Dreamer

by Dave Gordon

  “We can't talk. Go to the hotty hotel.” There was a click and the line went dead.

  She knew where the hotty hotel was. They both used it for their clandestine liaisons and cheap romances. It was several miles away. She turned to the bar patrons. They had mostly forgotten her and had returned to their rough conversations. She was desperate. She had to have a ride. Cab logs could be checked and it might take a dangerously long time for one to arrive. She worked up her nerve and walked to the crowd.

  “I require a ride. Would one of you gentlemen be willing to help me?”

  There were a few light chuckles from round the room.

  “What's the pay?” one of them asked from the deep shadows that infested every corner of the room.

  She opened up her purse. She never carried money, she had no need. She had accounts everywhere she shopped. She unearthed a crumpled twenty dollar bill.

  “Twenty dollars,” she said desperately hoping someone would accept it.

  “Oh, baby,” said a short man with a pot-marked face standing at the bar. “You are gunna’ have to do a lot better that that.”

  The room erupted into coarse laughter. She tried to keep a straight face but couldn't stop from trembling. The bill she held in her gloved hand shook like a leaf.

  “Hey I'll do it. I need twenty bucks,” a lanky young man said as he stepped forward. His greasy collar-length hair fell across his face in tattered spikes. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. He snatched the bill out of her hand and said, “Let's go.”

  Calls of “Yeah baby, let's go", and “I'll give you twenty bucks if you give me a ride,” flew through the room accompanied by laughter and cat calls. She hurried out of the room following the hunched figure in the tattered plaid workman's shirt. He rounded the corner of a dented and rusting sub compact. He said, “Get in.” The broken car seat tore at her hosiery.

  “Where the hell are your shoes?” the man said without looking at her.

  “In my boyfriend's house. His wife came home,” she lied.

  “Busted, huh.”

  “It happens.”

  “Happen a lot?”

  She regretted having started this line of conversation. “I need to go to the waterfront.”

  “Anyplace special?”

  “Anywhere near the wharf.”

  “What? Are you working it?”

  “No, I'm meeting my boyfriend.”

  The young man didn't say anything. She hoped that was enough to discourage him.

  He pulled over to the curb. “This is where you get out.”

  She was five blocks from the waterfront. She didn't want to argue the point so she opened the door and walked away without shutting it.

  “Bitch,” the man said as he slammed the door and sped away.

  When his car was out of sight she ducked for the shadows. The quality of the neighborhood improved as she neared the bay. She slowed when she got within a block of the Fountain Hotel, otherwise known as the hotty hotel. Fear and uncertainty held her back. The hotel might be watched, she went there several times a month. Maybe they knew about her dalliances. She searched for another phone and then remembered she had no money. Uncertainty and fear were dragging her down. She collapsed against a cold, brick wall and slid to the ground. Her past began to swirl around her head as she sat crumpled on the ground, eyes unfocused. Everything had been so normal just earlier this evening.

  Her husband had sat hunched over a pile of papers at his beautiful antique desk. His office was rich, subdued. It was the nicest room in the house. Sitting as he was, his prominent bald spot shone in the muted light of the brass desk lamp. He was not the same man she had married. He had developed a paunch, he drank too much, he yelled at her. She found she preferred the company of younger, better looking men. They were aplenty at the club houses and private gardens she frequented. If her husband knew about it, he didn't care. He was too busy to care about her. His voice rose as he shouted into the phone.

  “A stock margin call! What do you mean a call? On what?” he yelled. “Well, how much?” He looked worried. “What", he said through clenched teeth. “Jesus Christ, I can't make that. How long?” He stood up abruptly. “Okay, alright, give me a few hours. I can leverage the stock.” He paused. “I don't give a damn what the board thinks, just give me some time to come up with it.” He sat at his desk with his head in his hands. He jerked upright and shoved his chair back hard. He walked to the back of the room and searched a row of filing cabinets. He opened a filing cabinet and jerked out a folder. He scanned the papers and then gave her a chilling look.

  She felt uneasy. The look on his face was strange. It was impersonal, as if he were appraising her. The look made her angry. She was nothing but an object to him, a possession.

  “Maybe you should go out for awhile,” he said. “I've got an emergency to deal with. I need some privacy.”

  She thought it odd. He completely ignored her, how could she be distracting? She didn't want to be there anyway. She grabbed her purse and the waist coat with the gold brocade. He watched her leave the room. It was creepy. She was glad to leave.

  “Hey,” he said, running to catch up to her, “Where are you going?”

  The question took her aback. He never cared where she went. His question ruled out the hotty hotel, as she and her lascivious friends called their hideaway. “I don't know. Why?”

  He reddened. He started to yell, but then stopped himself. “Can't a man ask where his wife is going? I'm just curious.” The strain of keeping an even tone was belied by his red face and the prominent veins that had appeared on his forehead.

  It was a very strange. “I don't know, the club I suppose.”

  He knitted his brow in thought. “The club. Okay. Good deal.” He turned around without another word.

  He hurried back to his desk. He jerked the receiver off the desk telephone and began thumbing through his card file. He stopped to see if she was gone. “Bye, Bye, sweetheart,” he said, and he watched her until she walked out the door.

  She was glad to be free of him and his obnoxious behavior. He was bad enough when he ignored her. Tonight had been unbearable. She walked out the back door and found his behemoth Town Car blocking her plain little sedan. Her car was embarrassing, it was plain and pedestrian. She had wanted a sports car but he had said no. She decided she would take his car to the club, he wasn't going anywhere.

  The club was almost deserted. She went to the bar and ordered a gin martini. Soft music came from the speakers above her head. The bartender was not interested in conversation. She sat idly sipping at her drink. She ordered another and tried to enjoy herself in the abandoned bar. A stranger rushed into the lounge. He scanned the room quickly and took off his hat when he saw her. He smiled lightly and walked up to her.

  “Hello,” he said. “My name is Bill Jones, may I join you?”

  He was interesting enough for an off night. His face and hands were heavily creased, but his suit was immaculate and expensive. “Of course,” she said, “Please do. My name is Jackie Farnsworth.” She offered her hand.

  He gently took her hand and said, “Very nice to meet you.” He glanced at his very fine gold watch. “Oh, my,” he said in surprise. “I have to make a short phone call, please excuse me.” He walked out of the bar and returned a short time later.

  They chatted pleasantly for an hour. The man kept checking his watch. At precisely ten o'clock, he rose and excused himself saying that he had another commitment. She was sorry to see him go. He had been an engaging companion. She considered having another drink but decided to go home. She turned the big black sedan around in the parking lot and began the familiar drive back home. She was not thinking of anything in particular as the dark street rolled by. Two men stepped out into the road. She had to slam on the brakes to avoid running them down. They raised pistols and began firing at the windshield. She was horrified but the bullets didn't break the windshield. She remember in a flash that her paranoid husband had bullet-proof
ed the car. The bullets left angry scars on the bullet-proof windshield. One man rushed at her. She screamed and fumbled to get the car into reverse. She found reverse just as the man leveled the gun at her head through the side window. She turned the wheel as the tires screeched and the car lurched backwards. The man was knocked over. She put the car into drive and tried to run the other man down. He sidestepped the car and raised his gun as she passed. She heard the sharp sounds of bullets hitting the rear window as she sped away.

  She had no thought except to get home where she would be safe. She careened through the streets, squealing the tires and narrowly missing parked cars. She scraped the bottom of the car hard when she hit the driveway. She rounded the corner of the circular driveway and saw two black cars. The men leaning on the cars threw down their cigarettes and jumped into their cars as she approached. The situation was unreal. She couldn't react. One of the cars rammed the front of her car hard. She was badly shaken but not injured. The steel reinforcing had stopped the other car from causing damage. She wheeled drunkenly down the driveway and crashed into the front of another black car speeding to cut her off. The impact crushed the front of the other car. She stomped the gas pedal to the floor and flew down the mountain not caring how many cars she hit. There were no cars behind her when she reached the outskirts of the business district. That is when she realized she had a flat tire. She decided to ditch the car and hide while there were no men in sight. The chase had brought her to the edge of the bay just around the corner from the hotty hotel.

  Now she sat against the brick wall looking like a mannequin that had been tossed out onto the street. Arms and legs askew, dress hiked up, she was numb from shock and fear. She began to rouse herself. The motel was just around the corner. She was just edging her way around the corner when she heard a woman screaming. The woman screamed “No, no, I don't know her. I don't know where she is.” The muffled sounds of a struggle could be heard. Then, “Yes, she's coming here, please stop. Please...” and then a booming gunshot. Her heart froze. She heard the sound of footsteps running in her direction. She bolted for the darkness that enveloped the street behind her.

  * * * *

  I am to buy a horse. Elves do not exchange currency and I have absolutely no experience with it. He has instructed me on how to proceed so now I am standing amidst a stable of thoroughly miserable horses. I would free them if I was able, but I am not.

  He wanted me to buy two horses, one for me to ride. I assured him I can easily out-distance any horse. He relented. I would not have ridden a horse without its permission anyway, and these horses are not so inclined.

  I am unsure as to what to do. A disagreeable human who smells quite bad approaches.

  “What do you want?” he growls.

  I would kill him where he stands if our situation was not so tenuous. I tell him I wish to procure a horse. I am to wait until he has shown me a horse and has stated a price. I am to say the horse offered is deficient and the price too high. I am to repeat these actions until he has offered something acceptable. It seems a bit much for a simple transaction, but the “master” assures me it is necessary.

  The stable master sizes me up, obviously trying to determine how much I know about horses. I know everything about horses, it is the procurement that is troubling. He walks to an animal that is in abject misery due to an infection in its right rear hoof.

  “I will sell you this beautiful mare for ten dal!” he says as if offering me a prized animal.

  I reply, “That animal will be dead in two weeks if you do not tend to her infected foot.”

  The man is taken aback. He regards me openly as he tries once again to size me up. He continues his assessment as he walks to another horse.

  “I can see you are a fine judge of horse flesh. Perhaps this fine filly is more to your liking?”

  “Perhaps. She has no defects aside from her age. What is your price?”

  He weighs the factors, the effort playing across his face. He is so transparent that he may as well speak what he is thinking. He decides to err on the high side.

  “Twelve dal.”

  “Eight.” I am already wearying of the game.

  “Eleven! She is the finest in the stable!”

  “Nine or I shall leave.” I would rather walk away than continue bantering with this objectionable man.

  “Ten. She is a fine bargain at that.” he says.

  I turn to leave hoping he will say nothing further.

  “Okay! Okay! Nine. You are taking the food from my children's mouths.”

  “With a saddle,” I remember.

  “With a saddle! I will not part with this horse and a saddle for nine dal!”

  The man is in real distress. I have wounded him where he is most vulnerable. It was not my intention to cause him distress. I must make amends, for even this base creature deserves fair treatment.

  “I apologize. It was my error in not stating at the onset that I required a saddle. Will you accept eleven dal for both.”

  The man brightens immediately.

  “Yes, and I thank you for your generous offer.” He is genuinely happy.

  I lead the horse to the inn after a happy conclusion to the transaction. I explain to the horse where we will be traveling and what her duties will be. She is relieved to be free of the stable and pleased to have a traveling companion who speaks horse. I hand her over to the stable boy who accepts her while attempting to get a glimpse of my face. I am successful in avoiding his gaze. I go to the rear of the inn and pass a group of four maids.

  “'Twas a bit of a tussle in your room last night,” says the older, heavier of the group.

  I do not want to arouse suspicion so I engage them in conversation. They seem to be merely curious with no thoughts of malice.

  “The master is a very passionate man,” I reply softly while keeping my head down.

  “Oh, my dear. You aren't the first servant to be so used.” The others in the group adopt sympathetic expressions and nod in agreement.

  “He is a good master and has treated me well.”

  “That's as much as can be hoped for, I'm afraid. I hope your luck continues if your fortunes should change.”

  I believe she is referring to pregnancy. Elves become pregnant when they want to. I do not yet understand all the issues surrounding human pregnancy. I am at a bit of a loss as to how to reply, so I opt for a simple, trite answer.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  They part to allow my passing. I mount the stairs and enter the room. He is pacing with a worried look.

  “Good! You're back. We must depart. Word of the killings last night is spreading.”

  We gather our things and descend to the main room. The house master is talking to a uniformed man.

  “It must have been a fell warrior to take them both. And each with an arrow in his eye. There will be no easy sleep until the mystery is solved, I say. Bad for business. Very bad indeed.”

  I approach the man with my face covered by my hood, and wait for him to take notice of me.

  “My master and I shall depart. What is the cost?” I think I should have said ‘price'.

  The house master is performing much the same calculation that the stable master did. This time, the man believes he has the advantage because of the presence of the uniformed man.

  “Five dal,” he says mater-of-factly.

  I look at my master. He has turned to face the inn master with one eye cocked.

  The inn master reddens.

  “You didn't stable any animals, did you? Please forgive my mistake four and a half dal.”

  I am given the coin and pay the house master with it.

  “Thank you, good sir! We look forward to your return.”

  I walk to the stable and retrieve our horse. My mate mounts the horse and we walk slowly out of the town without a second look.

  We follow the road until there are none to see us, and then make for the hills to the west. The arid Sawd plain gives way to rising hills l
ush with grass. We don't stop for two days. At last both he and the horse must rest. We camp along side a bubbling stream in a pleasant glade. The horse is not happy. She wasn't pleased about the two-day march. I assure her things would improve after this. She is understandably skeptical but reserves judgment.

  “What are you doing with that horse,” he asks.

  “Assuring her we do not usually march for days on end without rest. She requires healing due to her imprisonment in the stable.”

  “Imprisonment? Are you talking to it?”

  “Yes. Her name is not pronounceable in English, but you may call her Tolin. That was what her last human master called her before he was murdered. She was stolen and sold to the stable.”

  “You can talk to horses?” He is incredulous.

  “Talking to horses is easier than talking to you,” which is the truth. Humans can be most perplexing. “She would like to know where we are going.”

  “So would I,” he says in typical human fashion. If neither he nor the horse knew, then I would decide a course.

  “We are going to Anore, the hidden realm of the elves.”

  He is struck dumb. The horse is relieved.

  “We are going to the land of the elves?” It is clear he had not considered that choice.

  “We are fugitives. Our best course is to go where no human would ever find us.”

  “But,” he says as he struggles to form a question, “will they allow me to enter?”

  “Yes.” The better question is whether they will allow me to enter.

  “How long will we stay?”

  “Forever. Forever for you.”

  “Forever? We have to stay there forever? Why...” He cannot finish the thought.

  “Humans have entered the realm from time to time. Allowing them to leave would present an unacceptable risk. They are kept within the borders, and kept very well, I might add.”

  He cannot speak. He is as transparent as any man. I can see the emotions wash across his face. He is thinking about the cost of abandoning everything he knows and loves.

  “What exactly are you leaving behind?” I ask. He is too upset to consider that I have read his thoughts, an ability I keep hidden from him. It would make him uncomfortable.