The night of the ceremony had gone flawlessly. They had brought each of the winners up on stage and let them wave for the camera. The lady from Oregon had her poem read aloud as she stood there and blushed. They’d gotten lucky with the girl from Brooklyn as she was cute as a bug.

Lydia stood in the back and watched. She sometimes liked the long view. It gave her a better idea of what the folks at home could see. Not bad. Not bad at all.

The after party was also fabulous. The cream of New York’s hippest crowd had all shown up. Someone started calling it BeautFest and the name caught on. There was a general expectation that this should become an annual thing.

Lydia got some strange thought of the Olympics in her head and she couldn’t shake it out. Every time they held one of those things there were stories about the Olympic village and all of the athletes romping together. Apparently hundreds of children were created each time. Maybe BeautFest would have the same kind of dynamic. Just think of it, hundreds of years from now the children would be noticeably better looking and in some small way she was to thank for it.

Of course they’d have to vary the question for next year’s contest. Not too hard to do. They could ask about ‘What is Beauty?’ or ‘What can we do to share more Beauty?’ or something like that. The response would be just as popular. No, she corrected herself. After word got out about how wonderful all of this was it was sure to be twice as popular. Maybe ten times!

As she was driven home that night she kept reflecting on the entire evening. It really had gone just about perfectly. The production was good. The people they had honored were very telegenic. All that and she had thrown a mean party. What more could she ask for?

Well, one thing. She picked up her phone and called her personal assistant. Everything had gone so well that she was going to treat herself tomorrow and come in late. They didn’t need her in early. For just one day they could fend for themselves.

As she went in to her apartment and readied herself for bed, she couldn’t help but congratulate herself again. Every part of this, from the Temple to the artwork to tonight’s silly promotion had been her idea. She had put it all together from scratch. As she got into bed she wondered if this was how the gods felt.

There were incidents of course. One morning they found that someone had spray painted ‘ONLY SKIN DEEP’ across the front doors. They quickly had it removed but not before some pictures were taken. One of them ended up on the cover of the tabloids.

Lydia laughed the entire thing off. It was an obvious comment and she was surprised that it hadn’t happened earlier. When she was interviewed by the media, she simply said that the vandal didn’t really understand what they were trying to do.

She said that they weren’t trying to promote ‘beauty’ as the best of all things. The Temple was there merely as a means to celebrate it. Recognizing one virtue didn’t mean you were condemning all the others, did it?

This led pundits and talking heads from all over the city to speculate on the role that ‘beauty’ should play in everyday life. When the New York media starts talking about something, it’s only a matter of time before it becomes a national conversation.

Lydia couldn’t have been happier. They were talking about her Temple, after all. Controversy had a way of selling tickets. She could picture people from all over the country reading about this and deciding to visit the place and see for themselves. If she could only keep it going somehow, it would mean even more publicity.

Then the idea struck. She could sponsor a contest. She’d have people from all over write in to the Temple, explaining why ‘beauty’ is important! Each entry would be judged and they’d select some winners. They could host an award ceremony right there in theater. It was a perfect idea.

Ideas came in from all over the world. They were almost all around the theme of enriching life. There were a few that took a more cynical approach and suggested that beauty was just a way to keep the powerful in hand. A few men wrote that it was there for their own personal satisfaction.

Lydia had her staff read through the entries and winnow them down so that they could select a winner. She also got together with her marketing people so that they could figure out what regions to take winners from. It was decided that at least one should be from Europe, preferably from France. They should also pick a West Coaster and probably one from a child that lived right in New York.

It was easy enough to find the winners. A man in France suggested that beauty inspired his life and he didn’t know what he’d do without it. A lady from Oregon had written a poem about the beautiful things she saw outside of her window and how it was a gift from God. A little girl from Brooklyn wrote about how beautiful her mother was. All sure fire winners.

Lydia sat back at her desk and reflected on how much good publicity they’d end up with when this was done. All because some wacko decided to try and ruin everyone else’s fun by spray painting something on her Temple. She hoped that somewhere they appreciated the irony. Too bad she’d never know.

There were so many details to figure out. Who should host the ceremony? When should they schedule it? Should this be an annual thing? They’d have to wait until the numbers got back to them, but she liked the idea.

Maybe they could invite some of the young ladies whose pictures they had featured. It shouldn’t be too tough to find a few that had ended up with positive life changes because of it. They could come in and say a few words into a microphone. She liked this idea too.

Well, the first thing they needed to do was to find a spot on the calendar. Once that was done they could arrange the rest. It was important to get everything in the correct slot after all. Then the rest became easy.

There were a few users that really did come to the place on an almost daily basis. As she recognized them, she began to study them relentlessly. Most of them liked the sculpture but what really drew them in were the paintings. There was a small dedicated group that would show up late on weeknights, when the galleries were less crowded. Most of these would set up sketching pads and try and reproduce what they were looking at.

There was one that Lydia had trouble categorizing. This patron was a lady, probably in her 40’s. It looked life had treated her roughly.

Lydia had picked her out early because she stood out. Her jacket was out of date and on the cheap side. She didn’t match up to the standards that the other patrons set as far as fashionable style. Lydia didn’t know her name, but had mentally given her a title so she could better keep track of her. She thought of her as the Bag Lady.

Maybe that was too harsh. Probably it was, but she kept it to herself. There was no way she could be hurt by it, so what was the harm?

The Bag Lady visited almost every day. She’d come in the early evening and look around to judge the crowd. If the people allowed, the first place she’d visit was the contemporary wing. She’d look at the pictures of the models and the amateurs with a curious longing on her face.

Lydia wanted to know her story but couldn’t think of any way to really find out. Well, she could hire a detective or something if it came to that. She decided she didn’t want to know badly enough to do that. The idea of simply walking up and talking never occurred to her.

Why did she come and stare at the young women like that? Was she jealous? The Bag Lady’s looks weren’t anything spectacular. In most places people wouldn’t give her a second glance. Here in the Temple of Beauty, she seemed almost repulsive. It very well could be jealousy.

Another idea occurred to Lydia. This one was far more romantic at least. What if she’d lost a daughter years ago and was hoping to find her picture here! Wouldn’t that be something. Lydia could almost put together the breathless news stories already.

Or maybe it was more frightening story. What if the Bag Lady had once been a model herself and she was somehow hoping that an old picture of her would show up and be immortalized. Lydia looked more closely at her face. Even if she smoothed out the violence that age had brought, that story didn’t fit. It must be something else.

Sometimes Lydia thought this was a silly game to play but it didn’t stop her. She was busy, very busy and if it took something harmless like this to keep her sane then so be it. Besides, didn’t everyone look at strangers and wonder what their story was?

There were others that caught her attention. One was the Poet. He’d show up every Sunday night. Each week he’d pick out a different piece of art and stand in front of it. Then he’d turn and get everyone’s attention and read a poem, most likely of his own writing. The patrons would sometimes applaud and other times look embarrassed.

Lydia had discussions with the rest of the Temple staff, trying to decide what they should do about him. The consensus was to leave him alone. Every place needed color and he helped provide it for them. Besides, Sunday was a slow night and he didn’t bother many people.

There was also the Fox. This one worried Lydia. He was an older man, dressed all in black. He looked at the art as most of the patrons did but there was something about him that spooked her. He seemed to be casing the place, looking for weaknesses. She fully expected to find out that he’d stolen something from them.

She even called together her security team and had someone sent over from her insurance people. They took a long look at him but found nothing they could act on. In the end, they decided that whenever he entered, a special signal would go to the front desk. He’d be watched the entire time he was there. That was really the best they could do unless he gave them cause.

Who came to the Temple? Lydia obsessed over this. She decided early on that she would sell passes to see it. There would be daily passes that could be purchased at the door. Others would be bundled in with regular museum passes that were city wide.

The most important for her were the season passes. These were good for a year and Lydia thought they would represent the repeat visitor. Maybe even the chronic ones. She had rigged a way so that they system would give her a light whenever one of these passes was used to enter.

For years Lydia had wondered who was interested in her products. She would linger in magazine stores to see who bought the her issues. She had promoted survey after survey to see who her readers were. When the internet became a factor she had worked on different ways of tracking her readership. It was something of an obsession for her.

The signals from the season passes were part of the same story. For the first time in her career, she had made something that people could enter in the flesh. She could just sit back and watch them.

The casual visitor didn’t interest her very much. Lydia was glad for their money and their time but it wasn’t difficult to see what made them tick. The Temple had been heavily advertised. It was featured prominently on entertainment news shows. The building was on the cover of several magazines, even some that she didn’t own.

She had campaigned heavily with the tourism boards of New York City to have them promote this gem. This caused them to put it into their commercials right between the Statue of Liberty and Washington Square. It became a regular stop for sight seeing busses.

In the end, she had even bribed the mayor to talk it up. This didn’t sit easily with Lydia. Well, the girl had been fascinated with him for years. It wouldn’t hurt her career either. Even if it became public knowledge, affairs like that only seemed to hurt the politician.

It was the people who visited more often that she was fascinated with. The art was good but was it really twice a month good? Should even the features that changed regularly, like the photos, bring someone back on a regular basis? Of course Lydia hoped they would but her long time obsession with the customer made her doubt it. The chronic visitor might hold the key.

There was an added element for her too. The people that came back again and again, what did they look at? Was it the paintings or the sculpture? Were there certain spots that they liked to stop at or was it different for each person. If Lydia could craft the art to just the right specification, could she get more people to come back time and again?

Or maybe that was the wrong approach. Were there pieces they should be spotlighting? She enjoyed her walk through the sculpture every day. What if they promoted that exact behavior? Could they get more New Yorkers to come in and try it for themselves? Her dream plan was one where a huge number of locals thought of her Temple as a necessary daily stop.

They sold a large amount of season passes. Most of them would only be used a couple of times. Another large number would be passed around to others. Lydia understood this and didn’t really begrudge the buyers. It screwed up her data but she really couldn’t help it.

Lydia

There was a time each morning where the sunlight would hit one of the crystal tips on the roof and then glow through to the building across the street. The refracted light would shimmer ever so slowly. It looked like a spell of some sort had been cast, adding a bit of magic to the city.

Lydia was always happy to be near a window each morning when that happened. It was an unexpected highlight of the day. It made her feel proud. She'd wanted to add some beauty to the city and this was one more small way that she had succeeded.

Of course something small like a little light show was completely overshadowed by the much larger things. The galleries were the best example. She had employed designers and art historians to go out and find just the right items for her. The weren't looking for the most famous or the most technically rendered pieces. Their only instruction

was to find the most beautiful.

They had been wildly successful. Each section of the galleries was nothing short of gorgeous. Lydia loved to watch the patrons move from piece to piece. Their reactions were obvious. They all loved what she had done.

Well, most of them. There was a vocal minority that considered anything beautiful to be too bourgeois. They panned her efforts.

Oh well, it couldn't be helped. There would always be people who were jealous of beauty. It only made sense that so many of these people would get jobs tearing down others creativity. As the saying goes, 'if you can't do, make it hard for those who can'.

At least their criticism wasn’t keeping the crowds away. She had a small office above the main floor. It was disguised so that no one down there could see it for what it was. She wanted to be able to see people wander through. Some part of her got an extra kick out of the fact that she was watching them from a secret spot.

She looked down at the wing that housed paintings. There was a crowd of people, jammed in there looking at each piece. Many of them had guide books or ear plugs for the self guided tour.

Down the other wing was the sculpture. They had found various examples of nude men and women through the ages for this. You could walk down one side of it and see 2500 years of body appreciation. She liked the effect and often started her day with this little treat.

The third wing was for contemporary beauty. They had pictures of models that were rotated out on a weekly basis. Women fought for a chance to be showcased there.

They also had a popular place where patrons could submit their own photos. Each week a new one would be chosen and blown up for display. It was widely believed that this was a sure path to stardom. This competition was also fierce.

Lydia had wanted a small amphitheater where TV shows could be filmed on remote. The designers had tried to steer her away from this, telling her that it would be tacky and take away from the classical feel that she was trying for. Her mind was filled with images of celebrity talk show hosts fighting for the space.

She had to have it. In the end, they compromised by making it into a replica of ancient Greek theater space. It would be live beauty, right? The attention that would bring couldn’t be overestimated. People would come from all over the world to walk in the same footsteps as a super model.

Not that there hadn’t been problems along the way. The first live broadcasts had run into technical trouble. There were always bugs to shake out of any system and most people understood that. Everything was fixed as quickly as it could be.

That wasn’t good enough for this particular host though. She demanded to see Lydia and then tore into her for what she called ‘shoddy workmanship’. Lydia remained calm and waited for the super model to wind down. When she did, Lydia simply requested a copy of the contract. It was brought to her. She scanned through it, found a section on penalties due and then ripped it up.

Then she had words of her own. “This is a temple dedicated to Beauty. Your ugliness has sullied it. I want you and your production crew out of here immediately.” Then she turned to leave.

“You can’t do this to me! Do you know who I am?”

She turned back. “Oh yes. I know who you were and I know who you are now. Furthermore, I know who you’re going to be. Nothing. You’re finished in this town.”

And she was. Lydia made certain that her frame of the argument got out. The host was made to look like the spoiled brat that she was. Others were encouraged to come out and share their stories. Each one made her look worse and worse.

Lydia used her connections within the fashion journals to increase the black eye. Every bad picture of the model, somehow found it’s way to daylight. The police were tipped off about every loud party, especially when she was drunk. Her reputation nosedived.

Six months later the plug was pulled on her talk show. It had all started going badly when she bad mouthed the Temple. Lydia made certain that this story circulated in the proper circles.

In the end, no one believed the part about the cat. James hadn’t really expected that they would. He guessed that it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t change his mind. He’d been thought crazy before and it hadn’t hurt him.

The survey crew had been missed after they were overdue by a couple of hours. No one up top had heard the collapse. Once they found the rock fall, help had been called for.

The rocks were removed carefully but with haste. Extra supports were brought in to keep more of the ceiling from collapsing. They found the other two survey members under the debris, dead.

Ms Gao was still unconscious when they found her. She was badly beat up by the rocks but there was nothing seriously wrong with her. A few days in the hospital and she should be fine.

John’s leg had been badly broken. Fixing it required several pins. He’d always walk with a limp. James visited him in the hospital and promised him that he’d be doing some convalescing in the Canary islands if he wanted.

James went back and searched for the cat but never found a trace. Maybe he had just imagined the entire thing. That’s what people told him but he never quite believed it. Yes, it was strange but it had really happened.

It was because of this that he shelved the entire project. He just couldn’t risk that somewhere in the digging that they wouldn’t harm the poor kitty. That would be the most ungrateful action possible and he wouldn’t chance it. Even thirty million dollars wasn’t worth it.

Instead he created a small shrine in the small cave space that the cat had shown him. Once he had real lighting in there he could see that the walls really did seem to be stripped somehow. The experts dismissed it as a curious trick of the rock formations but he didn’t really believe that.

Small numbers of people came to see the place. His story had leaked out and they wanted to judge for themselves. Some brought stuffed animal cats and left them as a tribute. These were the people that desperately want to believe in something larger than the truth. James had never counted himself amongst them but now he understood.

Every once in a while he’d go down there by himself after the place was closed to the public. He’d turn off the lights and click to the darkness. He’d tell the empty spaces that there were more chin scratches if it wanted them.

Maybe someday he’d be taken up on that offer. He dearly hoped so.

It was a small brrrt noise. Not loud and not particularly aggressive. In fact, if it made any sense he’d think it was a cat.

Of course it didn’t make any sense at all. He was trapped hundreds of feet underground in an old abandoned mine. There were no cats down here. It was only the three of them. And hopefully a crew of rescuers. Mustn’t forget about them.

Brrrt.

There it was again and this time he was sure he didn’t imagine it. He really and truly did hear it. Whatever made the noise was real. And it really did sound like a cat.

Well, it wasn’t…impossible. Maybe some stray cat wandered down here sometime in the past years. It could try and find mice or other vermin. Maybe it could live quite comfortably.

Except that they hadn’t found any sign of mice. And there was no water. Ok, maybe it wasn’t such a great theory. Still, what else could he have heard?

Louder this time, brrrt. This time he gave in and clicked his tongue in that universal cat call. Brrrt. He’d been answered. James took a step forward and clicked again.

And then he noticed something. There was a bubble of light up ahead. Kind of orange in tone. Maybe there was another way out! He started moving forward, trying to be quiet, all the while listening for the cat.

Then he saw it. It was an ordinary orange tabby cat. If you saw it in a window you wouldn’t give it a second glance. There was only one thing different about it. It was glowing.

It looked like there was a light bulb inside of it. That’s what James thought. It was like a cross between a lamp shade and a cat. The mine walls were lit up around it.

James looked at the walls on either side of it. Still smooth and he couldn’t see a way out behind it. Then it spoke again. Brrrt. And it did that little back arch that cats do when they want to be petted.

He was a cat person and he knew how to read the signs. He got into a catcher’s crouch and stuck out a finger to be inspected. The cat moved cautiously forward and stretched out it’s neck so it could safely sniff. Once the protocol was satisfied it came closer and rubbed up against him.

“How are you doing that?”, James couldn’t help but ask. He was finally able to take a closer look. The cat looked perfectly normal from head to shoulder and then it was undoubtedly glowing. For a second he wondered if he hadn’t take a blow to the head after all. He was surely seeing things.

But he must be feeling things, too. The cat was very soft and extremely affectionate. As soon as he started to pet, it began to purr. The light seemed to dim and grow brighter in sync with the purring. He didn’t know how it worked but somehow, it really did.

What now? The cat seemed content to just stand there and be petted. This wasn’t a bad way to spend time but James needed to do something constructive. He could pet this strange cat for hours and they’d still be trapped. Should he keep going forward and look for a way out? Maybe he could carry the cat. At least he didn’t need to worry about the flashlight batteries anymore.

“Will you show me a way out? Will you help me in return for some chin scratching?” That seemed a fair bargain and one of the only things he could really offer right now.

The cat looked up at him and gazed into his eyes. Rrrow?

“Sure.” And James started scratching. The cat began to press more firmly against his hand. The purring got louder and the cat glowed brighter. After a few minutes, the cat looked at him again and started walking away.

James followed. He didn’t have much choice. This seemed like a better option than stumbling back to the cave in. Who knows, maybe the cat really did know of some way out. Wouldn’t that be something?

They started moving down through the mine. This had already moved beyond the realm of implausible and into the realm of hallucination. No one would ever believe that any of this ever happened. He was there walking behind the impossible cat and he didn’t believe it.

They made their way deeper and deeper into the mine. James walked about twenty feet behind the cat. He was afraid that if he was any closer he’d distract it. They sometimes have a maddening habit of trying to walk between your feet and he also wanted to avoid that.

The cat stopped and looked back at him. James stopped also and looked back. Then he raised his chin to look at the walls around him. It looked much like the rest did. He looked back down and the cat was walking towards the side. Then it disappeared.

Not entirely as it was still glowing. There must be an opening there! James quickly moved forward and got down to look. There was a hole, maybe two feet wide. It was tough to tell how deep it was but the cat had already moved through it and seemed to be in a larger chamber.

He got down on his hands and knees and followed after. The opening was a little tight but he found he could still move his arms and legs. James made a quick study of the rest of the small tunnel. The worst possible thing that could happen would be if he got stuck in there somehow. And that would be pretty bad. It seemed big enough. The glow started fading and that settled the issue for him. He quickly crawled through.

It couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen feet. When his head emerged he noticed he was in a much larger space. The cat was sitting about thirty feet away, near the middle of the room, facing him. James quickly wriggled out and had a look around him.

The ceiling was very high. It was tough to tell how far up it went in the uncertain lighting. The walls were…stripped? He couldn’t tell if they really were or if the cats fur was somehow shading them.

He moved towards his feline friend. The cat let him approach and give out more chin scratching. More purring and again the light brightened. He started to look around but decided that he should keep his attention on the cat.

After a short time, he was given another brrrt. Then his companion moved forward again to the far wall. Yet another small tunnel. This time James didn’t want to chance getting left behind so he followed closely behind. When he emerged they seemed to be back in the mine.

The cat turned and started walking. James followed. At this point, what else could he do?

After a short while he thought he heard voices up ahead. The cat stopped and looked at him. James gave the cat more scratches and listened. Yes, that really did sound like voices. He took a step towards them.

And then the cat moved back the other way. James was torn. Should he follow his little savior or should he go for help? The answer was obvious but painful.

“Thank you, little guy. I’ll look for you again, ok.”

Brrrt. And with that the cat ran off. After a few seconds the light stopped as if a switch had been thrown.

James turned on his flashlight and moved towards the voices. In a moment he was back in the main tunnel. Off to his side there was a crew of men, moving with obvious tension and purpose.

He called to them. It was his rescue party. They were saved.