The Concert

by

Tim Wohlforth

The snow was coming down harder. It whipped into my face, blinding me. The bitter cold burned my cheeks. My hands were numb. I no longer had any feeling in my feet.

I was not sure where I was. Somewhere in the dense woods east of Hampton Center , New Hampshire . No trail. Skeleton trees clothed in white, hills, rocks in every direction. No lights.

I staggered on, gripping my shoulder in a vain attempt to staunch the flow of blood. My footprints and drops of blood would be easy to follow. Nothing I could do about it. Had to keep moving. Had to escape.

The cry of the hounds was getting louder. Wouldn't be long now. They'd catch up. They couldn't miss my trail, even in the dark and the snowstorm. They knew the woods. It was futile. But I had to try.

I was getting weaker. Damned loss of blood. Blurry. I smashed into a tree stump. Fell to the ground. Tried to get up. Couldn't move. Yelping, yelping. I could see the eyes of the hellhounds. They snarled, exposing their fangs. Frozen smoke puffed out of their open mouths.

* * *

It started so innocently at the annual Christmas Concert. Hampton Center is the home of Hampton College . That's where I teach. We are able to attract top classical artists. This year the Baroque Philharmonic agreed to perform the Messiah at the Congregational Church.

With wife Pam in tow, I brushed past an elderly couple and plopped down on the hard seat of the pew. The lights began to dim. A hush came over the crowd and then applause as Tom McGregor, the conductor, walked out on the stage. We had just made it to our seats in time. I gazed up at the large gold cross, surrounded by many potted red poinsettias. I was prepared to enjoy the concert. I lost myself in the music and my own dreamy world.

There was a slight rustle in the seat to my right. Its occupant shifted over to make more room for me. I glanced in her direction, giving a slight nod of thanks. I received a warm inviting smile in return.

I was struck by the rich blond hair of my seat mate. Streaks of a slightly darker shade near the edges enhanced the effect. The hair seemed natural enough and yet the woman had to be in her middle forties. Her delicate, sculpted face featured a small nose and rich blue eyes. Quite beautiful. I glanced beyond her to the woman on her far side. I was taken aback. Same hair, face, thin figure. If one of them dyed their hair then they both must, and used the same hairdresser. They had to be identical twins.

The blond woman noticed my inspection of them, caught my eye, and smiled once again. I smiled back and then turned my attention to the orchestra. I looked to the left to see if Pam had noticed my interest in our seat companions. Pam wore that long dark green dress I liked that accented her figure and went well with her red hair. She had gained some weight over the years, but she was still attractive. Pam was completely absorbed, listening to the music and following the text in the program.

I couldn't keep myself from glancing back at the twins. How alike they were. Every once in a while one would pick up her program and fan herself. Then the other, without even looking at her sister, did the same thing. Both crossed their arms over their chests as they listened to the concert. I looked at their hands. Neither of them wore a ring. Interesting. Two beautiful women so attached to each other that they hadn't married. There must be some difference between the two. The sister sitting next to me wore a tan suit with a matching cashmere sweater. She seemed softer, warmer than her sister who was dressed in a navy blue suit.

* * *

Pam spent the intermission, as she always did, waiting in line by the woman's bathroom. I meandered through the crowd looking for the twins. I hadn't the foggiest idea of what I would do if I stumbled upon them. Probably nothing. I was not a philanderer. I loved Pam very much. Yet the blond woman had touched something that had been dormant inside me for years. A kind of spark. I didn't even know her name. I knew one thing. She wanted me. That was part of the attraction. And I wanted her. I loved Pam, but she was so… familiar.

My search for the twins was in vain.

* * *

I stood up, along with the whole audience, when we heard the first notes of the so-familiar Halleluiah chorus. I felt the fingers of the blond woman brush momentarily against my right hand. I couldn't look in her direction. Then I summoned my nerve and peeked at her. There was a faint smile on her face. Her sister wore the identical expression. Two faces cloned. We all sat down.

Fingers gently touched my hand. I looked to my right. A business card lay on the seat next to my hand. I picked it up and put it into my pocket. I glanced swiftly at Pam. She had seen nothing. I could see the blond woman out of the corner of my eye. She must have noticed me surreptitiously retrieving her card. She was laughing silently. I couldn't help but smile, too.

* * *

Late that night, after Pam had fallen asleep, I got up and went into the living room where I had left my sports jacket. I withdrew the business card from the pocket. “Palme Realtors” and a street address on the outskirts of Hampton Center was printed on one side. On the back the blond woman had scrawled “Call me – Ingrid” and then a phone number. Ingrid Palme. I liked the sound. Scandinavian. It fitted. I wouldn't call. I didn't do things like that. But I didn't throw the card away.

* * *

It took only three days for me to change my mind. I'll just talk with her, I rationalized. No harm in that. I called her one evening when my wife was out with one of her woman friends.

“Ya?”

“Is Ingrid there?”

“Who shall I say is calling?”

“A friend. From the concert.”

I heard the light tinkle of a laugh.

“Just a moment. She's in the shower.”

I waited a couple of minutes.

“Hi. Just thinking of you.”

Ingrid's voice had just a touch of an accent. Charming. I couldn't get out of my mind an image of her, naked, standing by the phone.

“My name's Will, by the way. Lovely concert.”

“That's a nice name. Where?”

“Where what?”

“Where do we meet? That's why you're calling isn't it?”

I was not about to deny it. Still it was all moving a bit fast for me.
“What do you suggest.”

“The Lounge. It's a fern bar just down from the campus off Main Street . When?”

“Tomorrow night. 8 PM.”

I'd figure out some excuse to tell Pam.

“Looking forward to it.”

She hung up.

* * *

I arrived at The Lounge at precisely 8 PM. The place was packed with a young crowd, largely students, gathered into couples, talking away at high volume. No one I knew from the College. Thank God. The patrons paid no attention to the television set hanging over the bar.

I felt decidedly out of place. Not my usual hang-out. Then I spotted her. She was sitting on a green velvet upholstered settee surrounded by potted ferns. She was dressed in the same tan outfit she had worn to the concert. She sipped delicately on a martini.

I sat down and ordered a pint of Bass Ale from a mini-skirt clad waitress that hovered nearby. Ingrid smiled supportively at me, her blue eyes twinkling mischievously. She pressed her leg gently against mine. I was, for a moment, at a loss for words. Most unusual for a college professor.

“I don't usually…,” I began.

“I understand. Sometimes things happen. I didn't go to that concert in order to meet somebody. There you were. Don't know why but I really went for you. Still, if it hadn't been for Olga….”

“Olga?”

“My sister. You see it was her idea, the business card.”

“That was her that first answered the phone? She sounded like she knew who I was.”

“We don't keep secrets from each other.”

“You two must be very close.”

A slight frown grew on her face. Ingrid took a sip of her martini before answering.

“We have something very wonderful, Olga and I. Very special. We have so much in common, our business, music. It's kind of like being joined at the hip. Neither of us has ever married. We've had offers but somehow the relationships fall apart at the last minute. Maybe we're too close.”

“In what way?”

“I know we look alike. Identical. I saw you eyeing us.”

I felt my face redden.

“Don't be embarrassed. Everybody stares. We're used to that. Olga doesn't mind. I don't like it. So I refuse to go out with her. But a friend offered me two tickets to the Christmas concert. Couldn't not take her. Did you notice any difference between us?”

“No, not physically. I sensed something, though.”

“What?”

“Something about you drew me to you. I didn't feel that way about your sister.”

A big smile came over Ingrid's face. I had said the right thing.

“Other people aren't like you. They can't see inside us. We run this real estate business together. The clients never know which one of us they're talking to. We're just ‘Miss Palme' to the outside world. But we're very different emotionally. It's just so damned hard to establish a boundary between us, to be independent. At least I have that need. Do you understand?”

“I think so. You said that you need to be separate emotionally from your sister yet you implied that your sister doesn't share this sentiment.”

“You're perceptive. That's one important way in which we're different. I want to be me. All she wants to be is us.”

“Is there some way I can help?”

“You are helping. You're here with me alone. Olga is at home. Maybe we build something of our own, just you and I.”

“But Pam….”

“So that's your wife's name, Pam. A very attractive woman. She's your concern, not mine. I can share you with Pam and still we build our own relationship. And what develops between you and I would be ours, not Olga's. Do you see what I mean?”

Her eyes begged for my understanding.

“Of course. I'm beginning to feel that I know you already.”

She leaned over and gave me a little kiss on the cheek, pressing her leg against my leg. She placed her fingers over mine and squeezed gently. I was hooked. I would continue to see Ingrid.

* * *

I scanned the fern bar, looking for Ingrid. It had been a week since our last meeting and I hadn't been able to get her out of my mind. My feelings towards Pam were the same. At least I didn't think they had changed. I did have this guilt. I wasn't sure how or if I could handle it. I was overcompensating a bit, being more attentive than usual to Pam. She seemed to be enjoying it.

I spotted Ingrid sitting in a booth along the back wall of the bar, surrounded by a fuchsia that looked like it wanted to swallow her up. She was wearing a bright red skirt, matching jacket and a white silk blouse with a gold cross on a chain around her neck. She had a martini in her hand. As I approached she placed her glass on the table, rose and gave me a warm hug and a kiss on the lips.

“You look great!” I said.

“Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself.”

I settled in next to her in the booth, her body touching. I took her small delicate hands in mine, lifted them to my mouth, and gave them a kiss.

“I've been thinking about you all week,” I said.

“Me, too.”

“I just hope I'm doing the right thing.”

“It's simple really. You find me attractive and I feel the same way about you. It happens. That's life. The only difference between you and me and most other people is we act on our feelings. Healthier.”

“Maybe you're right.”

“I know I'm right. People like you and I don't even need to talk. Come.” She got up, holding my hand. “I know a nice motel within walking distance of here.”

I didn't say no.

* * *

“Last time was fantastic,” I said.

I looked into Ingrid's soft blue eyes, holding her hands. She was wearing a tan pants suit, golden blond hair flowing freely over an off-white cashmere sweater. She looked so beautiful.

“I like being with you,” Ingrid said. “Just holding your hands, talking. The way you look at me makes me feel so special, unique. You and I alone, together.”

“I think I'm coming to grips with it. Kind of compartmentalizing my emotions. Maybe I'm just fooling myself but I do know one thing. The way I feel towards you.”

“Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“The way you feel towards me.”

“It's so hard to put in words. It's like the whole week is kind of drab. Then I see you and I come alive. Whatever worries I have, they just disappear and I'm happy. I desire you so much.”

“I want you just for myself. Here we're surrounded by people. I want to be alone with you.” Ingrid rose, still holding my hand. Then she whispered into my ear, “Olga is out tonight. Come with me to my house.”

* * *

Ingrid and I sat on the large living room sofa. The room was tastefully furnished with modern Swedish furniture. Yet the place had warmth — ceramics from Mexico , impressionist prints on the walls, flowers in cut-glass vases. A soft light tan carpet covered the floor. I knew Ingrid must have chosen the carpet.

A change had come over Ingrid from last week. At the motel I had barely closed the door before she was tearing my clothes off. Now she just wanted to talk. She told me of her early childhood with Olga. Their mother had dressed them identically. As soon as she became a teenager she began to choose her own clothes, trying to create a image different from Olga. She was not sure she had succeeded.

The front door opened.

“Well, you two look comfy,” Olga said, as she walked towards us with a smug expression on her face. “Let me know, Will, if she's as good as I was last week.”

Ingrid let go of my hands and leapt up from the couch to confront her sister.

“You bitch. That's why he didn't call. You took the call and pretended you were me.”

“I gave him a hell of a better time than you ever would have. And he had no complaints.”

“You won't let me have anything, anything that's my own! I can't stand it anymore. I can't go on living this way.”

“You shouldn't keep things separate from me. How many times have I told you that? You belong to me, Ingrid. You're tied to me. You always will be.”

“Will's mine. He… he cares for me, not you.”

“He can't even tell us apart in bed, stupid. Share and share alike. Let's make it a Ménage à trois tonight.”

“Stop you two,” I shouted.

They weren't the same. It was Ingrid I had fallen for, who I loved to talk with, to gaze into her eyes. Olga had been only sex. I had to let Ingrid know.

I got up from the couch and tried to stand between them. Olga pushed me away. Ingrid didn't even look in my direction. It was not about me. It was about them, the sisters.

“Stop grinning! God damn you!” Ingrid shrieked at her sister. “You bitch. You will never do this to me again. Never!”

She pulled away from Olga and opened a drawer in a table by the couch. She withdrew a small pistol with a pearl handle.

“I'll kill you.”

“You can't. That would be suicide. I'm you. You're me.”

Olga walked towards Ingrid. Ingrid raised the pistol and pointed it directly at Olga's heart. Olga kept walking, hand out. Ingrid's fingers tightened around the trigger. Then she started to shake. Her hand lowered as if pushed down by some exterior force. Tears came to her eyes. Olga, smirk on her face, took the gun away.

Ingrid grew stiff. Hatred in her eyes. A rage, built up over forty years, flowed through her. She bashed her fists into Olga's face. She ripped open her blouse and scratched her breasts. She bit the arm holding the gun.

The pistol went off. Ingrid fell to the floor. Blood spurted out of her chest onto the beige carpet. I could tell by the blank look in her eyes that she was dead.

“You bastard,” Olga shouted at me. “It's all your fault.”

She fired directly at me. It felt like a sledgehammer hit my shoulder. She dropped the gun and ran towards the back door. I grabbed the gun and staggered after her. Blood poured out of my shoulder. Incredible pain. I fought to focus my eyes. I forged on. Had to get Ingrid's killer. I heard the back door open. I followed Olga outside into the cold night. Nothing. I had lost her in the dark. I heard sirens. I ran into the woods.

* * *

The hounds surrounded me, massive black forms silhouetted against the white tableau. Howling, snarling, pulling against chain choke collars and leashes, pawing the snow, digging into the frozen earth underneath. One monster, the leader of the pack, bit my foot, tearing at the flesh. Blood flowed onto the now dirty snow. I felt nothing. It was like it was someone else's foot. It was frozen. A dark hulk pulled the creature's chain. Reluctantly, the beast let go of me. The hulk moved towards me, morphing into a state trooper.

“Give me the damned gun,” the trooper snarled.

His 12-gauge shotgun pointed directly at me. I could make out through the falling snow a circle of men behind him. I threw Ingrid's pistol towards him. Or was it Olga's?

“I didn't shoot her. It was her sister.”

“Then why is that gun in your hand? Why did you run away?”