To Love Again Part 13

What's it like in New York now by the way? he was asking.

Still cold, perhaps a bit warmer, but everything is still very gray. They don't see spring here until May or June.

He didn't tell her that the garden at the villa was in full bloom. He had been there to check on things only a few days before. Instead he said, B+?ne, cara. I'll talk to you tomorrow. And congratulations!

She blew him a kiss and they hung up. Congratulations. In Rome she would have watched with terror and fascination as they opened the show. She would have stood by, breathless, suddenly unsure of the colors, the fabrics, the look, unhappy with the jewelry, the music, and the models' perfectly done hair. She would have hated every moment, until the first mannequin stepped onto the gray silk runway. Then, after it had begun, she would have felt the thrill of it as she did each season. The sheer excitement, the beauty, the madness of the high-fas.h.i.+on world. And when it was over, she and Amadeo would have winked at each other secretly from across the murderously jammed room and then found each other later for a long, happy Kiss. The press would have been there, and there would have been rivers of champagne. And parties in the evening. It was like a wedding and a honeymoon four times a year.

But not this year. Tonight she was in blue jeans, in a tiny one-room office, drinking coffee, and very much alone.

She closed the door to her office and glanced at the kitchen clock as she walked past. She heard the boys in the distance and wondered why they weren't in bed. Alessandro had learned English, not perfectly, but enough to be understood. When he wasn't, he shouted to compensate for it, as though otherwise he might not be heard. The odd thing was he rarely spoke it. It was as though Alessandro needed his Italian as a reminder of home, of who he really was. She smiled to herself as she walked past their room. They were playing with Hattie, had the television going, and Jason had just set up his train.

She had missed her walk tonight. She had been too nervous, waiting to call Bernardo, wondering what had happened at the opening of the collections that day. And she was growing tired of the familiar route now anyway, even more so now that Natasha didn't always come along. She had picked up her life again, and in the evenings Isabella was often alone. Natasha was going to be out again that evening. A benefit ball.

Pausing at her own doorway, Isabella stopped for a moment and then walked slowly to the end of the hall to Natasha's door. It was nice to see her looking pretty again, wearing bright colors, doing something elegant or surprising with her long blond hair. It brought fresh life to Isabella, so tired of looking in the mirror and seeing her own face, her dark hair pulled back, and the constant sobriety of her austere black clothes on her ever thinner form.

She knocked softly once and smiled as Natasha muttered, Come in. She had long tortoise-sh.e.l.l hairpins clenched in her teeth, and her hair was already swept in a swirl of loose Greek curls, which cascaded softly from a knot on the top of her head.

That looks pretty, madame. What are you going to wear?

I don't know. I was going to wear the yellow one until Jason checked it out. She groaned again as she jabbed in another of the long pins.

Don't tell me, fingerprints? Isabella glanced at the discarded yellow silk.

Peanut b.u.t.ter with his left hand. Chocolate ice cream with his right.

Sounds delicious. She was smiling again.

Yeah, maybe, but it looks like h.e.l.l.

What about this one? Isabella went into her closet and came out with something familiar and pale blue. She had thought of Natasha when she bought the fabric. It was the same color as her eyes, a kind of lavender with a bluish hint.

That? It's gorgeous. But I never know what to wear with it.

What about gold?

Gold what? Natasha looked at her quizzically as she finished her hair.

Sandals. And a touch of gold in your hair. She was staring at her as she did the models at their fittings for the collections in Rome. Eyes narrowed, feet wide apart, seeing something different than what actually was. Creating her own magic with a woman, a dress, an inspiration.

Wait! You're going to spray my hair gold?

Natasha shrank at the frilly white dressing table, but Isabella ignored her and disappeared. She was back in a minute with a needle and some very fine gold thread.

What's that?

She threaded the needle as Natasha stared.

Sit still. She wove it in airily with a deftly moving hand, clipping thread, making the ends disappear, and working miracles with the needle again until it was done, creating only an impression, as though mixed in with Natasha's own hair she had grown little summering wisps of gold.

There.

Natasha stared at her reflection in astonishment and grinned.

You're amazing. Now what?

A little of this. She set down a box of powder, transparent, translucent, s.h.i.+mmering with tiny flecks of gold. The impression it created was one of dazzling beauty, a s.h.i.+ning l.u.s.ter to an already lovely face. Then she disappeared into Natasha's closet and came out with gold sandals with low heels. You'll look like a G.o.ddess when I'm through.

Natasha was beginning to believe her as she strapped her own forgotten sandals to invisibly stockinged feet.

Nice stockings. Where'd you get them? Isabella looked down with interest.

Dior.

Traitor. Then, thoughtfully, Don't apologize. They look nicer than ours. She made a mental note to say something to Bernardo. It was time they did something new and different about theirs. Now' . She pulled the dress out of its plastic case and grunted with satisfaction as she dropped it perfectly without disturbing a hair on Natasha's head. She sapped her up in businesslike fas.h.i.+on and walked around to the front, tucking, smoothing, approving. The dress was one of hers. She had done it for their spring line, only three years before. For jewelry she picked from among her own things a ring of pale mauve amethysts, edged with diamonds and set in gold. There was a pair of tiny, delicately fas.h.i.+oned earrings, and a bracelet as well. It was a remarkable set. Where did you ever get it?

Amadeo bought it for me in Venice last year. They're nineteenth century, I think. He said the stones are all imperfect, but the setting is remarkably fine.

Oh, Jesus, Isabella. I can't wear this. Thank you, but, darling, you're nuts.

You bore me. Do you want to look lovely or don't you? If not, you might as well stay here. She closed the necklace around Natasha's throat. It fell to precisely the right depth of the necklace, sparkled dazzlingly from the pale mauve chiffon folds. Here, put these on yourself. She held out the earrings after closing the bracelet on Natasha's wrist. You look marvelous. Isabella gazed at her in sheer delight.

I'm scared stiff. What if I lose them, for chrissake? Isabella, please!

I told you, you bore me. Now go out and have a good time.

Natasha glanced in the long mirror and smiled at Isabella and her own reflection. The doorbell rang almost instantly, and a stockbroker in a dinner jacket arrived to claim his date. Isabella went to her room and waited until she heard the door close again. There had only been a soft knock before Natasha left with him, and a hastily whispered thanks.

And with that, Isabella was left with the sounds of the boys again, and the whoosh and whistle of Jason's little toy train.

She looked at her watch half an hour later, and went to kiss them both in their bed. Alessandro looked at her strangely. Non esce pi+ , Mamma? You don't go out anymore?

No, darling. I'd rather stay here with you. She turned out the lights for them and went to lie down on the fur throw on her bed. ' non esce pi+ , Mamma? ' No, caro. Mai. Never. Maybe never again.

She tried to sleep as she gazed at the fire, but it was useless. She was still too nervous, too excited, too on edge after the day of waiting for news of the collections in Rome. And she hadn't had any air all day long. Hadn't walked. Hadn't run. With a sigh at last she turned over, looked into the fire, and then stood up. She went to find Hattie, in her room watching television, her hair in curlers and a copy of Good Housekeeping near her bed. You'll be home for a while?

Yes, Mrs. Parelli. I'm not going out.

I'm going for a walk then. I'll be back very soon.

Isabella closed the door again and returned to her own room. The borrowed navy blue coat hung in her closet now, and she no longer needed the wool hat. She shrugged quickly into the coat and picked up her bag, glancing around the room for a moment as though she were afraid to leave something behind. What? Her handbag? Her compact? Long white kid opera gloves? She looked down somberly at the jeans that she wore, and for an instant a pang of jealousy shot through her. Natasha. Lucky Natasha. With her benefits and her gold sandals and her beaux. Isabella smiled to herself when she thought back to their conversation about Corbett.

She should have known Corbett was not Natasha's type. He couldn't be handled easily enough. She looked at herself in the mirror then, angrily, and whispered, Is that what you want? She didn't, of course. She knew she didn't Not a stockbroker in horn-rimmed gla.s.ses. Ah, then it's a beautiful one you want. She accused herself as she softly closed the door. No! No! was her answer. But what did she want then? Amadeo, of course. Only Amadeo. But as she thought it, a brief vision of Corbett flashed into her head.

That night she walked farther than she ever had, her hands jammed into her pockets, her chin tucked into the collar of the coat. What was it she wanted? Suddenly she wasn't sure. She wandered more slowly past the now too familiar shops. Why didn't they change the windows more often? Didn't anyone care? And didn't they know that they were still using last year's colors? And why wasn't it spring? She found fault with all of it as she pushed the vision of Natasha repeatedly out of her head. Was that it then? Was she only jealous? But why shouldn't Natasha have a good time? She worked hard. She was a good friend. She had opened her home and her heart to Isabella as no one ever had. What more could she possibly want from her? To keep her locked at home the way she herself was?

Suddenly, in spite of herself, she knew the answer only too well. It wasn't Natasha's imprisonment she wanted, but some freedom of her own. That was all. She dug her hands farther into her pockets, jammed her chin even farther down, and walked on endlessly until, for the first time, she was downtown. No longer in the cozy, residential safety of the sixties; or the distinguished sobriety of the seventies; or even the decorous boredom of the eighties; not to mention the dubious, shabby gentility of the nineties, where she had now and then strayed; but the other way this time, past the bustling fifties, its restaurants, its excited diners, its screeching taxis, and its far larger shops. Past department stores with overdone windows, and Tiffany's with its glittering goodies, Rockefeller Center with its still hopeful skaters, and St. Patrick's with its lofty spires. She walked all the way down to Forty-second Street, to the office buildings, the less fas.h.i.+onable stores, and the drunks. Everything seemed to be careening past her at a speed that reminded her of Rome. At last she turned back toward Park Avenue, and past Grand Central Station, she stood looking straight up Park. Lined on either side of her were skysc.r.a.pers, towering monuments of gla.s.s and chrome, where fortunes were aspired to, ambitions fulfilled. It took her breath away as she stared at them; the tops of the buildings seemed to lead straight to heaven. Slowly, thoughtfully, Isabella walked home.

She felt as though she had opened a new door that night and there was no way she could close it again. She had been crouching, hidden in a maze, locked behind an apartment door, pretending that she was living in a village far from the city's excitement. But she had seen too much that night, felt the nearness of power, success, money, excitement, ambition. By the time Natasha came home, she had made up her mind.

What are you still doing up, Isabella? I thought you'd have been asleep for hours. She had seen the light in the living room and wandered in, puzzled.

Isabella shook her head briefly, smiling a little at her friend. You look wonderful tonight, Natasha.

Thanks to you. Everyone loved the gold in my hair; they couldn't figure out how I'd done it.

Did you tell them?

No.

Good. She was still smiling. One has to have a few secrets after all.

Natasha watched her, worried. Something had changed tonight. There was something about the way Isabella sat there, about the way she looked, and the way she smiled. Did you go out for a walk tonight?

Yes.

How was it? Did anything go wrong? Why did she look like that? There was something peculiar about her eyes.

Of course not. Why would anything go wrong? It hasn't yet.

And it won't. As long as you're careful.

Ah, yes. She looked wistful. That. She suddenly raised her head with a look of power and grace that suggested that she should have been the one wearing the gold threads in her hair. Natasha, when are you going out again?

Not for a few days. Why? Dammit. She was probably lonely and bored. Who wouldn't have been? Particularly Isabella. As a matter of fact I was thinking of staying home for the rest of the week, with you and the boys.

How dull.

That was it then. Natasha should have known. She had gotten too swept up in it all again, taken Isabella too much at her word.

Not at all, silly. In fact she yawned prettily if I don't stop running around like this, I'm going to roll over and die. But Isabella was laughing at her, and Natasha didn't understand.

What about the film premiere you were supposed to attend day after tomorrow?

What film premiere? Natasha widened her eyes and looked spectacularly dumb, but Isabella only laughed more.

The one on Thursday. Remember? The benefit for the heart foundation or whatever it is!

Oh, that. I thought I wouldn't go.

Good. I use your ticket. She sat back and almost crowed.

What? I hope you're kidding.

No, I'm not. Want to get me a ticket? She grinned at Natasha and crossed her legs under her on the couch.

Are you nuts?

No. I walked downtown tonight, and it was wonderful. Natasha, I can't do this anymore.

You have to. You know you have no choice.

Nonsense. In a city the size of this one? No one will know me. I'm not saying I'm going to start parading around, going to fas.h.i.+on shows, and having lunch. But some things I can do. It's insane to hide like this here.

It would be insane not to.

You're wrong. At something like your film premiere I can slip in and slip out. After the c.o.c.ktails, the gathering. I can just watch the movie and the people as I come and go. What do you think? That I can design clothes for women of fas.h.i.+on without setting foot out of my house and getting a feeling for what's working, what isn't, what they like, what looks good on them, without even seeing what's being worn? I'm not a mystic, you know. I'm a designer. It's a very down-to-earth trade.

But the speech wasn't convincing, and Natasha only shook her head.

I can't do it. I can't. Something will happen. Isabella, you're mad.

Not yet. But I will be. Soon. If I don't start getting out. Discreetly. With caution. But I can't go on like this for much longer. I realized that tonight. Natasha looked woebegone, and Isabella patted her hand.

Please, Natasha, no one even suspects that it's not I at the top of the house in Rome.

They will if you start showing up at film premieres.

I promise you, they won't. Will you get me the ticket? She suddenly wore the pleading eyes of a child.

I'll think about it.

If you don't, I'll get it myself. Or I'll go somewhere else. Somewhere out in the open, where I'm sure to be seen. For a moment her dark eyes glinted viciously, and Natasha's own blue ones suddenly blazed.

Don't blackmail me, dammit! She jumped to her feet and paced around the room.

Then will you help me? Please, Natasha ' please' .

At the sound of her friend's words Natasha turned slowly to face her again, looked at the haunted eyes, the narrow, pale face, and even she had to admit that Natasha needed more than the apartment and an occasional walk up Madison Avenue in the dark. I'll see. But Isabella was tired of the game now; her eyes caught on fire and she jumped to her feet.

Don't bother, Natasha. I'll take care of the matter myself. She marched toward the back of the house. In a moment Natasha heard her close her door. Slowly she turned off the lights in the living room and looked at the city outside. Even at two in the morning, it was alive, busy, bustling; there were trucks, taxis, people; there were still horns and voices, excitement and turmoil outside. It was why people flocked to New York, why they couldn't stay away. She herself knew that she needed what it gave her, needed to feel its tempo beating like the pulse in her veins. How could she deny it to Isabella? But perhaps in not denying it to her, if the kidnappers found her again, she could cost Isabella her life. On silent feet Natasha walked slowly down the hall. She stood outside Isabella's doorway and then gently knocked. The door opened quickly, and the two women stood there, silent, face to face. It was Natasha who spoke first.

Don't do it, Isabella. It's too dangerous. It's wrong.

Tell me that when you have lived like this, in terror, in hiding, for as long as I have. Tell me you'd be able to go on.

But Natasha couldn't tell her that. No one could.

You've been very brave, Isabella, and for such a long time.

Brave ' for just a little while longer. The echo of Amadeo's words caught Isabella unexpectedly and lodged in her throat. With tears in her eyes she shook her head. I haven't.

Yes, you have. They were still whispering. You've been brave and patient and wise. Can you be for a little while longer?

Isabella almost cried out at the words as frantically she shook her head from side to side, whispering to Amadeo, as well as her friend. No. No, I can't And then she stood very straight, very tall, and looked at Natasha boldly, the tears suddenly gone. I can't be brave for a little while longer. I've done this for as long as I can.

And Thursday?

Isabella looked at her, smiling slowly. The premiere? I'll be there.