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zanotowane.pldoc.pisz.plpdf.pisz.plkolobrzeginfo.keep.pl
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[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
ALWAYS TRUE TO
THEE, IN MY FASHION
Nancy Kress
eBook scanned & proofed by binwiped 11-10-02 [v1.0]
minor update to text and conversion to html by Dajala 2007
R
elationships for the autumn season were casual and
unconstructed, following a summer where fashion had been
unusually colorful and intense. Suzanne liked wearing the new
feelings. They were light and cool, allowing her a lot of freedom of
movement. The off-hand affection made her feel unencumbered,
graceful.
Cade wasn’t so sure.
“It sounds bloody boring,” he said to Suzanne, holding the pills in
his hand. “Love isn’t supposed to be so boring. At least the summer
fashions offered a few surprises.”
Boxes from the couture houses spilled around their bed-room.
Suzanne, of course, had done the ordering. Karl Lagerfeld,
Galliano, Enkia for Christian LaCroix, and of course Suzanne’s own
special designer and friend, Sendil. Cade stood in the middle of an
explosion of slouchy tweeds and off-white linen, wearing his
underwear and his stubborn look.
“But the summer feelings were so heavy,” Suzanne said. She
dropped a casual kiss on the top of Cade’s head. “Come on, Cadie, at
least give it a try. You have the body for casual emotions, you
know. They look so good on you.”
This was true. Cade was lean and loose-jointed, with a small head
on a long neck: a body made for easy carelessness. Backlit by their
wide bedroom windows, he already looked coolly nonchalant: an
Edwardian aristocrat, perhaps, or one of those marvelously blase
American riverboat gamblers who couldn’t be bothered to sweat.
The environment helped, of course. Suzanne always did their V-R,
and for autumn she’d programmed unlined curtains, cool terra cotta
tiles, oyster-white walls. All very informal and composed, nothing
trying very hard. But she’d left the windows natural. That, too, was
perfect: too nonchalant about the view of London to bother
reprogramming its ugliness. Only Suzanne would have thought of
this touch. Their friends would be so jealous.
“Come on, Cade, try the feelings on.” But he only went on looking
troubled, holding the pills in his long-fingered hand.
Suzanne began to feel impatient. Cade was wonderful, of course,
but he could be so conservative. He really hadn’t liked the summer
fashions—and they had been so much fun! Suzanne knew she
looked good in those kinds of dramatic, highly colored feelings. They
went well with her voluptuous body and small, sharp teeth. People
had noticed. She’d had two passionate adulteries, one knife-fight
with Kittery, one duel fought over her, two midnight
reconciliations, and one weepy parting from Cade at sunset on the
edge of a sea, which had been V-R’d into wine-dark roils for the
occasion. Very satisfying.
But the summer was over. Really, Cade should be more willing to
vary his emotional wardrobe. Sometimes she even wondered if she
might be better off with another lover… Mikhail, maybe, or even
Jastinder… but no, of course not. She loved Cade. They belonged to
each other forever. Cade was the bedrock of her life. If only he
weren’t so stubborn!
“Have you ever thought,” he said, not looking at her, “that we
might skip a fashion season? Just let it go by and wear something
old, off alone together? Or even go naked?”
“What an idea,” she said lightly.
“We could try it, Suzanne.”
“We could also move out of the towers and live down there along
the Thames among the starving and dirty-mattressed thugs.
Equally appealing.”
Wrong, wrong.
Cade turned away from her. In another minute he
would put the pills back in their little bottle. Suzanne decided to try
playfulness. She twined her arms around his neck, and flashed her
eyes at him. “You are vast, Cade. You contain multitudes. Do you
really think it’s fair, mmmm, that you deny me all your multitudes,
when I’m so ready to love them all?”
Reluctantly, he smiled. “‘Multitudes,’ is it?”
“And I
want
them all. All the Cades. I’m greedy, you know.” She
rubbed against him.
“Well…”
“Come on, Cade. For me.” Another rub, and after it she danced
away, laughing.
He could never resist her. He swallowed the pills, then reached
out his arms. Suzanne eluded them.
“Not yet. After they take effect.”
“Suzanne…”
“Tomorrow.” Casually, she blew him an affectionate kiss and
sauntered toward the door, leaving him gazing after her. Cade
wanting her, and she off-hand and insouciant.
It was going to be a wonderful autumn.
The next day was unbelievably exciting, more arousing even than
when she’d walked in on Cade and Kittery in the sum-mer bedroom
and they’d had the shouting and pleading and knife fight. This was
arousing in a different way. Suzanne had strolled into the
apartment in mid-morning, half an hour late. “There you are,
then,” she’d said casually to Cade.
He looked up from his reader, his long-limbed body sprawled
across the chair. “Oh, hallo.”
“How are you?”
He shrugged, then made a negligent gesture with one graceful
slim-fingered hand.
Suzanne draped herself across his lap, gazing abstract-edly out
the window. Today London looked even uglier than usual: cold,
gray, dirty.
“Do you mind awfully?” Cade said. “I’m in the middle of this
article.”
“And so absorbed that you don’t notice me, mmmmm?” Suzanne
moved against him.
Cade smiled, pecked her cheek, and gave her a careless nudge.
“Off you go, then.” He returned to his reader. Suzanne stood and
stretched.
The rush of blood to her nipples and thighs startled her. He really
was indifferent to her! She would have to actually work at getting
him interested, winning him from his casual reading… God, it was
exciting!
She would succeed, of course. She always did. But why hadn’t she
ever realized before how much more interesting the victory was
when she’d have to struggle for it? She hadn’t been this aroused in
years.
“Cade…” She leaned over him and nibbled on his ear. “Sweet
Cade…”
He tilted his head to look up at her, eyebrows raised. The drugs
had done something to his eyes, or to her perception of them; they
looked lighter, more opaque. Suzanne laughed softly. “Come on, it
will be so good…”
“Oh, all right. If you insist.”
He rose from his chair, turned to pick up the dropped reader. He
nudged an antique vase a quarter inch to the right on one of
Sendil’s occasional tables. He rubbed his left elbow, gazing out the
window. Suzanne took his hand, and they ambled toward the
bedroom.
And it was wonderful. The most interesting show in years. Really,
the fashion designers were geniuses.
“Cade, Flavia and Mikhail have invited us to a water fete on
Saturday. Do you want to go?”
He looked up from his screen, where he was checking his portfolio
on the New York Stock Exchange. He didn’t even look annoyed that
she’d interrupted. “Do you want to go?”
“I asked
you
.”
“I don’t care.”
Suzanne bit her lip. “Well, what shall I tell Flavia?”
“Whatever you like, love.”
“Well, then… I thought I might fly to Paris this week-end.” She
paused. “To see Guillaume.”
He didn’t even twitch. “Whatever you like, love.”
“Cade—do you care if I visit Guillaume? For an entire weekend?”
In the summer, a threat to visit Guillaume, a for-mer lover who
still adored Suzanne, had produced drama that went on for sixteen
straight hours.
“Oh, Suzanne, don’t be tiresome. Of course you can visit
Guillaume if you want.” Cade blew her a casual kiss.
She charged across the room, seized his hand, and dragged him
away from the terminal. His eyebrows rose slightly.
But afterward, as Cade lay deeply asleep, Suzanne won-dered.
Maybe he’d actually been right, after all, about the cur-rent
fashions. Not that it hadn’t been exciting to work at arousing him,
but… she wasn’t supposed to be working. She was supposed to feel
just as detached and casual as Cade. That was the bloody trouble
with fashion—no matter what the designers said, one size never did
fit all. The individ-ual drug responses were too different. Well, no
matter. Tomorrow she’d just increase her dosage. Until she, and not
Cade, was the more casual. The sought after, rather than the
seeker.
The way it was supposed to be.
“Cade… Cade?”
“Oh, Suzanne. Do come in.”
He sat up in bed, unselfconscious, unruffled. Beside him, Flavia
emerged languidly from the off-white sheets. She said, “Suzanne,
darling. I
am
sorry. We didn’t expect you so soon. Shall I leave?”
Suzanne crossed the room to the dresser. This was more like it. A
little movement, for a change—a little
action.
Really, casual was all
very well, but how many evenings could one spend in off-hand
conversation? Almost she was grateful to Flavia. Not that she
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