Katherine's Prophecy

by Scott Wittenburg

  But the big question was: why had this happened?

  Or more importantly, had it really happened?

  Of course it had happened—at least he’d imagined it to have happened. But what in the hell had he been imagining? That he’d seen a vision—a visual phenomenon of some kind? Or had he been hallucinating? Hell, if he knew. All he knew was that one moment he’d been photographing Heather, and the next moment he was seeing his Dream Lady in the viewfinder . . .

  He was losing his fucking mind!

  Gotta snap out of this, he decided. Forget that it happened. Get on with the show.

  He took one last hit off his cigarette then stubbed it out.

  “Let’s get going, Heather,” he said, getting up from of the chair.

  Heather set her Coke down on the table as she glanced over at Lenny. “ Okay. You look a lot better now.”

  “I feel better, too,” Lenny lied. “You’d better wet your hair down again; it’s drying out.”

  “All right.” Heather headed for the dressing room.

  Lenny went over to the camera and checked the number of frames remaining on the film. He could hear the hiss of the spray bottle as Heather spritzed her hair as he strove to put the whole incident out of his mind; dismissing it as being most likely a by-product of fatigue and an overactive imagination.

  Moments later, Heather emerged from the dressing room.

  “You look great!” Lenny said, feigning enthusiasm. “Let’s get it on film.”

  The session continued without further incident, and after he’d snapped the final frame, Lenny announced, “That’s a wrap—you did a great job, Heather.”

  “You really think so?” she asked excitedly.

  “I know so! We’ve got some really good stuff here.”

  “I can’t wait to see! When will I be able to see the proofs, or whatever you call them?”

  “In a few days, Lenny replied. “I’ll give your mom a call when they’re ready.”

  As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. Lenny went over to answer it as Heather returned to the dressing room.

  “How did my baby do?” Mrs. Thompson asked as she came into the studio.

  “Great! She’s a natural.” Lenny replied.

  “Do you really think so, or are you just saying that?”

  “Seriously, she did really well. She’s got great potential.”

  Mrs. Thompson poked her head inside the dressing room. “Did you hear that, Heather?”

  “Yes, Mother. Now will you let me get dressed?”

  Mrs. Thompson turned and winked at Lenny.

  “Teenagers.”

  Lenny smiled and started breaking down the set. Ten minutes later, Heather and her mother had gathered up all her clothes and were ready to leave.

  Lenny strode over to them and said, “I’ll give you a call when the contact sheets are ready—should be a couple of days or so.”

  Mrs. Thompson handed him a check. “Okay. Thanks, Lenny.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replied.

  Heather shook his hand and smiled. “Thanks again, Lenny. I really had a good time.”

  “So did I. Take care.”

  After they’d gone, Lenny looked at his watch. It was 5:25. If he left now, he could walk to Julie’s and make it there on time. He hastily gathered up his camera and lenses and placed them in his camera bag then put on his jacket and left the studio.

  When he stepped out onto the sidewalk, he turned left and began walking north on Broadway. It had clouded up again and the air felt several degrees colder than it had earlier. As he waited for the light to change at Canal Street, Lenny observed the throngs of people heading for the subway station and hailing cabs as yet another New York City rush hour peaked-out. Soon, he thought to himself with a smug grin, all of this mass humanity will be history. The light changed and he crossed Canal Street along with a dozen other pedestrians.

  Moving unhurriedly up Broadway, two things were on Lenny’s mind. The incident that had just occurred during the photo session, and his upcoming date with Julie. Both nagged at him mercilessly. He was still shaken up by the incident but tried his hardest to ignore it. The more he thought about it, the more perplexed he became. Just put it out of your mind for now, he told himself.

  He crossed Grand Street as his thoughts turned to Julie. He felt his heart palpitate as the grim reality of what he was about to do flashed in his mind. Was he really up to this? he wondered.

  Suddenly he felt a tug on his sleeve. He glanced over to see a genuinely scary-looking derelict staring at him with eyes that looked hauntingly similar to Charley Manson’s.

  “Hey, man! Can you spare a few bucks for a cup of coffee?” the man asked gruffly, his breath reeking of cheap wine.

  Lenny shook his head and kept walking.

  The bum followed along and grasped Lenny’s arm. “How about it, man? You can spare a few bucks, eh?”

  Lenny shook him off and said, “No, I can’t spare it, man,” and quickened his pace.

  This particular bum was persistent.

  “C’mon, man! Just a couple of bucks. That’s all I’m asking.”

  Lenny knew that all he had in his wallet was a ten, and he wasn’t about to fork it over to this low-life asshole.

  He glared at him defiantly. “I told you, I can’t spare it. Why don’t you go over to that guy there in the three-piece suit and ask him? He’s probably loaded,” Lenny snapped, pointing toward a stockbroker-type man trying to hail a cab on the street corner.

  The transient glanced over toward the man then back at Lenny. “Fuck you!” he growled. Then he ambled away.

  Lenny kept walking and never looked back.

  “I’m getting the hell out of this shit-hole,” he hissed under his breath.

  Bolstered by this unpleasant incident, Lenny felt a renewed determination to go through with his plans to tell Julie so long and farewell. The mere thought of staying in NYC any longer than he had to almost made him sick to his stomach. He waited for the walk sign to light up on the other side of Houston Street then crossed, picking up his pace.

  When he reached 4th Street, he turned left, heading west. Julie lived near Greenwich Village, not far from Washington Square Park, and he was about four blocks away. He glanced at his watch. It was 5:49. He’d be right on time.

  He reached Julie’s apartment building and entered the foyer. He stood there for a moment, staring blankly at the numbers and buttons on the intercom board then let out a deep breath. “Here goes.” He pressed the button for 10-A.

  “Who is it?” Julie’s voice crackled over the speaker.

  “It’s me.”

  “Who’s me?” she asked.

  “Lenny, who else?” he replied irritably.

  “I don’t think I like that tone of voice, Mr. Lenny,” Julie quipped playfully.

  Lenny heaved a sigh. Can we get this show on the road? he thought. “Sorry. Now, will you buzz me in before I die of old age standing here?”

  A second later, Lenny heard a loud, hideous buzz. He pushed the inner door open, swearing under his breath. He went over to the elevator and stepped inside, pressing the button for the tenth floor with a vengeance.

  During the ride up, Lenny realized that his patience was already growing thin. All he wanted to do was get this over with, go home and attempt to sort out the pieces of this already crazy day.

  He reached the tenth floor and walked down the long corridor to the third door on the right and knocked three times.

  “Who is it?” he heard Julie’s muffled voice ask from the other side.

  “Jack the Ripper,” he replied dryly.

  “Very funny,” Julie retorted. Two clicks, one bolt-slide, and a chain-rattle later, the door opened.

  “Hi, Honey!” she greeted him brightly.

  “Hello. How are ya?” Lenny said, receiving a light kiss on the cheek.

  “Wonderful! Now that my man’s here.”

  Lenny stepped inside. Julie closed the door behind him and
secured it. “Let me take your coat,” she offered.

  Lenny removed the camera bag from his shoulder, dumped it on the floor, removed his jacket and handed it to Julie.

  “Thanks. It sure smells good in here.”

  “I hope you like it; this is the first time I’ve tried this recipe. It does smell awfully good though, doesn’t it?”

  “Yep, sure does.”

  Lenny watched Julie as she traversed the living room and hung his jacket up in a closet. She apparently hadn’t changed clothes since getting home from work; she was wearing a navy blue wool suit and heels. Her apartment, he observed, was neat and immaculate as always. He’d never particularly liked it—too modern, and the furnishings too contemporary for his tastes. Comparing her apartment to his own was like comparing a Ferrari to a Model T Ford.

  “So how did your photo session go?” Julie asked as she returned.

  Lenny went over to the plush velvet sofa and sat down. The question caught him off guard. “Uh, okay. Just some teenager needing a modeling portfolio,” he answered.

  “Was she cute?” Julie inquired, the slightest note of suspicion in her voice. Or was it jealousy?

  “Yeah, she was pretty decent. A little on the short side, but she had plenty of natural talent. Could probably do well as a petite.”

  “Did she like you?”

  “What kind of question is that?” Lenny snapped. His foot was already tapping the floor nervously.

  “I mean, did you get along together well—you know, did you ‘click?’” Julie asked, impervious to Lenny’s agitation.

  “Yeah, we ‘clicked.’ She was reasonably at ease and took directions well.”

  Lenny hated the inevitable third degree he always got from Julie whenever he shot models. He’d been better off lying and telling her that he’d done a headshot session of some guy.

  “And how old was this little nymph?” Julie asked, not necessarily in jest.

  Lenny’s blood began to boil. “Christ, Julie, she was seventeen! Would you like her life history while we’re at it?”

  “I’m sorry, Lenny. I didn’t mean to pry. I was just curious.”

  “I know, Julie,” Lenny replied, struggling to get a grip on himself. “Sorry I snapped at you—I’m just a little stressed-out today, I guess.”

  “Well, I have go to check on the dinner. Would you like a beer?”

  Lenny frowned. “Shit, I forgot to bring it!”

  Julie grinned at him. “Not to worry, dear. I picked up a six-pack for you at the market—just in case.

  “You think of everything, Julie. Yeah, I could definitely use one.”

  Julie turned and went into the kitchen. A moment later she returned and handed him an ice cold bottle of Rolling Rock.

  “Thanks.” He took a huge slug. It tasted good.

  “Why don’t you relax while I look after dinner? I still have to cut up the veggies and make a salad.”

  “You need help with anything?” Lenny offered.

  “No. Just sit here and unwind—you look a little fatigued.”

  “Okay—you’ve talked me into it. I do feel a bit rough.”

  After she left the room, Lenny took another slug of beer and fumbled in his shirt pocket for a cigarette. He pulled out the pack retrieved one and lit it up.

  This ain’t gonna be easy, Lenny thought to himself as he thought about Julie Adams. She was a sweet gal for the most part, in spite of her over-possessiveness and quasi-yuppy ways. She’d been a friend and much more to him for nearly two years, and to suddenly sever that tie, completely, seemed almost as brutal as it seemed untimely; particularly from her point of view.

  Was he really up to this?

  But there was more to it, he reminded himself. He was leaving New York—moving totally out of her life for good. That was the crux of the situation, after all. Nothing personal. Just a plain and simple fact.

  A thought suddenly crossed his mind: What if Julie wanted to go with him?

  Then he laughed under his breath. Don’t flatter yourself, buddy, he thought. She isn’t that hung up on you! Besides, she has a decent job and, unlike you, seems perfectly content living in New York. She’s not about to just throw everything away and go shuffling off to Southern Ohio just so she could be with ‘her man.’ She surely hasn’t gone that far over the edge, has she?

  God, I hope not . . .

  Just then, Julie reentered the living room.

  “I’ve got to get out of these clothes—these shoes are killing me. Will you be a dear and keep an eye on the wok while I change?” she asked.

  “Sure,” Lenny replied. He went into the kitchen and took the lid off the wok then stirred the contents lightly. It smelled delicious. She was a damn good cook, he had to admit.

  A few minutes later, Julie came in. She had changed into jeans and the oversized V-neck sweater that he had once told her was his favorite. The V plunged so low that her ample breasts were semi-visible at any given time. This, along with her long blonde hair, now pulled back and tied into a ponytail, made Julie Adams look painfully alluring.

  Did he really want to give this up? Lenny thought.

  Julie came over and peeked at the food. “I think I’ll let it simmer a bit longer—the bread isn’t quite ready, anyway. I think I’d like some wine,” she added, glancing at him.

  “I’ll get it. Is it in the fridge?”

  “Yes, it should be chilled enough by now.”

  Lenny went over and opened the refrigerator door. He spotted the bottle—an Italian dry, white—and took it out. He went over to the cupboard to get a wine glass, located the corkscrew and extracted the cork then poured Julie a glass.

  “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” Julie took a sip. “Let’s sit down for a few minutes.”

  “Let me get my smokes first.”

  Lenny went into the living room to get his cigarettes then sat down at the kitchen table across from Julie.

  “How’s the wine?” he asked, lighting up another cigarette.

  “Wonderful. Is your beer going down well?”

  “Quite well, thank you”

  “Has your business gotten any better?”

  “It’s still pretty slow. I don’t know if it’s the slumping economy or just plain bad luck, but it’s been pretty lousy,” Lenny confessed.

  “Are you making ends meet okay?”

  Lenny immediately jumped on the defensive. “Oh, I’m fine as far as that goes. It’s not like I’m starving or anything like that. It’s just a slow period now, relatively speaking.”

  “Well, just let me know if you ever need any cash. I don’t want my man to go hungry.”

  Lenny wanted to scream—this was one of the quirks of Julie’s personality that he absolutely detested. Somehow he managed to keep his composure. “Uh, thanks, Julie. I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady.

  “Which reminds me . . .” Julie said, jumping up from her chair. “Wait here a second.”

  In an instant, she fled the kitchen. Lenny already had a pretty good idea what she was doing as he felt his blood pressure go up another notch.

  Another gift.

  “I’ve got something for you,” she declared when she returned. In her hands was a large gift-wrapped box. She walked over to the table and handed it to him.

  “Julie, why do you do this to me?” he asked, a pained look on his face. “I can’t accept this.”

  Julie smiled brightly, undaunted. “Sure you can! Now open it up; I’m dying to see what you think of it!”

  Lenny hesitated. Whatever it was, he didn’t want it. He’d never wanted any of the gifts that Julie was forever bestowing upon him, but she’d always insisted that he take them and he’d always obliged her.

  Tonight, however, was different; he had to draw the line. He was about to jilt her and simply couldn’t accept this gift then bid her adieu forever. It was wrong.

  “Come on, open it up!” Julie coaxed.

  Lenny fumbled with the box
nervously. On the other hand, if he flatly refused to accept it right now, she would most likely throw a fit. She would wonder why he was refusing, and he’d have to give her an explanation; which meant spilling the beans to her. And now was not the time for that.

  Suddenly, he had an idea. He’d open it up, tell her that he loved it then “accidentally” forget to take it with him when he left later on. Hopefully, she wouldn’t notice.

  “Why do you keep buying me stuff?” he said suddenly.

  Julie’s eyes widened. “Because I love you, that’s why. Now open it up Lenny, before I crown you!”

  God, I hate this, he thought.

  Slowly, Lenny pulled at the ribbon until it snapped then methodically tore off the wrapping paper until he saw the familiar Macy’s logo on the lid. He removed the lid and parted the neatly pleated tissue paper. It was an overcoat. A long, gray, and expensive London Fog that he would never wear.

  “Wow, this is really nice,” he said as he took it out of the box.

  “Do you really like it?” Julie asked excitedly.

  “Yeah, I do. It’s very nice,” Lenny replied, trying his hardest to sound sincere.

  “Well, I figured that if I can’t get you to wear a suit then the least I could do is get you something that looks dressy when you’re out on the street,” Julie explained.

  Lenny bit his lip.

  “Try it on!” she coaxed.

  He stood up and put the coat on. It fit him perfectly.

  “Oh, you look great—so distinguished! Go look at yourself in the mirror!”

  Julie took him by the hand and led him through the living room to the hallway where a full-length mirror was mounted to a closet door.

  Lenny looked at himself in the mirror. What he saw was a cross between a bitter Viet Nam vet and James Bond.

  “You look wonderful, Lenny! Now, if you’d just get that hair of yours cut off, or at least styled, you could pass for a corporate executive!”

  Just what I’ve always wanted, Lenny thought to himself.