Falling Angel

by Tisdale, Clare

  “I know Ingrid,” said Ben.

  “Really?”

  Ben shrugged. “We’ve met through mutual friends. The Seattle art world isn’t that big, and Ingrid’s been a patron of the arts for years. She’s a great lady.”

  “She is.”

  “You guys have done an amazing job. This party’s a blast.” He put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. ”And it just keeps getting better.”

  It’s just a friendly hug, Cara told herself, feeling the rough wool of Ben’s sleeve on her bare arm. She allowed herself to lean against him.

  “It’s funny,” she said. “I never seem to worry about my work. I get it done, and it feels good to do what I’m doing. Sure, it’s a lot of work, organizing an event, but I enjoy putting all the pieces together. It’s like a giant puzzle. I only wish all the other parts of my life were as easy to organize.”

  “I thrive on uncertainty,” said Ben. “That’s what makes life worth living. If we knew what was going to happen next, what would be the point? Who wants to live a pre-programmed life?”

  “So you don’t plan for anything?”

  “Of course I do, when it comes to work. Relationships, though, are much trickier. You’re only fifty percent of the equation, to begin with, and it’s not like you can sit down with the other person and draw up an outline of what’s going to happen. You have to go with the flow.”

  Uh-oh, here we go again, Cara thought. The last thing she wanted was to get in another disagreement with Ben about their relationship philosophies. Time to change the subject. “Where did you move to Seattle from?” she asked.

  “I’ve been all over,” Ben said. “I lived in Paris for about five years. I had a studio on the Left Bank. I was going to the Art Academy and running my own small business out of my atelier.”

  “Did you have a girlfriend there?” Cara asked, though she knew she shouldn’t.

  Ben was matter of fact in his reply. “I did. But she wasn’t French. An American woman named Alicia Keen. She was in France on a student visa, studying painting. We met at the Academy.”

  “What happened?”

  “I had to leave. I’d joined the Peace Corps and went to Ghana to help the locals develop small business collectives to market and sell Kente.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a regional fabric, hand-woven, beautiful to look at, and a big tourist attraction. I was able to use my experience in setting up my art business to help them get organized; develop business plans, find seed money.

  Cara felt a pang of envy. She had never traveled outside of the United States. Clearly, Ben was a world-traveler and adventurer. “What happened to Alicia?” she asked.

  “I promised I’d come back to the states after the Peace Corps. She promised she’d wait for me. She’s actually the reason I moved to Seattle. After I got back, we stayed together about six months before she told me she’d met someone else.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cara lied.

  Ben shrugged. “It was ok, really. I was really cut up for a while, but I’ve recovered.”

  “Does she still live here?”

  Ben grimaced. “Unfortunately, yes. As we’re both working artists in the city, it’s inevitable that we bump into each other, from time to time. But we try to keep things cordial.”

  “Is she still with the guy she left you for?”

  “No.”

  For some reason, this piece of news made Cara uneasy. But she didn’t want Ben to get the wrong idea. If she sounded too curious about his ex, Ben may start thinking she was interested in him. Which she definitely wasn’t.

  “Whatever made you decide to join the Peace Corps?” she asked.

  “It combined two of my greatest pleasures; traveling and learning about new countries and cultures, and giving back to the community.”

  “That sounds so noble.”

  “It’s not hard to do things that give you pleasure.”

  “So, where do your parents live?”

  A darkness passed across Ben’s face. “Enough about the past,” he said, waving his hand as though to banish an unpleasant thought. “Now is what counts.”

  He gestured at their opulent surroundings. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses carried to them from the dinner below. “Is this what you pictured for your birthday?”

  I thought by this time I’d be married, with a house of my own and a baby on the way, Cara thought wistfully. She opted to give Ben a more immediate answer. “I figured I would work all evening, and then collapse into bed.” She added, shyly. “This is turning out a lot better than I’d expected.”

  “I’m glad we met again,” Ben said. He pulled on a cord, closing a pair of brocade curtains that screened the balcony from the rest of the landing. Then he put his hand lightly under her jaw and turned her face to his.

  He’s going to kiss me, Cara thought. Oh my God, he’s going to kiss me.

  A voice that sounded suspiciously familiar broke in. Don’t do it, don’t get involved. It will only lead to trouble.

  “Shut up, mother,” Cara whispered. She knew she wasn’t supposed to be interested in Ben. But she hadn’t been kissed by a handsome man – or any man, for that matter - in a very long time.

  “Did you say something?” Ben asked.

  Cara laughed airily. “No. Nothing.”

  Ben smiled and drew her to him.

  He kissed her, slowly, lingeringly, teasing open her mouth with his tongue. His hand pressed against the small of her back and Cara put her arms around his waist, feeling the crisp starch of his white shirt under the wool jacket.

  “I’ve wanted to do that all evening,” he said, as Cara struggled to catch her breath. Then he kissed her again. Cara thrilled with pleasure at the pressure of his hands on her back and his lips claiming hers. She wished the moment could go on forever.

  “Cara, are you out there?”

  Startled, Cara disengaged herself from Ben’s embrace. “Oh no, it’s Ingrid!” she whispered.

  Ben smiled. “So what? Aren’t you allowed to make out on the job?”

  Cara glared at him. Seconds later, the curtains were pulled open. Ingrid swept onto the balcony, her cheeks flushed. Her perfume filled the air and her sequined turquoise gown shimmered in the moonlight. “Darling, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” She stopped short as she noticed Ben. “Have I interrupted something?”

  “No, no, not at all,” Cara responded, hoping her smeared lipstick and shortness of breath wasn’t too obvious in the dim light. She had been neglecting her responsibilities for the past hour and was suddenly ashamed of her lack of professionalism. “Ben was telling me about how he met the Finemans, and that you two knew each other, and what a great party this is.”

  Smooth as could be, Ben stepped forward to kiss Ingrid on both cheeks. How very French of him, Cara thought sourly.

  “Great to see you,” he said. “You have a really talented assistant.” He winked at Cara, who couldn’t believe his impudence.

  Fortunately, Ingrid was oblivious to any double meaning in his words. “She’s an absolute treasure. I couldn’t have done this without her.” She took Cara’s arm and spoke quietly. “Sweetie, Mrs. Rosen is feeling a little under the weather, if you know what I mean.” Ingrid lifted an imaginary glass to her lips. “I’ve had the concierge call her a cab, but I was hoping you might walk her downstairs and wait with her until it comes?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks darling.” Ingrid swept away as Cara turned apologetically to Ben. He waved her on, his face inscrutable in the half light.

  “Go. I’ll call you. We’ll do something on Saturday.”

  “Saturday,” Cara echoed breathlessly, turning to go.

  He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to him for one last kiss. “Don’t forget me this time,” he whispered into her hair.

  As if.

  Chapter Eight

  It was well past midnight when the cab stopped in front of her apartment. Cara dragg
ed herself up the stairs. She prayed that Ann was either asleep or shacked up somewhere with Joseph, and groaned inwardly when she heard the drone of the TV from outside the apartment door. Before she could turn the key in the lock, the door opened, and Ann’s disheveled face peeked out.

  “Thank God you’re back,” she said, following Cara into the room. Ann was dressed in her nightshirt, an oversized black T emblazoned with her favorite grrrrl band’s name. On the front, a laughing cartoon girl with a neon pink Mohawk gave all and sundry the finger. Cara noticed a half empty bottle of Gordon’s gin on the Formica kitchen table.

  “I’ve had the most hideous evening,” Ann said.

  Cara unbuckled her sandals and hung her coat in the hall closet. “Ann, I’m exhausted,” she said apologetically. “Can we talk about it in the morning?”

  Ann’s face tightened. “Fine.” She spun on her heel and strode down the hallway.

  “Ann!” Cara called after her, but her voice was met with the slam of Ann’s bedroom door.

  Cara sighed. All she wanted to do was go to bed. She was truly drained. The party planning and the evening’s events had used up the last of her energy, both physical and emotional. But she couldn’t stand to have Ann upset with her. She knocked on the bedroom door. “Ann. I’m sorry. Will you come out?”

  The door opened and Ann thrust her head out, eyes blazing. “Why is it that you expect me to sit and listen to your stupid problems for hours, and then when I’m having a bad time you blow me off?” she yelled.

  Cara put up her hands defensively, but Ann was on a roll. “I’m sick of this! I’m sick of being treated like dirt!” Her face crumpled, and tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Oh, Ann!” Filled with compassion, Cara placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. Ann collapsed against her, and gave a loud sob.

  “Joseph picked me up in his car, and said he had a special evening planned. He seemed really excited.” She gulped and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “He took me to some crappy hotel on Aurora where you rent rooms by the hour. It even had one of those beds that shake when you put a quarter in the box.”

  “How awful!”

  “He didn’t even have the decency to pretend he was interested in anything else.”

  “I hope you told him to get lost.”

  “That’s just it,” Ann said, starting to cry again. “I didn’t.”

  “You mean, you went along with it?”

  Ann cried harder.

  Cara led Ann to the couch, handed her a box of tissues, and made cups of chamomile tea for them both. By the time the tea had brewed, Ann was calm. She cradled her cup in her hands and inhaled the warm steam.

  “I’m ok now,” she said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Do you mind if I have a cigarette?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Ann pulled her pack from the coffee table. Her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. She sat with her knees pulled up under her T-shirt, the blanket draped over her thin shoulders, and pulled feverishly on her cigarette. “So how was your evening?”

  “It was interesting,” Cara hedged, debating whether to mention running into Ben again. Part of her wanted to hold back, but she felt guilty keeping a secret from Ann, who was, after all, her best friend in Seattle. “By weird coincidence, I ran into Ben again.”

  “That guy from the Art Walk?”

  “Yeah.”

  Ann mustered up a weak semblance of her usual smirk. “What happened?”

  “We talked. He seems very nice,” she said, feeling like a traitor. “But of course, he’s not my type.”

  “Right,” Ann said. “Are you going to see him again?”

  “I might.”

  “Did your new resolutions go out the window already? Or have you discovered that he’s actually a multi-millionaire?”

  “Even if he were, that wouldn’t change the fact that he’s not looking for the same things I am,” Cara said, bristling. “Obviously, we’re completely unsuited to each other. But he’s fun to talk to. We might get together this weekend. But we’re just friends.”

  “Sure you are.”

  “Why don’t you believe me?”

  Ann looked at her. “I can tell by the way you look,” she said. “You’ve got the glow.”

  “What glow?”

  “That love glow. I can spot it a mile away.”

  “You’re drunk,” Cara said. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I may be drunk, but I still know the love glow.” Ann got up and walked into the kitchen to extinguish her cigarette under the kitchen faucet. “I’m going to bed. Thanks for listening to my sob story.”

  “That’s what friends are for.”

  “At least one of us had a good time tonight.” Ann said as she headed down the hallway. “You, as usual,” she added under her breath, so that Cara barely heard the words.

  Cara stared after her as the bedroom door closed softly. The bitterness in Ann’s tone was unmistakable. Was Ann actually mad at her for having a good time?

  It must have been the whisky talking, she told herself. gathering up their empty tea cups and Ann’s gin glass and rinsing them out in the sink. Ann’s not mad; she’s just tired and upset. Don’t go making up problems where none exist.

  All the same, when she lay in bed and began to drift into sleep, the image of Ann’s pinched and angry face appeared before her like a warning.

  If she were being totally honest, Cara would have to admit that she spent the better part of her free time the next week waiting for Ben to call.

  And waiting.

  And waiting.

  Not that she had that much free time. Great Expectations had been hired to plan a high-profile wedding for the daughter of a colleague of Ingrid’s husband, and an honorary banquet for a retiring University of Washington professor. Both events were scheduled within a week of each other, and Cara had to put in several ten- and twelve-hour days to stay on top of the sheer number of small details involved.

  As soon as she got home, she would hit the answering machine button. On Tuesday her mother called and left a message.

  “Hello dear, it’s me. I wanted to find out how the party was. Also thought you’d like to know that Jemma’s test results came back and she’s fine. The bump on her hind leg was just a reaction to the rabies vaccine, not cancer.”

  On Wednesday, David called.

  “Cara, this is David Kendall. I hope you had fun at your party last weekend. If you get a chance, give me a call.”

  On Thursday after work, there were no messages.

  Cara paced the tiny living room, chewing on her lip. Ben had promised her he’d call to set up a date for Saturday. Was he going to wait until Saturday morning to call? Desperate to take her mind off things, she knocked on the door to Ann’s room. “Ann, are you in there?”

  A muffled sound came from inside the room. Ann came to the door, looking disheveled.

  “Sorry, did I wake you?”

  “No.”

  “I just wondered if you’d like to go out for a walk.”

  Ann shook her head. “I’ve got a splitting headache. I’m gonna take some aspirin and go to bed.”

  Since her outburst, Ann had been strangely distant. When Cara got home in the evenings she was either out, or closeted in her room with the music on loud and the door closed. She responded monosyllabically to Cara’s attempts to engage her in conversation, and most mornings was already at work by the time Cara got up.

  Resigned to staying in for the evening, Cara boiled spaghetti and warmed up a jar of marinara sauce. She sat alone at the kitchen table, nibbling despondently at her meal. She couldn’t help remembering the delicious, simple pasta dish Ben had prepared for her two weeks earlier.

  Seattle is a big city, she thought. It was strange that she had Ben had run into each other twice in t
he space of ten days. What were the odds of that? Certainly, they were high enough to make seem like more than chance.

  She put a hand to her mouth, remembering the feel of Ben’s lips on hers. The way he had whispered to her not to forget him. How could she forget a man who made her feel so cherished? Who caused the whole world to fall away like so much dust the moment he stepped into the room?

  He had seemed so sincere when he promised to call to set up their ‘date.’ Had something caused him to have second thoughts? Had her ambivalence turned him off?

  She knew that if he called her tonight, even if he called tomorrow, she would still go out with him on Saturday. She longed to see him again. But the fact that he hadn’t was starting to fill her with doubt.

  Was he yet another flaky and unreliable artist? Maybe after kissing her he realized that he wasn’t that interested in her. It had been a game for him, to see how easily he could overcome her doubts and charm her into submission.

  She pushed her bowl away, her appetite gone.

  The phone rang and she lunged for it, only to hear it stop mid-ring. A moment later, Ann’s door opened. “It’s for you,” she yelled down the hall.

  Heart pounding, Cara picked it up.

  “Cara, it’s me.”

  Cara sat back down at the table with a sigh. “Hi David.”

  “Did you get my message?”

  “Yes. I’ve been meaning to call.”

  They chit-chatted about work for a minute, and then there was a pause, as though he were summoning his courage. She was not surprised when he asked her to see a movie with him on Saturday night.

  “Saturday? Let me see what’s going on,” she stalled. “Just a minute.” She placed the phone on the table, her mind racing.

  Ben had said he wanted to take her out on Saturday. But he hadn’t said when, he hadn’t called, and it was already Thursday night. It wasn’t as though they had any sort of commitment to each other. She barely knew him. And if his current silence were any indication, he wanted to keep things casual, if indeed he even wanted to see her again. Did she have to keep her entire day open on the off-chance that he still wanted to see her? Cara’s sense of wounded pride won out, and she picked up the receiver.