Posted by Cheryl on June 18, 2001 at 03:23:41:
Dream Weaver
by Verity Chastain
Verity typed a few more lines at the computer in front
of the chinese screen, very quickly, then sighed. She
didn't turn around to the figure standing by the
fireplace in the rather dimly lit living room.
"You know, if you hover I don't type any faster."
Her companion stalked a little further away, towards
the stereo where the Eagles played "Hotel California".
"Fine. You've been typing about a year and a half,
and I already wrote the story, how far along *are*
you?"
Verity laughed. "About halfway, pretty one...I'm not
trying to fuck up your really great writing, I'm just
trying to get the feel right and make sure the
relationships later work right."
The slim, tense girl didn't have to put an edge in her
voice to get her feelings across. It was amazing how
much energy she projected. "Great, I write the whole
damned plot *and* the first two pages but *you've* got
to fix the mood and the relationships and it takes
you all damned night."
"Chk chk" said Verity as she rose and moved to the
kitchen. "We don't *usually* talk that way, do we,
Cheryl?"
Cheryl laughed but it was not only rough as usual but
rather scary-sounding. Although it didn't seem to
scare Verity much, it seemed she was used to her
friend's moods. "Don't *push* it"...
Verity grinned and carried a few things from the
small,
dark kitchen into the little living room. There were
two skylights in the vaulted ceiling and both windows
were open. It was all Egyptiana and gothic touches;
papyri, an table shaped like a small coffin. A rushing
sound came from the rear window,
the one above the staircase. It was the hot tub.
Verity moved close to Cheryl."Darlin', you're asleep
and I'm lonely. I can't write anymore because your
reaction to your Angel's death and her body was too
good.
And I have to think...why would anyone kill Angel when
there are about twenty women at Sam's on any given
night you could kill with their enthusiastic
consent? Even in the alley those Usher people would
handle it. So somebody is trying to hurt Sam, trying
to hurt you, or has to have something forbidden. That
last seems unlikely...hell, if you asked Sam "Can I
have something forbidden" give him two minutes with a
phone and you'd have the Olsen Twins in merry widows
carrying damascus swords."
Cheryl shook her head and that *adorable* husky laugh
ran out. "Okay, so what? Are you writing with me or
not?"
Verity shed her velvet harem pants, leaving herself in
a t-shirt with a picture of Bela Lugosi's corpse and
black flowered underwear. "I'm writing with you
darlin'. But since as you may have noticed I'm
exhausted and you're already asleep, will you kindly
join me there for a bit? I have a bad Zinfandel and a
decent tequila, or some passionfruit icetea, your
choice."
Cheryl shook her head, realizing this house
felt...somehow insubstantial. It wasn't just that it
was very oddly built, too eccentric, with an
internal door made of glass covered with miniblinds
off the livingroom. The stairs headed *down* from the
livingroom and were almost circular but not quite,
designed to look like fake stone. Cold radiated
upwards from the lower floor and she could see
candlelight from there.
On the staircase were niches with religious objects,
an Erte bronze of the Lady of this City, statues of
Aztec Gods, an Egyptian stele that seemed to shimmer
with its own light, flutes, mirrors. It felt like a
dream, more and more all the time as she realized that
there were creatures here and not here, walking
through the walls, reading books as if they were
human, sleeping floating above the furniture. In any
case, she decided to let herself dream with her
friend.
She sighed. "All right, I'll play along, tequila
beats bad Zinfandel, gimme the glass."
Verity marvelled at how Cheryl shed her clothes. It
was lithe, slippery, and her foot didn't get stuck in
anything. It was rather like watching an amphibian
slip from a pool. She wished she could do that. But
then she wished she *looked* like that.
"Let me?" Verity reached for Cheryl's hair and Cheryl
didn't move...Verity tied up the liquid silk with a
piece of black velvet cloth to keep it from the water,
then shed her own shirt and panties and opened the
back door.
Verity left the light off, so through the bamboo,
walnut and maguey above they could see the stars. The
tub wasn't too hot, which was good, since the night
was quite warm. Everything smelled faintly of
chlorine but strongly of eucalyptus, rosemary and
night-blooming jasmine. The girls took their drinks
and slid into the water. It felt like silk on their
skins.
They sighed in unison, the contralto and the alto
velvet forming a lovely chord. They sank into the
water and each took a drink. Cheryl realized she
could
hear an owl, the traditional "Who?Who?"...and then
suddenly the very high-pitched "yipyipawoo!" of
coyotes very nearby indeed. She relaxed utterly and
slipped more deeply into the pool.
Verity smiled and poured a bit more tequila.
"See? Even asleep you're a good collaborator..."
Verity's voice faded as Cheryl's sleep deepened. She
knew somehow that tomorrow late she'd find Verity had
edited, and then written, the parts of the story
she wanted. But for now she was warm, the smell in
her nostrils was herbal and sensual, and the water,
combining with the occasional brushing against
Verity's skin, had left her relaxed. Verity sighed as
her companion left and Cheryl succumbed into a deeper
sleep than she'd had in a long time.
There was always time. Too bad there was so often
distance.
_____