Living with Katrina Ch. 09

Jake knew better than to be surprised. She could read people with unerring accuracy. He averted his gaze. He could not go down this road with Brittany. Not now, when he was struggling to make sense of it himself.

"Does it really help?" he said, cringing inwardly.

"Excuse me?"

"Does it really help blaming me for what happened back then?" Jake went on. "Is that how you sleep at night?"

"Don't push it, Jake," Brittany warned, her icy tone trembling for the first time.

"Why do you hate me so much, Brit?"

"Jake, I swear to God I'll kill you if you don't stop," she said, visibly losing her cool for once.

"Look what all that hatred has done to you, sis. You have no one left in your life who cares about you. The people you surround yourself with are too afraid to look you in the eye, let alone have a reason to care."

Brittany spoke up, in a deathly unwavering tone. The emotion in her voice was layered with over two decades of pent up hatred.

"I don't need anyone. All that people do is hurt me," she said plainly. "Even my own family."

"You have to move on, Brit," he said, trying to reach out to her. "You have to let go."

Brittany locked him in a still gaze. If she felt any emotion, she certainly did not show it. Hers was a cold demeanour which had taken years of isolation to perfect.

"Do you know what hyperthymesia is?"

He nodded, having some idea what was coming next. His sister had hyperthymesia or "perfect recall". She remembered every detail of everything she ever saw, heard, read, felt or even thought.

"When I was eleven, I had to see my parents' bodies after the accident. Remember that day? Because I do, every single detail in vivid colour."

She began. "August 16th, 1987. The temperature held a mean of 79 degrees, 2 below normal. There was a slight drizzle in the morning giving way to clear skies in the evening. Northwest Airlines flight 255 crashed during takeoff in Detroit, killing everybody on board but four year old Cecilia Cichan from Tempe, Arizona. It was also the date of perfect planetary alignment and a global meditation to celebrate the event."

It seemed so effortless. Thousands of hard disks could not hold the staggering amount of memory she did, nor could they retrieve data with such ease. Behind those cold eyes sat a terrifying mind no one could quite comprehend.

"Three members of a family, Henry and Lisa Gallagher and their son Jake, were going to a birthday party when they were hit by a drunk driver at 5:25 pm near Union Square," she continued in a hollow metallic voice, as if she wasn't aware she was speaking any longer. "They were rushed to Feldman Medical Centre. Henry and Lisa Gallagher were pronounced dead on arrival at 5:45 pm. Jake was miraculously unhurt, but suffered some bruising, whiplash and a concussion."

She leaned forwards some more, her eyes searing into Jake.

"Henry and Lisa Gallagher suffered multiple fractures. Their skulls were crushed, the blood vessels haemorrhaging on impact. They died a painful death, bleeding into their brains. That's what the record says, but I have something more."

Jake was under her spell, unable to tear his gaze away. His heart rate increased with every passing second.

"I saw their faces," Brittany said coldly, enunciating each syllable slowly and distinctly. "I saw the bloody, broken, gashed faces of my parents. Faces I won't forget. Faces I can't forget, no matter how much I try. I see those faces every time I close my eyes. So don't you tell me to move on and let go. My mind... cannot let go."

The waiter brought them their first course. Jake's hands were trembling when he tried to take a helping, so the waiter did the needful. Brittany had a way of getting to him, and she was nowhere near losing her touch. She went about eating, her face not betraying an iota of the wrath coursing through her.

At least Jake had changed the topic off Katrina. He was not ready to deal with that yet, not by a long-shot.

"Ginger's Bar, really?" laughed Katrina, slightly buzzed from the weed. "What a corny name for a lesbian bar."

"It used to be one of my favourite haunts back in the day," said Rhea, paying the cabby. "The things I did in the backrooms of this place would make you wet. Speaking of which..."

She took a quick look around to see no one was too close. One of her deft hands stealthily reached under Katrina's skirt and brushed her thong. There was the faint feeling of dampness. She probed a bit, pushing against her mound.

"Someone's in the mood."

Any other person would have blushed, but Katrina smiled. They went inside and took two seats at the counter.

"It's a different New York now," sighed Rhea.

"Not entirely," said a voice near them.

"Lisandra! Daaahling," said Rhea ecstatically to the bartender. Katrina saw a mass of copper curls lean over the counter and lock lips with the critic.

"Who's the twinkette?"

"She's an artist from a gallery in Midtown. I liked her work and liked her even more. A few joints later, here we are."

"Interesting," said Lisandra, mixing and pouring them a tequila sunrise each. "Are you sure she belongs here?"

Both of them peered in Kat's direction. She took the shot and downed it in one gulp.

"I've played both sides of the fence before," she shrugged casually, pushing her glass across the counter. The two older women exchanged furtive glances.

Katrina was having trouble maintaining her balance. Her idea of a frumpy old critic had disappeared long back, but she had never in her wildest dreams expected the legendary Rhea Starling to be quite this open-minded. The drugs and the drinks made a very potent mixture, one that made Katrina even more horny than usual.

"Another drink," said Rhea hurriedly, very interested to see what this girl had to offer. Looking at her had awakened a dormant dream in her head. Katrina looked increasingly like the kind to fulfil it.

"I hope you're enjoying our brother sister quality time."

Jake was stunned. They were in the Royal Suite at the Plaza. Brittany stretched her arms, getting the tiredness out of them. She half-smiled in his direction.

"Does anybody at work know who your sister is?"

"It's not really something I care to advertise," said Jake. "I bet a few eyes would pop out if they knew."

She led him to the balcony and they leant forward on the ledge staring out at the metropolis. Brittany took a deep breath and closed her eyes, smiling at the horizon.

"Look down, Jake. What do you see?"

There was nothing particularly interesting on the road, but Jake looked down anyway.

"You see the view from the top. Everybody looks up to you. Trust me, Jake. That's a feeling that never gets old. All the money I have can't buy that feeling."

She turned her head to look into her brother's eyes. Those large sunglasses hid her own expression.

"Money isn't forever. It stays, it goes. Today's prince is tomorrow's pauper. It slips through your fingers faster than you know. All those people you see when you look down, they're all chasing money," she said. "Pathetic."

"What really makes a difference is power," Brittany resumed. "Power is what separates ones like me from those clowns in Wall Street. They have money, I have power."

"Power is addictive. It's like a drug to know you can make your rules rather than following those laid down by inferior minds. Money can't buy you power, but power can get you lots of money."

Jake listened, spellbound by her words.

"So, Jake. How does it feel to be powerless?"

"Really?"

"Yes, really," said Katrina, downing her eighth consecutive shot. "I'm in love with my roommate and I know he will never love me back. I don't deserve it either after all that I have done to him."

"That's... I'm lost for words," said the unusually attentive Lisandra. Even Rhea was captivated in the compelling narrative. Both ladies were heartbroken for the poor girl in front of them. The crowd around them had thinned, leaving them essentially to themselves.

"Oh you poor little girl," said Rhea leaning forward to kiss her on the forehead.

"Another shot?" slurred Katrina expectantly.

"No, I think you've had quite enough," said Rhea. Lisandra nodded and went to hail them a cab. She and the critic exchanged a knowing glance before they parted ways.

In the cab, Rhea looked at Katrina longingly. The appearance of this young artist made her feel so many different emotions. Her talent was obvious, as was her panache, but there was a certain aura of fragile weakness about her which made her all the more endearing.

Katrina leaned out of the window soon enough to expel some of the contents of her stomach.

"Where are we going?"

"My place," came the reply. "You're in no condition to go back home."

The cab drew up to a modest apartment complex in Greenwich. Rhea paid the cabbie and helped her inebriated friend up the stairs. Katrina giggled gleefully, despite there being nothing particularly funny.

'The miracle that is rent control,' thought Rhea, stumbling into her apartment. Normally such a place, with its location, would be ridiculously expensive. Thanks to the aforementioned miracle, she had a place to stay whenever she dropped by Manhattan.

"You want to eat something?"

"Not particularly," said Katrina, lying supine on the couch with a silly smile on her face.

Rhea sat beside her and smoothed some of the hair off Kat's face. The back of her palm rested against Kat's cheek, tenderly caressing the soft skin. She leant down and kissed her once on the forehead.

"Why do you stay with this guy you love, if you know he won't love you back?"

"Because..." began Kat, losing the rest of her words in the delicate swirl of feminine lips placed over hers. The tongue that could go on for hours on the state of modern art now invaded her mouth. The kiss was tender, yet had the overtone of passion.

Katrina was not completely aware of what was happening. Purely on instinct, her arm locked over Rhea's head and pulled her lips further down. Her fingers ran through Rhea's hair, caressing her scalp. The older woman looked beautiful so close.

Rhea drew back, her eyes still riveted on the brown irises staring up at her with a lovely smile to match.

"Because I am broken, and he makes me feel whole by caring about me," Kat completed. "No one else has ever done that."

"Was the kiss inappropriate?" asked Rhea.

"Depends. Do you want me to find it inappropriate?"

"Katrina," Rhea said, her eyes threatening to well over. "You are so beautiful when you bare your soul. It's like Thomas Lawrence's portrait of Sarah. Your smile seems to be taken from that painting."

"Pinkie?" laughed Kat. "You think my smile is like that girl in Pinkie?"

"Every bit as beautiful, and you have to hide so much pain to give it."

Katrina raised herself. She sat beside the older woman, still smiling.

"Kiss Pinkie again?" she asked in a childlike entreating tone.

Rhea obliged by kissing her again. Katrina wrapped her arm around the critic's neck and drew her in for a deeper kiss. The light from the lamp post outside cast a sensual shadow on the opposite wall. Katrina slipped her hand down to Rhea's thigh and softly massaged the supple flesh. Her fingers reached up to her damp sex and traced the outline of Rhea's nether lips, making her gasp.

In that gasp and the light in the window, Katrina did not see the world renowned art critic who could make or break artists like her. She did not see the vista of artistic knowledge either.

All she saw was a lonely woman who hid behind a mask of laughter.

The mask was off, and the laughter stopped. They had ceased to be two people. They were now two naked souls, about to explore each other.

Brittany kept looking at her tablet. Jake could well have been invisible inside the limo. She thought over something for a long time before tapping the touch screen. A look of satisfaction spread across her face.

"Some new acquisition?" inquired Jake politely.

"No," she replied, mildly irritated at the interruption. "It's this move Magnus made. I think I finally cracked his plan. He isn't going to be happy when he sees my response."

"I'm sorry. Who? What?" he said, completely puzzled.

"Magnus Carlsen. Heard of him?"

"The chess Grandmaster? World number one?"

"Yes, genius," she snapped. "The two of us play chess online. We're too busy to meet in person and have a real game, so we do it like this. Call it our way of keeping in touch."

"Wow," was all he could say. In hindsight, it shouldn't have come as much of a surprise. After all, good players prefer playing others at the same level.

"Can I see the board so far?"

"What board?" Brittany asked with mock surprise in her voice. She gave the tablet to Jake. It contained only the most recent move made by either player. "This is the only way to play."

The limo drew up to Jake's apartment and the door slid open. His nightmare day was almost over. All he had to do was step out.

"This was fun," came the voice of his sibling, dripping with sarcasm. "I hope we can do this again."

He didn't reply. Stepping out, he turned back to see her roll down her window.

"So... given the job some thought?"

"I'll get back to you," he said.

"I'll drop by tomorrow then," said Brittany. The limo zoomed off, leaving Jake to himself. He trudged back into his apartment. This day had taken a lot out of him. He needed the comfort of the Scotch in his cabinet.

Jake Gallagher had been way too strong for the whole day. All alone in his apartment, every fibre of his being craved some weakness.

His tearless grief bled inwardly. Who knows? Maybe the sentinel guarding his emotions might even allow a few tears.

Jake shed a tear. Silently, he let it fall. No one caught it, shared it, held it or felt it.

He was human after all.

The cab ride from Greenwich back to her apartment was the longest journey Katrina had ever undertaken. That night had left her with so many questions and she was still grappling for answers.

She threw her head back, letting her tired neck bask in the glow of the Sunday morning sun coming in through the rear glass. Katrina closed her eyes, remembering the myriad ways her body had responded last night to the tender ministrations of the older woman.

Her mind recalled Rhea kissing her breasts, gently sucking on the nipples and tweaking them between her fingers. Her teeth grazing the sensitive areolas, making Katrina squeal at every new nip into her succulent flesh.

She thought about the time she delved into Rhea's womanhood. It had been a while since she had tasted a woman, but it took barely a lick to bring back the rhythm. Her tongue went from the very top of Rhea's crack down her lips. Katrina stopped at the top of the fleshy folds to taste the hard nub invitingly laid out before her.

Her tongue explored the wet warmth of the older woman with a feral intensity, relentlessly plunging deep into her velvet recesses. Rhea manoeuvred her knees on either side of Katrina's face and gently lowered herself onto her tongue. Katrina lapped ravenously at her and brought her to multiple orgasms. She returned the favour, with interest.

It was, however, the morning which left Katrina reeling. She replayed that conversation over and over in her head. Each time it made less sense than the last.

"Thanks for breakfast."

"No need to thank me, sweetheart," said Rhea warmly, putting an extra slice of bacon on her plate. Her kindly gaze remained on Katrina as she ate.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "Last night you were drunk and I took advantage of you. I just couldn't bear the thought of returning alone to my empty apartment. Not after I saw you at the gallery."

"Oh no," said Katrina quickly. "No need to apologize. I enjoyed it much more than you think."

Rhea smiled affectionately at the talented artist chewing on toast.

"I really like your art by the way," she said. "It has a rare subtle mix of modernism and a dash of the real world. I could almost feel both elements looking at your canvas."

"Thanks," replied Kat, blushing deeply.

Rhea thought over her next statement carefully. It had to told just right. Finally, she just blurted it out on impulse.

"Come on over to Philadelphia. The art scene there needs someone like you."

Kat's eyes shot up from her plate. Rhea bit her lip and slowly reached out to hold Kat's palm.

"I know this is all so sudden, but I mean it," she said. "The modern art scene is saturated here. There is no space left for someone like you. The critics haven't got room to do justice to your talents."

Katrina was lost for words, looking down at her plate then back at Rhea, who went on, biting her lip tersely.

"I was also wondering... If you would like to stay with me there. It would give you the perfect space you need to grow and I could help nurture your talent. Polish it till it is truly great."

"You want me to move in with you?" Kat stuttered in reply, her head spinning.

"Again, it seems sudden, but you are the artist I have been looking for all my life," Rhea explained. "It would be foolish not to grasp this opportunity when it comes right in front of my eyes."

Katrina pushed her plate away, suddenly not feeling very hungry.

"Maybe," said Rhea, blushing a deep shade of crimson. "Maybe we could explore this thing between us some more. See where it takes us. No harm in trying."

Whammy after whammy hit Katrina, her brain a veritable tempest of thoughts.

"Think about it, Katrina. It's been a while since I was in a relationship. The two of us are just so compatible, that I can't think of a reason it doesn't make sense."

Rhea paused, before saying in a trembling voice. "You can still come back and see your flatmate, I won't ask any questions."

Katrina stood up, her heart racing. She was not at all prepared for this. Her mind had not even begun to comprehend the factors involved. Dread engulfed her, drowning her in uncertainty. Suddenly she was unsure of everything she had hitherto been sure of. Rhea walked up to her, her irises glistening in the morning light. She placed a gentle palm of understanding on Katrina's cheek and looked into her eyes.

"Think about it. I'm here for a few days. I will take care of everything, don't you worry."

And then they kissed one last time. So deeply that their tongues seemed like a bridge joining their bodies into one sensual entity.

The cab jerked to a halt, shaking her out of her reverie. In a numb haze, she paid the cabbie and stepped out. Her head refused to stop spinning and her thoughts refused to settle. Every step she took was leaden. She leaned against the wall to pull herself together.

What about Jake? How would he take the news?

It was all too much for her brain to process. She loved Jake, but did she really want to hang around all her life waiting for him to love her back?

She and Jake had both come a long way. He had given her a reason to restrain herself and she had given him a reason to love life again. They had begun the journey as incomplete as the other, but had supported each other to the place where they were right now. Even so, the thought of leaving him seemed bizarrely unreal.

The elevator chimed to a halt at their floor. Still in a daze, she walked to the door and opened it slowly. A very important conversation lay around the corner.

Katrina blinked. Then she blinked again. Then she actually rubbed her eyes in disbelief.

Jake was curled in a foetal position on the cushions. An empty bottle of Scotch rolled on the floor. He clutched the soft material of the cushions tightly in his palms.

Katrina approached him, all the bewildering thoughts of the cab ride brushed aside for the moment. It was like looking into a mirror into her past. She had lost count of the number of times Jake had seen her like that. The reasons were many and varied. But now, she was the one on the outside watching someone she loved deeply.