| Subject: Chapter 260 - Part 1 |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Monday, October 30, 06:43:00am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark (258>?) continued" on Monday, October 23, 07:10:30am
Dreams in the Dark (260/?)
by Katherine Gilbert
The next day, things looked brighter, if only marginally. She had a plan. She would take her new protectors, would return to her home--and then she would pray that she would be safe, as she waited for her husband to come back to her.
Nikita's wait was doomed to be long, but there had never been any doubt of that. Just his training seemed to take forever. He had already been engaged in it for over a month, was suffering from the petty jealousies of those who couldn't claim to even half his talents or soul. But this wasn't all. The physical requirements of his new life must be grueling, too--even if he did his best to claim that all was well. The military generally only recruited those who were barely post-adolescent, those with the most energy and drive; her thoughts turned sideways. Maybe it was also a way of channeling the pent-up frustrations of young men who had only marginal chances of venting their growing sexual needs; she almost smiled. That certainly wouldn't be a problem for Michael. He understood quite wonderfully well all possible methods of stamina and self-control.
This thought was a cheerier one, made the smile linger, the memories warm. While she was no happier than Michael at their separation--the sexual side of it, however potent that always was, only the least of their reasons--she knew that he was unlikely to get caught up in the sort of bravado that teenaged boys were generally so prone to; she had never entirely understood it, as many theories as she had. It was almost as though each of them felt the need to be the most dominant, as though any sexual chances they had relied upon it; it was perverse. But, she supposed, it would be difficult to change an entire society's thinking on this now.
She shook her head, taking out her grandmother's stationery, getting ready to begin her letter. She was in one of that woman's many sitting rooms, her day at the studio not yet begun. It wasn't even light outside yet, the day barely having begun to think of breaking--but that was normal enough. For any contract player in this town, getting up long before dawn was simple routine.
She didn't even notice this fact now, was used to her 5:30-6:00 a.m. call time at the studio--or as used to it as anyone could be. Such requirements weren't anything new. Living in her mother's house had taught her many things--and one of the primary ones was that it was best to be on whatever schedule would keep you the safest.
It was for this reason that Nikita would have been hard-pressed to honestly say whether she preferred mornings or nights, had anyone bothered to think of the question. She was so accustomed to living out someone else's schedule that she had never once had the opportunity to establish her own.
Of course, those people who did work nights were, generally speaking, considered a fairly seedy bunch. Prostitutes, cocktail waitresses, second story men, and those who were in her father's line of work came easily to mind. That there were many in the country who were simply trying to make an honest living on such a schedule--such waitresses included--never came to most people's minds.
It didn't to Nikita's, either--not after her interactions with Hillinger and the like. Still, her thoughts didn't center here, returning to her husband--barely noticing the time, other than how much of it was left, before she needed to go in. That Michael was such an anomaly among his new peers was undoubtedly making his life difficult, at best; the smile returned, nonetheless. But she was even more in love with him for going through all of this for her.
She began to write to him, thinking about this truth--about all he had done to be with her. While she in no way wished for him to suffer for their love, she did appreciate his devotion--the uniqueness of their bond. Most men she had known would have been long gone with all the troubles they had faced--probably disappearing at the first sign of danger to themselves. A few might have stuck it out long enough to deflower her, but that was all; the smile deepened. Her husband truly was a very rare and wonderful man.
Her words to him began:
Michael, my love,
I do adore you. I want you to know that, more than anything else. The more I think about all you've been through for me, the more amazed I am. There is no one else on earth I could ever have fallen in love with.
Now that I have this truth put on paper yet again, let me ease your mind. You're right that our house seems terribly empty without you. My grandmother has suggested that I hire some help, as well--as you expected; you must be picking up her thoughts. I'm meeting her choices today--her knowledge of the people in this town is pretty vast, as you know--and I hope to be back home, with their help, by tonight. Bless you for your encouragement.
The couple she's picked should be here soon, so I should be able to tell you more about them the next time I write. I'll fill you in on what I can, until then. I don't want to keep you waiting for this letter any longer.
It's a young man named Carl and his wife, Annie. She'll apparently be taking the place of Rosa full-time. Although I might keep that woman on to aid her. I hate to see her thrown out of work just because I'm so needy.
I hope that this is okay with you. You're the one who hired Rosa, after all; you certainly know her better than I do. I've only seen her, what?, once? I'm just so used to finding the house clean and some food prepared by the time I arrive home, I barely question it anymore. I hope you don't think that I've become far too grand.
I've been worrying about this this last evening--and it upsets me even more that it never even occurred to me before. I know you left instructions with your bank to continue Rosa's payments in your absence, and I know that she does an excellent job around our house, so much so that--to my shame--it's easy to forget she exists. Beyond that, what do I know of her? Not even her last name. It makes me sad. Please don't think that I've become a terrible sort of person.
I know that you're probably laughing at my fears; you often do, when they're about my own behavior. But this inner change worries me. I was certainly capable of keeping house when I was younger. It never would have occurred to me to take any sort of help for granted. I try to console myself and say that my ignorance is partly due to the fact that you hired Rosa long before I ever met you and that she was long-established by the time I moved in as your wife. Certainly, you're capable of distracting me from any such issues, when you're here, so maybe this is the explanation--and I don't in any way wish to discourage you from such distractions. But still . . .
I'm not entirely consoled on this point, whatever I tell myself. For more than a month now, I've been the only person in the house, with no distractions other than work and the fact that I miss you so terribly. You would certainly think that it would occur to me to notice that the house is spotless and perfect whenever I return, whatever state of marginal messiness I might have left it in. Has your humble little wife turned into such a callous Hollywood matron that she's forgotten such details completely? I know you'll laugh, but I worry about this. Please answer me honestly. Even if the truth might hurt, I'd still prefer it to a gentle sort of lie. At least then I could start to change for the better.
Speaking of change, I do have some news of our son to pass on to you, but I'm afraid that it won't make you happy. Still, I need to prepare you. While he seems quite fine and healthy, and I'm as I ever was, in that sense, I'm afraid that I'm putting on quite a bit of weight lately. Your slender little wife--whatever some of my figure's prior deficiencies--is turning into a whale. All right, perhaps not quite that large, but I feel it, nonetheless. It's certain that I'll look so on camera, as well.
I've been worried about your reaction to this, lately, as much as I know that you love me for reasons far beyond such things (even if many of these reasons are sometimes difficult for me to see). Whenever you can return to me, I don't wish you to wonder whether you've made a huge mistake. I've met or seen some of your former girlfriends, after all. While Elena's body may be a bit matronly, I only met her after she had several children with her husband; I doubt that she was that way, when you knew her originally. I just don't want to disappoint you.
I suppose this is my greatest fear, really. After all your months of hard work and suffering, I'd hate for you to return to a woman who you can in no way desire. True, some of my body's former deficiencies are being filled in--almost frighteningly so, I keep wondering when they'll stop--along with the rest of me, but I don't know whether this will be enough. You're so beautiful, in so many ways. I don't want to shame you, should you take me out in public.
This is one of the fears I've been facing lately, but please don't take it the wrong way. I don't at all believe that you married me for any simple, outward reason. I know you love me, as hard as it is for me to believe such a wonderful fact, sometimes. My fears don't focus around you but myself. I've never been quite worthy of you. I fear even more, these days, that I'm doomed to disappoint.
I'm sorry that this letter has come to sound so depressed. I just worry. My body's sudden changes have put half the studio into a frenzy. Poor Rene has been reworking my costumes so frequently that I'd be amazed if he has the time to put on anyone else's. While I'm withstanding this scrutiny--even if I'm discovering myself to be far more vain than I'm comfortable with--I'm also afraid of your deeper reaction to me. You would never show me that you didn't like the way I looked. But my heart aches to think that you might be disappointed by it.
I've just heard the doorbell ring; that will probably be my new companions. Once more, I'm sorry for having complained and whined so here. I do love you. I just fear so much these days that I'm of little use to you now.
Your disappointing but adoring,
Nikita
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