by Orton, D. L.
At last, she sets me down on something soft. Tremors wrack my body as gentle hands remove my wet clothes. A moment later, I’m covered with a warm blanket, and then I hear footsteps and more voices. I can’t understand everything they’re saying, but I keep hearing an apprehensive voice say, “vaccine” and “syringe.”
Someone lifts my head and presses a cool glass against my lips. “Here’s the water, Iz.” I try to say that I’ve been misunderstood, that I wanted to go to the water, but the cool liquid tastes so good that all I can do is swallow.
When the glass is taken away, there’s a jab in my arm, and I can no longer hold back the tears. Mary Poppins will think I’m a baby, but I can’t seem to stop crying. I force my eyes open, to show her that despite the tears, I’m not afraid of dying.
She takes my hand and places it against her cool cheek, and I realize that she is crying too.
“Christ, I hope it’s not too late.” Her voice is almost angry.
I try to smile. “I don’t mean to be rude, Miss Poppins, but you need to shave or people will think you’re a man.”
She laughs, deep and resonant, and then strokes my face. “I’ll remember that for next time, hun.”
I close my eyes, grateful for her tender touch, but wishing it were his lips I felt kissing my forehead as I drift off into the long night.
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Acknowledgments
My life changed the day my fourth-grade teacher started reading A Wrinkle In Time to our class. I was transported to another world, and I never wanted to come back.
That day marked the first step of a journey that led me to this book, and my life is richer because that voyage took me through the worlds of Clarke, Asimov, Vinge, Card, Le Guin, Heinlein, Bach, Morgan, Rowling, Steinbeck, Moore, Willis, Simmons, Vinge, Brin, and many others.
Welcome to my universe! If there is the tiniest glimpse of brilliance in these pages, it is because I am standing on the shoulders of giants, and the view is excellent.
∞
I would also like to thank my grandmother who believed I was special and told me so, my mother who encouraged me to write, Weronika (who loved the book even if she couldn’t sell it), Sue and Annie at Etopia Press and the fine folks at BookTrope who all offered to publish it (you were very kind), and finally, you, gentle reader, who spent your precious time living and breathing in my world. Thank you.
∞
I wrote fifty thousand words that didn’t make it into the final draft because my editor, David Stafford Taylor, thought I could do better. (In all my life, I have never worked so hard to please a guy, Dave, and I’m still amazed that you could see the diamond in the rough. But you were right. You were always right. Thanks.)
If you, gentle reader, find a turn of phrase that sparkles or a plot twist that cuts like a blade, it’s because Dave’s firm but gentle hand carved and polished it.
There once was an Irishman, Dave,
Who worked as a manuscript slave.
But instead of a hook up,
He picked my book up,
And made all the bad prose behave.
∞
Lastly, I would like to thank the people who taught me about relationships, intimacy, and love. I am in awe of the intellect, passion, and vulnerability you shared with me:
For David, who shared his Twinkies and his doctoring skills (to his mother’s chagrin); and for Brent, who taught me to see the possibilities in a broken toaster—while holding my hand.
Each of you for a summer: Gary, our noses cold, but your lips warm and soft; John: touching me, touching you and then done too soon; Randy, you were right about back rubs but not the rest; and Pat, all’s well that ends well. Really.
Remember our pact, Dale? Friends with benefits before anyone called it that. And enigmatic Lance, I lived to see your smile and was crushed when I found out why you wouldn’t go with me. Sweet sixteen, Chris: we skinny-dipped in a lake, skied a glacier, and sat at the top of the mountain with the wind in our faces. You only kissed me once, but I remember.
Nights that turned into days, talking, touching, falling in love. There’s a part of my heart that fits perfectly in your hands, Richard, and always will.
And Drew, Pierre, Dave. Bruce, Gary, Jubal. John, Michael, Tim. Bill, Jack & Guy. (If you’re looking for your name here and didn’t find it, no worries. Trust me, you’re in there too.) I might not have given you what you wanted, and sometimes not even what you needed, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t good. The fault was always mine.
Now I look back and see that you saved me too, Rob. That night. The moment you stepped through the moonlit doorway, and I heard your breath catch in your throat—and I knew the truth.
Days turn into weeks, and weeks into years, and I find that love is the most important thing, and that it does transcend time. Which leaves me with...
Only you, Nano. Each of the others was a thread woven into a tapestry, a magic carpet that brought me into your arms. Thanks for waiting for me. The journey is the reward.
About the Author
D. L. ORTON is a graduate of Stanford University’s Writers Workshop and a past editor of “Top of the Western Staircase,” a literary publication of CU, Boulder. The author has a number of short stories published in online literary magazines, including Melusine, Cosmoetica, The Ranfurly Review, and Catalyst Press.
Her debut novel Crossing In Time: The 1st Disaster won an award in the “2010 Novel Beginnings Contest” and is the first book in the Between Two Evils Series. Time Enough: The 2nd Disaster will be out in late 2015.
Ms. Orton lives in the foothills of Colorado where she and her husband are raising three boys, a golden retriever, two Siberian cats, and an extremely long-lived triops. Her plans include completing the five books in this series followed by an extended vacation on a remote tropical island (with a Starbucks). When she’s not writing, playing tennis, coding, or helping with algebra, she’s building a time machine so that someone can go back and do the laundry.
Time Enough
(Preview)
D.L. Orton
Between Two Evils Series
The 2nd Disaster
Chapter 1
Tego: Behind Bars
It’s a cold, rainy Saturday night, and the trendy San Francisco nightclub is packed. I watch a guy in a suit shadow a redhead wearing a skirt so short that it makes the word mini seem huge. He attempts to get her attention without actually approaching her, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
Give it up, dude. She’s not interested.
I take a sip of expensive cheap beer, feeling morose and under-dressed. The music is too loud and the place smells of rancid oil and stale liquor, none of which is doing much for my mood.
Mierda, I hate pick-up joints.
Dave sits opposite me, texting friends from work, trying to convince them to join us.
Only an idiot would go out in this shitty weather.
I glance over at a short, curvaceous brunette in a blue sweater dress. She’s standing at the crowded bar with her back to me, shifting her weight in time to the music and chatting with a waif-like friend. I like the way her stiletto heels accentuate the sway of her hips, a motion not unlike waves breaking on the beach. She looks cheerful and friendly, which is rare in a place like this, but she’s not really my type.
When was the last time you met someone who was your type?
It’s a stupid question, and I chastise myself for asking it.
Isabel is dead, mae. Let her go.
The woman at the bar turns her head as i
f sensing my gaze, and I realize I’m still staring at her butt. I jerk my head up and our eyes meet for a split second, and then I look away, feeling like a pervert.
Dave sees me flinch and cranes his neck around to see what’s going on. He nods at stiletto heels and turns back to me. “Shit, Tego. You gotta make eye contact, or you’ll never get to first base with her.”
I pick up my empty glass and coax out the last few drops. “Yeah, well, she’s not going to be much good at baseball in those heels.”
He shakes his head and refills my glass. “You don’t have to marry her, dude.” He scoots his chair around so he can see the bar without straining his neck. “Just keep your eyes on her for a minute, and when she looks at you, nod or smile. Acknowledge her. If she’s interested, you’ll know.” He follows my gaze. “But you might avoid staring at her ass. She could take that the wrong way.”
“Is there a right way?”
“Christ, you’re pathetic.” He looks around the bar. “Here, watch.” He demonstrates with a woman sitting alone at the bar. The skin-tight silver dress she’s wearing has a slit down the front, all the way from her neck to her navel—which I have to admit looks pretty damn hot.
She glances at Dave and then crosses her arms and looks away.
“Wow,” I say. “Impressive.”
“Okay, not her. She’s probably here on someone else’s nickel.” He tries a woman on the other side of the dance floor.
It takes a minute, but he gets a shy nod.
“See?” He grins at me. “After that, it’s like taking candy from a baby. Go tell her she has an electric smile and offer to buy her a drink. Before you know it, you’ll be in her pants.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“What if you don’t want to what?” His voice is exasperated.
“Be in her pants.”
“Jesus, Tego. What is it with you and girls?” He shakes his head and then frowns. “And go easy on the beer. We have to be at that damn Kirkland dog and pony show tomorrow at eight.”
“Yeah, I remember. If it’s anything like the one where I met you, being hung-over might improve it.”
“If they come through with my start-up funding, I don’t care whose ass I have to kiss—and it can’t hurt that my last name is Kirkland, either.”
“So you couldn’t dig up anyone there you knew?”
“Nope. The whole show is run by some reclusive old dame. Wouldn’t even talk to me on the phone.” He smacks me on the shoulder. “Hey, what do you say you join me at the new company? Get in on the ground floor. Head up IT.”
“Thanks for the offer, mae, but that’s not really my thing. And besides, I’m trying to preserve the rainforest, not bottle it.”
“Well think about it, anyway. Shit, with all that cash we’d make, you could buy the whole fucking jungle.”
I laugh and then glance over at stiletto heels. “So how did you learn all this stuff about money and women?”
“Same way you get to Carnegie Hall.”
“Shit, I’m screwed—and not in the way you’re hoping.”
“Ah, come on. Stop being such a killjoy. I know you miss the ex-girlfriend, but you have to let it go. She dumped you, dude, and it was a long time ago. Get over it.”
“Yeah, I know. You told me that before.”
He smacks me on the shoulder. “Hey, nothing like a little tits and ass to make you forget your troubles, right? You just got to put some heart into it. You’re a good catch, bro. Smart, attractive, and available—same as me.”
I chuckle and look out into the crowd.
Maybe I could try a little harder.
Dave bumps me with his elbow and gestures toward a platinum blond at a nearby table. “Pussy Galore, if ever I saw her.” He lets his gaze wander leisurely down the woman’s long legs—a predilection that we both share—and I nod in appreciation.
She’s perched on the edge of a barstool surrounded by guys wearing untucked dress shirts and too much jewelry. I can see her goblet of white wine towering above their short, sweating glasses of Scotch. She looks Russian, or maybe Czech, and I’m willing to bet she speaks with an accent and feels just as out-of-place as her tall wineglass.
Dave lets out a soft whistle. “Look at those hooters. Woo-wee. A man could get lost in there for weeks.”
I laugh. Dave likes his women thin, boarding on starvation, so he doesn’t see a lot of cleavage. The lithe but buxom Russian must be quite a treat for him.
I, on the other hand, prefer more curves, and to my eye, the blonde’s willowy frame and large breasts make her look like a Barbie doll who might lose her balance at any moment and topple over.
The Bond Girl bounces a spiked-heel shoe on the toes of her bare foot, looking bored. In the minute or so we’ve been watching, no one has acknowledged her, let alone spoken to her, and I feel a twinge of sympathy.
Living in a foreign country is rough, especially at first.
But despite Dave’s persistent attention, she hasn’t given him a single sideways glance. We watch her take a sip of wine and run her tongue over the rim of the glass.
“Oh I could definitely do her.” He turns to me. “Think she’s a natural?”
I shake my head, more thinking that her legs look too tanned for cold, foggy San Francisco. “Not a chance.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Pussy Galore finally glances over at us, tosses her sheet of silvery hair, and slips her hand around the well-muscled arm of the gorilla sitting next to her.
Dave laughs and looks away. “Your loss, baby.”
He takes a drink of beer and nods toward the curvaceous woman at the bar. “Stiletto heels is checking you out again. Nice tits, and I bet she’s a screamer.”
“Well, if she is, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“That’s the spirit.” He motions with his chin. “Why don’t you go say hello? Invite her to dance.”
“You know I don’t like to dance, and anyway, she’s not my type. Really. If you would just stop pushing me—“
The cloying scent of vanilla fills my nose. I turn and look up into the face of the woman in the blue dress. She’s wearing too much makeup, and there’s a tiny smudge of red lipstick on her very white teeth.
“Hi.” She smiles, clutching her drink like a life jacket on the Titanic. “I’m Kim. I hope I don’t seem too forward, but my roommate and I—” She glances at the bar, and her friend waves with the fingertips of one hand.
She looks back at us and takes a shaky breath, shoring up her resolve, I think. “Well, we were wondering if you’d like to join us for a drink?”
I stare up at her. “Uh—”
“We’d love to,” Dave says. “But why don’t you join us? Next round’s on me.” He smiles like a shark. “I’m not really this tall, I’m just sitting on my wallet.”
I groan. That’s the third time I’ve heard that line tonight.
She laughs self-consciously. “Sure. Thanks.” She looks over at her roommate and nods, and then sits down next to me, still clinging to her curvy glass.
We watch her skinny friend saunter across the crowded nightclub, steering her mixed drink ahead of her. She sits down on the other side of Dave and smiles. “Hi. I’m Lisa.” She smells of cigarette smoke and too much perfume.
“I’m Dave. And this is my buddy, Tego. Like Lego, only with a T—and you should see his brick.”
I cringe, but they both laugh.
Stiletto heels turns to me. “Nice to meet you, Tego with a T.” I watch her red lips slide across her perfect teeth and then meet her gaze. She tips her head to the side and offers me her hand. “You have gorgeous brown eyes.”
I take her warm, soft hand. “Thanks. The pleasure is definitely mine. You have an electric smile.”
“That’s so sweet.” She bites her lip. “You have an unusu
al name. Where are you from?”
I glance down, wondering why she’s still holding my hand, and then realize that she’s waiting for me to answer.
“Uh, we’re up from the South Bay.” I slip my hand out of hers and pick up my empty beer. “You?”
Dave let’s out a snort. “He’s from Costa Rica, but don’t let that fool you: he speaks English better than I do.” He leans forward and gives her a conspiratorial wink. “But he has a bit of a Latin temper. Likes to call the shots in bed, if you know what I mean.”
I glare at him but he ignores me.
At precisely that moment, the music cuts out, and the club falls silent.
From behind me, I hear a woman’s voice, clear in the unexpected hush. “Just a sec, and I’ll walk with you.”
My insides convulse.
The music starts again, and I’m surrounded by the hubbub of fifty people talking at once.
I twist around and watch two women in long black coats pull up their collars and slip out through the heavy wooden doors.
Oh my god, it’s her!
I stand up, my heart racing so fast I feel lightheaded, and tug my jacket off the back of the chair. “I’m… sorry, but I have to go.” I glance at Dave. “It’s her. It’s Isabel.”
“What the fuck, Tego? The girls just sat down.” He gives me an annoyed look. “And how the hell are you going to get home—your car’s at my place?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’ll text you.” I look at the woman I’m jilting. “I’m sorry. Believe me, it has nothing to do with you. In fact, you look absolutely ravishing in that dress, and that’s no pick-up line.”
Her eyes get big, and then she blushes.
I take two twenties out of my wallet, drop them on the table, and jog out into the night, my heart pounding.