If not, she reasoned, she'd just have an extravagant winter holiday in a place she'd never been. That would be easier for friends and family to swallow. If told the real reason for her impulsive trip, they would be surprised—if not completely amazed—by her spontaneity, although they were undoubtedly already speculating about the changes in her.
At work, both colleagues and clients noticed the shift in her demeanor. They often found her staring off into space, and her designs took on an entirely different style—airy and more ethereal. When confronted, she shrugged it off to some sort of seasonal malaise. Sharing the dream felt like a betrayal, for some reason she couldn't quite fathom. Once she admitted to herself that she really wanted it to come true, it became impossible to discuss with anyone lest she jinx it—like a birthday wish that wouldn't be granted if revealed.
Family and friends would be supportive once they had time to adjust to the idea, but that was time she just didn't have. Her parents would roll their eyes and scold her for being frivolous. Responsible adults simply did not drop everything and rush off to meet a strange man from a dream. He could be an ax murderer, they'd argue, if he existed at all. And so, from the start, she'd kept the dreams to herself. There was something mystical about them that would be cheapened if shared.
Five
The day passed more pleasantly than expected. After so many years living in a tourist destination he tended to forget why people visited. Now, coming home after spending the last few years away, he remembered things he never realized were forgotten: taco shops, Balboa Park in the afternoon, hearing multiple languages while walking the streets. Spanish had once been as familiar a sound as English to his ears. It was too bad the Chargers were out of town or maybe he would have taken in a game. The team thrived on the running game and defense now, not the Air Coryell of his youth, but he was sure he still would have enjoyed it. He missed the Sunday afternoon ritual of football and tailgating.
Instead, he returned to the hotel to watch the sunset from his window before heading down Prospect and up Girard to Warwick's Book Store. Grabbing a couple of things that looked interesting, he backtracked to The Spot for a Monte Cristo and Karl Strauss Red Trolley Ale. It had once been a favorite place when he worked out of an office in Sorrento Valley. The open windows to let in the ocean breeze and the people walking by in the fading light appealed to him, but tonight he felt more solitary. He asked for a table back in the corner by the bar and ordered without glancing at the menu. Normally he would have flirted with a waitress as pretty as this one, but tonight it felt inappropriate. He took a long pull on the beer and settled down to explore the world of Conscious Dreaming according to Robert Moss. When the deep fried sandwich arrived, he happily devoured it with its layers of cheese, ham, and turkey—going through extra raspberry jam as he did so. The jam seemed to trigger something, and for a second he felt light headed and hyper aware of his surroundings, but then pulled back into himself as the pretty blonde waitress returned to ask him about another beer. He declined with a smile, pulled out his MasterCard, handed it to her, and dipped his head back into the book.
That night, he walked along the beach for a couple miles, wondering at the way the sky was lit. The realization that the sun had gone down hours ago made him aware he was dreaming—consciously dreaming, like in the book. As he rounded the point and came upon the place where the state beach took over from the city one, he began to undo his buttons and loosen his shirt. He had long since pulled off the sandals to let his toes feel the warm sand as the sun dipped toward the horizon. He dropped the shirt off his shoulders with a shrug and set it down with his towel, then pulled off his khakis and boxers with a what-the-hell? shrug and decided to take a quick swim before the sun disappeared.
He headed back to the beach and let the sun dry him with only the slightest of help from the towel. Picking up his clothes, he walked towards a secluded spot at the base of the cliff where one would basically have to be walking the same path from water to cliff in order to see anyone against the rocks. It was as private a niche as could exist on a public beach. With the end of the trail coming down from the cliffs just to the north, there was more chance of being overheard than overseen. He took a moment to gaze back at water, imagining he could see the steam rising from the spot the sun kissed; hot curling wisps reminiscent of the coffee against the wide windows atThe Living Room.
He turned toward the cliff face, and there she was. The setting sun shining over his shoulder painted her in warm oranges and golds, and the very taste of her floated on the ocean breeze. She began to move faster, shedding garments as she approached, almost running across the warm sand, and he moved to meet her, take her in his arms, and thrust her back towards the little hideaway. He meant to throw her to the sand and ravish her, but was unwilling to take the time. Instead he took her ass in his hands and lifted her up as his tongue found hers. He growled a single word into her neck and attacked.
One of her legs came up to wrap around his waist, and her hips wiggled against his rapidly hardening cock. She urged him on with savage words, and he felt her heat against his tip. She slipped down as he thrust up and slid easily into her. She was burning inside, a wet fire that scared him with its implications of joyful pain. He buried himself inside her until he could go no further. For a moment they both stilled to savor the end to the mystery. Behind them the sun finally dipped to touch the horizon, and he lowered her to the sand…
And woke—with her image burned into his eyes and the raspberry taste of her on his lips. More than a dream this time, it was instead a tease or even a warning: beware, lest you risk everything for her. He remembered it, and even muttered it before lifting his pillow and fluffing it with his fists. He gave the stiffly tucked-in blankets of the hotel bed a yank to free them from the mattress so they would curl around his feet. Then, he slipped back into slumber and once more found himself walking that beach.
Six
Returning to the hotel after her sunset 'reconnaissance mission,' she plopped onto the bed, simultaneously hyped and exhausted. She was unprepared for the intensity of the pull as she stood at cliff's edge looking down onto the beach, and she'd actually taken a few steps along the trail before stopping herself. The moment the sun touched the water, she believed she could see him standing there—a solitary figure framed by the sun and facing the spot where the path met the beach. By the time the sun slipped fully into the sea, the magical moment passed. She returned to her car, shaken but even more confident that their meeting was indeed meant to be.
After a shower and brief nap, she ventured out to find a bite to eat. She considered asking the bellman for a recommendation, but decided instead to let the mystery guide her. She'd not walked far at all when a place called The Spot beckoned. In spite of the crowd, she was seated almost immediately at a small table near the bar, jumping ahead of the larger parties that were waiting. A perky blonde waitress delivered ice water with a wedge of lemon and flashed a wink before disappearing with her tray.
The dream had come again during her nap—something that had never happened before—and she marveled at its new clarity. Now that she knew the location, many other details also became clearer. His features, especially the piercing blue eyes, came into focus and were comfortingly familiar—like home. The dream sensations she was able to remember had always centered on smell, taste, and touch. Now, however, she believed she could identify him visually if they bumped into one another on the street.
For the first time, too, she was actually aware that she was dreaming. It was known as lucid dreaming, she knew from a recent Newsweek article, and there were many who longed to understand and achieve it, believing that it could be used for a variety of purposes. Proponents of lucid dreaming claimed that one's dreams could be directed. Sleep clinics existed to assist clients in directing their dreams in order to safely explore a situation, resolve a conflict, or simply experience a situation that was unattainable in waking life. She initially found the prospect rather desperate but, upon f
urther reading, came to appreciate its therapeutic potential.
She didn't try to direct her dream, as some attempted to do, but voraciously absorbed every new detail: feeling the breeze against her bare skin; hearing the sounds of their bodies slamming together with undeniable urgency; and soaring on waves of arousal so thick that she could taste them. They tasted of skin and sea and sweet raspberry sunsets. "Penny," the waitress interrupted her reverie. "Pardon?" "Penny for your thoughts." The blonde winked again. "You have the
most…well, let's just say 'interesting'expression on your face." She laughed, "Just remembering an incredible dream—one in which
I knew I was dreaming." "No kidding? What a coincidence! That red-haired gentleman over there…" She paused to look toward the corner. "Well, he was there just a minute ago. Anyway, he was reading a book about that."
"Is that so?" she replied as a familiar rush swept across her chest. "I used to believe in coincidences."
Seven
He had slept in. Very in. It had been many years since he slept past noon. Reminding himself that he was on vacation and that was whatsuch breaks were all about, he stretched the kinks out and let his mind drift. Last night's dream was markedly different, and it wasn't just due to the book he'd been reading. Part of it could be attributed to the awareness that he was dreaming—a recognition that took place while he was still immersed in the dream. He was almost certain that had never happened to him before. He also couldn't remember ever having a dream that he could recall with such clarity after waking. In fact, until the dreams about her started, he seldom remembered his dreams at all.
He experienced the same general "morning after" feeling that he had come to expect, but the part about something missing seemed blunted. He wondered if his proximity to the beach caused the shift. Until yesterday, he had still been fighting the pull: the idea that maybe it—and she—could be real. The incident in the coffee house made him to reevaluate that position. Perhaps there really was a reason for him to be here, now—a reason far more important than any idle delusion. He realized at that moment that his thinking had shifted from if to when. He really intended to go through with it. He would have to start earlier if he was going to walk over from the Shores. Although he had never actually been to Black's, he figured that under any other circumstances, he would just climb down the cliffs. But, last night in the dream, he very clearly walked over from the public beach and past Scripps. So, that would be his approach. After all, if he was going to follow a dream, he might as well follow all of it—down to the last remembered detail.
He knew that if any of his friends had told him they were going to do what he now planned to do, he would be merciless—calling him a fool, a hopeless romantic, and a dreamer. Why tilt at windmills when there were real battles to fight out there? But, every time he remembered her face shining in the setting sun, he lost his power to resist. No, he was going to make that long hike this evening. Then, perhaps, he would sit on the dark sand and watch the sun slip beneath the breakers calling himself all of those names. But, at least he would not regret not doing it. It was strange how things came back. He used to have that little Michael Jordan poster in his office three years ago: "You miss 100% of the shots you don't take." Well, he was going to take the shot this time. He headed down to the lobby to get started on his pre-game warm ups. "Hey, get my car for me?" "Absolutely! Black Mercedes, right? On my way, sir!" The valet rushed off. He'd like to think that the boy would have moved just as quickly if he was fetching the beat up Ford Ranger he drove back in Portland, and maybe—working in this eclectic little enclave—he would have. A local working as a valet at La Valencia probably learned quickly not to judge a book by its cover. Regardless, the kid was earning his tip, and generating a little good karma might be a wise way to start this day.
The teenager returned behind the wheel of the rented luxury car and hopped out, holding the door open. Slipping him the fifty, he asked the question that would help fix the next piece of the puzzle.
"They still have a Banana Republic at University Towne Center, kid?"
"I'm not sure, but I know they have one at Fashion Valley, sir. Need something a little more casual?"
"Yes. I have a very specific pair of cotton khaki shorts in mind actually. Have a great day now."
The valet looked at the bill in his hand and smiled. "I think I just might, sir! You, too!"
"You know what, kid? I will. Somehow, I just know it." He eased the Mercedes onto Prospect and let it purr its way into the afternoon traffic.
Eight
When she finally woke, it took her a few minutes to adjust to the sun's position in the sky. She had never been able to sleep past seven before, for her mind typically whirred to life before dawn each day— regardless of when she turned in the night before. The mysterious dreams only served to augment that mental activity. On the weekends, she'd often try to snag another hour or so, but if she did manage to doze, she'd wake with a sleep hangover—feeling less rested rather than more so. This morning, however, she felt wonderfully fresh and eager for evening to arrive. Her body hummed with anticipation.
Drifting trance-like through memories of her most recent dreams, she spent most the day just strolling along the beach, snapping photos, and even tossing Frisbee with a couple kids. The dreams had been more vivid and powerful than ever before, as the aftershocks frequently reminded her throughout the day. And yet, in spite of repeated release, she had never been hungrier for sex. The multiple orgasms she experienced in her sleep only served to whet her appetite for real physical contact: skin to skin.
As the afternoon waned, she started back toward La Valencia to bathe and prepare for the encounter. She pulled up to the valet station just as a sleek black Mercedes pulled away. Another valet, who looked as if he'd be more comfortable on a surfboard, greeted her as he opened her car door. As she stood, he turned to open the door to the lobby for her as well.
"I can carry your purchases for you, miss," the young valet commented as they both walked toward the hotel. "Thanks, but I've got energy to spare today." Tossing the keys in the air with one hand and catching them with the other, he winked at her. "It certainly is a beautiful day, isn't it? Something's just so very right about it."
"You can say that again," she agreed, entering the lobby as held the door,"and it's only gonna get better."
Smiling and waving at him, she turned and stopped short. She felt a familiar presence—just as she had the previous morning over her coffee and again, later, while having dinner at The Spot. Across the lobby, the doors of the elevator were just beginning to close. The lone man inside had his head down, looking at the bank of buttons. She could've easily darted across the lobby in time to stick her hand between the doors and stop them from closing, but something told her to wait. In the split second before the doors met, she noticed the Banana Republic shopping bag he carried.
As she moved toward the elevator to await its return, it dawned on her that she'd never regarded tonight's meeting as an isolated event, but instead viewed it as the beginning of something much more profound: the type of relationship she'd always feared and avoided to the point of backing away when anyone got too close. What's more, she knew that once they came together, they'd not be able—nor want—to part. The completion of their circuit would enable long dormant currents to flow through their lives. Any lingering skepticism about the veracity of the dream had evaporated the very moment she pinpointed the beach's location on the Internet. From that point on, she moved forward with confidence.
Once back in her room, she showered, standing in the hot spray for far longer than usual while musing about the evening ahead. There really weren't any decisions to make, since her attire was already etched into her memory: light, comfortable cottons, which could be easily shed. There was no pretense, either. This would be the ultimate 'come as you are' party, for the dreams told her that they'd be nude even before their first embrace. It seemed fitting, somehow, for them to begin that way: raw and natural, yet
as fiery as the setting sun that would embrace their union.
Her jaunt the previous evening had been like visiting a place both new and familiar: déjà vu to the nth degree. She knew every step of the way without thinking, without concentrating. It was beyond instinct. It was memory—dream memory—and it convinced her, beyond all doubt, that if she dared back away from this fire, she'd regret it for the rest of her life. The trick, of course, was to enjoy its heat without getting burned.
Although she was too keyed up to be hungry, she'd purchased some fresh fruit earlier in the day with the intent of taking it along. The hike would be rigorous and, of course, the anticipated aerobics on the beach would require a bit of energy as well. It wouldn't do to run out of steam, she grinned, climbing into the car and tossing the baggie full of raspberries onto the passenger seat.
The trek back to Torrey Pines went exactly as rehearsed, and she pulled into the Gliderport parking area just before six, half an hour before sunset. She exited the car and leaned against it for a few moments while a wave of vertigo passed. The airy feeling at the base of her throat made her want to bubble with maniacal laughter. I am absolutely crazy, she mused, and it feels fabulous! The boots felt heavy on her feet, and her clothing, although light and loose, chafed. Her whole being ached to be naked and to feel his hot skin against her own.
Nine
He couldn't remember why he thought it would be a good idea to walk the three miles from La Jolla Shores. He felt vaguely silly, but every time he decided he was an idiot and should just turn around and head back to have a nice dinner or call an old friend, he suddenly remembered her and knew he had to continue on. He just could not take the chance. If he was wrong, the walk would do him no harm, and he would still have plenty of time for a night out.
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