Angel's Decree

Chap 8

Monica stayed with Tess for the duration of her time at the theatre, and when her concert tour was over, she moved into a posh hotel with her. It felt safe being near her, and it also felt safe not dealing with the world outside. It had only been a week since the night she’d discovered Jaime.

When it was the right time, Monica went back to the apartment to collect some of her things and tried not to think of the emptiness left by Jaime’s death. When she passed the bedroom, she heard a soft sound coming from within and chanced a look inside. It was Caryn, seated on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest.

“Caryn?” Monica went to her and hugged her. “How long…”

Caryn shook her head, her eyes mournful but dry. “I’ve been here for a while.” She looked into Monica’s deep brown eyes. “I took her things, and I was going to return them… and then I heard what happened…”

Monica tried to be strong, but it was difficult. “It’s alright, Caryn. She’s in a better place. I’m sure of it.”

“I don’t think I can take this.” Caryn exhaled. “Anyway, I’ll be moving out of here in a day or so. I can’t swing the rent alone and my parents said I can come stay with them, so…”

Monica tried to be optimistic, but she felt that she’d all but lost faith in humankind. “That sounds nice.”

“And what about you, Monica? Where will you go?” she looked at her. “Have you been staying with Andrew?”

In fact, Monica had thought a lot about Andrew. She remembered the way he smelled and the way his hands felt in hers. She also remembered how he smiled and how he laughed. She wanted to be with him again, but she couldn’t face him. It would be overwhelming. He expected so much of her, and she didn’t think she could live up to it – but also, she didn’t know if she could be alone with him again because if she wrapped her arms around him, she didn’t think she would ever let go.

Across town, Andrew sat where he had been sitting day in and day out, in a little bar in one of the shabbiest neighborhoods at the end of the city. His face had grown stubble and he’d let himself go, trying to find the meaning of life at the bottom of a whiskey bottle. No matter how much he drank, though, he never got drunk enough; it was like his body wouldn’t take it.

“Hey blondie, how many is that now?” the bartender called down the bar towards him, “Ten? Eleven? You on some kinda bender?”

Andrew wasn’t an angry drinker, but he found himself slipping into some kind of indifferent stupor where the slightest word irritated him. He didn’t bother acknowledging the man. It was pointless anyway.

Instead, he kept thinking about Monica and then pushing her out of his mind because it felt too good to think of her, to remember kissing her. She had felt so warm and pure in his hands, but now he was sure that he’d dreamed her up. She was gone out of his life so fast.

“Hey bartender.” Andrew’s voice sounded rough to his own ears, like it hadn’t been used in years. “Send me another.”

The older fat man at the end of the bar threw him a look. “Hey, you sure, blondie? You look like you might need to slow up.”

“You going to get me that drink or should I get it myself?” Andrew felt the tips of his ears redden. He wasn’t accustomed to abrasiveness, but he felt it was warranted here. He watched as the bartender poured his twelfth drink of the night and he marveled in the way that man’s hands shook as he did it.

Tess stood staring at Monica’s canvas as Monica held her breath. She didn’t like the thought of rejection – especially from the older woman. Her brown hands were clasped in front of her as if they were praying, but Tess was studying the work, looking deep within it. The meaning was lost somewhere amongst the angst, the thoughtful brushstrokes, but there was song coming off the canvas; that much was clear.

“Angels…” Tess said. “…Angels. All these sweeping landscapes and then angels, right out of the blue.”

“I don’t know why.” Monica said in a small apologetic voice.

“Well, don’t get me wrong, angel girl, they’re lovely – whether they’re alone, faces faded slightly or smack dab in the middle of an Irish loch. I love them, and I insist on paying you for them.”

“Oh,” Monica began to protest, “Tess, I couldn’t take money from you. They aren’t that good. I just…”

“Are you going to argue or are you going to let me do this?”

“Well…” Monica felt comforted somehow, by Tess’s sternness. “…what if I just gave them to you, for lettin’ me stay with you? A wee bit of compensation, perhaps?”

“That’s silly, Monica. I invited you to come with me, not the other way around.” Tess began moving about the vast suite, her long ebony hair swaying gently down her back as Monica watched. She seemed distant. “I can have someone move your things in here, whenever you want.”

Monica shrugged. “I don’t have many things. In fact, I don’t own any furniture at all. Mostly the clothes on my back and a few odds and ends.” She regarded Tess. “I don’t want to be a burden on you. I’m sure I could stay in a shelter when you get tired of havin’ me around.”

Tess waved a hand at the words. “That’s crazy talk. I would no sooner leave you in a shelter than I would my own daughter or… sister.”

Monica exhaled at that and then got a curious sensation. “Tess, do you have any wee ones of your own?”

Tess shook her head. “No. I don’t have any sisters either - but I do feel motherly in my heart. I just never… I never followed through on any of that...”

Tess’ voice trailed off and Monica nodded as she recognized that look, the same look she got when she herself attempted to remember her own lifestyle before the past several months, as if it had been omitted. As Tess continued to stand in the center of the room, her brows furrowed in thought, Monica went to her and wrapped her comforting arms around the elder woman, stroking her hair just where the black ended and the white began.

“I know how you feel.” Monica said. “I feel it too. Every time I try to recall, it’s as if I’m not allowed entry, into my own thoughts – imagine that!”

“You feel it too…” Tess repeated in a voice far older than she looked, centuries old, in fact.

“You stay here and rest while I go out and get some things for dinner…unless you want more take-out.” Monica disentangled herself from Tess. “There’s something so impersonal, though, about pasta and salad in Styrofoam boxes.”

Tess nodded, absently, lowering herself onto the plush couch and reclining back into the cushions. “You take such good care of me, baby.”

Monica smiled, her fondness for Tess surprising even to her, considering they had only met a little less than two weeks ago. “I was going to say the same about you.”

In the market, Monica shopped for real ingredients: cloves of garlic, linguini, tilapia, tomatoes, and zucchini. She knew she could make a delicious meal for Tess, and as she stood staring into the fresh produce, she hoped she could stay this way forever, as close to her new friend as possible, comfortable and safe. Then, she caught the whiff of fresh bread and thought of Andrew, his wheat colored hair, his strong hands against the small of her back. She wondered when she would stop aching for him, and then she caught herself before the lump in her throat formed into a ball. Feeling fragile, she held back the sob and the tears and moved to the checkout.

In the parking lot, she fished in her pocket for the key to Tess’ red car and got inside. It was like being inside a large boat, lulling across the road on a cloud. Monica liked the wind in her hair with the top down and she felt like she was flying, escaping all the pain of the world. Then, in an instant she was thinking of Jaime, her pale face so clear in her head that it made her swerve a bit. She pulled over to the edge of the road and waited until her heartbeat returned to its normal pace.

When she started the car again, she aimed it in the direction of the old apartment. She figured if she got the rest of her small belongings now, then maybe she’d never have to return to that place again. It was too painful.

As if in a trance, she parked the car on the street, went up the steps and opened the door with the key she forgot she still had. Inside, standing in the kitchen was Caryn and a man Monica recognized vaguely from before. The first time she’d seen him, he’d been with Jaime and he’d been dressed in a costume. He had made a rude remark and sent Monica running to her room. Now, however, he looked different, dressed in a plain t-shirt and jeans. There was soft music playing in the background and candles flickering against the bare walls. Caryn was looking as pleasant as possible, her dreadlocks hanging about her head like the leaves of a willow tree. Monica regarded them both.

“Hello.” She said in a tentative voice to match the quiet tone of the room.

“Hi, Monica.” Caryn smiled. “Remember Eric, Jaime’s friend?”

He looked at her so long it made Monica blush and look away. “Hi, Irish.” His voice was deep, hypnotic.

Instead of answering, Monica moved past him and went to turn on an overhead light. She wasn’t sure what was going on, but she knew that it felt wrong.

“Caryn, I thought you were going to stay with your parents?”

“Oh, I am.” She nodded, “But then I ran into Eric, and you know, he’s kind of in the business of making people feel good…” There was a nervous edge to her voice that Monica didn’t recognize, nor did she like.

“You don’t need him to make you feel good.” Monica said uncaring of Eric looking on. “You can feel fine on your own.”

“You’ve always been preachy, Monica.” Caryn said in a quiet voice. “Why don’t you ever try and see the good in others?”

“Yeah, Irish,” Eric put in, his stare intense, “You give me a chance, you just might like me.”

“I’ll never like you.” Monica said, “And I don’t think you can offer anyone anything.”

“That’s what I mean.” Caryn said in a sober voice. “If you just give stuff a chance, you’ll see how okay it is. You can’t tell me you’re doing fine right now. You’re so pale and so thin and under a lot of stress.” She pointed out, noting the way Monica’s clothes hung off of her slim frame, even moreso than before. “Jaime’s dead. You haven’t been to work in at least a week. You’re probably fired. You don’t have any family or friends. Everyone needs recreation sometimes.”

“I have friends.” Monica said, but her lip quivered a bit. Truthfully, Andrew was gone from her life, almost as quickly as he had come in – and it was all her own fault. And now Tess was letting her stay with her – but for how long? Maybe, eventually, she would tire of Monica too. And then where would she go? The thought made her shut her eyes. “This isn’t you, Caryn.” She whispered, feeling cornered and afraid, but unable to walk out, needing to let it play out.

“Anyway, Eric brought some stuff over. He said it would take the edge off, let it feel like Christmas. Don’t you love Christmas, Monica? The happiness and the lights – just like when we were kids.” But Monica couldn’t remember being a kid. She could scarcely remember last year. Caryn draped an arm over Monica’s shoulder, and it almost felt like home again. She let her head rest against Caryn’s shoulder, Caryn’s hand smooth over her long dark hair.

“You’re so pretty, Irish.” Eric said, reaching into his pocket, but his voice wasn’t like Andrew’s at all. It was dark and harsh. Monica felt like an adolescent, going along for the sake of friends. What had they called it on the television? Peer pressure?

When Eric’s hand came up, he was holding pills, small white ones, one for each of them. Monica could only stare as he licked his lips and approached them. “You remember communion?” Monica couldn’t. “The priest lay the body of Christ on your tongue. It’s supposed to be holy, but it’s a little kinky, I think.” He grinned, and Caryn mirrored the gesture.

Monica pondered the ramifications, silently. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe she would feel better, like Jaime had always told her she would. Maybe she was too busy preaching all the time to really enjoy life. Maybe that was her problem. Still, she felt a certain terror at going along with it. She knew it could end badly, and she knew she could live to regret it. Whatever she decided, though, she wouldn’t leave Caryn alone. If she couldn’t convince her to leave, then she would stay with her. She wouldn’t make that mistake twice, leaving a friend in peril.

And finally, the thought of Andrew popped into her head, his pleasant face in plain view, his hazel eyes smiling on her, pure and warm. She hesitated only briefly before she opened her mouth and let Eric lay the tablet on her tongue.