Chapter Text
Chapter 5: Beauty
‘Beauty’ from the album ‘Portrait: Alex Baranowski’
Composed by Alex Baranowski
(Angèle Dubeau and La Pietà)
They sat beside one another on the twin mattress, sipping tea, Therese picking at the bread and cheese. Carol noticed that Therese was quietly withdrawing again, seemingly all talked out, her energy once again sapped with the explanations of her musical compositions and her draft of her plan. But they had barely skimmed the surface of the Aird inheritance, what it meant to be Therese Belivet Aird, and what was to become of the brilliant but reticent Lisette Freyer. Carol needed answers, but she knew not to push; Lisette’s identity was at stake.
Carol comprehended there was so much more. She’d been astonished and dumbstruck by how detailed Therese’s plan was, the complexity of it all. How was it possible that a young woman was this generous, this forward-thinking? She’d received a copy from Jeanette Harrison, the private investigator, before she’d left Manhattan. Her lips had trembled as she read of the MoMA Endowment in her name; it took her back to the day they had spent there. She had been in love with Therese Belivet Aird even then, before she knew that the girl was a fantasy, a delusion of John Aird’s creation.
But what was notable, what made Carol’s heart leap, was that Therese had remembered something from that day at MoMA– something Carol had told her, keeping it tucked in her heart until she was ready for the unveiling.
“Then I have the ideal starting point,” Carol grinned, “Do you trust me, Therese? Close your eyes. Let me guide you through the short distance. I’ll be careful.”
And the girl did. Trusted her completely. The museum was Carol’s domain— the world of the Arts. Therese had put her faith in her. “Okay. Let’s walk. You can explain modern art to me, Carol. I want to learn.” Therese seemed to study her, taking one long last impression of Carol as she appeared in the elevator before the doors opened– breathless, excited. Carol sensed Therese would immediately close her eyes, trusting her.
“And I want you to teach me… about art.” Therese had said, offering a heartfelt smile, shutting her eyes, and clasping Carol’s hand as the blonde steered her from the elevator.
Carol remembered thinking, Do people always fall in love with things they can’t have?
It was only a quick turn to the right and straight ahead, and she had positioned Therese just so– a tiny movement to the right, then an iota to the left. “There. Open your eyes.”
When Therese’s lids fluttered open, Carol saw that they had widened. The two beheld a swirling sky with its dramatic curves and exaggerated forms, suggesting movement, turmoil, and cosmic energy. It was as if someone tried to capture an intense inner emotional turbulence.
“My very favorite– Vincent van Gogh’s The Starry Night,” Carol reverently announced. “I often visit just to stand before this one painting. Van Gogh creates this lasting image of the night sky dominated by the bright moon on the right, Venus at center left,” Carol pointed out. The two were side by side, their bodies touching, swept into the painter’s embrace of mood, expression, symbol, and sentiment. “It was inspired by the view from Van Gogh’s window at the Saint-Paul-de-Mausole asylum in Saint-Rémy, in southern France. He spent twelve months there seeking reprieve from his mental illnesses. The Starry Night is both an exercise in observation and a clear departure from it. What do you think?”
“It’s breathtaking,” Therese had whispered. “It’s as if the bright stars are symbols of hope, light, and a connection to something greater than oneself.”
Spellbound, as much by Therese as the painting, Carol breathed, “Thank you.”
“For what? I should thank you, Carol.”
“Just for being here and experiencing the painting with me. But we can also thank Lillie Bliss.” Carol clarified at Therese’s quirked eyebrows, “That’s how the museum acquired the painting in 1941. I’ve told your father he should become a benefactor, but no. He guards his fortune.”
They remained motionless, staring at The Starry Night. The painting drew them together; their thoughts, while formulated separately, invisibly and mysteriously rose and intertwined in the bubble of air surrounding them. Gradually, Carol tore her eyes from the painting, focusing them on Therese’s adorable profile. When the brunette sensed it, she had turned her face, and the look she gave Carol filled the blonde with such hope that she dared not examine it.
“‘What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?’” Therese mumbled, reverently pointing at the painting.
To think that Therese gleaned from that experience– that lovely day at the Museum of Modern Art– how much the art form meant to Carol. The beauty of it, the symbolism it embodied. They had spent their road trip visiting other museums, appreciating varied forms of art. And Carol realized that Therese understood her! That counted for much because, for Carol, art and its beauty served as a medium for expressing and immortalizing the intense emotions of all love: familial, friendship, romantic, and enduring. A soulmate! Therese realized how deeply Carol felt about art, how art could mirror a depth of love. Art and Love. Hand in hand. The two were deeply intertwined.
Carol was a romantic, still looking for love, the eternal soulmate, not bound by death. And now? Now she had found Therese– someone who appreciated these same values. Through Therese, she now understood another type of love– agape. A selfless love. An unconditional love. Their journey to this point had been rocky at times, but beautiful.
Here they sat, a little over a year later. Much had changed; Carol had learned several things along the way– about Therese, about herself, about life. Christ! Therese had even introduced her to the essence at the heart of Therese Belivet Aird– Lisette Freyer. Although Therese was currently floundering, out of her depths, this girl had grit, a core of courage. Of that, Carol was certain.
“Hmm. I can’t help thinking back.” Carol lightly bumped Therese’s shoulder. “Let’s talk about that magnificent train ride to Montréal. How ‘bout it? Two particles of stardust igniting the track to the Great North,” she smiled at Therese, patiently waiting for a response.
“Did you enjoy the trip, then?” Therese asked. “I hoped you would. I was afraid you would see it as a trick to lure you back to me. And, in a way, I guess it was.” Therese had bent her head, her fingers finding anything for distraction– the crumbs of pound cake, Fripon’s soft velvet coat, and the feel of the blanket beneath them. Finally, she looked up to stare into Carol’s eyes. “I couldn’t lose you, Carol. I love you. I love you more than anything. I’m sorry things spun out of control so much that I panicked. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me. Something must be.”
Carol worked on slowing her breath. The last thing she needed was to alarm Therese. She remembered Ruby Robichek’s advice: Reassure. Listen. No judgment. “Nothing’s wrong. Nothing. Look at me, Therese. I mean nothing. And the train ride you planned was marvelous.” Carol sought to comfort Therese, “You’re just going through a rough patch. Too many things are colliding. The letter that arrived didn’t help matters. And… And this despair is only temporary.” Carol’s hand rubbed Therese’s back, then traveled the length of her arm, her fingers seeking Therese’s until she entwined them. “It was a wonderful trip, Darling. Memorable in every way.”
The ride to Montréal had been magical, something out of a romance novel or movie. The train. The North Star. After only thirty minutes, Carol had decided it was a relaxing way to travel. As passengers, they could stretch their legs, walk between train cars, and enjoy the spacious seating in the observation car with its large windows for viewing. Rindy was eager and curious to explore, unafraid to venture and pose numerous questions to the conductors:
“Are we there yet?”
“How fast are we going?”
“Mister, do you live on the train?”
In a way, it was a pleasant disconnect from life the past several weeks– the days and hours she and Therese had spent apart, alone and disgruntled. On a train, time was superfluous; the train was their bubble, a haven. Carol had experienced a sense of calm, her body discharging the stress she had held for the past few months. Strangely, the sound of the rails comforted her; the train rapidly thundering down the track signaled her freedom.
But Therese… Carol’s hindsight, like every human’s, she supposed, was sharp and on point after the fact. On this leg of the journey, Carol had been only slightly puzzled. Where she, Carol, was relaxed, Therese was…? Carol couldn’t put a name to it. Therese was like a low-voltage electrical current. She practically thrummed.
The four of them checked their accommodations, little oohs and aahs emitted at the luxury Pullman sleep cars, side by side. Small and efficient, they offered elegant, comfortable berths with electric lighting, heating, and superior service. Therese had booked the finest, the Palace Cars, folding upper and lower berths for her and Mary March, and a tight but ample twin and a half bed for Carol and Rindy’s compartment.
They had eaten a late dinner on the premier North Star Line. And while Carol, Mary March, and Rindy had healthy appetites, Therese picked at her portion, already small, since she had shared half of her plate with Rindy.
Carol’s dessert was Therese. Seated across from one another near the window, Carol decided to go bold, slipping one of her stockinged feet from her low heels, and slowly, painstakingly, letting it gradually roam Therese’s leg from ankle to shin. After time apart, she needed the physical with Therese. But, for God’s sake, Carol thought. They were on a train. Still, she needed this connection, this touch. Perhaps later, they would manage a tight hug, Therese’s breasts brushing her body. Better yet, a kiss! A real kiss would be best, all-consuming, tongues dancing, and–
“Can we go now, Mommy? I wanna sleep with Tress,” Rindy’s tired whine cued Carol to the discussion at the table. “Right, Tress? You and me.” Her head bobbed until it drooped against Therese’s arm. “Wanna go to sleep now, Tress?”
“Um… Uh… What, Sweet Pea?” Carol had tried to regroup, worried that Mary March could easily read her lustful thoughts by the very way she held her body, the hint of dark pink blushing her cheeks as she dreamed of Therese’s nakedness.
Mary March tried to hide a knowing smile. “Tell you what, Rindy. How about we get your pajamas from your cabin and change in Therese's and my compartment, only one space down the aisle. You can get the bed all cozy for her.” Mary leaned into Carol and whispered, “I’ll make sure things are… arranged. I’ll keep Rindy with me.” She winked at Therese.
Thank the gods! Thank the gods! Thank the gods! Carol had sighed. There might be a way after all to sneak in a few minutes of alone time, enough to steal at least a kiss.
That left the pair alone at their table, suddenly shy, unexpectedly nervous.
“Well–” they simultaneously spoke.
“Uh, um–” they cleared their throats at the same time, staring at one another.
“We should probably talk,” Carol broke the silence. “I have so much to say to you, Therese. Things I want to– need to– tell you.”
“Please, Carol. Not tonight. I don’t want anything but… but just…” Therese resorted to her usual unfinished sentences, then resolved to push the words out in a soft hum of a murmur, barely speaking the words: “I just want to hold you. Tightly.” She set aside her plate and tea cup. “Are you finished?” Therese ducked her head, eyeing Carol. “May we talk in the privacy of your compartment?” Then she added her coquettish kicker, “But I warn you, I talk with my hands.” She mouthed, My fingers.
Carol abruptly rose from her seat, biting her lips to keep from joyously giggling like a love-sick schoolgirl.
Therese first led them to the observation car for a late-night drink, enhancing the anticipation, the sense of longing, and the desire building. Tomorrow, there would be scenic views from these windows, routes often bypassed by car. The mountain ranges, forests, and rural farm landscapes would present a colorful patchwork to dazzle their eye. For now, it was night, the moon majestic in the evening sky, almost a full moon, but not quite. The stars were luminous, like strings of pearls, painting a picture reminiscent of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. It capped the evening, and Carol couldn’t remember feeling this happy and optimistic for weeks.
“I thought we might like a drink before we head to our sleeper car. Would you? Like a drink? Maybe a Crème de cacao or a Brandy Sidecar? Or, would you like something else? Perhaps a… a… Well, I don’t know many other after-dinner drinks.”
Carol noticed that the eagerness bouncing off Therese was palpable. “This is where I met Abby, Carol. She tried her darnedest to engage me in a conversation, but I’m afraid I merely focused on getting through… getting through… getting things absolutely correct as Therese Aird,” she whispered and took a breath. “It’s over, isn’t it? No more… No more… But, yes. The masquerade has to continue. There are all the charities and foundations, and… and…”
“Shh. Take a breath, Therese. We’re here tonight, Darling,” Carol leaned close. “All of that is behind you.” At least Carol thought it was. John Aird. The nickname– Táta. Anastázie Belivet. Fooling Harge. Outwitting Jennifer. Convincing the household staff that she was indeed Therese Aird, the child they had all known from birth until age ten.
Therese stared lovingly at Carol. She hadn’t known whether she would ever see Carol again. Even so, she knew she would continually search for her, and if that produced no results, she would return to the memory of Carol like a cherished sheet of music or a rare work of art, experiencing Carol again and again, as if for the first time.
Carol gazed at Therese. The young woman was always her rising star in the sky. She redefined femininity with her wit and even her restraint. Their age gap and contrasting styles sometimes caused missteps, but their differences worked; they suited each other: Carol’s generational, old-guard gravitas meeting Therese’s postwar, fresh, forward-thinking attitude. It cemented Therese’s persona: a European poise with a gamine intelligence.
“Come with me to your compartment,” Therese took the initiative, whispering with a quiet fervency. “Now, Carol. Forget the drinks.”
The pair traveled the aisles, the train jostling them slightly. At one point, Therese used the motion to sway into Carol innocently, looking up at her and smiling like the Cheshire Cat.
“Will Mary wonder what we’re up to?”
“I’m certain she’s aware.” A few more steps and Therese rapped lightly on her shared compartment with Mary March. “Did I wake you? I thought that–”
Hushed tones emanated from Mary: “It’s fine. I’m reading before bed, and Rindy’s asleep. There’s no need to disrupt her. Here’s your night kit. I’ll see you in the morning.” Mary leaned forward, kissing Therese’s cheek, then retreated, “Sweet dreams.”
“That’s that,” Therese turned and grinned at Carol, barely able to contain herself. She depressed Carol’s compartment latch, hurriedly drawing the woman inside with her. Suddenly bold in her movements, she pressed Carol against the closed door, locking the mechanism from inside, brushing her lips against Carol everywhere she could find bare skin.
“You’re so beautiful, Carol.” Therese's fingertips trembled as they lightly skimmed Carol’s neckline. “Beautiful,” she couldn’t help but repeat, then peppering Carol’s neckline with tiny sweet kisses. She broke the flurry of caresses with her lips and met Carol’s mouth with hers, open and passionate. Carol pursued Therese’s mouth with an intense, lingering pressure, her lips parting, setting a deep, rhythmic tempo with her tongue. It signaled a physical urgency. Therese could taste Carol, smell her partner's scent; she could hear the soft, breathless sounds, creating an overwhelmingly electrifying moment.
“Shh. Shhh.” Carol paused for air, cautioning, “We must be quiet. These compartment walls are impossibly thin, Darling. Tonight is lovely. You’re so very lovely, Therese.” She held Therese by the shoulders, pushing her back just a little so she could see Therese’s face. “I’ve missed you terribly, Sweetheart. The last couple of weeks are my fault. All my fault.”
There was a sharp intake of Therese’s breath. “I don’t care about that. I love you.”
Carol’s words caught in her throat. Before her was the girl she had desperately sought months ago. A girl who could break her heart– but whose heart she had broken. Carol was uncertain about what to do, so she quit anticipating her next moves, calmed her thoughts, and did what felt natural and right in this instant. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Therese. I do love you so very much.” She sat on the edge of the narrow mattress, clasping Therese’s hand and tugging Therese to sit beside her. “God, I love you more every day.” Carol smoothed Therese’s hair back, her palm lingering on a cheek.
Therese leaned into it and kissed Carol’s hand tenderly. “I’m unsure what to do, Carol; it’s almost like our first night in Pittsburgh again. The William Penn Hotel– our special place,” Therese whispered, a lightly seductive tone in her voice. Her body thrummed with desire; it was as if she could feel individual nerve endings fire down every limb, electrifying every cell.
“It is, isn’t it? Yet it isn’t Pittsburgh, Darling. We’ve traveled far from that night; we’ve learned how to please one another. We can read the other’s thoughts from across the room. God, I love you,” Carol repeated.
“I would suggest you take me to bed, but here we are,” Therese nudged Carol onto her back, Carol’s head on the pillow. Carol sensed that Therese’s movements were rushed, excited, and frenetic. Without hesitation, Therese stood, kicked off her low heels, shrugged out of her bolero jacket, and lifted her blouse over her head without popping a button, her hair adorably mussed. She stepped out of her skirt and half slip, standing in her bra, panties, garter belt, and stocking feet.
“Take it slowly, Darling. We should–”
“Carol, it’s just… It’s just that I’ve missed you so much.”
“Come here. Lie by me. We should relax into our lovemaking. Shh. Stop thinking and over-thinking, my angel,” Carol cooed. She brushed her lips against Therese’s. “It’s the two of us. Safe. We can merely cuddle if–” But Carol felt a tug on her hand, and then Therese intertwined her fingers with Carol’s. Therese slowly dragged Carol’s clasped hand down the span of her body, until it reached her pelvis, then closer to her center as her head arched to meet Carol’s mouth. “I need this. You need this,” Therese sputtered between tiny kisses.“I’ve missed our intimacy.”
“Do you remember what I told you that night at the William Penn Hotel? Do you know the effect you have on me, Therese?” Carol whispered. The fingers of Carol’s free hand traveled to Therese’s throat, reverently gliding upward, grasping her lightly beneath her chin. “Do you? I told you I have never trusted anyone like this before, Therese. Not ever. I meant it.” Carol leaned forward from the pillow, seeking entrance again to Therese’s mouth with her tongue. Her eyes locked with Therese’s as her younger lover bent towards Carol and opened hers.
“Therese,” Carol breathed, closing her eyes. She sat up, made quick work of losing her sweater, skirt, and nylons. “Help me with these brassiere hooks, Darling.”
The brassiere flew off, landing atop a heap of discarded clothing, and Therese instantly latched onto one of Carol’s nipples, attempting to impart her pining and aching for a deep and physical lovemaking, an almost feral passion consuming her.
“Ohhhhh, Therese,” Carol moaned as the brunette continued suckling, her hand kneading the other breast. “Let… Let’s… Ohhhh, Darling, that feels… feels divine. Help me out of this damn girdle and these stockings. I… I’m…” Carol’s eyes rolled back, a simple smile on her face. “Take… Take the rest of my underwear. That’s it.”
Nude, Carol flipped the bedspread and sheet fully back, and stretched the length of the bed, her head resting next to Therese’s, nestled beside her on the shared pillow. Then, alluringly, she slithered down Therese’s body, easily lifting the young woman’s hips, ensnaring the waistband of Therese’s underwear and garter belt, and slowly and sensually dragging them and her nylons down and off the lithe frame. Then she watched as Therese removed her bra, the smaller breasts flushed pink with arousal, the nipples erect.
“I love you,” Carol took her time, drawing lazy, ever-widening circles on Therese’s lower torso, inching closer and closer to Therese’s throbbing core. Occasionally, her face would tilt to graze Therese’s nipples. But soon, she sensed Therese’s first tell-tale signs of arousal: a quiet undulating of her loins, a tiny mewl, a momentary hitch of her legs. Still, Carol proceeded slowly with sensual touches– a feather-light massage to her upper thighs.
But Therese was suddenly plagued by a series of what-ifs. The last time they had made love, Carol had never heard of Lisette Freyer. She had made love to Therese Belivet Aird. What if? What if it somehow mattered to Carol? What if Lisette wasn’t good enough? What if? What if? What if?
“Should we be doing this here, Carol? On a train? Will someone catch us? What if…”
“Not if we’re quiet. Do you want me to stop, Darling?” Carol patiently waited until a shift on the narrow mattress, and Therese’s legs opened, inviting and ready.
Therese’s mind raced at a feverish pitch before a familiar feeling seized her, her body yielding and responding to Carol as she felt her fingers stroke her. She gave up thinking, emotionally merging with her lover, who continued to softly strum her clit.
Even then, Carol kept her movements unhurried, gentle, and undemanding. We have time, Carol reminded herself. If Therese needs me to stop, I can and will. Eventually, Carol sensed Therese’s body relax and discharge the nervous energy she held; Therese replaced it with a fierce carnal passion– a yearning and burning for a release of a different sort.
Carol’s fingers moved millimeters to Therese’s wet opening, delicately slipping a finger through Therese’s folds, her wetness only making it all the more pleasurable. And Therese felt glorious, the sensitivity when Carol touched her clitoris, setting a firmer rhythm, making Therese quiver, her body responding with abandon as it matched Carol’s tempo as the blonde rode her thigh. Therese whispered words in her ear, urging her, “My God, you’re beautiful, Carol. I want you. I need you. All of you.”
Therese’s words caused Carol to choke on a sob as she gradually but deliberately entered Therese with a second finger. Only when Carol heard a satisfied groan did she set up a different pace that would lead to a final climax. She rubbed the aching nub while her fingers darted in and out, making Therese shudder. Carol changed the angle of her fingertips, hitting the sweet spot that made Therese abandon logic and constraint; she recognized her lover was on the brink of an orgasm. It would be fast, over too soon.
Then, Therese strained as Carol moved in quickening thrusts, Therese keeping pace with surging thighs, shamelessly chasing the pleasure. She rolled her hips, grinding against Carol’s fingers, riding the wave until she submerged into a pool of bliss, her walls clenching, her limbs taut. She couldn’t keep a strangled moan from escaping her throat, the heightened sensation reverberating throughout her, tingling and dancing like pinpricks along her nerve endings, a joyful song humming in her ears. This moment was hers. This woman was hers, and no one could, or nothing could, breach their love. It would be alright. It would be alright. It would be alright. Everything would be. Therese gasped and relaxed in Carol’s arm, at peace.
Carol lazily moved her fingers slightly upward to Therese’s chest. “You look a million miles away, Darling. Tell me what you’re thinking, Therese.” Then, Carol kissed her again, her strong, long hands and fingers stroking the brunette’s face. “Tell me, Darling.” Carol’s mouth dared to dust Therese’s ear. She whispered, “Tell me, what you’re thinking, Lisette.”
And now, here they were. Québec City. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Therese. A hand went to brush Therese’s cheek. “Tell me.”
Carol remembered a snippet of an article she’d read in a movie magazine. She never bought them, but wasn’t opposed to reading them at the hairdresser’s salon. It was an interview with the film director, Orson Welles. Most of it was Hollywood gossip, but one quote stood out, one she remembered:
“If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story.”