"Oh," exclaimed Esther, standing up and racing around to hug her boss, "I didn't expect you quite this early. I thought you might even take the day off." Stepping back, she looked her up and down as though trying to determine whether the New York trip had changed her appearance. "You look wonderful. A little tired, maybe. Your skin is so tanned. You must have been spending a lot of time in the sun. Is that possible?"
"Of course. Even conferees get weekends off. Now, I want you to open your gifts."
"Three pounds! I might even share it with Marge," she joked as she unwrapped the oversized box of New Jersey saltwater taffy that Cara had mystifyingly bought in New York. "How did you know that it's my very favorite candy? And it's more than thirty years since I've tasted any."
"I knew because you reminded me every day for the two weeks before I left." Teasingly, Cara put down her briefcase and changed her smile to a scowl, placing her hands on her hips in a reprimanding posture. "I was afraid to come back without it. Now, the next package. That's the one that was my choice."
"I'm going to save this paper," announced Esther as she carefully folded the wrapping paper stamped with old-fashioned photographs of the Empire State Building. "Oh, my," she said, sitting down and leafing through the stack of picture post cards that Cara had carefully selected for her at the Stony Brook antique shop, "this is wonderful. Oh, the memories."
"If it's so wonderful, why are you crying?" asked Cara as she picked up her briefcase and walked into her own office. Esther jumped off her seat and followed behind. "Now, it's time to go to work before you embarrass me with more tears. What's been happening here?"
"Not very much. We've all been so busy following your adventures in New York. I'm very proud of you, Cara. You've accomplished so much. That first press briefing, your speech, and the Miri Mills award. I knew you deserved that assignment." Sitting down opposite Cara, she pulled a tissue from the desktop box and removed her glasses to wipe her moistening eyes. "Just look at me. I'm becoming a sentimental old fool."
"Hey," yelled Cara, "I won't have you talking about my favorite secretary that way." Giving Esther a chance to regain her composure, she quickly turned on the computer and reviewed the messages. "You're right. Not much has been happening here. I do have lots of work for you, however." Opening her briefcase, she pulled out a small box no bigger than a deck of cards and handed it to her. "Here's all the computer audios from the conference. The last few squares contain my reviews and impressions. I audioed daily when traveling back and forth to the conference center and made my final summations on the plane trip back. I'll need a hard copy—it'll be several hundred pages probably—by this afternoon. Think you can get it done by the time I return from lunch?"
Esther counted the number of shiny squares. "Of course. I'll probably have it before you leave. The audio-copier spits out more than one hundred pages an hour. Now, just to remind you, there are two critical messages on your computer. One is from the PM's office requesting a Wednesday meeting. I responded in the positive. The second is from Tim Felmar who said he arranged for a very early flight to New York on Saturday. He said that you had some important things to get back to." She paused and looked at Cara with raised eyebrows. "Weren't you supposed to fly out on Sunday?"
Cara grinned broadly. "Uh-huh."
After Esther left the office shaking her head in confusion, Cara softly whispered, "yes!" and clapped her hands, then began rummaging through the written notes that had collected during her three-week absence. Burrowing into her computer, she occupied her mind with the work of the Office for the Aging, clearing her head of genes and conferences.
At 12:30, Esther brought in the hard copy of the computer audios. "I did a little listening while these were being transcribed. Your voice bubbled with enthusiasm. It sounded like you really enjoyed that conference."
It wasn't that conference, it was that woman, thought Cara as Esther handed her the documents and left the office. Separating the papers into neat piles on her desk, she began to leaf through them, and decided instead to bring them home to study. Her ability to concentrate had atrophied in a scant three hours.
Leaving the office early, she stopped at Fausto's for some groceries, stocking up on cookery packages before arriving home. Trying to balance the packages and her briefcase while unlocking the door with her keycard, Cara very nearly tripped over Anisette, who began winding around her ankles as soon as she gained entrance. "You're a killer cat," she muttered. "You're lucky Jessica likes kitties or I'd give you to Vanessa." The cat meowed loudly and ran under the couch. "Only kidding, Anisette." Purring, she crawled back out, belly low to the ground, looked around, and again began rubbing against Cara's legs.
Lying on the bed with Anisette attached to her side, she tried to review the conference reports, her concentration continuously interrupted by visions of Jessica. This will never do, she thought, as she got up and took a leisurely shower, feeling very alone without the sound of Jessica's playful giggles.
After a quick dinner, barely eaten, she dialed Vanessa, who clicked in almost immediately.
"Cara, is that you?" she asked, standing naked in the kitchen, a towel in her hands. "Holy shit, you caught me just out of a shower. I was sure it was Louise. Oh well, you may as well see what I'm offering all these wonderful women," she said as she laid the towel over a chair. Strutting back and forth in front of the peach-colored refrigerator, her arms at her sides, she stuck out her tongue at the monitor, and disappeared from view.
"That wasn't bad," assessed Cara when Vanessa returned wrapped in an oversized purple robe, her wet frizzy red hair now piled on her head under a turban. "I must admit, however, that's the first time I ever saw red pubes."
"If you're lucky, maybe I'll let you see them again one day." Hearing Vanessa's voice, Anisette's ears perked up. Leaping from her favorite chair, she cautiously crawled low to the monitor and swiped at it with her paw. "You miserable critter. After all I've done for you," said Vanessa, hands on hips.
"It must have something to do with your carrot top. Maybe she doesn't like redheads."
"I don't care what she likes. It's her mistress I care about," said Vanessa with a teasing wink. "Look baby doll, why don't I throw on some clothes and stop by for a visit. I'll bring back your keycard in case you want to pass it to some other broad for the rest of this week."
Running to the door as soon as she heard the bell, Anisette lovingly rubbed up against Vanessa's legs as soon as she entered the living room. "What can I tell you? Schizophrenic cat," Vanessa shrugged as she plopped onto the couch next to Cara, Anisette curling up in her lap.
Cara adored Vanessa. With the red frizzy hair she referred to as "barely kempt" and the spreading freckles that matched, she lived up to her fun-loving guise, but it was her good-hearted disposition that Cara found most endearing. She was a marshmallow in the hands of women…and there had been a lot of women who liked marshmal-lows.
Vanessa leaned over and kissed Cara on the cheek. "I know you're too busy to take the time to make love. So why don't you just tell me about your trip instead?"
In less than an hour, she described her experiences in New York, Vanessa oohing and aahing in all the right places. Only once did she bedevil Cara. "I don't get it. There you were with the opportunity to avail yourself of a female prostitute, and you turned it down. What kind of a lesbian are you? Three weeks without sex—she would've paid you for that performance."
When she finished describing her trip, carefully omitting any references to Jessica, she reached into her pocket, brought out a small box, and put it on the table in front of Vanessa. "And as a special thank you lor taking care of her while I was gone, and allowing her to snuggle with your dates, this is from Miss Puss," she said as she petted Anisette, who was purring contentedly in Vanessa's lap.
"Miss Puss has excellent taste," proclaimed Vanessa after opening the box and removing a pair of silver earrings. "They're spectacular. I've never seen such good filigree work, and in my fifteen years as a silve
rsmith I've seen a lot of good stuff. These must be antiques—1900s quality." Hugging Cara in a viselike grip, she planted a wet kiss on her cheek. "Baby doll, if you keep treating me like this, I'll be yours forever." Squeezed between the two women, Anisette snarled loudly, jumping to the floor on silent feet. "Don't worry Anisette, forever is only until next week." Looking again at Cara, she asked "Speaking of.…What is our schedule for next week? When do you leave?"
"Before we talk about that, there's a favor I need to ask of you."
"Anything for a celebrity." Unceremoniously, she picked Anisette up from the floor and plopped her back in her lap.
"I want you to design a silver identification bracelet in the shape of a heart. On the front, I want you to engrave 'Jessica,' and on the back, 'Cara.' Under 'Cara,' put the date 'January 1, 2056.'"
"Hey, this sounds like serious stuff. Do I know this chick?"
"No, but you will. If this incredible woman accepts, January I will be the date of our commitment ceremony. You'll be invited, of course." Her face displayed no absence of conviction. I have to believe, she thought. Whether it's here or in Europe, we will celebrate the new year together.
"No shit!" Vanessa lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. "Does anyone else know about this? Mary Jane or Kate? How about Toni?"
"For now, you're it. I'm counting on you to keep it that way."
"You've got it. You've also got my promise of the most beautiful bracelet ever designed, baby doll, but are you sure you don't want it in the shape of a cat?" she asked as she cradled a squirming Anisette.
Thirty-Four
Standing in the vestibule outside the prime minister's office, Cara tugged on her green pin-striped jacket, sat down, stood up, paced back and forth, and sat down again. Repeatedly, she pressed the play button on her watch and listened, "Are there slippers in the closet?" Will I really have the courage to pose that question to the prime minister of Call? she asked herself, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks at just the thought.
Jonathan, the PM's receptionist, who was accustomed to the discomfort of visitors, merely smiled and continued working at his desk as though nothing unusual was occurring. Finally, when a bell rang he spoke to her. "Ms. Ekstrom will see you now. You can go right in."
With a gesture of self-assurance, she assertively pushed open the massive plastic doors and walked up to the prime minister, who was standing in front of her desk. Extending her right hand in greeting, she was surprised to find herself suddenly swallowed up in Miriam Ekstrom's powerful bear hug.
"I am kvelling," said the PM, holding her at arms' length, yet close enough for Cara to feel the heat of her breath. "That's an old Yiddish word from my American ancestors. It does not translate well. It means that I am more than proud. I am filled…no, I am overflowing with pride. Now," she said, releasing Cara and returning to her seat behind her desk, "please sit down and tell me all your thoughts about the country of my youth. The media reports have told me about your successes, but they have not told me about your impressions. You must tell me that yourself."
Cara spoke freely, describing the dirty streets of New York, the odors wafting up from the subways, the vandalized churches wrapped with graffiti, and the prostitutes lining the streets. "I saw much that was bad, but I also saw much that was good," she said as she went on to describe her experiences with the media, the security personnel, and the citizenry. "The Olms were never a threat. They're a dying breed who are out of favor with the American people. Despite any efforts of the Olms, I was treated very warmly by everyone I met, even the stuffy three-piece-suited diplomats." She suddenly stopped and looked apologetically at Ms. Ekstrom.
"It's okay, Cara. Most diplomats are stuffy. We have a few ourselves. Tell me more about the Miri Mills award. Was it opposed by the United States representatives?" She leaned forward at her desk and peered at her with great intensity. Cara didn't know why, but the answer was obviously important.
"No, to the contrary. The award was strongly supported by the Americans. It was their lobbying that pushed it through," she answered, restlessly moving about in her seat as this phase of the conversation appeared to be ending.
"Sit still, Cara. We're not finished yet," she admonished, as she stood and walked to the window, leaving her anxiously pondering what was to come next. "During the past six months, President Mooran has been quietly campaigning for the establishment of better diplomatic relations between our two countries. He wants Cali and the United States to open the borders to mutual tourism. He wants to lift telephone and mail restrictions. The fact that the Miri Mills award received the approval of the American public and the success of your visit has made the president even more steadfast in his determination. He is very pleased with the effects you have had upon his constituency, and so am I." She looked at Cara with a warmth rarely seen by subordinates.
Responding with a hesitant nod, Cara silently speculated about the president's reactions to the effects she was having on his only daughter. Her tongue felt heavy in the apprehensive dryness of her mouth. "I'm very flattered," she managed to say.
"So now you see why I am kvelling. This is the first time that the superpower has come to us in an effort to normalize relations. It's an important step forward for our tiny country, Cara," she smiled, "and I am sure the next phase of your trip will take us even further." Standing up, she indicated with her silence that the interview was at an end.
Cara stood, but didn't move. Several times she opened her mouth, hut looking directly at the prime minister, she couldn't seem to say the words she had so carefully rehearsed.
"What is it?" asked the PM. "Is there something you want to say to me?" When she realized that something was amiss, she walked over to Cara, lightly resting her hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "What is it? Just spit it out, Cara."
Gathering her courage, she ignored her reddening cheeks and looked directly at Ekstrom. "Are there slippers in the closet?"
"What—" the PM began to say, abruptly stopping herself. Raising her eyebrows, she glared at Cara in consternation, the glow of recognition suddenly flashing in the dark eyes. For the next few moments, the two women motionlessly stared at each other, exchanging a barrage of unspoken questions. "Yes," she said, returning to the seat behind her desk. Still, Cara didn't move. "That will be all. You may go now, Cara." The prime minister picked up her pen with a visible tremor and began reviewing the daily assignment sheet, her eyes softer than Cara had ever seen them.
Thirty-Five
Unable to concentrate on her legislative briefings in the VIP lounge, Cara decided to move up to the body of the plane and sit with Tim.
"I can't seem to get the wag out of my tongue this morning," she said as she sat down and poked him in the ribs with what Jessica's night voice described as her bony elbow. "Come on Tim, wake up and speak to me. It's six thirty a.m. and we're going to be landing in less than an hour."
"We spoke for almost two hours on the telephone yesterday. I'm out of speak. Besides, I'm a night person. I shouldn't be awake at this hour," he mumbled, turning his back to her and pushing his head further into the pillow.
"If you talk to me, I'll show you the bracelet."
"That's insufficient enticement. You already told me all about it."
"Well then, I'll--"
"You told me about the PM too. So, forget that. How about telling me that you're going to get a little shut-eye for the next half hour?"
"Are you grouchy this morning or is it my imagination?" she asked, realizing that the teasing was a bit more caustic than usual for her good-natured traveling companion.
"I'm grouchy every morning, as the angelic Glen would tell you." Sarcasm saturated the word "angelic."
"Oh?"
"Nothing major. A small domestic. He's not happy about me being out of town so much. I just didn't think he should pick four a.m. to register his protests." He pressed the button, converting the recliner back into a seat, and looked out the window, watching the morning sun reflecting off the
inverted-V wings. "He is right, though," he said, shrugging his shoulders as he turned toward her. "If we're going to adopt a baby, I need to spend more time at home. Being on the road half the year is not a great plan for raising a kid."
"Well, why don't we just add that to our list of problems to solve?" she asked, lilting her hands, palms up, in question.
"I think your plate is already full." He laughed. "Glen and I will be all right. I just need to be a little fairer. I really can be a tyrant at home."
"You know, I always thought that about you," she said, tongue in cheek.
"Why, you stinker!" he exclaimed, his eyes grinning before his mouth got the message.
They were amicably chatting, his spirits rose a bit, when the plane landed at MacArthur Airport at 9:15, New York time. The flight had been uneventful and they were able to deplane without incident. "I guess we're yesterday's news." Cara smiled. "If we ever come to New York again, maybe we'll even be able to wear Calian clothes. Disdainfully, she put on the frumpy American jacket. "Whoever heard of combining black and gray stripes? I wonder what Calvin would say about this?"
As they walked away from the conveyor belt, a pasty-faced elderly man came rushing toward them. Instinctively, Tim dropped the valises and stepped in front of Cara. Sizing him up, Tim knew that he could overpower the man with ease, but remained standing in a defensive posture.
"Ms. Romero," said the man as he pushed a pen and paper at her, "please, may we have your autograph? Me, and Jenny here," he grabbed the hand of the woman who stepped up behind him, "we were just standing, waiting for our son's plane to come in. Jenny—she saw you first."
"I knew it was you, right away," said his wife. "But you know something, you're even prettier in person. We don't mean to bother you or anything."
"That's perfectly all right," said Cara, signing her autograph as Tim remained vigilant. A small group began to gather, and she signed several more before Tim signaled that it was time to leave.
The Meadowlark Sings Page 16