Full of Grace
by
Debbie Kluge
"Well,
well. Isn't this a surprise?" It
required an almost superhuman effort for Jade Kenyon to keep her voice even and
the expression on her face pleasant. "I
suppose I should say 'congratulations'."
But in all the years she had known him, she'd never been able to fool
this man easily. Now, Race Bannon eyed
her with an uncertain expression.
"I know this
is unexpected, Jade, but I had hoped you would be happy for me."
Jade gazed at
the white-haired man sitting across from her for a long moment before she
responded, "Of course I'm happy for you, Race.
What makes you think I'm not?"
Race returned
her look evenly and replied, "Because I know you, Jade. I've known you for a long time. And I can tell that you're upset."
"Don't be
ridiculous!" she said, a trifle sharply.
Then she laughed and relaxed back into her chair. She was in control, the devil-may-care mask
firmly in place once again. "I will
admit that you surprised me. I would
have thought once was enough. You
really must be a glutton for punishment."
"This isn't
funny."
"Of course it
is, darling!" That old, taunting tone
was back in her voice . . . the one that used to just drive him to
distraction. "I find it absolutely
hilarious."
"Why?"
Jade eyed the
man for a moment, disconcerted. It
wasn't the question she had been expecting.
Finally, she said, "You forget.
I was around the last time everything went to hell."
"It's not
going to go to hell this time."
"Of course it
isn't, darling," she replied in that mocking tone. "This time everything is going to be absolutely perfect." She rose leisurely and stretched. Race was sharply reminded of a cat. "Well, I should be on my way."
"Stick
around," Race urged her, suddenly reluctant to see her leave. "We haven't talked in a long time, and I
know Estella would be pleased to see you again."
Jade laughed
once, a short, sharp sound that contained very little humor, and shook her
head. "I very much doubt it. Your blushing bride-to-be doesn't like me
very much. I think it's better for both
of us if I'm good and far away from here before she arrives." Jade picked up her coat and shrugged into it
as she continued, "It was pure chance that I saw you sitting in the window. I was here on business and was taking one
final stroll through New York before heading to the airport to return home
again. But, somehow, I don't think
Estella would buy that."
Race looked at
her with a frown on his face, but let the comment go. "Where's home these days, Jade?"
"Bangkok," she
replied shortly as she buttoned her long, black leather coat.
"Still in
Bangkok, huh? After your house was
destroyed the last time we were there, I figured you had probably moved on."
"Whatever
for? Business was still good, and they
never did pin anything on me for the theft of that artifact." She shrugged eloquently. "Climate was still ripe for profit, so I
stuck around." She reached into her
pockets and pulled out a pair of black leather gloves and began to pull them
on.
"Don't you
ever get tired of it all, Jade? Of
having to watch your back all of the time?
Of all of the wheeling and dealing?
Don't you ever just want to call it quits?"
Jade Kenyon
gave Race that seductive, secretive smile that had been her sole legacy to him
over more years than he cared to count and replied, "Quit? But, darling, what fun would that be? You have a nice life, lover boy." She turned and began to walk away, tossing
one more comment over her shoulder as she opened the door, "You know how to
find me . . . if you ever want to." The
door closed with a quiet finality and Race Bannon watched the black-hair woman
dart across the busy street and disappear into the gathering darkness. He stared after her for a while, thinking
about the many years he had known her, and yet how very little he actually
knew.
Jade was a
complete mystery. Over the years, he
had talked with a lot of people who knew her . . . other agents, government
leaders, street thugs, business associates, neighbors, and even small
children. All of them had things to say
. . . some kind, some not. And there
were as many stories about her background as there were people who had met
her. But no one ever knew where she
came from or who she really was. Race snorted
softly to himself. Hell, he didn't even
know if "Kenyon" was her real name or one she took for herself.
He knew agents
that had refused to work with her . . . a few had even tried to have her
jailed. But Race never saw the point in
that. Jade was too valuable as an
information resource to be locked up.
Those same agents had called her dangerous and unreliable. Race disagreed. Dealing with Jade was simple . . . you just had to remember one
thing. In any situation, Jade would
always go in the direction that served her own best interests. As long as you saw to it that your interests
ran with hers, she was wholly reliable.
But let her interests cross purposes with yours, and you could guarantee
that she would be gone.
Finally, he
shook his head. No, Jade Kenyon would
never change. Jade was Jade. It was the
only thing you could say for certain.
She was a free spirit . . . a wild thing that could never be pinned
down. He supposed that for a long time
it was her wildness that he found attractive.
Not that it mattered now. The
soft jingling of a bell cut across his reveries. He looked up to see Estella come through the door. Her face was flushed from the cold and her
flaming red hair wind blown. Across the
room, their eyes met and she smiled.
"Have a nice
life, Jade," he murmured softly, and then put her out of his mind completely.
*******
Across the
street, sheltered in the darkness of a nearby alley, Jade watched as Race
helped Estella remove her coat and settled into the seat Jade had recently
occupied. They laughed and talked
easily, their attention totally focused on the other. Once, she saw him laugh and say something to her. For an instant, her smile faltered and her
head bowed slightly. Race leaned
forward instantly, frowning in concern.
He caught her hand in his and spoke to her urgently. She shook her head slightly and murmured
something back. Race spoke to her again
and then used his free hand to reach out and touch her cheek gently. Jade watched as he placed his fingers under
her chin and tilted the red head up until their gazes locked. Race said something else to her softly, and
then raised the hand to his lips and kissed it gently. She smiled at him again, a bit shakily, and
then drew his hand to her and caressed the back of it gently with her cheek.
Abruptly, Jade
turned from the scene and fled down the alley.
She moved instinctively in the blackness, avoiding obstacles without
even realizing she was doing so. At the
opposite end of the alley, she emerged and turned to her right, moving down the
street and blending in with the crowds on the sidewalk. For a while, she moved with apparent
determination, as though late to an appointment, winding her way deeper into
the city center and darting easily among the throng. Finally, something caught her eye and she faltered. After a quick look around her, she darted to
her right, and descended a short flight of narrow stairs. The old building had a wrought iron fence
along the edge of the well that formed the landing for the entrance to the
establishment. In the window to the
right of the door, a subdued sign read Midnight Blues.
She checked fractionally, staring blindly at the sign, then turned and
pushed open the door. Cold, winter air
followed her in.
Jade stopped
just inside the door and surveyed her surroundings. The place was long and somewhat narrow. To her left, a long bar with stools lined one wall. Behind the bar, a huge mirror hung, making
the room feel both bigger and more crowded.
Out from the bar there were tables scattered in random patterns
throughout the room. At the far end,
was a stage. Sitting on the platform,
Jade could see a drum kit, a couple of guitars, a three-tiered keyboard, and
miscellaneous sound equipment.
Currently, there were no people on the stage, and overhead lights
brightly illuminated it. Squinting
against the glare, she could just see the sound station. It, too, was empty. Even at this relatively early hour, there
were a fair number of people seated at tables scattered throughout the rest of
the room, but they all ignored her as she scanned the crowd. A veil of smoke hung in the air. As she inhaled, she caught familiar odors .
. . the acrid smell of cigarettes, the sour smell of alcohol, the sweet,
distinctive smell of marijuana, and the cloying scent that said opium. She knew there would be other substances
here, as well . . . many of them more deadly than the ones she could readily
identify . . . heroin . . . cocaine . . . angel dust . . . She knew places like this . . . she'd seen
too many of them in her life . . . and some part of her felt at home here. Her mind suddenly reeled as it attempted to
adjust from the scene in the café to this murky den.
Turning, she
strode to the bar. She pulled off her
gloves and coat and tossed them onto a nearby chair and climbed onto a barstool
facing the mirror. She avoided looking
at the reflection there, not entirely sure she would recognize the person she
would see. The bartender shambled over
to her, flipping his bar towel over one shoulder as he came up.
"What'll ya
have?'
"Whiskey . . .
straight up."
The man turned
and snared a bottle from among the many sitting in front of the mirror. Deftly, he upended it and allowed the golden
liquid to splash into a glass. Setting
it down on the bar in front of her, he said,
"Three bucks."
Jade tossed a
twenty dollar bill on the bar without a word, picked up the glass, and drained
it in one long draught. She smacked it
down on the bar, gasping as the raw alcohol carved a river of fire down her
throat and into her stomach.
"Again."
Her voice
sounded strange in her own ears. The
bartender raised an eyebrow, but didn't say a word. Turning, he reached for the bottle.
"And make it
something other than rotgut this time."
The man hesitated,
then moved down the bar and picked up a new bottle. He broke the seal on it, picked up her old glass, tossed it into
the nearby sink, and filled a new one.
Jade took it
from him and downed the contents neatly.
She shuddered as the fumes filled her head.
"Better. Again."
He refilled
the glass and, in a neutral tone, said,
"It's gonna be
a hard morning, lady, you keep that up all night."
Jade laughed
harshly.
"Yeah, well,
the nighttime ain't so great, either.
You just keep them coming, my friend, and let me worry about tomorrow morning."
Behind her,
she heard movement and turned sharply.
She saw a man with long shaggy hair move to the sound console and settle
down behind it. Three men had taken
their places on stage. One picked up a
guitar and plucked the strings idly, his head turned to better hear the sounds
it produced. He fiddled with a tuning
knob briefly and then plucked the strings again experimentally. Another man tapped an impatient rhythm on
the head of one of his drums, fidgeting.
The last one settled down in front of the keyboards and waited
patiently. After a few minutes, a
fourth man suddenly appeared from a door behind the stage carrying a large string
bass with him. He crossed the stage
easily and settled comfortably onto a high stool. As the lights dimmed, the four men began to play. The sound was slow and melancholy with a
complex rhythm.
Jade turned
back to the bar, watching them in the mirror.
She chuckled to herself softly and without much humor. A band that played jazz and blues . . . how
fitting. It suited her mood tonight.
Time seemed to
fade as she sat at that bar, drinking and brooding. On occasion, someone would approach her, but she brushed them
off. She wasn't in the mood to be
social. Some part of her mind knew that
this was dangerous. She was drinking to
get seriously drunk . . . to obliterate her past . . . the pain . . . the
loneliness . . . and she knew that this wasn't a luxury she could afford. It could get her dead, very easily. But she did it all the same. The bar was chosen at random and on a split
second decision. And she was sure she
hadn't been followed. Those safeguards
would have to be enough.
The winter here's cold and bitter,
it's chilled us to the bone.
Some part of
her mind registered the words . . . a change in her surroundings. She lifted her eyes to the mirror. A woman stood in the center of the stage in
front of a microphone. Her dark hair
framed a pale face that was bathed in blue light, but the rest of her body
seemed to disappear, lost in the shadows of this murky place . . . almost as
though she was a ghost. Jade was
suddenly confused, unsure whether the image was real or a reflection of
herself.
She shuddered
convulsively as icy wind from the door washed over her. She was so cold. Her eyes fell again to the glass in her hand. It was empty. Empty, like the way she felt.
She signaled the bartender for a refill again and saw him hesitate. Then, reluctantly, he approached and
refilled her glass. But she didn't drink
from it. She just sat, staring into the
amber liquid.
We haven't seen the sun for weeks,
too long, too far from home.
Her mouth
twisted in a bitter smile. She had lied
to Race. It hadn't been chance that she
had run into him. She had been looking
for him . . . had gone hunting, had found he was going to be in New York, and
had tracked him down to that café. She
had planned to tell him about what was going on with her. Tell him that she wasn't living in Bangkok
any longer . . . at least not for the last two or three months. Things had gotten too hot for her
there. She got out, just one step ahead
of the cops. She lifted the glass and
took a swallow. Always just one step
ahead . . . of the cops, of the people she scammed, sometimes even of those
people she'd allied herself to.
I feel just like I'm sinking,
and I claw for solid ground.
But always one
step ahead. That was the name of the
game, right? It's how you stayed on
top. But this time it had been too
close. She'd almost been caught and she
needed a place she could go for a while . . . somewhere she could feel
safe. She was so tired. And she had thought of Race Bannon.
I'm pulled down by the undertow,
I never thought I could feel so low,
and, oh, darkness, I feel like letting go.
She closed her
eyes at the sudden wash of pain. She
had never been able to understand how he could be so good at seeing through
her. To know what she was thinking. How had he known she was thinking of
quitting? Or had it been a lucky guess?
If all of the strength and all of the
courage
come and lift me from this place.
The memories
she tried so hard to suppress kept coming back to her. Those devil-may-care blue eyes that would
darken almost to sapphire when he was concerned or angry. The confidence that kept you from doubting
that you would survive the worst situation.
The unconscious sensuality of the way he moved. The feel of his hands and mouth . . . Damn,
damn, damn, damn. She snatched up the glass and drained it. Don't think about him. He won't ever come again.
I know I can love you much better than
this
Full of grace, Full of grace, my love.
She did love
him. She knew that . . . had known it
for a long time. In some part of her
mind, she thought that she always considered him her final salvation. The one man that probably could have changed
her. She used to laugh at his high
moral principles . . . told him he was in the wrong line of work. She never really expected that he would take
the analysis to heart and quit. But he
had.
She remembered
the last time she had seen him before he had quit at I-1. He had come looking for her . . . not on
business . . . just looking for her. As
a woman. And he had stayed for a couple
of weeks. Said he was coming up for an
assignment and life had been a bit rough for him recently so they had given him
some time off before sending him in again.
He hadn't wanted to talk about it . . . had just needed a place to stay
and a sympathetic companion.
It's better this way,
I said,
having seen this place before.
She had known
he was married . . . or thought she did.
It took her a while to get it out of him . . . that the marriage had
crumbled, leaving behind not only an ex-wife, but a daughter, as well. He was hurting and vulnerable. She could have had him. She had known it then and she knew it
now. It wouldn't have taken much to
have bonded him to her.
Where everything we say and do,
hurts us all the more.
But something
had stopped her . . . some instinctive knowledge that told her that it was
wrong to do that to him. She had seen
it happen before and knew how tragic the results could be. So, in the end, she had told him that it was
better that he return, and had sent him back to I-1.
But today she
found herself wondering if she had been wrong about that decision. She could fight for him now. Their past could provide the weapon she
needed to shatter his relationship with Estella for good. And she also knew she could do it in such a
way, that he would turn back to her again.
And this time, she could see to it that she held him.
It's just that we stayed too long
in the same old sickly skin,
She raised her
head and stared at her reflection in the mirror, as the lyrics to the song
echoed in her alcohol-soaked brain.
Yes, too long. She had been whom
she was for too long to change. And she
knew the man well enough to know that he could never live the kind of life she
lived. There were just too many
skeletons in her past . . . skeletons that even he knew nothing about. And one day, they would catch up with her.
She knew that, too. It was
inevitable. And if they were together,
those skeletons would pull him down with her.
and I'm pulled down by the undertow,
I never thought I could feel so low,
and, oh, darkness, I feel like letting
go.
She closed her
eyes on the woman in the mirror.
Slowly, she looked inward at that revelation. It was time to let it go.
It was a child's dream . . . the age-old idea of the knight in shining
armor.
If all of the strength and all of the
courage
come and lift me from this place.
It would
probably be the hardest thing she would ever do, but she knew it was
right. Walk away now . . . with grace .
. . as friends . . . and leave him to a woman who loved him and didn't live in
the shadows.
I know I can love you much better than
this
Full of grace, Full of grace, my love.
She loved him
with all of her heart. And she would
let him go. It was her wedding gift to
him.
I know I can love you much better than
this,
She opened her
eyes and smiled at the woman in the mirror.
Yes, she could live with this choice.
The bartender
approached her with the bottle, but she shook her head at him.
"I've had
enough."
She almost
laughed at his look of relief.
"How about a
cup of coffee, then?"
She glanced in
the mirror, taking in the smoky atmosphere, dim light, and clandestine feel of
the place. Yes, this was her place . .
. the life she was born to. She looked
again at the bartender standing in front of her. He was young . . . younger than she had thought at first
glance. And not bad looking. Jade cocked her head and smiled at him
slowly.
"Sure. I think I'd like that. What's your name, anyway?"
"Joe," he
replied, setting a large brown mug in front of her and filling it from a
steaming pot.
"So, tell me,
Joe, what do you do for entertainment around here?"
Behind her,
the dying sound of the song filled her head, confirming her choice.
it's better this way.
THE END
"Full of
Grace", Sarah McLachlan, 1997, Sony/ATV Songs LLC/Tyler Music, from Surfacing
by Sarah McLachlan.
© 1999 Debbie Kluge
DISCLAIMER: The Real Adventures of Jonny Quest
and all characters, logos, and likenesses therein, are trademarks of and
copyrighted by Hanna-Barbera Productions, Inc., and Hanna-Barbera Cartoons,
Inc., a Turner company. No copyright infringement is intended by their use in
this story. All other material, copyright 1999 by Deborah A. Kluge. All rights reserved. Characters and stories are in no way
affiliated with, approved of or endorsed by Hanna Barbera or Turner
Productions. This is created by a fan for other fans out of love and respect
for the show, and is strictly a non-profit endeavor.
