The beautifully dressed women on San Francisco’s streets had filled her with envy, made her want to get rid of the heavy, long dress, to make herself new and modern. But when she reached the shop, the thought of buying upperworld clothes began to intimidate her. She hoped a different woman would wait on her; she didn’t need any more shocked looks at her nakedness.
The same woman was there—thin faced, sour. Melissa moved through the racks away from her, choosing what she wanted quickly, a green-and-white leafy dress, and then orange silk pants and pink silk top as vivid as the silks on Braden’s couch. She made a concession to panties, picking out several silk concoctions that looked like they would feel nice, went into the dressing room alone, and bolted the door.
The green-and-white dress felt light on her naked body. Its colors were as rich as the leafy tangles in the garden. In the mirror, she forgot about images and tried to see herself through Braden’s eyes.
She bought the dress, the silk pants and top, and a pair of jeans and bright green sweat top. Wearing the jeans and sweatshirt, she let the saleswoman wrap her long dress with the new clothes. But when she reached across the counter to slip the roll of bills from her dress pocket, the woman gave her an amazed look.
“Do you want a purse for that, my dear? In the pocket of those jeans that roll will make a lump as big as your fist.” The thin woman smiled at her for the first time, as if she liked Melissa better when she saw her money. Melissa hid a laugh, bought the little purse the woman offered, and dropped the money in it. She had picked up her package and turned to leave when she froze, staring out through the glass.
She had seen Efil. Already he was past, heading down the street. His face had been half-hidden by the hood of an upperworld jacket, but she had seen his profile—his rounded jaw, his thin cheek and pale skin. He had walked like Efil, a quick, light movement, faintly round shouldered. Clutching her package she hurried to the glass door to look out. Why would he be here? What was he doing here?
But of course he could be in the village. He came quite casually to the upperworld just as Vrech did, just as Siddonie came.
“May I clip the tags for you?” the saleswoman said, moving close behind her.
She stood still, feeling the woman’s cold hand on her neck, wincing at the little snip of the scissors. Then she hurried out, scanning the street.
The street lights had come on, rushing the evening. The man had vanished; she had the uneasy feeling he was standing in some doorway watching for her. She thought of changing to cat and running into the woods where he wouldn’t see her, but she was afraid to become small. She kept to the main street, hurrying.
She reached the garden without seeing Efil, and stood within a leafy maze looking for him. Dusk filled the garden with indistinct shadows. Above her, the forest was already dark. Down the hill, the studio lights were on; she could see the easel and Braden’s legs below the painting, his occasional movement as he worked. She would be safe in the studio with Braden, protected and safe.
But she would not involve Braden in this.
Above on the hill, the three houses were dark. But there was a light on Olive’s porch, and her car was gone from the drive. She went up the path quickly and around to Olive’s back door where Olive kept the screen propped open for her cats. She had seen it from the woods, seen them going in and out—the white female dragging her tummy over the sill.
She hid her package on Olive’s back porch behind some boxes, and in the shadows she changed to cat. She crouched, leaped to the sill, and from that high vantage she looked up into the forest.
The shadows were no longer solid black; she could see bushes between the trees. Crouching against the dark screen, she studied the forest for a long time.
She did not see Efil. She turned away at last, pushed under the open screen, and dropped onto Olive’s kitchen counter.
The tile was cold under her paws. The tap was dripping, and she lapped water from it then jumped down to the linoleum and headed for the dining room. There she stood kneading her claws into the warm carpet, then reared up to see what was on the dining table. Yes, it was littered with books. She jumped on a chair then onto the table and prowled among the untidy stacks, but it was Olive’s open notebook that drew her.
It was harder to read as cat. Her eyes didn’t see the print so clearly, though everything else in the dim room was sharper. She dare not change to girl—if Olive came in suddenly she must find only a neighbor’s cat innocently exploring. With her claws she managed to turn the notebook pages, but she had to back away to read Olive’s writing.
