Year's Best Scifi 3 Part 21

Cade wasn't so sure.

"It sounds b.l.o.o.d.y 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 bedroom. 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 pa.s.sionate 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 seasdn? 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 mult.i.tudes. Do you really think it's fair, mmmm, that you deny me all your mult.i.tudes, when I'm so ready to love them all?"

Reluctantly, he smiled. "'Mult.i.tudes,' 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 summer 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 abstractedly 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... G.o.d, 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 Sat.u.r.day. 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?"

"laskedyow."

"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 weekend." She paused. "To see Guiliaume."

He didn't even twitch. "Whatever you like, love."

"Cade-do you care if I visit Guiliaume? For an entire weekend?" In the summer, a threat to visit Guiliaume, a former 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 Guiliaume 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 wondered. Maybe he'd actually been right, after all, about the current 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 b.l.o.o.d.y trouble with fashion-no matter what the designers said, one size never did fit all.

The individual 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 would show it, of course. But Flavia was giving her the perfect excuse to put on an entirely different demeanor. She had rather missedchanging for dinner.

From the dresser top she picked up a string of pearls and toyed with them, a careful appearance of anger suppressed under a facade of sophisticated control.

"Cade... how could you?"

Flavia said, "Perhaps I had better leave, hadn't I? See you later, darlings." She activated a V-R dress from her necklace-easy unconstricting lines in a subtle taupe, Suzanne noted-and left.

Cade said, "Suzanne-"

"I trusted you, Cade!"

"Oh, rot," he said. "You're making a fuss over nothing."

"Nothing! You call-"

"Really, Suzanne. Flavia hardly matters."

"'Hardly'? And just what does that mean?"

"Oh, Suzanne, you know what it means. Really, don't make yourself ridiculous over trifles." And Cade yawned, stretched, and went to sleep.

To sleep.

Suzanne thought of waking him. She thought of pounding on him with her small fists, of dumping him on the floor, of packing her bags and leaving a note. But, really, all those things would look rather ridiculous. People would hear about it, snicker... and even if they didn't, even if Cade kept her bad taste to himself, there was still the fact that the two of them would know it had happened. Suzanne had lost her cool poise. She had been as embarra.s.sing as Kittery, the season Kittery showed up at a geisha party dressed in the crude emotions of a political revolutionary. Even if Cade were to keep this incident private, Suzanne winced at the idea of his think-ing her as?gauche as Kittery, as capable of such a major fash-ion faux pas. No, no.

Better to let it pa.s.s.

Cade snored softly, Suzanne lay beside him, fists clenched, waiting for winter.

Finally, the new fashions were out! Suzanne went to Paris for the preseason shows, sitting in the first row at each important couture house, exultant. She saw, and was seen, and was happy.

The designers had outdone themselves, especially Suwela for Karl Lagerfield. The feeling was tremulous, ingenue, all the tentative sharp sweetness of virgin love. Pink, pale blue, white-lots of white-with indrawn gasps and wide-eyed s.e.xual exploration. Ruffles and flowers and heart flutterings at a lingering look. Gianfranco Ferre showed a marvelous silk, flowing biocloth abloom with living forget-me-nots, accessorized with innocence barely daring to touch the male model's hand. At Galliano, the jackets were matched with flounced bonnets and a blushing fear that a too-pa.s.sionate kiss would lead... where? The models' knees trembled with nervous antic.i.p.ation. And the ever-faithful Sendil showed an empire-waist ballgown in muslin-muslin!-that, he whispered to Suzanne, had been inspired solely by her.Suzanne wanted everything. She spent more money than ever before at a preview.

She could hardly wait for the official opening of the season. Cade and she, once more thirteen years old, with love new and sparkling and fraught with sweet tension... While she waited for opening day she had her hair grown long, her hips slimmed, and her eyes widened and colored, to huge blue orbs.

Maybe they could give a party. Everyone tremulous with antic.i.p.ation and virgin hopes... wasn't there something called "spin the bottle"? She could ask the computer.

It was going to be a wonderful winter.

"No," Cade said.

"No?"

"Oh, don't look so crushed, love. Well, maybe, then. I mean, what does it matter, really?"

"What does it matter?" Suzanne cried. "Cade, it's the start of the season!"

He eyed her with amus.e.m.e.nt. But under the amus.e.m.e.nt was something else, the now-familiar feeling that he found her faintly ridiculous, casually distasteful. G.o.d, she couldn't wait to get him out of this wretched understated nonchalance.

Suzanne made an effort to speak lightly. "Well, if it doesn't matter, then there's no reason not to go for a bit of a change, is there?"

He flicked at a speck of dust on his sleeve. "I suppose not. But, then, love, no reason to go for change either, is there? This suits us well enough, don't you think?"

Suzanne tried not to bite her lip clear through. It was too close to opening day for tissue repair. "Well, perhaps, but one wants some variety, all the same..."

He shrugged. "I don't, actually."

She cried, "But, Cade-!"

"Oh, Suzanne, don't get so worked up, it's quite tiresome. Can't we discuss it later?"

"But-"

"I have lunch with Jastinder. Or Kittery. Or somebody. Care to come? No? Well, suit yourself, love."

He waved to her and sauntered out.

She couldn't budge him. He didn't resist her; he just wasn't interested. Careless.

Indifferent.

Opening day came. Suzanne stood in the bedroom, biting her bottom lip. What to do? Everything was ready. She'd programmed the room for pale pink walls with white wood molding, filmy curtains fluttering in the breeze, a view of gardens filledwith lavender and June roses and wisteria and anything else the computer said was old-fashioned. The scent simulator was running overtime. Around Suzanne were the half-unpacked boxes of flouncy silks and sweet girlish slip-dresses and little kid slippers. Plus, of course, the white jackets and copper-toed boots for Cade. Who had glanced at the entire thing with amused negligence, and then gone out somewhere for a stroll.

"But you can't!" Suzanne had cried. "It's opening day! And you're still dressed in... that."