Better Late Than Never: Chapter 13
"There, there, Ms. Cooke," Rhyme soothed as he pulled her to her feet and hugged her close. He was taller than Gage, probably six foot four at least, which meant he had to stoop a bit to reach around her heaving shoulders. Thankfully, he placed himself between her and the portrait, so that when she finally gathered herself enough to look up at him, all she could see were the receding line of his white-gray hair and his merry blue eyes looking down at her through the rimless glasses perched on his rather significant nose.
Pulling a silk handkerchief from his pants pocket, he dabbed at her eyes and then held it in front of her nose as if she were a child and said, "Blow."
Too drained to argue, she did as she was told and he handled it with great aplomb, handing her the cloth for any future outbursts.
"Let's step into my office," he suggested and led her to a small room just off the main work area of the studio. He directed her to a high-backed leather chair across from his antique mahogany desk. Before he took his own chair, however, he excused himself, went to the front door, locked it and made sure the 'Closed' sign was in place.
Sydney felt like God's own fool for having come so unglued at the sight of the portrait, and in front of a near stranger, to boot. And, of course, now that she'd cried all over him and sullied his silk hankie, she would have to tell him the whole story. She owed him that much. So, when he came back into the office, having magically produced two cups of steaming herbal tea while he was gone, she related the entire miserable tale.
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"Well, I must say, my dear, that is one of the most amazing stories I have ever heard and it certainly explains your reaction to the portrait. But the question now is what do you intend to do about it?" Rhyme posed, looking over his glasses at her.
It took Sydney a moment to realize that his question was not rhetorical; he was waiting for an answer.
"I have no idea. The doctors are fairly sure he won't ever remember, but I would swear he had a flash of something, a memory, a feeling, something, yesterday," she replied.
"Did something happen to trigger the whatever-it-was?" he inquired.
"Well, I had just kissed him on the cheek and…" she started, but he interrupted her.
"So, an intimate gesture, then? Any other inklings that you know of?" he pressed.
"No, nothing that I know of."
"Which is not to say that it hasn't happened; only that he hasn't told you if it did. So, let's assume for the moment that it wasn't an isolated incident. That would seem to indicate that all is not lost, Ms. Cooke."
"Please, you now know more about my life than most people I know, call me Sydney."
"Very well, Sydney, let me ask you a question. What perfume were you wearing Saturday night?"
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Some of our most powerful recollections are based on smells, Sydney. It's called a sense memory. When we experience something, we do it with all of our senses, the strongest of which in terms of memory is smell. Think about every holiday from your childhood and what comes to mind first?"
"The smell of my grandmother's house! The food, the Christmas tree, the fireplace…"
"Exactly. Now, what perfume were you wearing Saturday night?"
"Uh, um, I don't remem…wait, I wasn't wearing any," she sighed.
"Oh, but you were. You smelled positively delicious, as I recall," Rhyme corrected her.
"It wasn't perfume, though. It was a body spray, I think. Warm vanilla something-or-other, from one of those bath stores in the mall." Was it really possible that a five-dollar bottle of body spray could be the key to unlocking Gage's memory?
"Why, Sydney, you vixen, you were out to get your man that night, weren't you?"
"Huh?"
"So you didn't know that vanilla is an aphrodisiac? Why do you think women in the '50's used to put vanilla extract behind their ears, so they could smell like good cooks?"
"I…uh…no, I didn't know that."
"Well, now you do and we haven't a moment to lose. There's one of those bath places in the next strip mall on this street. Go now and buy a bottle of that spray and bring it back here," Rhyme directed. As he stood up and ushered her toward the door, he continued to lay out his plan. "If we can connect your scent with that portrait, I think it might just trigger a breakthrough."
Sydney just stared at him, a look of utter disbelief on her face.
"Well, it's worth a try, isn't it? Or would you rather just give up on this?" he asked, pointing to the portrait, but meaning the love that was revealed in it.
"No, of course not. I'm going. I'll be back as soon as I can. But, how are you going to get him here?" she wondered.
"I'm not, you are. I can't be expected to do everything, now can I?" And with that, he shoved her out the door and onto the sidewalk.
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She was on her way back to Rhyme's studio with her purchase when her cell phone rang.
"Syd," she answered.
"Where are you?" Gage demanded.
"Well, hello to you, too, Gage," she snapped back at him.
"I'm sorry, it's just that I've been trying to call you for over an hour. Didn't you hear your phone ringing?" he asked. Sydney detected a hint of desperation in his voice.
"No, I accidentally left it in the car while I was at…my errand," she informed him.
"Sydney we need to talk. Now. Can I come over to your place?" Gage pleaded, making no attempt to be subtle.
"I'm not home and in fact, I was just going to call you. I'm on Lemon Avenue a few blocks from Marty's house and my car won't start," she improvised, as she pulled alongside the curb around the corner from Rhyme's studio. "Is there any way you can come and pick me up?"
"Don't move. I'll be right there," he promised and promptly hung up.
Sydney got out of the car and walked around the corner to deliver the vanilla-scented spray to Rhyme. When she reached the front of the studio, she nearly dropped the bag she was carrying. Right smack in the center of the front window was the portrait of her and Gage.
The bell rang when she opened the studio door, summoning Rhyme from his office.
"Oh, good, you're back. Any luck?" he posed.
"Yes, I found the vanilla spray and I spoke to Gage and told him I was having car trouble. He said he's on his way," she said, handing him the red-and-white striped bag.
"Wonderful! Now, you keep a look out for his car and when you see it, tell me immediately," he instructed.
"What exactly are you going to do?" she inquired.
"Well, when he drives by, I'm betting he won't be able to miss the portrait, and I further suspect he will not be able to pass it up without a closer inspection. By the time he is out of his car, I will have sprayed enough of this stuff into the air in here to practically knock him over and voila!"
"Just like that? Voila!" Skepticism dripped from her words.
"That picture, your scent and his desperate desire to remember should be all it takes, my dear," he assured her.
"Yeah, it's the 'should' part that worries me," she replied, suddenly realizing there was one part of the plan that she didn't like one bit.
"I can't be the one watching for his car. I don't want to be here when he gets here," Sydney informed her co-conspirator.
"Well, where do you want to be?"
"If this doesn't work, I won't be able to face him. No matter how hard I try to hide it, he'll see the disappointment written all over my face and it will kill him," Sydney explained.
"And if it does work?"
"Maybe there's someplace I could hide – near the back entrance, or maybe around the corner by my car – where I could see him, but he couldn't see me?" Sydney couldn't believe her own ears; she felt like she was back in junior high, spying on Jimmy Wilkins, her eighth-grade crush.
In the end, she opted to wait around the corner by her car. From that vantage point, she could see both the street he'd be driving down and the front of the studio itself. A few minutes later, she poked her head around the corner and caught a glimpse of the familiar orange and black Chevelle driving slowly up the block.
Using her cell phone, which was already connected to Rhyme's phone in the studio, she told Rhyme, "Here we go. He's coming up the street."
"Got it. I see the car," Rhyme answered and pumped three sprays of Warm Vanilla Sugar body spray in front of a small fan located just below the countertop, but angled to direct the scent toward the front door. He sat the bottle on the shelf under the counter, hid behind the doorway into the main work room, and crossed the fingers of both hands as he heard the car come to a screeching halt.
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As he hit the brakes, Gage gripped the steering wheel so hard he thought it might actually snap off in his hands. He blinked twice and when the image in the store window didn't change or disappear, he was left with no choice but to believe it was real.
He abandoned the car in the middle of the street and ran up to the window, his heart pounding, his blood roaring in his ears.
It had been a memory after all – the copper-colored velvet dress, the bare shoulders, the long, dark hair – Sydney's hair -- that smelled like flowers. And there, too, were his arms holding her, his hands tingling at the feel of that soft fabric stretched over her hard, muscular body and his mouth pressed against hers in the sweetest of strawberry-flavored kisses.
A loud honking interrupted his reverie and he ran back to his car just long enough to pull it over to the curb and shut off the engine, before running back to the studio. As he yanked open the door, he heard bells ringing and he was surrounded by the most delectable fragrance he'd ever encountered.
He closed his eyes and drank in the tantalizing aroma that was, as far as he knew, uniquely Sydney. Suddenly, he wasn't in the studio anymore; he was back on the ballroom floor at the governor's mansion, dancing with Sydney and singing their song to her.
"…We'll get lost on this dance floor, spinning around…and around and around and around…" he sang softly, his eyes still closed, tears of joy and relief running down his cheeks.
Devon Rhyme waited for Gage to open his eyes before he spoke, but Gage was still startled when the photographer said, "It's good to see you again, Ranger Gage."
"Mr. Rhyme!" Gage exclaimed. Recognition brought with it such elation that Gage swept the older man into a bear hug. "You have no idea how good it is to see you, sir. No idea at all."
"Oh, I believe I get the picture…no pun intended," Rhyme replied.
"Yeah, speaking of pictures, where did this come from? I mean, when did you…how did it…" Gage stammered before finally settling on, "Why is our picture so huge?"
"Because to have printed it any smaller would not have done it justice. And besides, it's not as if it's life-sized," he corrected, adding "It's more like half that," as if that fact illustrated some great restraint on his part not to overdo it. "You and your lady fair were, without a doubt, the most stunning couple at that party and I dare say that I was fortunate enough to capture something quite special when the shutter snapped. Photographs like this one don't come along every day, Ranger Gage, and for that matter, neither do women like Ranger Cooke."
"Sydney! Her car broke down! I'm supposed to be meeting her near here somewhere. Oh, geez, I got so caught up…" his voice trailed off as he pulled out his cell phone and speed dialed Sydney.
"Hey, Syd, I got hung up, but I'm on Lemon now. Where are you?" he rattled off when she answered.
"Actually, I'm good," she said, leaning against her car and watching the door of Rhyme's place. "When I tried the car a minute ago, it started right up. I can't imagine what could have happened, but I'm on my way back to work now. I was just about to call you and tell you I didn't need a ride after all. Are you still coming over for dinner?"
"Yes, and don't cook. I'll pick something up on the way," he said, an idea already starting to blossom in his brain.
"Hey, Gage, are you feeling all right? Any more strange sensations like last night?"
"No, Syd, why do you ask?" he lied as casually as he could. He was hatching a plan that, unfortunately, required keeping her in the dark for just a little longer. Something told him that when all was said and done, she would probably forgive him.
"No reason. I just know how much you want to remember, that's all," she sighed, climbing into her car and fastening her seat belt. "Well, see you later. Bye." It hadn't worked after all. She knew it was a long shot, at best, but she had let her hopes run free and now it would be hard to rein them in again. She snapped the phone shut, pulled away from the curb and watched the road blur behind a veil of tears.
Gage hated letting her think the worst, but he was beginning to think that maybe he'd been lured to this very spot by a false alarm about Sydney's car, so a little tit-for-tat didn't seem all that inappropriate. Anyway, he didn't have time to fret about it now. He had a lot to do before dinnertime, and maybe Mr. Rhyme could help.
"Mr. Rhyme, I have two questions. First, what can you tell me about the jeweler across the street? And second, where can I rent a tux on really short notice?"
End Chapter 13.