ECHOES OF THE PAST

"Echoes Of The Past"
by Debbie Nockels

RATING: R
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters are mine (I wish!). They belong to Ron Koslow, who created them, and I'm not sure who else at this point in time.

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PART TWO

�� I must be out of my mind! Lena told herself for the hundredth time as she presented her ticket to the attractive young man at the door. She repeated the observation as she and Catherine were escorted to a tiny cocktail table that seated two - barely. It wasn't quite ringside, but that was okay with both of them. They ordered their drinks from another handsome young waiter and settled back to wait for the show to begin.

�� "Are you sure about this, Lena?" Catherine wanted to know.

�� "I'm not sure about anything," Lena admitted wryly, "except that I want to see Derek one more time." Their drinks arrived. Catherine reached into her purse, but the waiter - he was very good-looking, Lena thought - waved her money away.

�� "You're Derek's guests," he told them. He did, however, accept a substantial tip.

�� "He seemed to understand the . . . change . . . in your circumstances," Catherine offered, reverting back to the subject of Derek. Lena smiled at her delicate phrasing.

�� "You mean that I'm not hooking anymore? Oh, yes, he understood that almost immediately," she agreed. "He's very intelligent, you know - did I say that already? - and, what's the word - intuitive? He . . . notices things most people don't, especially men. Did I tell you he has an MBA from Berkeley?" She grinned at the astonishment on her friend's face.

�� "No, you didn't." Catherine looked skeptical. "Then why on earth is he doing this?" Her gesture took in their surroundings.

�� "It's good money," Lena said, shrugging. "Besides, what he really wants is to be a film director. He took a lot of courses on the side while he was at Berkeley, and loved it. He's good, too; I've seen a couple of things he did for the classes."

�� Just then the lights dimmed. The announcer strolled up to the mike to explain the rules. They were very simple: no touching the dancers and absolutely no kissing. He then introduced the first act, and a young man in a glittering western outfit strutted onstage to the tune of "Achy Breaky Heart."

�� Lena and Catherine watched the show mostly in silence, with only a few amused or appreciative whispers back and forth. The fifth dancer finished his routine and sauntered off the stage, and the emcee returned with the next introduction.

�� "Next is someone I know you've all been waiting for. Not only is Derek drop-dead gorgeous, with a body to make you swoon, he's exceptionally talented. His unusual presentations and unique style have made him one of Chippendale's biggest stars. Tonight he has a modern fairy tale for you. Let's hear it for Derek!"

�� Applause swept the room then subsided as the lights dimmed. A moment passed in silence, then gradually music began to be heard: slow, melodic chords that rose and fell hypnotically then thinned to a stop. A woman's voice sang, low and throaty:

�� "You're not a stranger to me
�� And you, well you're something to see . . ."

�� Misty blue lights began to glow along the perimeters of the stage, eerily silhouetting a dark, shapeless figure kneeling with its back to the audience, leaning forward on its hands, head bowed low. Slowly the figure rose, first to its knees then to its feet, every movement graceful and deliberate, still turned away from them.

�� "My darling lives in a world that is not mine
�� An old child, misunderstood, out of time
�� Timeless is the creature who is wise
�� And timeless is the prisoner in disguise"

�� They could see now that a long, hooded cloak covered the figure from head to toe. Slowly he turned to face the front of the room. Suddenly a bluish spotlight illuminated the figure's head and shoulders, and he threw back the hood. Lena gasped; so did Catherine. Long hair, thick and blonde, flowed in wild abandon over his shoulders halfway down his chest. His face - Lena gaped again in wonder, and felt Catherine's tension beside her. The half-mask he wore had the appearance of a lion, and it gave him a startling resemblance to Vincent.

�� Who is the beauty, who the beast?
�� Would you die of grieving when I leave?
�� Two children too blind to see
�� I would fall in your shadow, I believe

�� Still enveloped in the concealing garment, Derek moved with long, graceful strides across the stage and down the runway. At the end of the ramp he stopped and looked directly at Lena, extending a clawed hand pleadingly through a slit in the front of the cloak. Caught in a strange, dreamlike state of mind, Lena went to him and allowed herself to be helped onto the runway. Instantly he dropped to one knee and kissed her hand, then with graceful backward steps led her to center stage, where a table and chair had been placed, along with assorted props, while all eyes were watching Derek.

�� My love is a man who has not been tamed
�� My love lives in a world of false pleasure and pain

�� Derek seated her with a graceful flourish, and pantomimed pouring tea into a cup - a real cup - which he handed to her. As confidently as if she were following a well-rehearsed script, Lena took the cup and pretended to take a sip, then placed it on the table. When he turned aside to set down the (real) teapot she stood up and laid her hand on his arm. He froze in midmotion, looking at her as she walked over to him, moving as if in a trance.

�� We come from different worlds; we are the same
�� I never doubted your beauty; I've changed
�� Changed . . .

�� Leisurely, deliberately, Lena drew his head down and kissed him full on the mouth, then stepped back, waiting. Derek waited a beat then his hands slowly emerged from the depths of his cloak. They went to his neck and unfastened the clasp there. The dark, shimmering fabric rippled to the ground, and a collective gasp went up from the invisible audience, echoed by the sigh from Lena's lips.

�� Derek stood before them in a skin-tight leotard and matching tights that concealed nothing of his marvelous body. Lean, firm muscles, mysterious planes and shadowed valleys - all were revealed as clearly as though the garments had been poured on. Both leotard and tights were flesh-colored and dappled to resemble shaggy blonde fur. There was even real hair covering the leotard on his arms, legs and chest, Lena saw. The only incongruous note lay in the glittery black spandex G-string he wore. With one part of her mind she remembered vaguely that this was required by law.

�� Who is the beauty?
�� Where is my beast?

�� "Touch me," Derek whispered to her under cover of the music. Lena blinked, then took an exaggeratedly deep breath and placed her hands on his shoulders, moving them slowly and caressingly over his chest. Derek tilted his head back in an eerily familiar gesture. Just so had she seen Vincent do, many times, when overtaken by an emotion too powerful to be easily contained.

�� There is no beauty without my beast . . .

�� Slowly Derek bent down and kissed her, then lifted her in his arms, cradling her against his chest.

�� Where is the beauty, where is my beast?

�� He carried her to the back of the stage, moving with deliberate strides almost balletic in their grace. The spotlight followed, gradually dimming until only the original blue glow remained, backlighting them. They vanished behind the curtains just as the music ended. There was a moment of utter silence, then an explosion of applause and cheers that stunned Lena.

�� "Lena, that was terrific!" Derek whispered as he lowered her feet to the ground. "I'm off at one. Would you like to get something to eat then?" Somehow she managed to nod, and then the manager was escorting her back to her table with many thanks and effusive compliments.

�� Two hours later she faced Derek across a tabletop in a quiet, dimly lit restaurant, wondering what on earth had possessed her to actually get up in front of hundreds of people and act out a love scene.

�� "Lena, you were fantastic tonight," Derek said quietly, sipping at a glass of white wine. "I can't thank you enough for going along with it. How in the world did you know what I wanted, though? I thought I'd have to be whispering instructions the whole time; instead, you seemed to be reading my mind." He added, whimsically, "Are you psychic?"

�� "Not that I've ever noticed," Lena said drily. "I don't know what came over me tonight, Derek. I can't believe I actually did that!" She shook her head in wonderment.

�� "Well, whatever the reason I am very glad you did," he stated firmly. "You wouldn't care to do it again tomorrow night, would you?" He cocked a teasing eyebrow at her.

�� "No, thank you," Lena told him, smiling faintly. "Once was definitely enough." She took a sip of her wine while the waiter set their soup and a basket of warm bread before them.

�� "So tell me about this school of yours, Lena." Surprised at the change of subject she didn't answer right away. "I was a bit concerned this afternoon," Derek went on, surprising her even more. "The way your friend Catherine was going on about it, I was afraid you'd gotten involved in some religious cult thing."

�� "A cult?" Lena almost choked on her soup then burst into laughter. "Hardly."

�� Derek nodded, smiling. "Yeah, I finally figured that out. The kids looked and acted normal, except they're obviously better-read than most kids. I mean, how many ten-year-olds today want to discuss the Swiss Family Robinson instead of the Mutant Ninja Turtles?"

�� "Max did," Lena pointed out.

�� Derek sighed. "Yes, but Max isn't like other children either; he's a loner. He doesn't have many friends, and they don't live close by; he sees them only at school. Deirdre - my sister - tries to get them together on the weekends, but it's not always possible."

�� "What about his father? Is your sister divorced?"

�� Derek toyed with his spoon. "Yes. He lives on the West Coast and can't get out to see his son very often. It's been hard on the boy."

�� Now Lena understood Max's unchildlike aloofness. "I'm sorry, Derek. I don't know what to say except to hope that everything works out okay."

�� "Yeah, me too," Derek said, giving her a lopsided grin. "But now tell me about you, Lena. It's obvious there's been a big change in your life. Tell me what got you off the streets."

�� Lena flushed a little at his bluntness. "Do you really want to know?" she asked him directly. He nodded silently, blue eyes intent on her face. His hair gleamed dull gold and the subdued lighting picked out intriguing hollows below his high cheekbones.

�� "Okay," she said. "Here goes: In a nutshell, I got pregnant and decided I wanted to keep my baby. You can imagine how much James liked that." Derek grimaced, knowing her ex-pimp well. "Well, he threw me out of his stable when I was five months along. I managed for a while by staying at various shelters and washing dishes in greasy spoons in return for free meals. By the time winter came I was eight months pregnant with no future in sight and no warm clothes. One night I phoned the suicide hot line. Catherine was working that night."

�� "Your friend Catherine?"

�� Lena nodded. "Yes. She disregarded all the rules and met me for coffee after her shift ended. Then she found a place for me to stay, a safe place with people who cared about me. Not a cult group." She smiled briefly. "They took care of me and helped me with Katy when she was born. I named her after Catherine."

�� "And then they gave you a job in their school?" Derek asked. Lena assented, thinking that it came close enough to the truth without revealing the secret of the Tunnel world's existence. "Sounds like you've got some good friends, Lena," Derek said. "I'm glad. This school of yours seems quite extraordinary too."

�� "It is," she agreed fervently. "I've never seen or heard of anything like it. Father - I mean, the person who runs the school, is a truly good man." Lena hurried on, hoping Derek hadn't noticed her slip of the tongue; he had a strange look on his face. "He really cares about the children - about everyone there." She took a spoonful of the rapidly-cooling soup.

�� "'There'?" Derek echoed. "Where is 'there' and who is 'everyone'?"

�� Lena swallowed, avoiding his eyes. "Everyone at the school, of course."

�� "You mean the staff and the other teachers?"

�� "Mm-hmm." Having finished the soup, Lena busily investigated the bread basket.

�� "So tell me about your co-workers. Do you like them? Are they nice people?"

�� She tore off a chunk of crusty french roll. "Very nice."

�� "Well, what are their names?" Derek asked, smiling. "Geeze, Lena, it's like pulling teeth to find out anything about your life! Is it a state secret or something?"

�� "Of course not. I just have a hard time believing you're really interested, that's all."

�� "Well, I am." He gave her a warm smile; a lock of hair had fallen across his forehead and Lena longed to brush the silken strands back into place. With an effort she brought her mind back to his question.

�� "Let's see - there's Mary," she said slowly. "She teaches history and geography and is kind of like a mother to all the kids, even those who have parents." Derek took a deep breath and she looked up wondering if he had something to say. He motioned her to continue. "And then there's Rebecca, who teaches us how to sew and make candles and lots of other things, and Sam, who's our math instructor."

�� "What about the head of the school, the one you called 'Father'? Is he a priest?"

�� "No," she said shortly, mentally kicking herself. "It's just a nickname. Father helps out with some of the literature classes but he's too busy to do much teaching."

�� "Busy running the school, you mean?"

�� "Yes." Lena felt increasingly uneasy but wasn't sure how to get out of this pit that seemed to be getting deeper with every word.

�� "Sounds like he has his hands full. Doesn't Vincent help out at all?"

�� "Of course he does!" she snapped, then her blood turned ice-cold. "What did you say?" Her voice was the merest thread of a whisper. She stared, wide-eyed, at Derek.

�� "I said: Doesn't - Vincent - help - out?" he enunciated, slowly and clearly, then grinned at her. "I'm sorry to trick you like that, Lena, but you were so determined not to give anything away I didn't see any other way to do it."

�� "How do you know about Vincent?" Her throat still felt tight and choked.

�� "My sister and I lived in the Tunnels for ten years after my dad died," he said, "until Mom remarried. I know Father and Mary and Rebecca and Vincent and all the others very well. But how does Catherine fit into the picture? Is she a new Helper?"

�� "No," Lena answered, still in a state of shock. "She's Vincent's wife."

�� Derek choked on a bite of bread and promptly went into a coughing fit. Their waiter hurried over but was waved away. When Derek finally emerged, red-faced, from the depths of his napkin, he looked at her with streaming eyes and said hoarsely, "She's what?"

�� "Vincent's wife," replied Lena. She was starting to feel a bit more on top of the situation now and added, "She's also an Assistant District Attorney."

�� "Vincent's married?" Derek ignored the rest of her remark. "How in the hell did that come about? I didn't think Father would ever let Vincent get close enough to any woman for that to happen - much less a Topsider!"

�� "Vincent didn't exactly ask Father's permission," Lena stated drily. She hesitated a second, then mentally shrugged. After all, it was hardly a secret; everyone in the Tunnels knew Vincent and Catherine's story. Halfway through her recounting Derek stopped her long enough to pay their bill. As they left the restaurant, he said, "So what happened then?"

�� "Vincent became ill," Lena said soberly, and shivered. She always hated remembering that horrible time. "He almost died - he would've died if it hadn't been for Catherine."

�� "She nursed him back to health, you mean?"

�� Lena struggled to find the words. "Yes - but it was more than just that. She just wouldn't let him go, stayed with him day and night for two weeks - never once left his side. I really believe that it was her love, not her nursing, that kept him alive. No one knows just what happened - and believe me, there's been a lot of wondering! The next thing we knew, Vincent was well and they were announcing their marriage plans. About a year later their baby was born."

�� "Jacob's three now, and they're the happiest couple I know," she finished, belatedly conscious of the wistfulness in her voice. Derek made no response and Lena realized they had reached Catherine's apartment building, which was the address she had given him.

�� "Oh, we're here!" she said brightly, then thought with disgust, What a stupid remark! She turned to Derek, so close beside her, feeling as if she were standing on the edge of a cliff. Taking a deep breath, mentally she jumped off. "Would you like to come up?"

�� He took a step toward her, looking her in the face as though searching for something there. Reaching out, he stroked her cheek, continuing the caress down onto her neck. Little shivers of delight rippled over her skin. Slowly, Derek bent down and kissed her, tentatively at first, then, as she moved closer, more deeply. His hands slid down her back to hold her securely against him. Lena felt their hearts, his and hers, pounding a simultaneous rhythm. Finally they drew apart, Lena more to regain her breath than out of any real desire to end the kiss.

�� "Lena, there's nothing I'd like more than to go upstairs with you," Derek murmured. He smoothed the hair back behind her ears then cupped her face tenderly in his hands. "But not tonight."

�� Lena felt cold, then hot, then cold again. "Why not?"

�� "Because it's too soon," he said softly, "and there's too much history between us. I like you, Lena, I always have, but it's too early to tell if there's anything there besides just liking. I think you know that, and if I go up with you now and we make love - which we both know is what will happen - I think there's a part of you, somewhere deep down, that will wonder whether I'm still regarding it as just another night's transaction, even though no money's involved. You deserve better than that and I won't do it to you, or let you do it to yourself."

�� He had moved slightly away from her while talking, although his gaze never left her eyes. The lights of the building cast a bright glow over his face and she could read the sincerity and caring in his blue eyes.

�� "Just what is it you're saying, Derek?" she asked. "That it'd better if we don't see each other again?"

�� "No!" He shook his head vehemently. "No, what I'm trying to say is that I would like very much to see you again - tomorrow, if that's all right with you." At her surprised look, he smiled. "I think it's time I paid a visit to my old friends Below. May I join you for dinner then?"

�� Lena took a deep breath, smiled back at him through misty eyes. "I'll tell Father to expect you."

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EPILOGUE:

�� The room was lit by only the soft glow from many dozens of candles. The tiny flames flickered and wavered in invisible air currents, first lighting then shadowing the rich textured draperies which hung almost from ceiling level to the floor. A faint gleam appeared in the darkness - a vague mass of dull gold atop a tall black shape. The shape drew closer, becoming more distinct. It was - it was -

�� Vincent?

�� She blinked in utter disbelief as he stopped only a few yards away. With bemusement she watched the large, graceful hands appear from inside the long, flowing cloak and unfasten the clasp at his throat, heard the whisper of fabric sliding over fabric and the rustle as the garment subsided into a heap on the floor.

�� Her eyes snapped back to midcenter as Vincent slowly pulled his brightly white shirt free from his waistband, first one side then the other. Taking hold of the ends he gave a sudden tug. The tinny sound of snaps gradually unpopping, one by one, reached her ears and she caught a tantalizing glimpse of gleaming, tawny muscles before he released the shirttails to dangle loosely to mid-thigh. The cuffs were unbuttoned with the same unhurried motions, then Vincent gave a slow, sinuous twist of his shoulders - and the silk shirt rippled over brawny arms and floated down on top of the cloak. The candlelights danced over golden, softly-furred skin, dappled the fabric of his trousers, muting the dark corduroy until it resembled rich velvet.

�� Leather slowly slipped through belt loops, the brass buckle clanked as it hit the floor. The hard, metallic hiss of a zipper sounded, and she followed with her eyes its leisurely path downward as longer, darker hair peeked seductively through the gradually opening wedge . . .

�� She swallowed, hoping to ease the dryness of her mouth. Her heart increased its already quickened tempo, and a sudden rush of blood sounded in her ears. For the first time she realized that from some unknown source, music was softly playing:

�� In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight . . .

�� There was a flash of movement - and suddenly, inexplicably, the trousers were off, held in one outstretched hand and released to join the discarded clothing behind him. Her jaw dropped. A triangle of shiny spandex glowed neon-white amidst the dark amber surrounding it. She looked up to meet eyes of brilliant azure staring enigmatically down at her. Slowly he turned and walked away, moving with the lithe, gliding stride of a panther. She stared, mesmerized, at the fascinating interplay of muscles - and she could see every sinewy, enticing one of them. On the very edge of the light, he paused to cast another hooded look over his shoulder, then disappeared into the shadows beyond . . .

�� . . . and around her the silence exploded into applause and catcalls. A glare of lights suddenly illuminated the room, revealing hundreds of women clapping and calling out their approval.

�� "Vin-cent!"

�� "Vin-cent!"

�� "Vin-cent!"

�� The rhythmic thunder of pounding feet shook the floor as the applause and whistles rose to a deafening crescendo . . .

�� . . . and Catherine shot up in bed with a loud gasp. The sleeping form beside her stirred then rolled over. "Catherine? What's wrong?"

�� With her heart still thumping loudly she looked at Vincent, speechless for the moment.

�� "What is it, Catherine?" Concerned now, Vincent reached for her through the darkness.

�� "I - nothing, Vincent, it was nothing . . . only a dream," she managed to say. Slowly her heart began to resume a more normal cadence.

�� "A dream?" Comforting arms held her close. "What was it about?"

�� A sound, half-laugh, half-choked gasp, escaped her. Chuckling, she snuggled against his warmth. "Vincent, I don't think you'd believe me if I told you!" She gave him a kiss. "I'm okay. Really."

�� They settled themselves again, but Catherine found herself unable to relax. Vivid pictures careened through her mind: titillating images from her fantastical dream mingling with the equally provocative memory of Derek Donovan's fascinating performance that evening. Finally abandoning sleep as a lost cause, she ran slow, caressing fingers over warm skin and silky fur. Now, if only Vincent wasn't too tired . . .

�� Vincent wasn't.

THE END

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(Lyrics from "Beauty And The Beast" - lyrics & music by Stevie Nicks, copyright 1983 by Welsh Witch Music, BMI, from her album The Wild Heart.)

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