Catee's Grace

by Keith Holmes

  "TARA!" he shouted, she standing on the second floor landing. "TARA YOU COME BACK HERE NOW!"

  She didn't listen, her feet quickly heading down the stairs. He watched, moving to the railing to shout down the staircase, keeping Catee in his sight.

  "GROW THE FUCK UP!" he growled. She paused before the door and looked up at him, immune to his rage for the moment.

  "I'm just going to see the tower. I promise you Ethan, I'll be back in just a bit," she swore. Ethan headed for the staircase to race to her.

  "Daddy?" came the sleepy sound of Catee's voice, awakened by his shouting. He turned, raced back to pick up the little girl that dressed the doorway. And then he thumped down the stairs, his heart racing as he watched the downstairs door close.

  The pair of them burst through it and Ethan's head snapped to look up and down the street, but there was no sign of his wife. Unsure which way she might have gone, he jogged up the street in one direction before doubting himself and turning around. "TARA!" he called, searching frantically but in vain. Finally, unable to find her, he paused again at the apartment door.

  "Where Mommy go?" Catee asked.

  "I don't know," he growled, stomping and shaking his head angrily before pushing back though the apartment building's door.

  ***

  Salim was unlike other Chronicas in many ways. Specifically, he was born of money and was far more cultured than most of his brethren but further he was exceptionally gifted with intelligence. All Chronicas are very skilled in many covert things, each living a life ‘undercover’ in various fields but Salim always excelled at whatever he applied himself to whether it was a priority or not. While others took ‘cover-jobs' as morgue technicians, emergency dispatchers and other positions that kept them in touch with the secret things that occurred in the city streets, Salim assumed the role of a freelance computer programmer and hardware technician, choosing to hack the information he needed to be a useful resource for his Vigilant.

  He'd spent the morning repairing the network at a nearby police precinct and made his way out of the building, toolbox in hand. He was about to load his tools into his van when a familiar figure caught his eye.

  “Jahleel! Jahleel what are you doing here?” he called. The vigilant paused and made his way over.

  “I’m investigating,” came Jahleel's dry reply, no further explanation offered.

  “And the Moyers?” Salim questioned, concern in his face.

  “Safe at the apartment earlier. I followed a suspicious woman from there to here. A witch I think. She took my photo.”

  Salim’s eyes widened with surprise.

  “You saw a witch near the Moyer’s so you followed her instead of remaining at your post?!” His words reflected the disappointment in his eyes and were tinged with sarcasm.

  “This city is my ‘post’.” Jahleel retorted. And then he paused, listening past the sarcasm to hear the wisdom. “All was quiet at the apartment when I left," he quickly added, beginning to doubt his decision.

  “And where is this woman you followed?” Salim asked, scanning the busy streets. The young Vigilant's brow grew heavy as he looked around. She was gone.

  “I don’t know,” he replied, ashamed.

  “Get in!" Salim spat, racing toward his van.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Tara watched from the shadow of an alley as Ethan gave up his pursuit. Emotions roiled inside her. First she wanted to relent and go back inside. But the longer she stood out in the open, the less frightening it seemed. In the light of day the little neighborhood was really no worse than the place she called home. And though the people spoke a different language, they didn't seem threatening. Emboldened, enticed by the promise of the City of Lights, she allowed herself to meander down the street, still unsure if she'd keep walking or turn around. And then it happened.

  In the crack of an alley between two old apartment buildings the Eiffel Tower shown in the distance. Her gaze locked on it and before she knew what was happening, her feet were following the sight. When she realized how far she'd gone, she was at the edge of the neighborhood, the city unfurling before her growing cleaner, safer, and better kept. The smells of a small outdoor cafe filled her nose with the scent of warm sugar. She turned to look behind her. The apartment was still in sight, but it seemed so far way and uninviting.

  "Just to the tower," she promised herself.

  ***

  Ethan split his time from the apartment to the stoop and back again. At first he kept Catee on his hip for the trip, but that was becoming cumbersome. He made it halfway back up the stairs when a man, haggard and unwashed exited the 1st floor apartment. Ethan paused at the landing and looked down to him.

  "Bonjour," the man mirthlessly greeted. Ethan didn't answer. He hadn't realized that others might live in the building too. All he could think of was the door of his apartment, how he'd left it hanging open for his quick trip, and how his Argent Child was alone.

  Quickly he thumped up the stairs, closing the door and locking it. Then he moved to the kitchen window and started trying to get a view of the tower. Catee moved to his side, looking up to the bandage on his forehead.

  "How your boo boo Daddy?" she asked.

  He hadn't thought of it really. He figured the headache pounding in his brain was his blood pressure. He lifted a hand to the bandage and gently pressed. It stung. "It still hurts," he said. Catee frowned.

  "It a bad ouchy Daddy," she nodded.

  He looked down to her and he finally smiled a bit. Then he slid from the countertop and squatted before her. She stepped into his arms.

  "You see Mommy?" she asked. He shook his head and then winced to the pain that doing so caused.

  "I fix dat boo boo," she said, reaching up for his bandaged head.

  A glint of light flashed in her eyes, so short that he'd have missed it if he hadn't been looking into them. It scared him. He quickly gathered her little hands in his own and smiled to her.

  "No baby," he shook his head.

  ***

  Tara made a dozen slow circles around the tower, meandering the well-kept paths of the esplenade. In her mind scenes from a hundred movies and a thousand magazines played. She had a pleased grin on her face, her eyes dreamy as she craned her neck back and looked to the top. She'd no money on her - not a dime. Going to the top was impossible without it. She convinced herself that her safe return to the apartment would set aside Ethan's concerns, that they'd all return to the tower and that at it's top, he'd hold her.

  She reached up and touched her lips gently, her mind on her angry husband. She lamented how quickly the time had passed but she also felt compelled to go back. She didn't have a watch, but she guessed that it was close to naptime for Catee. And so she took a deep, last breath of the clean, crisp air around her and then hugged herself for warmth as she pointed her body in the direction of the apartment.

  Tara didn't speak French and so she found it refreshing to hear Americans conversing outside a tour bus. She smiled as the tour's guide, a blue-haired woman with a loud voice directed her group.

  "On the bus everybody. Let's head over to Champs Elysees for some window shopping," the old woman directed. She noticed Tara watching them.

  "You look like an American," she said, and smiled.

  "How did you know?" Tara asked with a grin. The tour guide shrugged.

  "Are you with us?" she wondered aloud.

  "No. I'm just... wandering," Tara said.

  "Well do you need a lift? We're going to the fashion district."

  Tara shook her head. "I don't have any money," she explained.

  "I didn't ask you for money. Come go with is. We're coming back here for a group picture later. You can ride with us both ways," she offered.

  Tara looked in the direction of the apartment, the temptation welling up inside her.

  "Get on here before you freeze," the woman directed.

  "How long?" Tara asked. "I need to be..."

  "I want to go for a few hours, bu
t with this group of fuddy-duddies, probably an hour," She joked. "You got somebody waiting for you?"

  Tara considered the question. She did indeed. But to see the Eiffel Tower and the fashion district on the same day, even if it was just a brief visit... "They won't mind," she said, stepping up and onto the bus for the free ride.

  The ride across town warmed Tara's bones, her eyes alight when she saw the street sign that read "Champs Elysees". The bus had a special parking permit and pulled into a closed lot. As Tara and the other passengers debarked, Tara would hear the tour guide - whom she learned was named Paula.

  "Okay everybody. We've got a great lunch planned," she said.

  Tara was hungry. But she'd already been the recipient of a free ride and planned to get another later. She didn't want to impose. So as Paula lined her tourists and briefed them, the young mother began to slip away.

  As soon as she was off on her own again she started window shopping, stars in her eyes. She made it about a block, fascinated by all the window displays, before she looked up to find eyes upon her. Paris' Fashion District was the playground of the wealthy and thanks to Tara's second-hand clothing, she realized how shabby she must look to them. With a polite smile she diverted the glances, but as soon as she could she paused before a mirror-shined window and saw what they saw.

  She was a mess: Hair undone, no make-up, shabby dressed... suddenly agreeing to take that ride felt like a very poor decision. But as she stood there, casting a critical eye upon herself, the visage in the window blurred and her gaze passed through it to something that silenced her concern.

  It was a dress, the kind you’d find in the boutique windows of Rodeo Drive or Park Avenue. It was black, beautiful… a bit racy but alluring. At once the young mother was transported. She stood on the balcony of a French chalet in the dress, a glass of champagne in her hand. Through the doors behind her Ethan appeared, clad in an expensive tuxedo, smiling at her. Lost in her daydream, she didn't know that she'd stepped closer to the window, that she'd reached out to press her fingertips to the cool glass.

  But a policeman across the way had. He was making his way casually through the crowd toward her. A feminine voice from over her shoulder tugged her from her dream.

  “It is beautiful isn’t it?” cooed that voice, marked with a middle-American accent.

  Tara lifted her embarrassed gaze expecting to find another member of the tourist group but instead what she saw took her breath. The woman was tall and raven-haired, dressed in the latest, exclusive fashion. Her eyes were ice blue and filled with confidence. Her face wore a warm grin.

  “I’m sorry?” Tara asked, excusing herself for her odd behavior and intimidated by that single glance, knowing this woman must be rather affluent given her clothing.

  “The dress. It is beautiful isn’t it?” the woman repeated.

  “Oh… yes, yes it is.” Tara fidgeted, ready to retreat. She'd follow the woman's eyes as she spied the encroaching policeman.

  “Would you like to try it on?”

  Tara was stymied for a moment, her brow deepening as she considered the woman’s words.

  “Huh? Oh… I could never afford… they’d kick me out of there in two seconds,” she stammered, worry in her belly as she too glanced to the cop.

  “Not if you’re with me they won’t.” The woman winked, reaching down to take Tara by the hand before she could back further away. The policeman reached them.

  "Mesdames jour. Estce que tout va bien?" he asked, repeating in broken English. "Bonjour. Is all well?"

  "My niece and I are just window shopping. Is that a crime?" the woman bit. The way she spoke to him caused Tara's eyes to widen.

  "Excusex-moi," he smiled. "Bonne journee."

  The two of them watched as the policeman went along his way, the woman with a pleased grin on her face. She turned to Tara.

  "Let's go have a look at that dress, shall we?" she asked, not taking no for an answer.

  The interior of the boutique was a new layer to Tara's dream world. A modern shop, it was bright and airy, lifelike mannequins stood atop lavish displays, each adorned in dresses with price tags that could buy a small home. A young woman approached them the moment they stepped inside.

  “May I ‘elp you?” she asked in thick French-accented English. She was speaking primarily to Tara, casting a wary eye at her. Then the attendant saw the young mother's companion. Her posture changed quickly, a warm smile adorning her face.

  “Madame Joli… bonjour!”

  Joli’s smile widened as she stepped forward, still holding onto Tara’s hand. She pointed at the dress in the window, then to Tara as she spoke.

  “I need for you to put that beautiful thing onto this beautiful thing.”

  The shopkeeper suddenly regarded Tara with a glint of respect that hadn’t been there before. She stepped in closer and inspected the young mother. Having allowed her eyes to lap Tara, the maiden looked to Joli’ once more and smiled.

  “Right away,” she said, before calling to the other employees in the back. The quiet boutique came to life. Three woman, at the behest of the shopkeeper, swarmed Tara and began taking measurements and catering to her as though she were a princess; ushering her to the back of the store where the work could begin. Straight away she was offered coffee by one as another whipped a measuring tape around her. Still another attended to Joli’ who had taken a seat upon a plush bench before the vanity mirrors. In Tara's mind, the fantasy was becoming reality.

  Minutes later Tara stood with her back to a row of full-length vanities as the boutique entourage primped and preened her. She’d only caught a glance at the dress, not a particularly good one either since they'd faced her away from the mirrors.

  Joli’s eyes were affixed upon her, watching each tuck and smoothing like a doting mother assessing her daughter’s wedding dress. Tara caught that gaze and dreamed that it was her mother that sat before her. But Joli' was nothing like her mom, in age or status.

  “Are you from Paris?” Tara asked, her first attempt at small talk.

  “For fifteen years, yes,” she answered, hesitating as she considered offering more. She decided that she would. “Before that I lived in Chicago.” Tara’s eyes lit up.

  “I’m from Chicago!” she blurted.

  “You look like a Chicago girl, Tara,” she said, her face becoming softer, more earnest. “You look like I looked when I first got to this town.”

  Tara didn't understand what she meant but before she could ask, the women each retreated a few steps, their work done. Tara looked down the dress, longing for a better view.“C’est la vie, as we Parisians say,” she offered, standing to take Tara by the shoulders and slowly turning her toward the vanities. The young mother gasped when she saw her reflection. She looked like a movie star, a debutante; she looked like the girl that she was in her dreams. Joli rested her chin on Tara’s shoulder and smiled.

  “You have excellent instincts Tara. This dress is perfect for you.”

  Tara smiled and nodded.

  “It is an amazing dress isn’t it?” she muttered, breathlessly. Joli shook her head. “No my dear. It is a piece of well-tailored cloth. What’s underneath is amazing. Clothing is powerless.” With that Joli let her hands slip down Tara’s arms, rubbing them gently. The gesture, whether intended to be sexual or not brought the young mother’s mind out of its temporary elation. She stepped a baby-step forward, not far enough to pull away from Joli’s touch but enough to establish that it wasn’t invited. Her brow furrowed.

  “I don’t… I’m not…” All she could manage was a stammer. She felt that she owed this woman a debt though reparation wouldn’t be with her body. Joli' smiled and bailed her out.

  “You’re not gay?” she asked, her voice a bit playful. “Neither am I Tara. I’m sorry… I’ve always been very ‘touchy-feely’.” Her laughter cleared the butterflies in Tara’s stomach and an embarrassed smile filled her face.

  “I’m sorry… I thought that…” Again Joli interrupted
her.

  “This is Paris my dear. We’re all a bit ‘touchy-feely’. But I do understand your confusion.”

  A moment of awkward silence threatened to intervene in the conversation but Joli quickly dispatched it, turning Tara’s attention to the mirror once again.

  “As I was saying, the dress is perfect for you. However the hair could use a bit of work. How’d you like to pay my stylist a visit with me?” First Tara nodded. Then she shook her head.

  "I have... people waiting for me," she frowned.

  "It will only take a half hour," Joli' countered. "Can they wait a half hour?"

  “I can’t afford a ticket to the Tower,” Tara explained, “let a lone a trip to the salon.”

  Joli smiled coyly.

  “If you could afford it, would you go with me?” Joli trained her eyes on Tara’s through the mirror.

  “I…” The letter was drawn out and laced with the ‘yes’ that she wanted to say, held back only by the ‘no’ she felt was appropriate. Joli recognized both immediately. “Then your answer is yes. Because if you are with me, then you can afford it.”

  Tara chewed her lower lip nervously. The child in her was ready to lead the charge toward the door, but she restrained herself.

  "Thank you," Tara said sheepishly. Joli' smiled at her and bowed her head.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Ethan flopped into the easy chair at his daughter’s side as she colored, anger painting his face.

  "Where the hell is everybody?" he grumbled, contemplating taking Catee out into the city to find her mother. He expected that Jahleel or Salim would have been watching, that they would have caught her, brought her back or at least followed her. But far too much time had passed and he'd heard from none of them.

  Catee stopped coloring and little feet cautiously, quietly padded to his side. He glanced toward her as she peered over the arm of his chair and he couldn't help but soften his features. She grinned at him and climbed into his lap.