8: Waking Revelation
“He’s hot, that’s all that matters,” Audra said, smoothing hummus over a piece of bib lettuce.
Around them, Amir’s Raw Food restaurant buzzed with conversation. The place smelled of Nag Champa and exotic hand-milled soaps made with goat milk. Shelves lined the walls, full of everything a person might need to turn their life around with an all-raw diet—sprouting kits, Vita-mixes, and dehydrators that cost a thousand dollars. Behind the drink bar a college-age guy mixed up exotic beverages, his dirty-blond hair in dreads and covered with a burnt orange scarf. Kate overheard the customer standing on the other side of the bar order a goji berry, cacao smoothie.
Kate rolled her eyes at Audra’s assessment of Ty’s appearance. “Well, no it’s not, but if all I want is a hunk of meat, I guess you’re right.”
Audra stopped eating and glared at Kate like she should have known Audra was employing hyperbole. “Don’t use that word in here, Kate.”
“What word? Hunk? Meat?” Kate’s plate was dotted with a constellation of the remaining bits of the walnut and sunflower seed mixture that had been the filling of the raw taco. She watched as Audra finished off the macadamia nut hummus. Beyond Audra and the drink bar, Kate saw the afternoon darken through the glass front of the restaurant as storm clouds gathered outside.
“Duh. Meat. But anyway, you knew what I meant. If you want to get over these dreams, you need to get some action in the sack. Are you still having them?”
Kate nodded sheepishly. “They’re more frequent now, in fact.”
Before Audra could pronounce any further judgments, Amir appeared beside their table, asking how their meal had been and if they needed anything else. Both girls gushed and told him they loved it. In fact, Kate was still hungry, not that she’d tell Amir as much.
Amir clapped his hands. “Let me know if you need anything else. We’d be happy to put another entree together—crisp lettuces, organic tomatoes, delectable sauces, and of course, love,” he said, gesticulating with his hands and flashing them his trademark bewitching smile.
“I’m completely sated, but thank you,” Kate said.
“Same here, Amir. But you know we’d order the entire menu if we could afford it,” Audra confessed.
“Oh stop! I love you girls. Thanks so much for coming in, ladies,” he said, picking up Kate’s empty plate and walking away briskly, pausing briefly at another table to check on them.
“More frequent?” Audra asked, returning to their conversation, her eyes focusing on Kate like a hawk sighting its prey. The dark-haired girl continued to munch on a hummus-covered piece of lettuce, her head cocked to a sympathetic angle.
“Yep,” Kate admitted, twirling a strand of hair around a finger as she fought to suppress a blush.
“Well, can’t say that I’m too sorry, I mean, why complain about that? I’m a bit jealous to be honest.”
“It’s driving me crazy. I don’t know who he is once I wake up, but in the dream, we know each other. Oh, and the dragonfly showed up again recently.”
“Really? The dragonfly? Oooh,” Audra said, jokingly. “No, but seriously, that’s weird. You know, Kate, maybe you need to seek professional help.”
“I’m surprised to hear that from you—you have such a high opinion of your qualifications. I thought you were my professional.”
“Well, I am, but me aside, maybe some medication might help?”
Kate grinned. “Huh, I didn’t know they made an anti-sex dream pill, but can’t say I’m shocked. There’s a pill for everything these days.”
“Yeah, really.” Audra pushed her plate aside, wiped her hands on her paper napkin, and leaned her elbows on the scratched, wooden table. “So what are you going to do?”
“What can I do? Not sleep?”
“Are you that desperate yet?”
Kate shrugged and leaned back in her chair. “Getting there. It’s just aggravating to have these vivid dreams with the same guy over and over and not know his name.” She sat forward suddenly and rubbed her thumb and forefinger together as though she held something tiny between them, like an eyelash or the wing of a moth. “I feel like the thing that separates the dreams from my reality is so thin. And it’s like I’m about to have a breakthrough, any minute now. Maybe I’ll turn a corner on the street and he’ll be standing there. Or I’ll realize this,” she drew a circle in the air in front of her, “is the dream. And he’s the reality. Anyway, it’s beginning to really suck. I always wake up and miss him.” She plunked back into her chair, blew her lips out, and shook her head.
“Awww, sweet doll. That breaks my heart a little,” Audra said, patting her chest tenderly.
“Shut up,” Kate laughed.
“I mean it. And by the way, I’m not a dream. You wish. Sorry! But this is your cold, hard reality. Me, sitting here, spending all my disposable income on expensive raw food and getting you to do the same, because I’m so persuasive.” Audra nudged Kate’s foot with her clunky blue skateboard shoe.
“What was that for?” Kate blinked, startled.
Audra smirked. “Hey, look on the bright side, doll—maybe if you get involved with Ty, like I prescribed the other day, maybe that would cure you.”
“I’ve wondered the same thing. But it’s not like I can rush into that. I’m not that forward.” Kate cringed at the thought of throwing herself at Ty just to cure the dreams with her mystery lover.
“So just how often are you having them now?”
“Almost every night.”
Audra let out a low whistle that was more of a raspberry. “I can’t whistle very good. That was supposed to be a whistle. My official prognosis: I think you’re sick, like ill, sweetheart. Something’s wrong. Maybe it’s like that girl who’s been in a constant state of orgasm for years from an accident, you know what I’m talking about? Maybe you’re the dream equivalent. A neuron is firing every night that influences you to have these dreams. Maybe?”
“Perhaps. There are worse problems, I guess,” Kate said, without any conviction. The conversation was beginning to tire her. There were no answers. She’d hoped Audra would have some insight—but prescribing that Kate sleep with Ty was no help at all. That would never happen. And anyway, she wasn’t sure she was ready for a physical relationship with a guy she barely knew. A secretive guy, no less. Was that fair? She didn’t know. Everyone hid their true identity at first. It was just that it was so obvious with Ty, it made her hesitate.
“For sure,” Audra said, her own voice lacking enthusiasm. “I can easily name off six other conditions you wouldn’t want to have.”
“Don’t. It would just make me worry.” Kate watched through the glass windows at the front of the restaurant as a large group of people dressed in business attire convened outside and then came inside. A quick glance around and Kate knew it would help Amir out if they left now and gave up their table. Audra’s back was to the front of the restaurant, so she was still oblivious to the state of things.
“So did Ty set up another date with you?” Audra asked in a careful voice, like she’d been mulling over whether or not to bring it up.
Kate shook her head, “No. He didn’t, actually.”
“And?”
“And what?” Over Audra’s shoulder, Kate saw Amir scurry to greet the corporate-looking group. His arms were crossed over a stack of menus. He smiled ingratiatingly and then glanced over his shoulder, doing the math on how to seat the new group.
“Come on, don’t be coy. How do you feel about it?”
“Crappy,” Kate said, refocusing on her friend. She held out her hands to demonstrate her impotence. “But what am I going to do? Chase him down?”
Audra considered it, her chin tilted to one side. “Well, would that be so bad?”
“Yes, yes it would.”
“Ha. Well, talk to me about that in two weeks when you’re still having the dreams and not having sex with Ty.”
“You have such a way with words. I’m so glad we’re best
friends. Let’s go. Amir just struck gold and we’re taking up his table needlessly.” She stood up, pushing her ratty, upholstered chair out with the backs of her knees.
Audra turned in her chair, her face full of doubt, as though she suspected that Kate was merely trying to get out of the awkward conversation. When she saw that Kate wasn’t lying, she stood up too. “Babe, don’t reduce us to best friends. You’re my hetero-eternal companion or nothing.”
Kate laughed loudly. “Thank heavens.”
***
At work that night, Kate felt surly and irritated. The conversation with Audra and the reminder that Ty left their climbing date without setting up something else made her feel like she should write the whole affair off. The fluorescent lights buzzed and the air was sticky with the humidity of the unexpected late-spring storms that had been going since noon. In the corner devoted to used video games, the TV flashed soundlessly as some 1970s show played that had been exchanged earlier that month but had only just been priced and put out for sale.
Kate slouched behind the counter, her backside balancing against the low shelf that held the printer, only half paying attention to the pretentious conversation occurring between Ferg and a couple customers. Kate shook the price-gun and muttered under her breath. She couldn’t get the stamp to strike evenly on the price-tag sticker.
No, it’s fine. It’s fine, she thought, recognizing that her mind was somewhere else most of the time anyway and that wasn’t exactly fair for Ty. The guy in her dreams jumbled her thoughts up. The stupid, stupid dream guy.
Ferg was off at five but chose to stick around. Kate glanced in his direction, feeling a surge of pity for him. He stayed at the store when he didn’t have to because he had no other life. Or rather, his life was the store, which was why it was such a sad prospect for all of them that Darryl was planning to close it.
Starting around seven, the customer traffic slowed down. At least, people who came in to shop for music became rare, and what filled the rows of cellophane wrapped vinyl, worn cassettes, and used CDs was the ever cycling body of regulars. Tonight, Zach and Anthony came in at 7:30 and pretended to shop, though they were both there to see Ferg.
Kate sighed, longing for time alone to think, to maybe figure out a way to stop the dreams. She needed answers!
As she tried to tighten the swirl of price-gun tape, Kate absently listened as the lanky Anthony with his emo-black hair made the mistake of bringing up a new tattoo he was planning to get. Kate stopped what she was doing to stare.
“This again? We’ve been over this, Anthony. So you want to permanently mark yourself with an ugly tattoo, is that it?” Zach asked, running his fingers through his dark red hair and letting out a long-suffering sigh.
“What’s wrong with it?” Anthony asked, his jaw sticking out in a defensive angle.
Ferg butted in before Zach could answer. “Everything! You always get these stupid tattoos that only mean something right now. You think you’ll really be into 311 in ten years?” His voice was toned the way it got when he waxed philosophical. Kate rolled her eyes and looked back at the price-gun.
“Yes.” Anthony’s reply was as frank as his personality.
“If you are, you’ll be a total idiot, because I guarantee everyone else will think they suck. No woman, no job, nothing, all because of your lame 311 tattoo,” Ferg predicted.
“Exactly,” Zach pitched in, punching Ferg on the shoulder in a show of camaraderie. “I mean, I’m not saying 311 hasn’t had some good tunes . . . but they haven’t.” Zach laughed at his own joke, covering his mouth as though he were a shy little girl, and went back to his spot near the endcap on the L through R aisle. He relished being ironic all the way down to his gestures. Pantomiming everyone from the stereotypical high school girl to the egotistical college frat boy.
“So what, Zach, who do you think I should tattoo my back with?” Anthony asked, his brow furrowed in dismay.
“No one, man,” Ferg said. He stood with his arms draped on the top of one side of the wobbly metal detector by the entrance.
The tape Kate tried to tighten was now falling out of the pricing gun. White stickers were peeling off in droves and some were stuck to her fingers. She bit her lip. She was so close to throwing it down and stomping on it.
Ferg continued loudly. “If you want to get a tattoo—which I think is stupid, personally, because I think all body art is pure shit—you ought to get something that will last forever. Like your girlfriend’s name. That’s eternal. It will never die.”
All of them stopped what they were doing and stared at Ferg, including Luke at the back of the store, who craned to see Ferg around a life-size cardboard cutout of Johnny Cash.
“I was joking,” Ferg said. Everyone exhaled in unison, swearing and laughing.
“Dude, I was about to punch you if you were serious,” Zach said.
Luke walked up the A through K aisle, shaking his head. He paused at the end of the row. “You’re lucky you clarified that, Ferg. I was just about to Stooge-slap you.”
“Really? I’d love to see that,” Ferg said in a taunting voice. “You’d really break your pacifist vows just to hit me? What a shame!”
Kate rolled her eyes, frustration about the pricing gun mounting. The obnoxious conversation chewed at the fringes of her concentration.
Luke ignored Ferg and addressed Anthony. “Look, Anthony, I just want to tell you, the tattoo idea is stupid. But if you really have to get one, let me recommend a giant image of the Sublime sun from the 10-ounces cover.”
Kate looked up from the unwound strand of tape and saw Anthony studying Luke’s face. “Really?” the boy finally asked.
“Nah, I’m joking man. That would suck.” Luke laughed and shuffled back to the vinyl section he’d been organizing, clipboard in hand. Luke is joining in now? Kate thought in shock. She took a deep breath and counted to ten.
Anthony grimaced and flipped his dyed black hair off his forehead. “You guys suck.”
Kate dropped the price-gun to the floor and kicked it against the display cabinets. She put her hands on her hips and stared at Ferg, fuming. “Look guys, lay off, OK? Leave Anthony alone. If he wants to get a stupid tattoo, let him. He’s old enough to make decisions like that on his own. Even if it’s something he’ll regret when he’s sixty. Or forty. Or even the next day.”
“Thanks Kate,” Anthony said, lifting his chin. Finally, someone was on his side.
“Whew, what’s got your panties in a bunch?” Ferg asked, a smile covering his face.
“Don’t start with me, Ferg,” Kate said in a chilling tone, her eyes flashing. “And don’t ever, ever use that disgusting expression on me again or you’ll wake up one cold morning with no eyebrows.”
“Damn, Kate, if you want me to fix the price-gun for you, just say so,” he said holding his hands out in mock surrender. He left his post at the door and joined her behind the counter. He picked up the gun, ejected the rest of the sticker tape, fished a new roll out of the drawer beneath the printer and put it in. He slapped the gun against the wall, plastering a bunch of price tags over a poster of Dave Matthews to demonstrate that his work was good. “See? Works just fine. Next time get my help before you waste an entire roll of price tags like that,” he said, grinning.
Kate opened her mouth to cuss him out for letting her work on it for so long without help, but a familiar face on the TV screen over Ferg’s shoulder caught her gaze. She gaped, no sound leaving her throat. Ferg’s brow knitted together as he stared down at her.
“I know I’m amazing, but you don’t have to be such a brat about it. A simple, ‘You’re the man, Ferg,’ will do,” he said.
Kate managed to close her mouth and swallow. Hard. The man on the TV screen was him. The man from her dreams.
“Kate, seriously, what’s wrong?” Ferg asked. He spun to exchange glances with Zach and Anthony. Their eyebrows rose and they shrugged, looking as stumped as Ferg.
“I’m not that impressed, if that’s wha
t you’re getting at, Ferg,” Zach said.
“Me neither,” Anthony agreed.
“What show is this?” Kate pointed at the TV screen.
“Is that what’s got you speechless?” Ferg asked. He leaned on the counter. “Just a random cop show from the 70s. I bought it today from some guy with a huge Blu-ray collection. He was purging. This show is like pre-TJ Hooker and CHiPs. I thought it would be a good laugh. But it’s actually fairly decent. A thousand times better than CHiPs. Not that anyone even liked that stupid show.”
Kate couldn’t respond. She stared at the TV, watching the guy from her dreams strut around in a blue police uniform. His sapphire eyes tugged at her gut. His smile made a blonde Farrah Fawcett-type at a desk swoon and Kate recognized the feeling all too well.
“But—” she said, clearing the rasp out of her throat, “who—what’s the actor’s name? That guy. Who is he?”
Ferg’s gaze flicked up to the TV. He squinted. “Uh, I don’t know. Hang on.” He went around the counter to check the Blu-ray cover on the ‘Now Playing’ display. “Uh, looks like the utterly not-famous William Hawke. I’ve never heard of him.” Ferg stared at the case. “L.A. Bluefire. Oh wait, wait. I have heard of him. Yeah, my mom. She loved him. She loved this show, actually. I remember when he died, but only because she was oddly broken up about it. Weird.” He shook his head as he put the case back.
“Thanks,” Kate said, absently. She continued to stare, her heart thudding. She couldn’t pull her eyes away. She heard a clicking that echoed within her head like the sound of giant machinery locking together and beginning to spin. Everything is in place, she thought she heard. But it was so faint that it could have been something else entirely or her own overactive imagination making things up.
“What’s got into you, Kate? I’d say you were smitten, only you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Your face is like a Police song, all alabaster and such.” Ferg squinted at her. Zach and Anthony had melted away. Vaguely, Kate could hear them far away somewhere, razzing Luke. Sounds came to her as though from a distance. The banging of her heart against her ribcage echoed loudly in her head. Outside lightning flashed, startling her—the clap of thunder struck at the same moment as the flash.
A Boat Made of Bone (The Chthonic Saga) Page 10