"How much of your obsession with work is an effort to fill the empty spaces in your life?" Vincent felt her shock. "The work you do is important; I know that. But how much longer can you continue to pour yourself into it? What happens when the time comes that you have nothing left of yourself"
He leaned toward her earnestly. "Diana, you have so much love to give."
"Do I?" she whispered. "I sometimes wonder. Sometimes, I feel . . . dried up . . . empty inside." Her eyes were haunted. "What if there's nothing there anymore?"
"There is," he replied with conviction. "Have no doubt about that. I know you, Diana. The love is still there; don't let it go to waste." Her eyes flickered; then Diana looked away. Vincent felt a strange emotion touch him, but it was gone before he could identify it. He frowned, troubled.
"Well," Diana said, turning back to him. "Thank you, Vincent. You've . . . given me something to think about."
"But will you?" he asked, putting a gentle hand on her arm.
She covered it with her own, pressing his fingers lightly. "I will. I promise." Another squeeze, and then she was gone.
A moment later Catherine joined Vincent. "What was that all about? Is Diana all right?"
Vincent put his arm around her and pressed a kiss on her head. "I think so," he said after a minute. "I hope so."
Catherine hugged him. "What were you talking about?"
"I am concerned about her. She is so alone; she has no one."
"That's the way she wants it," she reminded him softly. "She holds back from too much intimacy, Vincent. You know that."
"Because she has given up, Catherine. She believes the only way she can protect herself from further hurt is by not letting anyone get close." Vincent shook his head angrily. "It is so wrong. Diana has so much to offer and she deserves to be loved."
Catherine studied his face. "You told her about Joe, didn't you - how he feels about her." At his nod, she sighed. "Well, let's hope something good comes out of it." Then she looked over his shoulder. "Looks like Edie finally got her fill."
She smiled at her friend as she came up, with Rita only a step behind. "Had enough family pictures, Edie?" She took the album Edie handed her, pushing it back in her bag.
"You're a lucky woman, Cathy." For once, there was no teasing in Edie's manner, only warm sincerity.
Catherine met Vincent's eyes. "I know." She tore her gaze away only to find Rita staring fixedly at him. Catherine's heart gave a little leap of trepidation. "Rita? Hey, earth to Rita!"
"What?" Rita blinked. "Oh my goodness, was I staring again?" She lowered her eyes and Catherine was sure she was blushing. "I'm so sorry, Vincent. Please excuse me. It's just, your face - " She stopped, looking embarrassed. "You'll think I'm crazy, both of you, but I guess I owe you an explanation.
Rita drew in a long breath. "You see, there's this recurring dream I've had all my life. In the dream I'm a child. I'm in the car with my mother and we're driving through a park, or maybe the woods somewhere. It's night time and the moon is bright and full. I'm looking at the dark shadows under the trees and it's all kind of scary. Then, just as I'm starting to feel really scared, I see it. I see him."
Suddenly guessing where Rita's story was leading, Catherine took Vincent's hand; it was clenched. She stroked it and sent her love and support flowing through their bond. Vincent, you are beautiful.
Rita continued, "It's a boy, standing by the road, looking up at the moon. Except - his face isn't human; it's . . . I don't know what it is, but it's unearthly. I start to cry and the car takes me away from him."
She smiled apologetically at Vincent, not seeming to notice his lack of response. "The makeup you have on tonight, Vincent - it's just like I remember the face of that boy in my dreams. That's why I keep staring at you."
"I'm sorry my face reminds you of your nightmare," he said in a hoarse voice. "It must have been a frightening experience, to have haunted you this long."
Rita raised her brows. "Nightmare? Vincent, it wasn't a nightmare." She laughed. "Just the opposite, in fact. The boy in that dream became a kind of fantasy figure for me. I used to dream that he really existed, and that I'd meet him again someday and we'd go off together to a magical world.
"Just my luck." She winked at Catherine. "I finally find him and it turns out he's married to one of my friends."
Vincent ignored the teasing byplay. "If you weren't frightened by him, why did the sight of him make you cry?"
Rita shook her head. "I didn't cry because I was afraid of him. I cried because I wanted to stay with him, and even in the dream I knew he wasn't real. He was too beautiful to be real."
Vincent stared. "Beautiful?"
Catherine smiled, shooting him a smug glance. "Thank you, Rita."
"For what?" asked Rita, looking in confusion from one to the other.
"Vincent was afraid his makeup was too bizarre . . . even repulsive."
"Repulsive?" Rita regarded Vincent's face, shook her head vigorously. "No way, Vincent. It's startling, yeah, and I guess some people might even call it bizarre. But you know, it really grows on you after a while."
"She's right," Edie put in, nodding her agreement. "Whoever designed that face did a great job. It's different but not grotesque. In fact - " She raised a mischievous eyebrow. " - it's really kind of sexy."
Catherine stifled an involuntary laugh at the mixture of emotions coming to her through the bond - disbelief and dumbfounded shock vying with embarrassment. She squeezed his hand, then released it.
"Hey, Radcliffe." All heads turned as Joe came up. "Come on, everyone. I want to take some pictures."
As everyone around her groaned, Catherine felt Vincent's instinctive movement of withdrawal. "It'll be all right, Vincent," she whispered, looking up into his eyes. After a second he nodded, though he remained somewhat tense. Patiently they allowed Joe to arrange and rearrange them until he was satisfied. With an apologetic glance toward Vincent, Joe turned the dimmer switch up to increase the light in the room. Then he shot the pictures - first a couple of the entire group, followed by a couple of Edie and Catherine, then one of Catherine and Rita.
"Okay, Vincent, now let's take one of you and Cathy alone," Joe ordered.
Rather hesitantly, Vincent came to Catherine's side. She smiled at him and put her arm around his waist, resting her head against him. Instinctively Vincent circled his arm over her shoulders and down her arm. As his palm touched warm, bare skin, he allowed himself a surreptitious caress of its satin smoothness. Catherine raised her head; at the same moment he looked down at her. The camera flashed.
"Got it!" Joe's knowing grin broadened as he looked at their dazed faces. "That one oughta brighten up a few lives at the Fotomat. Let's see, there's two shots left. Excuse me while I use up the rest of this film. Hey, George!" He slid through the crowd in pursuit of a tall, majestic Cowardly Lion.
"Was that wise, Catherine?" Vincent was still uneasy. "When Joe takes the film to be developed - "
"What?" Catherine interrupted. "All they'll see is one more person among dozens in similar costumes and makeup. No one will think twice about it, Vincent." She squeezed his arm. "Now let's have some fun." She tugged gently, and Vincent allowed himself to be led toward a group of three people about ten feet away. As they did so, the lights dimmed once more.
A few hours later, a bit to his own surprise, Vincent realized he was truly enjoying himself. Not that he had expected not to have fun - not exactly. It was just that he'd never thought he could feel this much at ease among such a large group of Topsiders, and mostly strangers at that. True, more than once he caused curious or puzzled looks when he failed to recognize an allusion to some bit of knowledge everyone else took for granted - usually regarding television shows or movies. However, this was more than balanced by his intimate familiarity with classic literature and music. He discovered a kindred soul in Sasha in their shared love of Jane Austen's books and the music of Grieg, and the chatty, leopard-suited man dropped most of his affected mannerisms as they amiably argued the respective merits and flaws of Northanger Abbey and Sense and Sensibility. Robert, less talkative, stood by listening with only an occasional interpolation.
"I'm sorry." Sasha shook his head. "I just don't agree. True, Elinor's meek, moralizing acceptance is frustrating, but it can't begin to compare with the utter silliness that Catherine Morland exhibits throughout the entire story in Northanger Abbey."
"It is difficult for the modern reader to apreciate - or even truly comprehend - the social mor�s of Jane Austen's time," Vincent replied. Just then he noticed Joe and Catherine approaching.
"Hey, guys, just heard some great news!" Joe declared. "The watch commander just called. They've caught the Sniper!"
Loud exclamations and questions ensued, in the midst of which Vincent met Catherine's gaze. A look was exchanged, a hopeful query silently asked and answered. Catherine broke into a smile whose beauty stole his breath. Before he recaptured it, Catherine turned to Joe.
"That's really good to hear, Joe. I'm sorry, but Vincent and I need to leave now. Have to keep in good standing with the babysitter, you know."
Joe quirked one eyebrow at her, aware that the babysitter mentioned was Brooke, who would have watched Jacob all night long and been glad of the privilege. "Right," was all he said, however. "Glad you could make it tonight. Give my godson a big hug for me."
"We will." Catherine stepped forward to give him a warm hug. "Thanks for . . . everything, Joe."
Joe shrugged. "No problem, kiddo." He clapped Vincent on the back and started walking them toward the door.
"Wait," Catherine said. "We have to say goodbye to Edie." Rita had left already, bound for another party. They found Edie at the bar, pouring herself a Coke.
"Hey, girlfriend. Vincent." Edie waved her glass at them. "Figured it was time to start pouring some caffeine into the old system. In case I haven't mentioned it before, Joe, this is a swell place you've got here."
"Yeah," Joe agreed. "A heck of a lot better than that cracker box I used to live in, isn't it?"
"Edie," interposed Catherine. "We're leaving now. I just wanted to say goodbye."
"You're leaving already?" Edie said with dismay.
Catherine sighed. "Babysitter," she said by way of explanation.
Edie's face fell and she nodded gloomily. "Well, at least meet me for lunch before I go back home."
"I'd love to. When do you leave?"
"Tomorrow evening," Edie said blithely.
Catherine gave her a look. "In that case, how about tomorrow?" she asked drily. "Twelve-thirty, at the downstairs deli."
Edie agreed, then turned to Vincent, assuming her best Hollywood starlet imitation. "Vincent darling, it's been real," she drawled. "I do hope we'll meet again sometime." Then with an abrupt descent into normalcy, "Hey, keep her out of trouble, will ya?" - with a gesture of her head toward Catherine. "You know what she's like." She cast a dark look at her friend.
"I'll do my best," Vincent promised her solemnly. Only the slightest twinkle in his eyes betrayed his inner amusement.
Catherine cast her eyes toward the ceiling, publicly inviting patience. "Good night, Edie," she sighed, moving away with Vincent and Joe close behind. As they reached the front door she looked back over her shoulder and winked at her friend. Edie raised her glass in salute.
"God, that girl is a character!" Joe shook his head. "Well - I'm real glad you came tonight, Vincent."
"So am I," Vincent told him. "I had fun. Thank you, Joe."
Joe opened the door for them to pass through. "See you tomorrow, Cathy," he called. Catherine waved a hand back at him. Joe watched their retreating figures for a moment before closing the door.
"Where shall we go first?" Vincent asked as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. The night had turned colder, and Catherine pulled her thick cloak more closely around her. She shrugged and smiled.
"You decide."
Vincent smiled down at her. Hand in hand, they walked into the glittering night.
THE END