Rivals

by Becky Bain

Catherine Chandler drummed her fingers on the steering wheel asshe peered through the driving rain. "Come on," she mutteredimpatiently.

No one appeared in the doorway she was watching. Behind her, acar tooted its horn and she glanced in the mirror with a sigh andtook her foot off the brake. She eased forward slowly, still hopingto see her expected passengers emerge from the building, but to noavail. At the corner, she turned and accelerated, going around theblock for the fourth time. If those kids didn't show up soon...

She pulled back onto 71st Street in time to see a car parked inthe middle of the block pull out. She shot forward, claiming thespace as her own, and maneuvered her car into it.

The rain had eased just a little and she hurried through it toa renovated brownstone. A discreet sign by the door read MadameClaire's School of Ballet.

In the foyer sat a girl, about eleven years old, engrossed in abook. Catherine stopped beside her. "Anna, where have you been? I've been waiting ten minutes. And where's your sister?"

The girl looked up, startled. "Oh, Mom, I'm sorry. I didn'trealize it was so late." She glanced toward the rear of thebuilding. "Caroline must still be in the studio. A friend ofMadame's is here. They were talking."

"About dancing," Catherine guessed. Herelder-by-twelve-minutes daughter lived, ate, and breathed ballet;Catherine suspected she even included in her bedtime prayer a requestthat she not grow too tall to be a dancer.

"I guess." Anna took dancing lessons only because her sisterdid. She much preferred to escape in the pages of a book, andalready her attention was straying back to the one in her lap.

Catherine left Anna reading in the foyer and went to theprimary dance studio, in the rear of the building. Through thelittle glass window she could see Caroline, still in leotard and legwarmers, engaged in passionate conversation with Madame Claire andanother, dark-haired woman. She pushed the door open and wentinside.

Caroline looked up; her expression went from pleasedrecognition to momentary horror as she gave a hasty glance at thewall clock. "Uh-oh."

Madame Claire looked up, too. "Uh-oh?" she queried. "Caroline, were you to be outside for your mother to pick you up?" Her voice held the faintest trace of her native French accent as shefaced Catherine, apology in her manner. "I am so sorry. A very goodfriend of mine has come to visit, and Caroline had so manyquestions!"

"Yes, please forgive us," the other woman said, rising from herchair. "Caroline is simply charming!"

The shock of recognition was instantaneous; Catherine barelyheard Caroline's happily bubbled introduction.

"Yes, of course," she murmured politely, extending her hand. "How are you, Lisa?"

Lisa frowned prettily. "Have we met?"

Only innate good manners kept Catherine's mouth from droppingopen; she wouldn't have thought the circumstances surrounding theirearlier meeting could be easily forgotten. Then she considered thatthis was Lisa, and that Lisa remembered what she chose to remember. "Once," she answered Lisa's question. "A long time ago. I'mCatherine Chandler."

Even with the name, it was a moment before recognition flaredin Lisa's eyes. "Oh! Of course." She smiled. "I meet so manypeople... How have you been? You have a beautiful daughter. Shedances well."

"I have two beautiful daughters," Catherine answeredevenly.

"Yes, of course. But your other daughter doesn't seem to caremuch for the dance."

There is more to life than dancing, she thought venomously. "No. She dances mostly because Caroline does."

"Ah. But Caroline has a passion, and a gift."

"Do I really?" Caroline interrupted eagerly.

Lisa gave her a brilliant smile. "Of course you do. Iwouldn't say so otherwise, would I?"

Catherine's opinion of Lisa Campbell was based on a pair ofvery brief meetings, a little on what she'd heard Vincent say, and agreat deal on what he'd left unsaid. Right now she wished Lisawouldn't raise Caroline's hopes so casually. Still, she owed thewoman courtesy, if nothing else. "How have you been, Lisa?"

"I'm fine," Lisa answered easily. "I don't dance anymore, youknow. But I've been teaching a little. In fact, that's why I'mhere. There may be a place for me at the American School ofBallet."

Catherine nodded politely while beside her, Caroline madenoises of excitement. "Really? That's great! I want to try for aplace at the School when I'm older. If my parents let me."

Lisa turned a mildly startled gaze toward Catherine. "Whywould they not let you?"

"We want what's best for our daughter," Catherine repliedtightly. "As all parents do. The intensive training at the Schoolmay not be what's best for Caroline."

"Of course," Lisa agreed, perhaps too quickly. "Tell me,Catherine, do you still see Vincent?"

Caroline was suddenly very still. Aware of Madame Clairebeside her, mentally damning Lisa for her lack of discretion,Catherine nodded warily. "Often." No need to tell how often.

"How is he? Is he well?"

"Quite well."

Lisa sighed. "It would be wonderful to see him again. Perhaps, after I've been to the School..."

For a moment, Catherine resisted the very idea. But Vincenthimself would wish to see Lisa, she was sure. Might as well get itover with. "Would you like to come to dinner? Tomorrow,perhaps?"

Lisa's eyes widened a fraction. "At your home? Can Vincent bethere?"

Can, not will, Catherine mused silently. At least shemaintains some sense of reality. "Yes," she answered aloud. "He'llbe there."

In the car, Caroline repeated the entire conversation word forword for her sister's benefit and both turned to their mother, abuzzwith curiosity.

"How, Mom? How can she know about Daddy? A famous dancer likeLisa Campbell..."

The last came from Caroline, awed and amazed.

"She wasn't always famous," Catherine reminded them. "Once shewas a girl, just like you."

"Yeah," Caroline agreed dreamily. "But she grew up and learnedto dance..."

"Probably not in that order," Anna inserted pragmatically.

"...and then one day, maybe, Daddy got to go someplace where hecould see her dance, and he fell in love..."

That struck closer to home than Catherine was strictlycomfortable with, but already Anna was objecting. "How could he fallin love with her? She's just a dancer. He waited until later, whenhe met Mom..."

Catherine cleared her throat. "Actually, girls, your father'sknown Lisa for a number of years. She grew up in the tunnels."

There was a moment's stunned silence and then both girls begantalking at once.

"But how..."

"But when...

They were still bombarding her with questions, seldom waitingfor answers, when they reached home, a converted townhouse withindividual apartments on each of the four floors, and tunnel accessin the basement. Catherine owned the building and occupied the firstfloor apartment. The other apartments were let to helpers.

The apartment itself was a comfortable four rooms: twobedrooms, living room and kitchen. The single bathroom was its onlyreal drawback as far as Catherine was concerned; two soon-to-beteenage girls could and did spend amazing amounts of time closeted inthere.

Vincent was waiting and the girls launched themselves at himbefore they were fairly in the door, both talking at once. "Daddy,Daddy, guess what!" Their jumbled explanation made little sense asthey competed to tell the news. "And she's coming to dinnertomorrow!" Caroline finished triumphantly.

"Who?" Vincent inquired.

Anna sighed. "Daddy, weren't you listening? LisaCampbell."

Catherine saw his eyes flicker with something remote and alittle sad and he looked at her over their daughters' heads. "Lisa'shere?"

Catherine nodded. "She was at Madame Claire's when I picked upthe girls. She asked to see you."

"And she's coming. Tomorrow."

"Yes. Unless you'd rather not."

"No," he said slowly. "I would like to see her again."

At dinner, the girls plied him with questions about Lisa andtheir youth together. He answered them simply and easily, and if atrace of wistfulness sometimes slipped into his voice, it wasn'tsurprising. He'd known Lisa, cared about her, for a very longtime.

Catherine struggled with her feelings. She knew very well thatVincent loved her. He proved it every day in a hundred ways. Therewas no reason at all to let Lisa Campbell's presence bother her. Noreason at all.

After supper, Vincent went below. He'd promised to meet Mouseand Kanin to discuss an upcoming project.

The girls helped with the dishes and retreated to their bedroomto finish homework and giggle over the next night's dinner guest. Catherine settled at the dining table with her briefcase. Maybe shecould get some work done this evening.

In a way, she'd been glad to see Vincent go; if he'd stayed,he'd surely have noticed her disquiet, but she thought she could keephim from sensing it while he worked. And maybe by the time hereturned, she'd have worked through her feelings. Or maybe she'djust try to be asleep.

She hated feeling so unsettled. Especially now, when theirlives had been smooth and peaceful for so long, a peace achieved onlyafter years of hardship, struggle, and even strident dissent. Of itsown accord, her memory took her back to their first intimacy and itsresultant joy and hope and, inevitably, uncertainty. It hadn'tsurprised her at all that Vincent had proved to be a sensitive,tender lover; his insistence that there be no children hadn't beensurprising, either. She had acquiesced because it seemed soimportant to him, and because, intellectually, at least, she couldunderstand his reasoning.

He'd seemed understanding when, despite all their precautions,she became pregnant. He worried and fretted and distressed himselfduring the term of her pregnancy, but when she gave birth toidentical twin girls, he became a doting father and it was clear toCatherine that no woman, no children, had ever been more loved.

But he had been adamant there be no more children. Ever. Andwith their two small, living reminders of the flaws in even the mosteffective of precautions, he had retreated to the most reliable ofall birth control methods - abstinence. After weeks of fruitlessargument and mounting frustration, Catherine had taken matters intoher own hands; she'd gone to Peter Alcott and undergone a tuballigation.

Vincent had been furious. He'd actually shouted, raving abouthow she'd irrevocably limited her future choices. She knew exactlywhat that meant, and found herself shouting back, telling him he wasa fool and worse if he thought there was a chance in hell she'd everwant to have any other man's children. He'd stormed out of theapartment; she didn't see him again for three days. Even when hecame back, he fumed silently.

She had waited him out. Nothing he could do or say wouldchange what she had done, and gradually, he made his peace with herchoice. But, looking back, Catherine wondered if it might have beenher way of showing him she could be as stubborn as he - and, perhaps,a form of penance to make up for the other commitment - the one shehad tried and failed so miserably to make.

For, at the end of her pregnancy and while the girls were tiny,she had tried to make herself a part of his world. She had left herjob, her apartment, her friends, and had moved below. For a while ithad been all right. The babies kept her busy, and there was Vincent,returning to their chamber each evening. There had been the joy ofwaking beside him in the morning, of long, lazy Sundays together, ofquiet, intimate candlelight meals while the babies slept in theirshared cradle. Blissful moments, never to be forgotten.

But those things took up only a small portion of her time. Andthe truth was, there was nothing constructive or fulfilling for herto do. Oh, she could help the women with the unskilled work -cleaning, laundry, simple mending. In the kitchen, she could peelvegetables for William, or wash dishes.

And she hated it. She wasn't any good at that sort of work,never had been. The only bright spot was the government class shetaught to the older children, and that was only twice a week. Notenough to offset the other.

She tried desperately to mask her unhappiness, loving Vincentand determined to make it work, but in the end, it was Vincent whopointed out the obvious. "You must go back," he'd said.

"No."

"You must. You're unhappy here, Catherine. We both knowit."

"I don't want to go. I don't want to leave you. I loveyou."

"I know that. And you must know how glad I am to have youhere. How glad I am that you tried. But it doesn't work, Catherine. You must go back."

"And what happens to the girls?" she'd asked in a sudden rushof fury, even as she recognized that the anger was directed less athim for saying it, than at herself because it was true. "Do we splitthem up? One for you, one for me? Like The Parent Trap?"

That had given him pause. "What?"

Half-laughing, half-crying, she'd given him the gist of themovie she remembered from her childhood. "Identical twins. Bothplayed by Hayley Mills," she'd added inanely. "Split up when theirparents divorced, grew up not knowing of each other."

Vincent had crossed his arms and fixed her with a firm,unwavering look. "I have no intention of allowing my daughters to beseparated from one another. Or from their mother."

"What about you?"

"Or from me. We'll work something out, Catherine, and they'llbe with both of us and we'll be together whenever we can. And we'llbe happy."

And he'd been right. As usual. Catherine had found atwo-bedroom apartment in a building with tunnel access and Vincentcame nearly every night to be with her and the girls. The DistrictAttorney's office was happy to have her back, and when she worked,the twins went below, where they spent time in the nursery if theirfather couldn't be with them. Gradually, she'd come to realize thefailing was not so much in the tunnels themselves, or in her, but inthe differences in lifestyles. She'd have been just as miserable ifshe'd gone to live on a cattle ranch in the wilds of Montana.

Over the years, she'd learned to appreciate the happinessthey'd carved out for themselves. And she'd come to understand thatsuccessful relationships are made up of compromise and sacrifice. She and Vincent had compromised and sacrificed no more than manyother happy couples. What they had was more than they'd givenup.

But still, sometimes, on nights like this one, sheremembered... and regretted. And it didn't help at all to realizeLisa Campbell hadn't been able to live in the tunnels, either.

The next evening, Lisa arrived for dinner fashionably late. The girls leaped for the door when the bell rang, wrangling over whowould open it. Caroline won and ushered their guest inside with anair of ceremony.

"Hello, Lisa," Catherine greeted her. "Welcome to ourhome."

"Hello." Lisa proffered a heavy bottle. "I wasn't sure whatyou were serving. I hope this will do."

The wine was a fine, dry claret. According to the label, itcame from a fashionable French vineyard -- no California wines forLisa Campbell! Catherine could guess what the bottle had cost andwondered who Lisa was trying to impress.

Behind her, Vincent stepped forward. "Lisa," he saidquietly.

For a moment, Lisa seemed to hover, uncertain. Then Vincentopened his arms and she flew into them swiftly, gracefully. Her armstwined around his neck, her cheek pressed his. Catherine lookedaway, handing the wine bottle to Anna, sending the girls into thekitchen to put finishing touches on the meal.

When she looked back, Vincent had his hands on Lisa'sshoulders, holding her at arm's length.

"Well?" Lisa teased him, playing the coquette. "Have I changedmuch?"

"No. You're still beautiful." His pronouncement was statedsimply, sincerely, and Catherine escaped to the kitchen.

"You can't get the cork out that way!" Anna was insisting.

Caroline was stubbornly hacking at the neck of the wine bottlewith a knife; Catherine intervened, glad of the disruption.

"Caroline, don't. Haven't you ever seen anyone open a bottleof wine before?"

"No."

"Well, there's a corkscrew in one of those drawers over there. Find it and I'll show you how it works."

The corkscrew turned up quickly and the girls gathered closefor a demonstration. Catherine inserted the tip of the corkscrewinto the cork. After a couple of turns, when the screw was firmlyimbedded, she handed the whole thing to Caroline. "Keep turning. When the corkscrew's all the way in, you can use it to pull the corkout. Gently!"

Caroline nodded and went to work.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Anna?"

"Were Daddy and Miss Campbell very good friends when they wereyoung?"

"They were very close," Catherine answered.

"Boyfriend and girlfriend close? Or just friends close?"

The conversation was skirting near areas Catherine would justas soon not think about now; she brushed the question aside casually. "That might be something you'd want to ask your father."

"But don't you know?" Anna persisted. "I mean, Daddy tells youeverything. Doesn't he?"

"Most of the time," Catherine conceded. "But some things arenot mine to tell."

"But it shouldn't be a secret," Caroline argued, joining in. "You told us about your boyfriend in high school. What was his name? Greg?"

"Gary. And telling stories on myself is not the same astelling them on your father."

"But you know," Caroline prodded, her blue eyes intense. "Ican tell."

Catherine sighed. "Yes, I do. A little. And yes, if you mustknow, I believe there was some romantic interest between them. For alittle while, at least."

"Ooh, neat," Caroline sighed with prurient approval; from hertone of voice, one might assume that even now, Vincent and Lisa werein the living room renewing their romance. "Are you jealous,Mom?"

That struck closer to home than Catherine would have liked.

Anna poked her sister. "Don't," she said indignantly. "Daddyloves Mom. And us. Not her."

It was past time to derail this particular line of discussion. Catherine put a firm clamp on her own feelings and addressed herdaughters sternly. "What Anna says is true," she said, "but yourfather also has a deep affection for Lisa. Now let's get this foodon the table."

The dining table occupied one end of the living room. It hadbeen set earlier and it took Catherine and the girls only moments tocarry out the meal they'd spent most of the afternoon preparing.

Vincent and Lisa were deep in conversation; from what Catherinecould hear, they were speaking of those below: Father, Pascal, Mary. They came to the table readily, though, when Caroline calledthem.

The meal was a simple one: broiled Cornish game hen with wildrice and baby carrots, green salad and whole wheat rolls baked freshby William this morning. Tall glasses of milk stood beside thegirls' plates; the adults had Lisa's wine.

The initial dinner conversation was unexceptional as Lisa andVincent continued to discuss tunnel residents and helpers, past andpresent. Vincent appealed to Catherine for an occasional comment orobservation, but for the most part, this was a two-person discussion. Lisa scarcely seemed to notice anyone else was present.

Catherine bore this rudeness stoically, picking at her dinnerand speaking quietly with her daughters. Lisa's self-centerednessdidn't surprise her, but Vincent's apparent acquiescence did. Shecouldn't help a small swell of satisfaction when Caroline, bold andimpetuous, interrupted.

"Excuse me, Miss Campbell?" She waited politely until Lisaturned to her.

"Yes... I'm sorry. Which one are you?"

It was not an uncommon question; many casual acquaintances haddifficulty telling the twins apart.

Caroline laughed. "It's easy to tell, once you know thesecret."

Lisa entered into the game with spirit. "Secret? I lovesecrets! Tell me!"

The twins glanced at each other and giggled. "Guess," Annachallenged.

Lisa looked carefully from one to the other, comparing. Bothgirls strongly resembled their mother, with her generous square jaw,wide mouth and delicate nose. Even their eyebrows were hers, archinglightly over wide-set eyes. Both were blond, their hair straight andsilky rather than wildly unruly. Only their eyes, vibrant andexpressive, were Vincent's.

At last Lisa sighed. "I give up. What is it?"

Caroline leaned close and opened her eyes wide. "My eyes. They're blue."

Lisa looked. "Yes. So?"

Anna duplicated her sister's pose. Lisa looked, and lookedagain. "Your eyes... what color are they?"

"Green," Anna said, with satisfaction. "Mine are green."

Lisa looked to Vincent. "Is that possible?"

"It's improbable," he admitted. "Since they are identical. But there they are." He made a small gesture, as if presenting herwith something, and she turned back for another look.

"How unusual."

"Well, we're an unusual family," Anna pointed out. "Daddy'sjust glad we weren't born with fur and fangs." She grinnedhappily.

Vincent barely winced - the girls teased him incessantly andhe'd become inured - but Lisa spun sharply. It was easy to read theshock on her face. "But I thought..."

"What? That 'Daddy' was just a courtesy title?" Catherineasked, more sharply than she'd intended.

Vincent touched her hand in an attempt to calm her, and turnedto Lisa. "They are my daughters," he explained placidly. "In theeyes of the world below, Catherine is my wife."

Lisa's startled glance skimmed across her as if, Catherinethought bitterly, looking too long might contaminate her.

But a moment later, Lisa's smooth facade settled back intoplace. "How nice," she said easily. "Congratulations."

"Excuse me," Caroline said, interrupting again.

Lisa turned to her with well-disguised relief. "Yes. Theblue-eyed one. You still didn't tell me which one you are."

"Caroline. I'm Caroline."

"Oh, yes. The dancer."

Caroline nodded vigorously. "That's what I wanted to ask you. Your first ballet, the first one you danced in. What was it?"

Lisa leaned forward, radiating charm. "You know, Caroline, Iwas thinking about that just the other day. I was eighteen, hardlyold enough to dance in public, and I was very lucky. I won the roleof Clara in The Nutcracker. And I danced right here in NewYork."

"Were you scared?" Anna asked.

"Terrified," Lisa confided. "But then I remembered somethingVincent once told me." She paused - for dramatic effect, Catherinethought.

"What?" Caroline leaned closer, rapt.

"He told me I was brave, and strong. That I could doanything..."

It was too much. Catherine rose abruptly and began clearingthe table. Lisa shifted to allow her plate to be removed without somuch as an acknowledging glance.

Vincent followed her into the kitchen and took the soileddishes from her hands. "What is it?"

She fought for composure. "Nothing. It's nothing. I'm beingsilly."

He placed the plates on the counter and took her into his arms. "If it distresses you, it isn't silly," he argued. "Tell me."

"Did you...?" Catherine faltered.

"Did I..." he prompted. "Did I what?"

"Did you really say that to her?"

"What?"

"What she said. Just now. About her being strong andbrave..."

"I don't remember. I might have." He stepped back to look ather. "Is that what upset you?"

She shook her head. "Yes. No. Maybe."

His eyes held gentle amusement. "You seem unsure."

"No. I mean, I was already upset a little... the way she'sbeen behaving, as if she's the center of the universe..."

"Lisa has always believed herself the center of the universe,"Vincent acknowledged. "There was a time when I believed it,too."

That hurt, more than it should have. She nodded miserably. "Iknow. But when she talked about you telling her she was strong...you said that to me once... I guess I thought I was the only one. And she looks at me as if she can't imagine what any sane woman wouldbe doing in your bed and I want to strangle her... Oh, Vincent, I'mnot making any sense."

"Yes, you are," he contradicted. "I understand exactly whatyou mean."

One glance at his face convinced her he was telling the truth. "Vincent, I..."

"Hush," he commanded, placing a finger over her lips. "Listen. I want to tell you something."

She hushed. And she listened.

"I used to lie awake at night, and I would pray fervent prayersthat somehow, God would make it possible for Lisa to be mine. I wascertain that would make my life complete."

The ache she felt was worse, she hoped, than he knew. Hetouched her face, feathering her cheek with the soft fur on the backof his fingers.

"But He knew what He was doing when He took her away from me. Lisa could never have made me happy. She loves me, yes, but her loveis in spite of my differences. I am fond of her. I always will be. But she isn't you.

"You see all of me. Your love encompasses all that I am, notmerely what you wish me to be. You accept my limitations. You'vesacrificed much for me, Catherine, made great concessions to make ourdream possible. When I found you, I knew you were all I had everdreamed of. You are the missing part of me; I need you to bewhole."

It could very well have been the longest, most completedeclaration of love and devotion he'd ever given her.

And suddenly it didn't matter any more that Lisa Campbell wascool and arrogant and utterly self-centered. Neither her selectiverudeness nor her equally selective memory meant anything.

What mattered was Vincent. What mattered was the life they'dbuilt together, the children they'd brought into the world, the lovethey'd always had for one another.

Nothing could change that, nothing could take it away.

And she could feel, at last, what she should have been able tofeel all along. Compassion. Compassion for Lisa Campbell, who liveda stark, sterile life. A life without pain, yes, without hardships,because she chose not to acknowledge those things, but a life alsodevoid of deep passion, a life empty of laughter. A life withoutlove.

In that moment, Catherine knew she could never again resentLisa Campbell.

"Come," she murmured, into her husband's shirt. "Let's goentertain our guest."

The End