude to Amy nor interest in Rafe’s medical career. Waverly hoped that Aliya could help her. Waverly had had a few bit parts in TV shows over the past year, but as the notoriety over the case had faded, so had her acting career. Amy had actually seen one of the shows, practically the only television she’d watched since her classes started. Amy didn’t think Waverly had been very good in her role. Somehow she’d seemed . . . flat. Lifeless. She—
“Waverly!” Tommy stood, again jostling the table. This time Rafe’s water glass tipped over, but he caught it deftly. “Waverly Balter-Wells, this is my girlfriend, Natalie Smith. And this is my friend Aliya Brandon. Natalie, Aliya, Waverly Balter-Wells.”
“Hello,” Aliya said.
“Hello.” Big smile. Waverly, in a Carolina Herrera dress that toned down her punk-socialite style and that probably cost as much as Amy’s rent for the year, sat down gracefully. She said to Aliya, “I’m a big fan of your work. Particularly in Morning Light.”
“Actually,” Cai said easi
ly, his arm across the back of Aliya’s chair, “we were hoping to have a lunch free of industry gossip.”
Waverly’s smile became slightly strained. Amy looked at Cai: “We were hoping”? Like industry gossip was something he had to be burdened with too. And the proprietary way he spoke up for Aliya . . . What had Amy ever seen in Cai? Kaylie had had his number much earlier.
And yet he was so good to Tommy. Mixed motives.
Where was Kaylie? Amy’s gut tightened. Oh, please, not another “incident”! Kaylie was out on bail. If she was arrested again . . .
Rafe was telling Cai about his experiment with guinea-pig brains. Cai didn’t look very interested, but Aliya did. Tommy was telling Waverly about Sam’s being in jail. Amy knew she should join one of the conversations—Waverly needed rescuing—but she was too nervous to speak. The waitress took their order, so absorbed in looking at Aliya that she barely glanced at anyone else. Now Kaylie was ten minutes late, and Amy reached for her cell. Although Kaylie didn’t always answer.
For the last year, Kaylie had been drifting. The island episode of Who–You had never aired, blocked by some sort of injunction by one of the lawyers. Kaylie was not recognized on the street (an “honor” Amy would gladly have done without). She’d had no offers of TV parts. She’d left school and worked part-time, low-wage jobs, when she could get them. Between jobs, Amy had given her money and Kaylie had hated Amy for it, and then hated herself for her own ingratitude. Two weeks ago she’d gotten arrested for shoplifting. Amy had scraped together bail, knowing that if Kaylie didn’t show up for her court date, Amy would have to leave college to make up the bail forfeiture.
And come to think of it, how did Tommy even know that Kaylie had been in jail?
“—and cut out the diseased brains to centrifuge them,” Rafe was saying to Cai. Amy poked him and whispered, “Stop it!” She knew what Rafe was doing: getting even with Cai for leaving them on the island. Cai hated grisly descriptions.
“Kaylie!” Tommy cried. “You came!”
Amy let out a long breath and turned in her chair.
Kaylie looked terrible. She’d lost weight, and her tee sagged on her. It had a small food stain on the front. Her hair could have used shampooing, although it still curled becomingly around her face. Nothing could dim the emerald of her eyes, but the skin under them was shadowed and stretched. Amy’s worst fear was that Kaylie would become hooked on some of the terrible designer drugs on the street, although so far as Amy knew, she wasn’t yet.
“Kaylie,” Tommy said, “this is my girlfriend, Natalie Smith and my friend Aliya Brandon. Aliya, Kaylie Kent.”
“Amy’s sister,” Aliya said. “Hello.”
“Hi.” Kaylie dropped into a chair, obviously determined to not be impressed by Aliya’s presence. “Hi, sis. Rafe. Everybody.”
“Hi,” Cai said neutrally. Rafe, seated beside Kaylie, hugged her. The waitress brought their salads.
“Would you like to order, miss?”
“Just black coffee.”
Amy burst out, “Kaylie, eat something!” and immediately regretted it. Kaylie hated to be ordered around.
This time, though, Kaylie surprised her. “OK. A small salad, please. When they have their entrees.”
Aliya said, “A salad is all I’m having too.” She studied Kaylie closely, and Amy grew angry. OK, Kaylie looked a wreck compared to everybody else, but it was rude of Aliya to stare at Kaylie’s poor grooming and tired face. And why was Kaylie so tired, anyway? What had she been doing?
Then Aliya said, “Actually, Kaylie, it’s you I came here to meet.”
“Me?” Kaylie looked startled, then suspicious. “Why?”
“Do you by any chance have an agent?”
“A what?”
“No? Then I can talk directly to you.” The longer Aliya spoke, the prettier her accent became, but also thicker so that everybody at the table leaned slightly forward in an effort to decipher every word. Amy began to realize why Aliya’s movie roles featured such short speeches.
“A friend of mine saw you in that TV show Who Knows People, the pirated uncut footage when you took off your clothes to get the attention of that flash mob to prevent a stampede. He says you have a magnetic quality on-screen. He is putting together an independent film, very small, no studio backing although he does have distribution. When he knew Cai and I were coming East to see Cai’s family and that I would see you, he asked if I would see if you’re interested in auditioning for a role in the film. Two scenes only, he says, but good scenes.”
Kaylie’s eyes widened. Waverly shifted in her chair, and Amy didn’t dare look at her. Amy didn’t dare look anywhere, in case she somehow screwed this up for Kaylie. But then another thought hit her, and despite herself she blurted, “You said your friend saw Kaylie take off her clothes. Is this film porn?”
Aliya laughed. “Oh, no, no. It is a respectable film. The part is a girl who is trying to find her father, who has gone missing. She gets murdered in her second scene, which propels the plot. My friend wrote the screenplay, and he is very good.”
Kaylie said, “Then why aren’t you in it?”
Aliya said gently, “I don’t do small indie films.”
Of course not. She was an international star. Even if her dialogue was partially incomprehensible.
Aliya continued, “If you agree, you can fly back with us and stay with me for the audition. My friend will cover your expenses. We leave Saturday.”
“Yes!” Kaylie said. “Oh my God, yes! Except—”
The court date. Amy figured rapidly. She said, “If you’re back by next Thursday, that would work.”
Aliya said, “We can have you back by next Thursday. Why?”
“I’m in a wedding. Well, the wedding is Friday, but there’s a rehearsal.”
Good catch, Kaylie, Amy thought.
“A wedding,” Aliya said. “How nice.” She looked pointedly at Rafe and Amy. Amy shook her head, dazed. Marriage? Although maybe Aliya didn’t know how old she and Rafe were. She loved Rafe, but Gran would have killed her if Amy made a decision like that at seventeen.
Gran. Amy wished that Gran could see Kaylie get this chance. If it turned out to be a chance. It might not, but maybe . . .
Waverly stood. “I’m sorry, but I have to leave. I have another appointment. Aliya, nice to have met you.”
Amy stood too. “Don’t go, Waverly.”
“I really have to.”
The two girls looked at each other, and Amy knew that Waverly saw Amy’s pity for her disappointment, and also that Waverly resented that pity. Somehow Amy never could do the right thing with Waverly. Except that once, in a hotel on fire and under siege. Not exactly the basis for an ongoing friendship.
“Well,” she said awkwardly, “stay in touch. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Aliya watched Waverly walk away, and Amy had the impression that Aliya knew exactly what Waverly had wanted and why she was leaving. Aliya was shrewder than she looked. And yet she didn’t know about Waverly’s grief for her own grandmother, or how she had stayed to help Amy with Gran when both their lives had been in danger. Aliya saw Kaylie’s talents but not her jealousy. Cai saw Kaylie’s ruthlessness but not her courage. And what things didn’t Amy know about any or all of them?
She sat back down at the table. The conversation turned general. They joked and laughed. No phantom invaded Amy’s mind, but she pondered that nobody knew other people, baby. Not all the way through. Nobody.
Just muddling through.
* * *
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BLOG POSTING:
ODDITIES OF OUR FAIR CITY
by Don Owens, “Our Own Town Crier”
Maybe leopards do change their spots. In a strange little nonevent yesterday, a state-of-the-art miniature camcorder was returned to the store from which it had been stolen nearly a year ago. “This has never happened before,” said Nang Min Ho, owner of Nang’s Electronics on Fenton Str
eet. “I have no idea how the thief got the camcorder out of the display case a year ago, or back into it today. But I’m glad he did, because it’s quite expensive.”
If this becomes a trend now that the economy is showing such definite improvement, maybe someone will return the good old days when everyone had a job. Although thanks to the bold and decisive nonpartisan legislation passed by Congress in response to the so-called Flash-Point Riots a year ago, we’re at least halfway there. And I’m always glad to report on a repentant thief who returns merchandise. Even if we’ll never know why.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank both my editor, Sharyn November, and my husband, Jack Skillingstead, for their many patient readings of this manuscript, and their many valuable suggestions for improving it.
Nancy Kress is the author of twenty-nine books: seventeen science-fiction novels, five fantasy novels, four short-story collections, and three books on writing. She has won four Nebula Awards, two Hugo Awards, a John W. Campbell Award, and the Theodore Sturgeon Memorial Award. Her work has been translated into nearly two dozen languages (including Klingon).
In addition to writing, Nancy frequently teaches at various venues: Clarion, writing festivals and arts centers around the country, and—most recently—as the Picador Guest Professor at the University of Leipzig in Germany. Nancy Kress lives in Seattle with her husband, SF writer Jack Skillingstead, and Cosette, the world’s most spoiled toy poodle.
Follow her blog at nancykress.blogspot.com.
Fiction by Nancy Kress
An Alien Light
The Prince of Morning Bells
The Golden Grove
The White Pipes
Trinity and Other Stories (collection)
Brain Rose
Beggars in Spain