by L-J Baker
She was Flora’s novelty bedmate. When the fizz wore off, Flora could pick up some other lucky woman and whisk her away in her fancy carpet.
Rye gently stroked the photograph with a fingertip. The thought of Flora with anyone else caused a physical pain. Flora was one of the nicest people Rye had ever known. Fun to be with. Not at all as she’d expected from some rich, high-flying artist.
“Oh, fey,” Holly said from the doorway. “Are you still moping?”
Rye started. She hastily shoved her notebook on top of the magazine. “What do you want?”
“When is dinner?”
“Um. Soon. I was waiting for you to emerge from all that noise.”
Rye watched Holly go into the kitchen, then quickly jammed the magazine under the sofa cushion. She found Holly slouched at the table. Rye handed her some dock roots to peel.
“I hate being poor,” Holly said.
“Me, too.”
“It’s all right for you.” Holly grabbed a dock root and hacked the tail off it. “You don’t spend all day with kids who have mobiles and the latest clothes and get their hair done and everything. Then there’s me.”
“If a person likes you for what you own, rather than who you are, then they’re not really worth knowing.”
“You always say stupid shit like that.”
“Language.”
Holly slammed the dock root and knife onto the table. “It’s true! My life is so miserable. And you don’t care.”
“You got invited to that girl’s birthday party, didn’t you? Poppy what’s-her-name? Didn’t you tell me that she was the most popular girl in your class? She clearly doesn’t care that –”
“I never wanted to go to that stupid party anyway!”
Holly jerked to her feet and stormed into her bedroom. Rye had seen tears.
“Holls?” Rye pushed Holly’s door further open. Holly lay face down on her bed. Rye went in and sat to stroke her back. “What’s the matter?”
“I can’t go to the party. I don’t have a present to take. We can’t afford one.”
Rye resisted the temptation to point out that Holly had recently squandered all her fifty piece prize money from the school art competition.
“Daisy is giving her the most scathing pair of earrings,” Holly said. “Everyone else will be giving great stuff. And I’d be this giant nothing. I hate my life. Hate it.”
“Look, I know this doesn’t help with this problem, but if you didn’t want to go to the party, maybe you could help me. I’ve agreed to cater this dinner for Flora.”
Holly tensed and twisted her head to direct half a teary frown up at Rye.
“I’ll need someone to help serve and stuff,” Rye said. “Her guests are these big-wig artists.”
Holly wriggled around further. “This is at her house? A proper dinner party, just like you read about? With artists?”
“Yeah. A bunch of important ones by the sound of it. Not that the names mean anything to me. She said there’d be one bloke called Privet Sunder.”
“Thunder.” Holly sat up. “You’re peeling me? Privet Thunder is going to be at Flora’s dinner party, and you’re going to cook it? And I could go and meet him?”
“Yeah. But you’d –”
“Fucking shit!”
“Language!”
Holly leaped to her feet and bounced on the bed.
Bemused, Rye waited for Holly to jump down to the floor. “Wait! Before you begin the endless conversation with Daisy, this is work. You won’t be an honoured guest. You’d have to do all the icky stuff I told you to. Peeling vegetables, stirring pots, and serving the table.”
“I heard. Of course I’ll do it! A Flora Withe dinner party with Privet Thunder there! That’s a squillion times better than Poppy Wildcorn’s limping birthday party. Daisy will gnaw her leg off!”
Rye smiled to herself as she followed Holly into the hall. “You hate helping me in the kitchen.”
“That’s different. Privet Thunder! My mind has just melted.”
Rye watched Holly carry the phone into her bedroom. She wandered back into the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. Clearly, she couldn’t break up with Flora until after the dinner party. Good. She didn’t have to think about it for over a week.
“We got close to the bed,” Flora said.
Rye smiled and helped Flora up off the bathroom floor. Flora reached in to turn the shower off. Rye began pulling her underwear on.
“Do you have to wear such tight clothes?” Flora asked. “There are times we can barely peel you out of them.”
“I need to keep my wings as flat as possible.”
“Doesn’t it hurt to have them cramped up like that all day?”
Rye shrugged. “I’m used to it.”
“I’d love to see you walking around with them out. And flying.”
“I can’t fly. ”
“Glide, then.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Rye tucked her loose shirt into her pants as she followed Flora out of the ensuite bathroom and through Flora’s bedroom. Something about Flora’s bedroom made Rye uncomfortable. A huge walk-in closet covered all one wall. It was bigger than Rye’s living room. The carpet was thick and springy enough to make her feet feel like they’d won a lottery. The huge bed looked like something that would be advertised in a glossy magazine. In fact, the whole room looked straight out of an upmarket advertisement. The same might be said of the kitchen, but Rye felt less intimidated there. Possibly because it was the one place where Flora did not radiate complete, unthinking self-confidence.
Rye filled the kettle and set it on the stove to heat. Flora sat at the table to munch biscuits.
“I wonder why I always crave something sweet post-coital?” Flora said.
“Take the taste out of your mouth?”
“I like the taste of you. You’re unlike anyone I’ve had sex with before.”
“Is that good or bad?” Rye asked.
“Good. Definitely good. I have buds, don’t I?”
Rye padded over to bite off part of the biscuit that Flora held up for her. Flora playfully lifted her legs around Rye’s thighs and locked her ankles.
“So, why couldn’t you glide?” Flora asked.
That magic of togetherness was working at full blast, because Rye felt merely a faint tendril of unease about the topic of her wings. The only person she’d ever discussed it with was Holly. That had been a difficult conversation.
“My wings won’t hold me,” Rye said. “The supports were broken. And not set properly. That’s why they don’t look straight.”
“That must have been a nasty accident.”
“Yeah,” Rye lied.
“Couldn’t you get them re-set?”
Rye shrugged. She kissed Flora and changed the subject. “Did you get a chance to look at that menu?”
“Yes. Let me fetch it.”
Rye made tea and joined Flora at the table. Flora had written some annotations on the menu Rye had made up.
“This sounds terrific,” Flora said. “I’ve made just a couple of suggestions. And by the way, I love the sound of those fruit and wine jellies.”
Rye nodded. “Okay. That looks good. Did you find out how many vegetarians there are?”
“Two. And there’s one partial insectivore. I hope that’s not too much of a nuisance?”
“Nope.”
Flora stroked Rye’s arm. “I’m really looking forward to this. I know you’re going to do a splendid job.”
“I’m so nervous that I can hardly spit.”
“I thought you might be. But I have every confidence in you. Did Holly agree to help?”
“Oh, yeah,” Rye said. “The kid who hates washing up begged me to let her peel veggies and sweep floors. She found this article in one of her friend’s mum’s magazines about napkin folding. Would it be a problem to have cloth rabbits and butterflies all over the table?”
Flora laughed. “Just make sure she doesn’t put the r
abbits in front of the vegetarians.”
When Flora went to dress, Rye had a moment of wondering how she could possibly contemplate not seeing Flora any more. It seemed like the stupidest idea in all of Infinity.
Rye took a last look at the menu before folding it and stuffing it in her pocket. She could get most of what she wanted at her normal market, but she would need to find a source for the more exotic ingredients. There were some boutique gourmet food shops she passed on her way home from the building site. In the Noonpine area, of course.
“Crap,” Rye whispered. How was she going to pay for any of this?
Flora breezed back in. She picked up her purse and lightly kissed Rye. “Much as I’d like to keep you here forever, I suppose I’d better take you home.”
“Um. Yeah.”
“What’s wrong?”
Rye squirmed. She loathed having to do this.
“Rye? Is it something between us? About this morning? The dinner? Holly? Please talk to me, or I’ll begin imagining the worst.”
“Um.”
Rye wanted to curl up in a hole and pull a rock in on top of her. But she didn’t have a choice. There was no way in Infinity that she could afford to buy the ingredients herself. Her wings pulled tight against her back. Her chest muscles were taut enough to hinder easy breathing.
“Um. About dinner,” Rye said. “I… um. Is there any way you could advance me some of the money?”
“Oh. Of course. I should’ve thought. Here.” Flora pulled several banknotes out of her purse. “Is this enough? I can get you more if you need it. Actually, why don’t I write you a credit note for the rest right now?”
“No! This is good. Really.”
Rye shoved the cash into her pocket. She didn’t want to have to admit that she didn’t have a bank account into which she might deposit a credit note.
On Third Night when Rye returned home from her shift at Pansy’s Fried Sandwiches, she saw the light on in the kitchen. Holly knelt beside the cooler.
“Touch those and you’re dead,” Rye said.
“I was just making sure they were safe.”
“Uh huh.” Rye peered over Holly’s shoulder to count the fruit cups.
“All there. See?” Holly poked her tongue out.
Rye pulled her shirt off as she strode to the bathroom. “Did you manage to borrow a plain black dress?”
“Yeah. Ivy Samphire’s sister had one. You want to see it?”
“I trust you.”
“When did that happen?”
Rye ignored that and shut the bathroom door. She trusted Holly not to want to look like an idiot in front of Flora and her posh guests. One less thing to worry about. She stepped into the warm shower and fretted about a hundred other things that might go wrong.
The next morning, Rye left Holly transit fare to get from school to Flora’s house.
Rye had dropped her tools and grabbed her bag before the blast of the lunch whistle died away. She hurtled down the steps and across the site. Less than quarter of an hour later she jogged into a street of poncy boutique shops in Noonpine.
Flashily-dressed people sauntered to their lunch appointments or sat around the outdoor tables at restaurants and cafés. Rye clomped along in her boots. She picked up her box of specialty vegetables and spices at the Mulberry Shoot. They were wickedly expensive, but she couldn’t prepare the dishes she planned without them. At Grain and Sons Fine Meats, she purchased ferret fillets and their selection of insects even included the big smoked wetas she wanted. The bill there ate up the last of the cash Flora had given her.
Rye carried her box down past the awnings, benches, and display boards. She noticed the name Lightning Tree Gallery. Wasn’t that the place Holly raved over when Flora said she had some of her work on display in it?
Rye strode over to the window. A large chunk of bent blue glass sat on a pedestal on the other side of the window. Rye shook her head. She supposed it meant something to someone. Beyond the glass lump, the gallery interior looked intimidatingly posh. Paintings and hangings littered the walls. Which ones were Flora’s?
“Oh, look!”
Rye turned to see a pair of young female sylphs dressed in diaphanous robes in matching shades of faded orange. They were holding hands as they stepped close to the gallery window.
“It’s still here,” the taller one said. “Oh, darling, wouldn’t it be perfect for the lounge? I’m sure I can convince auntie to buy it for us for a wedding present. It’s only seven thousand. Even she can’t complain about that.”
Rye thought her eyeballs might drop out. Seven thousand?
Rye walked off, taking her burden of groceries and astonishment. Seven thousand pieces for a lump of glass? No wonder Flora could think nothing of paying twelve hundred for a dinner party, or casually pulling over three hundred pieces from her purse. It was a different world.
Flora didn’t answer her buzzer, but the gates clunked open. Rye felt very strange letting herself into Flora’s apartment.
“Flora? Babe? Are you here? It’s me. Rye.”
Rye wandered around the curved corridor to the kitchen. It was empty, pristine, and just waiting to be cooked in. Rye put her fruit cups in the cooler. She found a note stuck to the pantry door.
Gone to the salon to get myself made beautiful. Back by 3:00 or 3:30 at the latest. Fingers crossed. Do whatever you need to. The wine I told you about is in the bottom rack. BTW, the florist will be delivering at 4:00. If, by some nightmare, I’m not back, please leave the flowers on the table. I’ll take care of them when I get home. If you need me for anything (Except sex. Alas!) press the blue button on the phone screen. It’ll automatically connect to my mobile. Love, F.
Rye smiled. She folded the note and slipped it into the back pocket of her pants. After lighting the ovens, she set the chestnuts to steep in the rosemary water.
Rye hummed as she alternated between stirring pots and shaping little acorns to look like stars. This was the most incredible kitchen. The knifes were sharper than sin. Flora probably never used them.
Rye was so absorbed in her cooking that she didn’t notice that Flora had returned until she spoke.
“Rye? You like?” Flora paused halfway across the kitchen to strike a pose. “It took long enough to do. It’s got enough spray on that it’s brittle enough to break.”
“You look terrific.”
Flora quickly closed the gap to give Rye a long kiss. “Hmm. I’ve been looking forward to this all day. Everything going okay?”
“Great. I’m only panicking about twenty things.”
Flora smiled. “Something smells good already.”
“You feel good.”
Rye kissed Flora. The temperature of the kiss rose. Rye’s hands explored Flora’s body. Flora pressed against Rye in all the right places.
The buzzer sounded.
“Branch,” Flora said. “That’ll be the florist.”
Flora had the delivery people set the flowers on the end of the table, well out of Rye’s way.
“I’d better show you where everything goes.” Flora led Rye through into the dining room.
“Holly is bursting to do this,” Rye said.
“I’m bursting to do you,” Flora said.
“We’d better not mess your hair.”
Flora sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But it won’t be easy knowing that you’re just through there. Especially not when Windy starts prosing on about some esoteric subject. I just know I’ll be thinking about sex the whole time and have nothing intelligent to contribute.”
Rye grinned.
Flora set about arranging flowers in vases. Rye hummed to herself as she moved between the stove and the preparation counters. She only had to glance across to see Flora. It would be very easy to get used to doing that.
After taking the last vase out into the living room, Flora returned to stand close to the stove.
“Something smells really yummy,” Flora said. “May I taste?”
“No.” Ry
e shooed her away.
“What can I do?”
“Nothing. You’re the boss, remember?”
“What time do you expect Holly?”
Rye glanced at the clock. It was nearly four-thirty. “Soonish.”
“Then I’ll set the gates to automatically open again.”
Flora pulled up the screen on the main communications unit and fiddled with several on-screen menus before sinking into a chair at the table. She idly toyed with the baby carrots. Rye took the chair beside her and moved the carrots out of Flora’s reach. Rye began peeling and trimming them. Flora wriggled around and laid her legs across Rye’s lap.
“So, who are these people tonight?” Rye asked.
“Well, Leaf Longdale is my agent. He’s a cutthroat, but I’d willingly pay him twice as much as long as I don’t have to do all that hateful wheeling and dealing.”
“He seems to have done pretty well for you.”
“Yes, he has,” Flora said. “He’s not someone whose company I enjoy socially, but I have complete faith in his business acumen. Leaf can get very argumentative. The least pretty event in the whole history of Infinity is Leaf Longdale and my mother in the same room.”
“Your mother is argumentative?”
“Mother is always right.”
“Oh.”
“Exactly.” Flora stole a carrot and nibbled the end off before Rye could wrestle it back. “Then there’s Letty Elmwood. She’s a middle-aged lesbian sylph. I’m guessing that you’d not like her one little speck. She’s terribly gifted and terribly aware of it. She owns the two most important galleries in the Three Forest area, including the Lightning Tree in Noonpine. For some reason I’ve never been able to fathom, she likes me.”
“Perhaps she finds you attractive.”
“I’m not her type,” Flora said. “She prefers strong, muscular women. Letty is a divinely opinionated control freak, but, I’ve heard, is very much a ‘throw me on the bed’ type. I should make sure she doesn’t see you. I’d have a hard time keeping sweet with Letty if she stole you from me.”