Iron Behind the Velvet - Chapter 10

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Let Me Dream it Truth (1)

Vincent walked alone, north toward the camp site. The sentry on duty where he and Kanin were to have met said Kanin had passed through an hour earlier, shuffling along, dour and glum. Vincent shook his head as he continued on, caught between dismay and concern ... and his own sweet memories.

He attempted to concentrate on the work before him, on the best division of the crews and tools, but thoughts of Catherine crowded his mind. He felt extraordinarily sensitive - to the stone under his feet, to the jagged rock walls, to the temperature and to sound. He felt ... everything ... as if his body were indeed electric and singing ...

She made him remember ... and forget.

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He rounded a turn and stopped short, sensing someone ahead. His heightened senses told him friend, not foe and he knew he would find Kanin soon enough. He could almost smell sadness and regret in the air, could all but hear the screeching cacophony in Kanin's mind, the litany of missteps and failures that surely played in a ruinous loop.

He was there at the next corner, sitting slumped against the wall. Vincent reached down, offering his hand, and Kanin clasped his forearm to heave himself to his feet. Silent, they fell into step together.

“We should talk about the plans,” Kanin said.

“We can do that, if you’d like,” Vincent replied.

“You won’t ask me, will you? You won’t ask me what happened.”

“It is yours to tell, Kanin, as you choose.”

A silence lengthened between them, broken only by the sound of their muted footsteps and Kanin’s pained sighs.

“When I got there ... when I got home ... ,” he began, “they were all asleep. It looked like Livy must've had a hard time getting Luke down. He was in bed with her, toys and books all over the covers. He kind of snuffled in his sleep, like he had been crying, you know? The baby ... she was in her cradle pulled up next to them ... Livy was holding her hand through the slats, I mean, the baby was holding on to Livy’s finger. I didn’t ... I just couldn’t wake her. She looked so tired. I took your advice. Didn’t say anything. I know, I know ... that’s not what you meant. Anyway, I slept in the outer chamber. In a chair. She was still asleep when I left.”

Vincent kept his silent, steady, forward pace, though he wanted to order Kanin to return, and he quelled a sudden, angry urge to slam Kanin into the wall, to shout that he was a fool, that his barriers were of his own making, surmountable with the smallest effort, that his dreams were manifest - forgiveness, love, his own flesh and blood, beautiful and perfect - and yet he would risk everything. For what? What could be worth more than that?

A scrap of poetry came to mind ... I stumbled, slipped ... and all was gone that I had gained. ² He stifled his exasperation and said nothing.

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Joe stood in front of the courthouse, waiting for her to emerge from the taxi. He held an extra large coffee in each hand and trapped the folded top of a large Rocco’s bag under one arm. His briefcase stood at his feet.

“Pastries?” Catherine asked, eyeing the bag. “And is that coffee hot?”

“Yes and yes.” Joe’s smile was bright. “Let’s sit. I need a little extra to handle this case. I’d give anything to wrap this one up and be done.”

They found an empty bench inside and Joe held the bag open for her.

“I’m going to swoon over the smell alone! What’s in there?”

“French cannoli with the custard, a lobster tail and a lulu, and, ummm, well, a pasticiotti and a sfogliatelle.”

“Dear God, Joe. You’ll have a coronary!”

“Which do you want?”

“I want the pasticiotti and the lulu. And don’t mope, Joe. You asked.”

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“You look happy this morning,” Catherine noted.

She laughed while Joe blushed and drained his coffee.

“Go ahead, tell me,” she prodded. “You called her, didn’t you?”

“I did. In fact, I called her twice.”

“Twice?”

“That’s all you’re getting, Radcliffe. Show time.”

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In the private moments left to her before court, Catherine watched Joe from her corner of the elevator. He had said it last night – finally – and although she had long worried over the aftermath, he had accepted her answer without sadness, without surprise. In a strange way, she felt closer to him this morning than ever before, freer with him. Things would be different now, even better, she knew. A satisfied sigh escaped before she could contain it. Joe looked over at her. His smile was contagious and she smiled back.

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The Medusa! Don’t look! Joe scribbled the words on a legal pad and turned it to her. She barely had time to read it before he jumped up in objection. They were worn out with objecting.

“Damn!” he said, the minute the courtroom cleared for lunch. They sat, stunned, still in their seats. “I thought she would be an improvement over her partner. I should have known she was snake to his scorpion. We’re quite possibly royally, completely and fundamentally screwed, Radcliffe.”

“We can’t lose, can we?” Catherine wailed in a whisper.

“I don’t know. This woman is something else.” Joe raked his fingers through his hair and rubbed his face, hard.

“Are you hungry?” Catherine asked.

“No, I feel sick, but we’d better eat something. You want to sit down somewhere?”

“Want to try to get in at Civic Deli? I could manage a salad, I guess.”

They trudged up Centre Street to Worth in a morose herd of hundreds and luck granted them a window seat. Joe hurried her to it with smooth pressure on her elbow. “It’s gotta be a sign, Cathy. A table. At the D. A. Deli at lunchtime. You sit, I’ll order. Don’t let anybody take my chair.”

Those standing in line eyed their seats, making it uncomfortable for them to have a leisurely discussion. Over her avocado salad and Joe's sandwich, in their own brand of shorthand, they prepared for the afternoon’s questioning.

“If this guy walks ...” Catherine said. “He’s dangerous.”

“Evil,” Joe corrected. He checked his watch and pushed back from the table. “Gotta get going, Cathy.”

“This day started out better than it's ending up,” Catherine moaned.

“It’s going to rain, too,” Joe said as thunder rumbled. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Deal.” She walked a few paces in silence. “So?”

“So ... what?”

“So ... you called her twice?”

Joe blushed again. “I did. We’re ... ummm ... having dinner tonight.”

“Good, Joe! That’s great. Where?”

“I was thinking maybe a lobster roll at that place on Cornelia? And then, you know, if it’s going okay, walk over to Christopher Street, catch some music at 55?” He ran his fingers inside his collar and tugged at his tie. “And Saturday... she’s ... ummm ... well, we’re ...  Damn it, Radcliffe. I’m going over to her studio. She wants to take some pictures and I don’t want to hear you say one word!”

Catherine bit back a laugh. “What could I possibly say, Joe? You’re very ... photogenic.”

“Cut it out. She takes pictures of body parts.”

Catherine snickered. “So I hear, Joe.”

“Like feet or hands. Ears. Elbows. That sort of body part. Your mind is in the gutter.”

“I know, I know. Eimear told me. And it is not in the gutter. I’m happy for you.”

“I don’t know, Cathy. Talking to her last night ... I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed a telephone conversation like that. I usually try to hang up as fast as possible. Something just sort of ... clicked. You know what I mean?”

“I do, Joe. I do.”

With a surreptitious side-glance, he cleared his throat and took a deep, announcing breath. “This morning ... when you got out of the cab? I gotta tell you, Cathy. You looked ... beautiful. Happy. Like you’d had some really great news. It made me feel good just to look at you. Hopeful. Like I might be that happy some day. I was kind of worried ... you know ... about what I’d said to you, ummm, yesterday. How you’d take it. But I gotta tell you, I’m glad I told you, glad it’s out there. And done with. I don’t want to lose you ... you are more than a friend. What ever you call what we are to each other, I know I’ve never had better.”

Catherine stopped, reaching out for Joe’s arm. As he turned to her, the crowd parted around them, a slippery white noise of urban privacy. There was much she wanted to say. Without thinking, Joe pulled her toward him in a gentle, one-armed embrace, his cheek against her hair. She felt good to him, soft but strong-limbed; she smelled good. For a fraction of a moment, he allowed himself to regret that he would never know how it felt to kiss her. And then he stepped back.

Grinning at her, he said, “Catherine Chandler, at a loss for words. A first. I’m going to put this one on my calendar.” He tugged at a lock of her hair, a tender gesture. “Come on, Radcliffe. We’ve got work to do. I’m counting on you to do all the talking. Get with it.”

As they climbed the last of the steps at the courthouse, Joe asked the question she had long expected.

“When am I going to get to meet him, Cathy? I want to. I know there’s some kind of ... issue. It can’t be me, right? What is it? Married? Old? Young? Mobbed up? You can trust me with whatever it is.”

Before she could conjure an answer, a rush of reporters and camera operators swarmed past them, running down the steps toward Police Headquarters. And then Rita was there, a worried look on her face, waving at them to hurry. Rain began to fall as the door swung shut behind them.

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“Vincent! There you are. Saved you an orange from lunch. Your favorite.” Mouse opened his coat to reveal inner pockets bulging with fruit.

“Are you packed for a hike?”

“No.”

“Are you worried you’ll be hungry later?”

“Yes! No!”

Vincent shook his head. “Which is it, Mouse?”

“Just worried.”

Vincent climbed down from the scaffolding to take the orange and sat down to peel it. “Tell me the problem,” he said, smiling, handing a carefully separated section to Mouse.

Mouse inspected it. “Just like I like it. No stringy stuff, no seeds.” He popped it in his mouth. “You were humming, Vincent. Heard you”

“I didn’t realize I had an audience.”

“Nobody sneaks up on you ... but me! Must be in a good mood. Glad you are.”

“How is Kanin to work with this morning?” Vincent asked.

“Not humming.”

“Hmmmm.” Vincent offered Mouse another section of orange.

“So ... What?” Mouse asked.

“Do you mean what song?” Vincent searched his memory. “It must have been a tune I heard at the stairs.”

“Hmmmm. Pretty. I remember.” Mouse closed his eyes for a moment, nodding to an internal rhythm.

“Do you want to tell me why you are worried?”

Mouse fingered a loose thread in his sweater. “When the others come. Jamie. She’ll be here. Then what?”

“Then what ... what?”

“What do I do? Be in her group? Be in the other group?”

“You two have always worked so well together. I should think you would be glad to do so again,” Vincent said.

“Different now,” Mouse whispered, ducking his head.

“Yes. I suppose it is. But still ... you make a good team.”

“Jamie ... When she’s close ... can’t think so good, Vincent. Feels like ... like I’m trying to hold birds in my arms. All trembly and wanting to fly, and their hearts are beating really hard.”

“Yes.” Vincent closed his eyes at the image.

“You went home last night, right, Vincent?”

“I did,” he said.

“Then you know.”

“Yes,” he repeated.

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Catherine leaned into Joe’s shoulder. “Where’s our witness?” she whispered.

“Who, Phan? He’s not here?” Joe scanned the courtroom, then checked his watch. “I talked to him yesterday. He said he would be here. Did you look out in the hallway? I’ll check the men’s room.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling,” Catherine said to Joe’s back. “I’ve got a very bad feeling,” she said to Rita, as they hurried to search the hallways. When they returned to the courtroom, Joe was back at the table talking with the detectives from the case.

“Not here." Joe said. "Not in the bathroom, either. We've called over to the 5th. They're sending some guys over to Phan's apartment. Did you try calling the restaurant?”

Catherine shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together. “No answer. ”

“Where is he? Did that– They got to him. I knew it.” Joe sank into his chair. “I told you we were screwed."

“I’ll look around downstairs in the coffee shop, maybe the newsstand,” Rita promised. She scurried down the aisle and out the double doors.

“If we don't have his testimony ...” Joe groaned.

“I’m afraid something’s happened to him,” Catherine answered.

“Don’t say it.” Joe said. “Just don’t say it. But if you’re right, we’re gonna all need bodyguards. Damn.” He pulled papers from his briefcase and scanned a list. “We’ll go with the taxi driver instead ... she’s here. And then the responding officer and the ballistics guy. We’ll have to drag this out as long as we can. Hopefully Phan will turn up by tomorrow.”

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The daylight had long faded when Rita delivered a cup of fresh coffee to Catherine’s desk. On the telephone, she smiled her thanks and took the cup.

“Jenny, it’s Cathy ... no, I’m at work still ... we’ve hit a snag. But I wanted to tell you ... the mirror you wanted for Ned’s birthday is still for sale. You want to take another look Saturday? Good, yes, breakfast before, sounds great ...What? Tonight? I wish, Jen. But I’ve got a problem here. Can’t leave ... Say hi to Ned for me, though, okay? The Den on 12th at nine-thirty. I’ll be there ... I love you, too ... see you then.”

Catherine dragged another file from the stack on her desk, opening it with a sigh, turning the pages of testimony and reports with a growing despondency.

“What do you think?” Rita asked. “Is there a pattern?”

“It seems clear to me. I’ve found 4 witnesses in prior trials who...left town. Without the witnesses, though, it’s hard to prove intimidation. It’s a win-win for the defense. I’m worried about Phan. He’s built a good business. If he’s had to leave it ... or worse ...”

“You’re not thinking of going down there to look for him, are you? Not by yourself. Not tonight.”

A surging apprehension filled her mind. “No,” she answered. “I won’t do that.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” she nodded and tried to smile.

“Come with us, Cathy,” Rita suggested. “You could use a decent dinner and a break.”

“Thanks, Rita, but I told Joe I’d go through all these tonight. He’s got a date, too. I don’t want either of you to have to change your plans. I can handle this. Really.”

“Well ... okay, I guess.” Rita perched on the edge of Catherine’s desk. “You know, I have to thank you.”

“For what?” Catherine could not resist Rita’s smile.

“For not taking Joe’s offer to meet Ben.”

“You like him?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I do. Very much.”

“My pleasure, then.”

“Oh, I know you’ve got someone, Cathy. I’ve known that since you went to California last year. When are we going to meet him?”

Catherine’s response was a mysterious smile and a shrug, interrupted by Joe rounding the corner from his office, a tall man at his side. Rita’s smile broadened. “Hi, Ben.”

Joe watched the two as they left for the elevator and then perched in Rita’s vacated spot. “You could take an hour, Cathy. Join us for dinner.”

“No way, Joe. Your first date? You’ve got to be kidding. You’d kill me if I said yes to that.”

“I can’t leave you here all night by yourself. I’m coming back after dinner. We’ll do the music thing another time,”

“Not on my account, Joe. I can do this.”

“No, I’ll come back. I called Rosaleen. We’ll just go over to Angelo’s instead. She’s meeting me here in a minute or two.”

“There she is.”

Joe turned, knocking several files to the floor in his haste to stand. Rosaleen saw the mishap and laughed, turning the heads of those still at work. Less colorful today, dressed in wispy, graduated shades of copper, she was as tall as Joe and her hair, the color of a new penny, was loose and wild. This time, Joe did not blush.

Catherine watched Joe watch Rosaleen, and then she watched them leave by the same route as Rita and Ben, walking close together down the aisleway to the elevator, disappearing into it together, emerging, she knew, to walk the streets together, perhaps hand in hand on the way back. Joe would help her on and off with her coat, pull out her chair, fill her wine glass, lean toward her as she spoke. Little things, sweet everyday things.


She pushed the files aside and pulled good stationery from her desk drawer. Knowing that Joe would cut his date short, that he would bring her supper, still hot, and settle in to work with her, she had only a short space of time to write to him. She had written only his name...Vincent...when suddenly, overwhelming her... a craving so strong...she could feel it burning, traveling the insides of her arms. She turned her wrists up to look, apprehensive, sure she would see her veins in full throb. And in her chest, in a vague place between her breastbone and the hollow of her throat, a twisting pressure built, searing and icy by turns, darkening her vision, causing her mouth to water.


It was not a new pain, though one she fought to suppress, unwilling to allow him access to that frustration, averse to burdening him. She ached to share her life with him, longed for her family of friends to know him. Dozens of helpers Above accepted him ... loved him. Couldn’t Joe? Couldn’t Jenny? In her heart, she pulled everyone close, so close ... and always, there was a wall, an impenetrable, stony limit to it.


But strangely ... and of late ... there was a new hope, like a light, distant yet growing in brilliance, a great, moving presence ... a chance, an opportunity, somewhere near, though when and how and with whom it would come, still a mystery. That light, beckoning her, promising her, made the yearning more bearable, even pleasurable, and it gave her a kind of power, as if she could train its brilliance on that wall in a laser cut. That feeling ... in itself almost a sensuality, even an eventuality, borne over the distance between them by her fiercest love ... that feeling, she would share.


click HERE for Chapter 11.

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(1) Matthew Arnold. Longing. from Empedocles on Etna, and Other Poems. 1852.
(2) Stephen Vincent Benet. The Quality of Courage. 1918.