Chapter Three

 

 

 

“I worry about you having so many nightmares. I didn’t think they’d persist now that you’re out of New York. Plus, didn’t you say that first night you stayed here you didn’t have any?”

Katherine nodded and took a sip of her iced tea. The two were sitting on the bench swing on Marie’s front porch. Katherine had apologized profusely to the older woman last night and again this morning. There were few things she could think of that were more embarrassing than being woken up from a nightmare while being a guest in someone else’s home. Disrupting her hostess’s life—and not to mention her rest—wasn’t something she was proud of.

The truth was, Katherine was worried about herself too. She’d suffered from panic attacks long enough to know that it wasn’t something that could be turned on and off like a switch. The majority of anxiety issues were below the surface, not just caused by environmental factors. She’d escaped the pressures of New York, but her mind and body hadn’t yet caught up to that fact.

“I don’t know. I guess anxiety is a lot more complex than that. Panic attacks don’t care about geography. My waking mind knows that I’m safe at least, just being at your house, but my subconscious can’t seem to figure that out.”

“Maybe you need to face your fears head-on.”

That was part of what she liked about Marie. While she was loving and nurturing, she didn’t mollycoddle. She had no problem telling Katherine—or, she suspected, anyone else—exactly what she didn’t want to hear, but needed to hear.

“Honey, you need to get out more. Make some new friends,” Marie said, laying a gentle hand on her arm.

She knew Marie was right. In the couple of days since venturing out to the art museum, Katherine had been content to sit in Marie’s backyard and practice painting. She’d also spent time reading on the front porch and playing cards. Her newfound solitude wasn’t exactly by choice, although it was a nice change of pace for her. She was used to never getting a moment’s peace. She’d grown accustomed to being surrounded by an entourage—her assistant, her mother, Nathan. In her old life it seemed she’d rarely had time to herself. The truth was, even though she liked being alone and having quiet time, the novelty was already beginning to wear off.

As much as she wanted to explore Seattle and perhaps even connect with other artists, anxiety kept her rooted at Marie’s. It was safe there. No one could discover who she was if no one ever interacted with her. Just thinking about talking to new people made her heartbeat accelerate and her skin feel tight. Yet, she knew becoming a hermit wasn’t a viable option and deep down that wasn’t the kind of life she wanted to lead in the Pacific Northwest. Perhaps with a little careful planning and a few baby steps on her part, things could change.

“I’ve been thinking,” Katherine replied after several moments. “Maybe I wouldn’t feel so fearful of getting out and interacting with people if I could come up with some kind of alternate identity. I mean, I can’t very well go up to people and say ‘Hi, I’m Katherine Dawson, please don’t let the media know where I am. Want to be friends?’”

“No, that certainly won’t do. Maybe you could just go by Katie?”

“You mean go by one name, like Madonna or Cher?” Katherine asked with a giggle. She shook her head and continued without giving Marie a chance to respond, “Somehow I don’t think that will work. I do like Katie. My grandfather would call me that from time to time when I was a girl.”

“Oh, I’ve got it.” Marie clapped her hands like a delighted child. “What about Kline, your grandmother’s maiden name?”

“Katie Kline.” She paused, liking the way the name sounded as it rolled off her tongue. “It has a nice ring to it. It’s simple. Best of all, it’s just average enough to blend right in, which makes it all the more perfect for me.”

“Nice to meet you, Katie Kline.” Marie stuck her hand out, and the two women shook hands.

“You’ll have to help me with this new identity, Marie. No more Katherine. She’s gone and doesn’t exist anymore. From this point forward, you’ll have to call me Katie. That way I can get used to it and it will feel natural to hear someone refer to me that way. It won’t do for me to be out and about and someone call after Katie and I don’t even turn my head.”

“Sounds perfect. The name suits you and I promise to do my part and only call you by your new name from this point forward. I have a suggestion for you, Katie. The only way to get comfortable interacting with other people as your new self is to start small. Why don’t you go out for a coffee and compliment the barista on their hairstyle or a piece of jewelry they’re wearing? Conversation is an art and like all forms of creation, it takes practice to perfect it.”

“That’s a good idea, Marie. Where’s a good coffee shop that’s not too busy?”

“This is Seattle, dear, all the coffeehouses are busy. My favorite is a place on Pike Street, called Café Vita. I adore their mochas. Why don’t you try it out? It’s a bit of a walk, but you could make it from here, or you could always take the bus. I don’t suggest driving. All those one-way streets downtown confuse the heck out of me.”

“Because it’s you and I cannot say no to you, and because I find you so spunky and irresistible, I’ll give your suggestions a try. I’ll check it out tomorrow morning.”

 

* * * *

 

The trill sound from her cell phone let her know she’d received an email. She opened the email app on her phone. The search engine alert she’d set up on herself had netted new results for the day. Katie powered up her laptop and inspected the stories. One television news station personality was running an article touting the lonely state of her ex-fiancé Nathan Taylor. She clicked on the video and listened as the snarky reporter made commentary on the three pictures snapped of a despondent-looking Nathan as he walked around Manhattan.

The next link she clicked on took her to a popular celebrity gossip blog. The story running on the pathetic site claimed that the reason Katherine had dumped her fiancé at the altar and disappeared was because she’d been carrying on an affair for months. She sighed out loud at the next few sentences of the article.

 

According to a reliable source close to Katherine Dawson, the fab femme fatale of the fashion industry is playing for the other team! Katherine’s run off with her long-time lesbian lover, who the source chose not to name out of respect for the mystery woman’s identity. So is Ms. Dawson off in a love nest canoodling with her girlfriend while poor Nathan Taylor is left to lick his wounds and pick himself up after the very public break up? We have some advice for Mr. Taylor… Look in the mirror, honey. You’re gorgeous, rich and are the IT reality TV producer of the moment. In other words? You’re a catch! We predict Nathan won’t be single for long…and know of more than one woman who’d love to help him heal his broken heart.

 

Anger coursed through her. Even though she knew she shouldn’t care about the trash circulating the Internet and TV, it cut her to the quick. Although she wanted to put her old life behind her, a part of her still cared about what people thought of her—or of the old her—Katherine Dawson. Tired of the pointless gossip, she shoved her computer off her lap. She needed to stop looking at the entertainment news. She should remove the search engine alert.

But she knew she wouldn’t.

Not yet anyway, if only as a way to monitor what was going on with her old life. Although she had absolutely no interest in going back to it at this point, she needed to follow what was happening in New York. She needed to know what the papers, blogs and TV shows were saying about her. Even though it screwed with her sanity, it was important to follow the news. That way when the vultures gobbled up another story—and they would eventually—she could relax a little bit. Sooner or later, Katherine Dawson would cease to be news and when that day came, Katie would be able to breathe just a bit easier.

She was taken aback that she was still making the top headlines. It had been ten days. Eventually people would forget all about the heiress who’d run down the stairs at the cathedral, leaving her high-powered and extremely eligible groom at the altar. She had no doubt people would forget. Like her mother always told her, fame was a fickle bitch. The unpredictability of being a celebrity was what made Evangeline constantly seek the spotlight. She was always making the simplest things into dramas, scandals and news stories.

Her head snapped back with a realization. What if the reason Katherine was still making headlines was because her mother was feeding the press bogus information, just to keep the Dawson name in the news?

“Damn it, Mother,” she muttered aloud to her empty room.

It all made sense. The ‘reliable source’ claiming she was a lesbian. The constant speculation. Her mother was grasping at straws. Katie had learned throughout her life that her mother was at her most dangerous when she was desperate, as she would have to be at the moment.

With the dissolution of the Dawson-Taylor relationship and the resulting loss of the combining of empires and the disappearance of her daughter, things must look destitute for the company her mother had built. Not only was the entire Ivy and Plaid brand up in the air—since Katherine had been the face of the company for over ten years—but so was the family fortune, along with the lucrative reality TV series and subsequent endorsement deals. All of those factors added up to her mother being extremely pissed and desperate.

Brushing aside the mounting feelings of guilt and duty, Katie closed her eyes and started her deep-breathing exercises. She needed to summon the courage to call her mother and tell her to cut the shit. Fingering her cell phone, she imagined how the conversation would play out. She’d open her mouth and the second her mother picked up she’d start in on a verbal tirade. Words of guilt, shame and anger flung at her. Katie wouldn’t put anything past Evangeline, including tracing the call in order to find out her location.

Just as quickly as the idea had formed, it dissipated. She’d already lost the ounce or two of gumption she had and dropped her phone onto the bed. Calling her mother would be the most unwise thing she could do. She knew what she was doing was reactionary behavior. Her therapist had warned her for years to stop trying to anticipate her mother’s every move and mood. It wasn’t her responsibility. Ivy and Plaid was her family’s business, but she’d never really been involved in the business aspect. Evangeline wouldn’t allow that. Her mother had built Ivy and Plaid into the thriving company that it was and she had the kind of shrewd business sense that would allow her to roll with the punches. Yes, she’d left her family in a bit of a lurch, but if she’d ever expected to get out from under her mother’s thumb and have her own life, that was how it had had to happen.

Like the ripping off a Band-Aid, the quick escape and subsequent disappearing act was the only way for Katie to have her own life—at least as long as her mother was around. Evangeline was resourceful. Once she accepted the fact that her daughter was gone and she was not coming back, she’d figure out a way to not only make the business even more successful without her, but she’d also more than likely find a way to turn the situation to her advantage. Katie could picture her mother doing an interview with Anderson Cooper or Diane Sawyer. She’d dab at her eyes and publicly ruminate on the departure of her daughter but admit that she had to find a way to keep the family business afloat. Hell, she could see Evangeline turning the search for her replacement into a reality TV show competition.

That was her mother, cut-throat and manipulative to her core.

 

* * * *

 

Katie walked into the café that Marie had recommended and savored the smell of freshly brewed coffee. She’d been told the establishment offered one of the best cups of java in Seattle. In a city that was famous for its high-quality brews that was really saying something. She ordered a mocha and scoped out a place to sit while she waited for it to be made. She’d brought her sketch pad with her and planned on capturing the scenery. There were lots of other artists and people on laptops, writing in journals or doodling on blank sheets of paper. The barista handed her the mocha, and Katie walked toward a table near the front of the café. She sat facing a window, figuring that she could be inspired by watching people walking by on the street.

She took a sip of her coffee and nearly moaned aloud. The smooth java and sweet, rich chocolate danced on her tongue. Marie hadn’t been lying when she’d said the place was the best. Whipping out her sketch pad and pencils, she tried to decide what she should draw first. Her hands moved of their own accord and sketched the lines of the white mug and saucer. Putting the final bit of shading on the piece, she assessed it as objectively as possible. The drawing wasn’t bad.

A man sat down next to her, and she was momentarily distracted by his presence. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He wasn’t movie-star handsome, but he had a definite magnetism about him. His wavy dark hair was pleasantly mussed, as though he’d just rolled out of bed and run his fingers through it. He pulled a silver laptop from his brown canvas messenger bag and powered it up. As though sensing her gaze, he looked her way and smiled.

Before she allowed herself the reflex reaction of smiling back, she quickly turned her head and went back to studying her drawing. She tried to appear as though her attention was focused on the piece of paper in front of her. It wasn’t easy to pretend her mind was only on her creation when she was in the midst of a tumult. Her heart raced and her cheeks flamed. What if he recognized her? She tried to take a sidelong glance at the man next to her. He was still staring at her. Taking in big gulps of air, she felt as though all the air was being squeezed out of her lungs. Her hands started to tremble. She had to get out the café. With a shaky grasp, she threw her drawing supplies into her bag. Pushing her wooden chair back from the table with a loud scrape, she worried she’d called more attention to herself with her abrupt movements.

“Are you okay?”

She stood next to the table, about to leave. Looking down at the man with the laptop who’d sat next to her, she wasn’t surprised to find him staring up at her. His green eyes were wide and seemed to be full of genuine concern. She didn’t want him to look at her face so closely, so she turned her head and hoped she’d obscured his gaze. She heard him ask her if she was okay once again, only this time, his voice sounded very far away. Experience told her she was working up to an epic panic attack. Her vocal chords still wouldn’t work so she nodded her reply and practically ran from the coffeehouse.

Her footsteps fell loudly against the sidewalk and she saw a bus stopping at the next block up. She sprinted and caught it just in time. She counted her blessings that it was nearly empty, but selected a seat near the back and pulled her hat down lower over her eyes for good measure. She’d had a close call in the coffeehouse. Craning her neck, she looked out of the back window of the bus toward the café she’d fled. Slapping her palm over her mouth, she stopped herself just short of gasping in surprise. The man who’d sat next to her was standing outside the coffeehouse looking left and right, searching the people milling around on the street. His body language was tense and she could almost swear that he was frowning. Was he looking for her? Could he have recognized her? Or was it possible that a stranger might actually show compassion for her well-being?

The bus started moving. She turned around and faced forward. Whatever the man in the coffeehouse wanted, she was glad she’d left when she did. Her breathing was starting to return to normal and her body was beginning to relax. She closed her eyes and recalled the scene in the coffee shop. Would she ever truly be able to interact and mingle with others? The fear of being found out ate at her insides. It wasn’t just that she didn’t want to deal with the media coverage. It was more than not wanting to be Katherine Dawson anymore.

For the first time in her adult life she was free to make her own choices and that scared her. She could choose what she looked like, who she befriended, what she ate and what hobbies and interests to pursue. Suppressing a sob, she realized how much she’d given up staying in her old life. Such basic rights seemed like rare privileges. What so many others took for granted or saw as humdrum facets of a boring life had the appeal of bright and shiny jewels to her.

For years she’d had to base every private decision in her life on how it would impact her public persona. Her mother had helped facilitate this fear. Evangeline had scrutinized her only child with a sharp eye. It had started on her fourteenth birthday.

When Katherine had been served a slice of her birthday cake—which her mother had had made especially for her—in the shape of a dress, she’d discouraged her daughter from enjoying the dessert. The baked item had been decorated to look as though the dress was a blue and green plaid, with a cascading ivy icing across the bodice. The cake had not only been to celebrate her birthday, it had been to commemorate that Katherine had become the face of Ivy and Plaid clothing line. The press had been at her party, invited by her mother, of course. She recalled how after the flashbulb had gone off and she’d taken that first perfunctory bite for the camera, her mother had stepped in and taken the plate away from her.

“Mother, what are you doing?”

“You’re a model now, Katherine. More importantly, you’re the face of Ivy and Plaid. You’re already a bit pudgy,” she’d said, raking her gaze down her daughter’s body. “Representing your family’s clothing line should be an incentive for you to look your best. You should go on a diet, not shovel cake into your mouth!”

Tears had formed in her eyes at her mother’s words. She’d been in the throes of puberty and had struggled to accept her blossoming figure. Her young body could in no way be described as fat, but it hadn’t been good enough for her mother. Evangeline was five foot ten and waif thin, thanks to a steady intake of cigarettes and diet pills. She’d demanded her daughter’s figure be just as trim.

Now, as she watched the evergreen trees and lush foliage whiz by her out of the bus window, she was more determined than ever that no one discover who she really was. She would not go back to that life. She never wanted to be put under the microscope again, not by her mother or by the media. Hopefully she could get her anxiety under control so she could stay incognito. She couldn’t break out into a panic attack every time someone looked at her. After all, part of her goal with this newfound freedom was to be able to finally live the kind of carefree existence that came with being a regular person. A big part of that existence was being able to be out in public. It meant making friends with people. It meant having relationships with people. How freeing would it be to know that someone was your friend not because of your status, wealth or influence, but because of your personal character? Because they simply liked who you were?

Katherine Dawson had never experienced that in her twenty-six years of living.

But Katie Kline was determined to know what that felt like.