Angel's Decree

Chapter 6

Hand in hand, Andrew and Monica walked towards the theatre. It was lit up and overflowing with people. There were many well-dressed couples and groups of three or four milling about. In the expansive lobby, covered with lush red carpet, there were men in tuxedos selling champagne and liquors and non-alcoholic beverages.

They took in the decorative etchings on the walls and nodded a friendly hello in passing to other ticket holders. Andrew let a protective hand hover just near the small of her back as he guided her to their seats up near the front of the auditorium.

Monica was so excited as they seated themselves and waited as the orchestra tuned their instruments. She turned to look at Andrew and smiled, feeling a small rush of warmth at the memory of their kiss in the car. He’d been so gentle and yet so intense that it was almost too much. As she looked into his pleasant face right now, it was almost impossible to believe him capable of so much passion.

“I’m so excited, Andrew.” She said over the murmur of the crowd. “Do you think she’ll be able to see us?”

Andrew nodded. “I think so. We’re close enough, after all.” And they were rather close. Two rows back from the orchestra pit.

In another moment, the lights flickered to call all those in attendance to their seats. Monica watched the stage, the place where the heavy red curtain flowed from the ceiling to the floor. In another several seconds, the Countess would be standing there, in all her glory. Monica was beside herself with anticipation. Andrew, as well, seemed transfixed on the stage. And then, the music began…

The roar of applause nearly drowned out the orchestra as the curtain raised to reveal her, draped in a diamond bejeweled gown and glittering under the spotlight, her smile was nearly as bright. Her hair, platinum on top and jet underneath was curled elaborately and spilling down over her shoulder in elegant waves. Monica and Andrew were too caught up to even join in the applause. The feeling of recognition was overpowering. Monica’s breath was taken away.

And then she began to sing, and the roar of applause died down immediately, no one wanting to miss even one note of her husky satin voice.

Also on stage was a pianist accompanying her, his fingers moving over the keys and coming together with her voice to make incredible sounds like pure heaven. But the Countess herself had a voice like Georgia molasses, heavy and sweet and soulful.

Andrew’s brow was furrowed as he listened intently, his eyes fixed on the stage. He was two inches away from being swept off into the fabric of her words and the tone. When she sang, it was like she was singing directly to him and it seemed like a prayer. He felt like testifying, but he also felt that the music was meant for him. It confused him while it also intrigued him.

Monica, for her part, was sure she was going insane. Her eyes were filling with tears as the Countess moved her with song - but to make matters worse, it was as if she’d heard the words before. In fact, they felt so familiar to her; she thought she could almost sing along.

After the first song, the crowd erupted again with ovation, and the Countess smiled and waved, modestly trying to quiet them down. Until now, she hadn’t actually addressed the audience, but now she did.

“Thank you so much, everyone. What a beautiful crowd.” Her speaking voice was as rich as her singing voice. “I’m so blessed to be here tonight – and I’m blessed to have all of you.” There was more applause. “Now, now, enough of that. I can’t take all of the credit.” There was some laughter in the audience.

“As a promotion we’re doing tonight only, my last night in this lovely town, two audience members have been selected to come backstage and chat with me this evening, and I wish I could have you all, but… well, I can only pick two.”

Monica and Andrew glanced at each other as they both wondered the same thing.

“Now, I’m going to call two numbers and you just look on the back of your tickets to see if you have that number and then raise your hand and someone will come down after the concert and bring you up to my dressing room…” The Countess patted her hair, “…although I would call it more of a drawing room.”

There was more laughter, and then the Countess waited for complete silence, drawing out the suspense before calling two numbers. There was some murmuring in the audience as everyone checked their tickets, and then Monica glanced at Andrew. He reached into his pocket and pulled out their tickets. Monica watched him the entire time as he read off the same numbers the Countess had called. Monica knew, in her heart, that it would be them. It was fate.

During the rest of the concert, Monica could hardly relax. She was beside herself with excitement. She didn’t know if she could meet the Countess. What if she thought Monica was a crazy person? What if she wasn’t actually as soulful as she seemed? What if it all turned out badly? The suspense was killing her.

At the end of the final set, the Countess did a bow as the crowd cheered her on. “Thank you so much. You’ve been a wonderful crowd.” Her voice was nearly drowned out by the applause. “Now, will our ticket holders please raise their hands so that my assistant can escort you back. And to everyone else, it’s been a beautiful time. Thank you so much.” And she disappeared behind the red curtain without looking in their direction.

Monica and Andrew raised their hands as the rest of the crowd filed out of the auditorium. Eventually, a man in a suit coat and vest came over to them and greeted them.

“Hi, I’m the assistant to the Countess.” His voice was chipper. “ May I see you tickets?”

After Andrew showed them the stubs, the man led them through a door and down a long narrow hallway that was dark and quiet except for the sound of his chattering away about the history of the theatre. In the dark, Andrew held Monica’s hand as they followed the assistant and let his words lead them.

Finally, they got to the end of the hall and stopped in front of a door with her name on it inside a gold star, just like those old television shows Monica had seen late at night. The assistant cleared his throat and addressed the couple.

“Before you actually meet the Countess, I first have to lay down the ground rules.” Monica and Andrew exchanged glances. “You are not to have any physical contact with the Countess, whatsoever. She doesn’t like to be looked in the eye or directly questioned about personal issues. You can, however, talk about her music, ask her anything about the tour. She doesn’t mind. Also, she likes art. Feel free to ask her who her favorite artists are. She likes that. Also, she likes praise, but not too much. Compliment her, but don’t overdo it. Got it?”

Andrew wasn’t sure how to respond. “I think so.”

“Good. You have five minutes.” He said, and then knocked on the door.

“Just a minute.” The Countess’ voice called through the door, and Monica found it hard to believe that all those rules applied to her; still, she wasn’t up for putting it to the test. And in that moment, Andrew let go of Monica’s hand. It seemed the thing to do. Somehow, he thought he might feel ashamed if the Countess thought they were a romantic couple.

Monica looked at the door and then it opened, and the Countess greeted them. “Well, hello beautiful people. Come in. Please.” She was even more striking in person, and such a powerful presence. Monica could feel it, somehow.

“Hello, Countess. I’m Andrew.” Andrew moved to extend his hand, but stopped when he remembered the assistant’s words. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Yes,” Monica spoke in a small shy voice. “I’m Monica. We’ve…well, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

“What a sweet little angel.” The Countess said absently. “And I like that accent. Ireland, right?” Monica nodded and glanced at Andrew.

Honestly, the Countess was starting to feel a little uneasy with these new strangers. There was some powerful force at work here, and she was feeling it stronger now that they had arrived. Before, she didn’t like to be touched or looked at by certain people because she had encountered some bad ones in her line of work, some strange broken individuals, but these two… well… they were different. She wanted to take them both into her arms, but somehow that didn’t seem right either…

“So, um, Countess…” Andrew started, but the Countess cut him off.

“My real name is Tess, baby.” She said, casually.

“Oh.” And Andrew felt that familiar sensation again. He knew that name.

“What a lovely name.” Monica said, “to go with the lovely voice.” her eyes sparkling as she looked at the other woman, gazed at her. She wanted to hug her, but she knew it was against ‘the rules’.

“Thank you.” And Tess smiled in her direction. She wanted to say something more but couldn’t find the words.

“Your assistant said you liked art.” Andrew glanced around now at the pictures on the walls, abstract and oil paintings and some impressionist works. “And you have good taste, by the looks of it.”

“Oh yes, well, I do love my art. I bring most of my paintings with me when I’m on tour.” She said, her eyes lighting up at the mention of them. “I’m always looking for new ones to add to my collection.”

Andrew nudged Monica gently. “I just so happen to know a good artist.” And Monica blushed furiously.

“No, Tess, what Andrew means is that…”

“You’re an artist?” Tess beamed at Monica, and the little red head seemed to shrink under the scrutiny.

“No. I mean, I like to dabble a wee bit, but… I’m not actually…”

“Of course she is.” Andrew said. “She’s the finest local artist I’ve seen. Some of her works are even hanging in a local coffee shop.”

Now Monica threw him a look. She didn’t want Tess to see her paintings. She could never live up to her standards. But here they all were, exchanging phone numbers, Andrew giving her the address of the coffee shop. By the time they bid her farewell, Monica could barely look at Andrew, let alone speak.

But in the privacy of the dark hallway backstage, he tugged her to him and kissed her mouth, tenderly. The only noise was the soft sound she made at the back of her throat as she reached up instinctively and held onto his head, her fingers absently pulling his ponytail free of its tie. Andrew held her against him as they made contact with the wall and he deepened the kiss, feeling Monica’s body molding against his. His hair had fallen around his face and Monica let her fingers drive through the soft silky wheat-colored locks before breaking away from him wordlessly.

When they got outside into the chilly night, he draped his blazer over her pale shoulders and held her in front of him, his mouth still throbbing.

“You’re angry.” He said, his smile slight. “I can tell.”

“It’s not funny.” She still wouldn’t look at him even though she tingled with the very recent memory of his mouth on hers. “Now, what am I going to do?”

“What do you mean?” he was perplexed. “You’re going to show Tess some of your paintings. I’ve seen them. They’re amazing.”

“She’s not going to like them, Andrew.” Monica murmured, “She’s going to laugh at me.”

“She’s not like that.” He affirmed in such a sure voice that it was like he knew her. “I promise you.”

She shook her head. “You don’t know that for sure.”

Now, he placed a finger underneath her delicate chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Look at me Monica.” And when she did, she nearly melted; his eyes were so deep, like pools of rainwater. “I know.”

His words sent a shiver up her spine because they meant so many things to her. What did he know? Did he know why she felt the way she did? Did he know why she felt displaced most of the time, like she was from outer space? Or maybe he knew Tess from before. Maybe that was why they seemed to get along so well. Maybe Andrew was right about her. Maybe she wouldn’t laugh at her after all. Maybe everything would be okay.

Finally, Monica gave him a small smile and nodded that she trusted him and they got into his truck, not speaking of the kiss. As they were heading towards her building, though, Monica decided that she didn’t want to go back. It was becoming increasingly difficult to go back home these days, but tonight seemed especially difficult. She wondered if Caryn was back from visiting her parents, and she didn’t know if she wanted to be alone with Jaime. She wasn’t sure what she would say to her if she were.

“Andrew,” Monica exhaled, finding it hard to put into words. “Please, don’t take this the wrong way, but… I don’t want to go home.”

He stared forward, feeling a tug in his lower belly. He knew she didn’t mean anything by it, but it still stirred thoughts inside him that were driven purely by the body. He couldn’t miss the fact that she was beautiful and sexy – in an ethereal way. Also, he was starting to get used to kissing her. Having her in his arms felt like home. “Where would you like to go?” he tried to remain as neutral as possible, waiting with bated breath.

She hesitated only a moment, and then her words tumbled forth. “If I could go with you, I promise I won’t be any trouble. I’ll sleep on the couch… or on the floor.”

Andrew was shocked and elated at the same time. The thought of having her in his apartment, but also the thought of not having to say goodbye to her tonight filled him up with gladness.

“Of course you can stay with me. And no,” he glanced at her as he drove, “You won’t have to sleep on the floor.”

She seemed relieved at any rate. “You won’t even know I’m there.” She promised.

But when they got to his small apartment, it was like they fell into a familiar rhythm, joking together and laughing and finishing each other’s sentences. Andrew offered her some leftover Chinese from his fridge and she made a pretty spectacular pot of coffee from some he’d had left over in a can in his cupboard.

Later, he made up the couch for himself and told her she could have the bed, but neither of them was ready for sleep. Instead, they sat up together, talking.

“Andrew, I really enjoyed Tess,” she looked at him. “I feel like I know her.”

“Me too.” he agreed. “I don’t know why; I just do.”

“What do you think it means?”

Andrew shrugged. “I dunno. Deja vu, maybe?” there was a pause, and then he looked at her. “I’m sorry I kissed you in the theatre. I got a little ahead of myself.”

Monica grinned at him. “It’s a wonder I trust you at all.”

He shrugged, feeling sheepish. “I’m glad you trust me. It’s so difficult to be around you sometimes. I feel like we’ve talked long ago, in another time. And then I look at you…” he pushed a long curled lock of her hair away from her face. “…and I feel sure that I knew you.”

Monica didn’t even need to say she felt the same way because he already knew she did, but now she was thinking of someone else. “Andrew, do you think my roommates will be okay without me?”

He smirked a little in her direction. “Most likely. They’ve been without you before, right?”

Monica nodded, but she wasn’t sure, and as they sat there on the couch together, drifting into a comfortable silence, she felt a strange sensation that all was not well back at her apartment.

Andrew felt it even stronger. It came out of nowhere, the way it did when he worked as an EMT. He always got a strong sense of it hovering in the vicinity, like death in search of a victim. He knew he was powerless to it, but he also felt somehow responsible.

Monica eventually slipped into a deep slumber, her body finally unable to resist its natural urge. Andrew lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed where he lay her down and covered her with a quilt, laying a gentle kiss on her forehead. And then he pulled his shoes back on and went out into the night because if death was nearby, he needed to meet it halfway. It was the least he could do.