| Subject: WTTS2 - 77 |
Author:
KT
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Date Posted: 21:46:40 01/11/02 Fri
In reply to:
KT
's message, "Window to the Soul 2" on 20:43:26 01/11/02 Fri
Window to the Soul 2 - Part 77
By KT
Copyright September 15, 2000
Michael rolled over in bed, sprawling, as his dream of Nikita lingered, then opened his eyes to the sight of his grandmother's painting. He stared at the old country house with its venerable gardens. He and Simone had spent their honeymoon there... He could never look at it without recalling her graceful form strolling under the oak trees. She'd had a gentle demeanor, with hidden fire that only glowed visibly when she played her music.
As he reflected on Nikita's behavior of the previous evening, he thought again of how different and how similar the two women were... Nikita wore her fire on the outside, her tenderness hidden away deep inside. His thoughts drifted to the first night they had spent together. The thought of that conflagration set his body humming. Then the ache in his heart met the new dawn, as he recalled how effectively his resolve had been destroyed by the few words she had flung at him. He disconnected from his reaction and spoke softly against the morning chill.
"So. Simone. Did you see me? I walked away. Can you believe it? I was actually angry."
In his mind's eye Simone came to him, chiding him for allowing himself the luxury of being at the mercy of his emotions, for letting another's state of mind upset him so completely.
"But this is not just 'another'... this is Nikita..." Michael reasoned with himself. "After all, she has never had to face anything like this before." And neither have I.
Simone's eyes forgave him as her face faded from his vision. Michael resisted the feeling of numbness attempting to overtake him. This was not where he wanted to be. The past was over and done. The present was paramount. If he shut down, his music would suffer. He had already been down that road, and would never go there again. He needed to focus his energy, to center himself, to draw on his inner strength.
He rose, showered, and set about the ritual of espresso, a plan beginning to form in his mind. Perhaps he could use the past as a tool to shape the future. A few phone calls later, he packed his workout clothes and headed for the dojo. As he sped north on his bike, it hit him - he realized he would be spending the entire weekend without seeing or speaking to Nikita...
* * * * * * * *
Nikita and Roberta sat in the kitchen over their morning cup. Sabine and Gwen had taken off early, as Saturday was their day to do errands and grocery shopping. The silence was uneasy between them, and Roberta studied her daughter as she pretended to read the newspaper.
Nikita's eyes were a bit distant, and her face was serious, the image of the angry look on Michael's face when he left filling her with remorse. Apology would not be difficult, but what came after? She had vowed she would not complicate his life. Following through was not coming as easily as she had first thought. She had never, by her own choice, been in a relationship that lasted over any amount of time, much less a committed one such as Michael's marriage to Simone. Her brain went into overload as she wrestled with her opposing impulses - to stay or to run? She had never imagined a life with a man like Michael. Now she couldn't imagine a life without him. Her eyes closed and she let out a long sigh.
Roberta set her paper down and frowned. "Nikita..."
"What?" she snapped out of her discomforting thoughts.
Roberta winced and Nikita relented. "Oh, sorry Mom, I didn't mean to..."
Her mother's eyes softened at her words, and she jumped into the fire. "Things are not going well, hmmm? You and Michael, you're fighting? Nikita..." her voice toughened a bit, "you promised me you would not throw this away."
"I know I did. But Mom, that was before..." Nikita kept her eyes cast down on the table.
" 'But Mom' is not an option." Roberta was firm.
Nikita resisted her mother's reprimand. "I'm sorry. I just can't talk about this right now." She wheeled into the living room, picked up her score to "Nights..." and started the CD, studying in defiant silence. Roberta shuffled in and sat in her rocker, contemplating her next move. This was going to take more than gentle prodding. This was going to take fortitude.
* * * * * * * *
Michael caused major upsets everywhere he went.
At the dojo, Mr. Nomura noticed immediately the zealous energy in his workout. When he approached Michael, he was met by his impenetrable armor of self-protective neutrality and Michael's insufferable politeness. As his star student departed, he shook his head, wishing he had a way of helping Michael without interfering in his life. "Can't be helped" he shrugged, as he chanted the age-old Japanese phrase for the acceptance of things beyond one's control.
Spring cleaning at the Café was more of the same. Walter was met by Michael's deadly silence, nice as ever, expression a mask, eyes shrouded. Four hours later, the Café sparkled from floor to ceiling with like-new brilliance, the victim of Michael's dedicated efficiency. When Michael refused to be paid for his time, Walter fixed him a pot of espresso and a huge lunch. Michael took up self-imposed isolation at a corner table instead of his usual place at the counter.
Walter was hurt and worried. This felt like going back in time and he didn't like it a bit. "Not good," he muttered to himself. He cleared the table as Michael thanked him for the lunch and stood up to go. Walter gave a dry laugh, in spite of Michael's somber demeanor.
"No, Michael. Thank you. For all the help. The place looks great." He reached out and placed a hand on Michael's shoulder and looked him straight in the eye, but was again met with an unreadable expression that evoked his paternal instincts. "Michael, please. Talk to me!"
Michael's face lit for a moment, but no words came forth. Then Michael let his guard down and their eyes connected briefly. Walter was struck by the depth of emotion he saw there. He realized that Michael wasn't ready to talk, that his retreat was necessary in order to deal with whatever had happened. All that could be done was to wait.
"I'm sorry, Walter... We'll... talk later." He turned and left.
* * * * * * * *
From the moment Michael walked into his office, Paul Wolfe knew that something had happened. Madeleine caught his eye, observing the same thing, and thrust an "I told you so" triumphant look back at him. Ignoring her caustic glance, Wolfe sat back casually, listening as Michael dispassionately informed them of Nikita's imminent return to work, and that he would be using special services for her, just as for other disabled members of the Symphony.
Wolfe kept his face carefully composed as Michael related Nikita's progress, speaking about her physical therapy and their practice sessions. This was all news to the good, but Michael's total lack of joy in the telling wrenched at Paul's gut. He gave Michael no indication of his reaction, but continued to listen attentively. Madeleine sat perfectly still, watching Wolfe watch Michael.
Wolfe flinched inwardly when Michael told of the hope and failure of feeling beginning to return to Nikita's legs, the recollection of her pain holding him prisoner to his agony over its outcome. Paul's eyes locked onto Madeleine's, warning her to keep her comments under wraps for the moment. She read his message and sat quietly, waiting for this meeting to end.
Wolfe relaxed a bit as Michael related Nikita's choice of material for her solo début, and Madeleine expressed her approval, setting a concert date for the middle of the next season. This was at least some positive, encouraging news. Paul agreed that this was reasonable time to prepare, stating that he looked forward to perfoming the de Falla. He smiled at Michael, but could not get a reaction from him.
Michael was a glass wall. He could see out, and they could see in, but there was no contact. He thanked them politely, then excused himself.
Paul and Madeleine sat in silence, recovering slowly from the spectre of Michael's withdrawn state. As their eyes met, Wolfe spoke vehemently. "Don't say it, Madeleine!"
She stood up, wanting to chide him for not listening to her in the first place, but instead found herself thinking how involved Paul was with his musicians, and that a measure of respect was due him for caring about their well-being as much as he did. Not many in his position felt so strongly about their players.
"No need." She smiled coyly as she exited the room. No point in giving him satisfaction just yet.
* * * * * * * *
The Café doorbell tinkled and Walter turned to find Sabine's lovely eyes fixed on him from across the room. She looked fresh and was breathless from a brisk walk through Buckingham Park. The room was quiet - the mid-afternoon lull - and Sabine chose a small table. Walter came out from behind the counter and sat across from her.
"Hello Sabine. Good to see you." His gravity startled her.
"And you, Walter." She looked around. "The Café looks beautiful." Sabine's easy smile faded as she took in Walter's unusually serious expression. "Walter, what is it?"
"Michael just left." Walter leaned forward. He wanted to hold her hands, but as always, her independent manner held him back. "He cleaned this place from top to bottom, didn't say a word, and wouldn't take any money."
"Sounds like occupational therapy to me, Walter. He and Nikita had a falling out last night. I have an idea what it was about, and from the look on his face when he left Roberta's, I would venture to say that the two of them are at an impasse." A wry look crossed her face.
Walter was suddenly enlightened. "Ah. A battle of wills." Sabine nodded as he continued. "They're both so strong, each in their own way. I sure hope they get it worked out."
Sabine was thoughtful as she studied the concern in Walter's eyes. Then she smiled suddenly, taking his hands in hers. "You're a good friend, Walter." The warmth of her hands matched the warmth of her words.
"Thanks." His eyes twinkled into hers. "Anything to further the cause of true love." Her blush was his reward.
* * * * * * * *
Roberta had gone down for a nap, deciding that patience was the best course of action. Nikita sat alone in the kitchen. She stared at the phone. Might as well get it over with. She picked it up and dialed Michael's number.
* * * * * * * *
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