Posted by PK on January 21, 2002 at 17:32:56:
Prairie oysters. And something about the name. Julian. Julian Bashir, genius doctor? Julian
May, writer. Felice Landry, that was it. Mad Felice. He hadn't made the association before.
The Raven, the Morrigan, what was that in Irish? Mor Rhian? Weren't there a couple of silent
'g's in there somewhere? Bugger Gaelic. Must have a book on it somewhere.
Sunglasses, Eric thought. I'm going to need them. A turn around the lake might help help.
Felice was wearing them too when he arrived. Not from need, it seemed. She looked fresh as
a daisy. Day's eye. Deadlier than Dandelion. All in white and gold, she seemed. Luminous.
"Hi," he said brilliantly. Nothing else, nothing dark, the time was out of joint. Outdoor tables at
the cafeteria, how disgustingly French. Julian (Eric! hey, I'm Eric) sat down (Not now!) and
strove to match her nonchalance. Her savoir fair. Fair? In American, tried to look cool.
Bicameral, bilingual, polyglot, I. Tell me, what IS that in Canadian? TOO fucking bright.
"What's good?"
Felice frowned. What's good? Brightened again. "I hear the lobster thermidor can't be
matched," she stated in the clipped, frigid 'British' accent that only North Americans can
manage.
Eric was nonplussed. Surplusssed? Surplus. Surplice? Surprise. Felice relented. "Well, I'm
sure it would be if they had any. Fancy a spam fritter?" This last in a genuine English accent.
Eric cracked up and the ice with it broke. (damn, parsing in german, nearly)
The conversation veered dangerously close around some of the rocks. Was he supposed to
smile when she explained that the pre-eminence of lobster thermidor as a culinary paradigm
was due to the fact that it smelled of cunt?
"It's like eating pussy," she explained.
"Oh. Right." Sourpuss? backtrack flashback
"Come on, you know you want to."
"What?" Eric had ordered the spam fritters in defiance. Or denial.
Eat the fritters, Eric the Red Faced told himself grimly.
"Pussy you can really eat. Think about it."
And then she had gone, Eric reflected some time later. After lunch he had crawled back into
his pit for an hour or two. Dreams. The scent of Felice departing. A small movement of her
legs as she stood up to go. She was wearing something flimsy in white and gold, he knew
there was nothing under it, and the slight movement sucked him into her centre...
Succubus? Suck you, boss? Serpent, sinner, Goddess, whore? What..
REM state collapsing: Jagged bottles jar stone solid stop. Vagina dentata. Dark out. Meet me
at the bar, she had said. Dark meat, dark meetings. Lamia, one spluttering neural net noted,
was 'gnored. Gnawned.
"It was an accident. Mostly."
"I didn't..."
"Ask, no."
It was mercifully dark. Eric said nothing. Felice smiled. Nice teeth. All day long....
"But you thought about it."
"About what?" Liar liar, pants on fire.
"Me eating Robert."
Not the honey pie, whew. But yes, he had not been thinking of a white hippopotamus.
"I did wonder," he said, "About that." Julian, please help with the jocular, offhand manner.
Only you. They burn...
"What did you wonder about?" said the spider to the fly.
"Oh, you know..."
What did he taste like? How did you kill him? What the fuck am I doing having this
conversation? She's mad and I'm in a folie a dur...oops..deux...because I fancy her
something rotten. Pardon my French. Oh fuck, I said French. Oh balls, I said fuck. Bugger it,
I never wanted to be a monk anyway..."What really happened between you and whatisname."
Ducks deluxe.
"Robert?"
"Him."
"Oh, I told you. I'm sure I did. I almost forgot. Look, don't tell anybody. Humans are SO
judgemental..."
Joke, right?