Broken Wings

by L-J Baker

  “We have an appointment with Letty Elmwood,” Flora said. “You’re going to talk to her about cooking her dinner. I’m taking you. Moral support. Holly, clothes, please.”

  “I’m on it!” Holly said.

  “But –” Rye said.

  “I know I should have warned you, but you might’ve wriggled out of it,” Flora said. “I talked with Letty. She needs to have something in place in the next day or two. You need to take a shower.”

  Rye frowned in the direction of the living room where Holly was making disparaging comments about Rye’s clothes.

  “Look,” Rye said, “I appreciate your effort, but I can’t do this. I’m not a real cook. I haven’t spent years at chef school or in training kitchens or working in restaurants.”

  “You don’t like cooking?” Flora asked.

  “Of course, I do. But what –”

  “And you’re extremely good at it,” Flora said. “And didn’t you say that you earned more doing it than your usual evening job? Which, you have also told me, you hate. So, why not do something you like doing and will pay you well?”

  Rye couldn’t immediately counter that. Holly burst out of the living room and thrust a clean tight T-shirt at her. Flora checked her watch.

  “We really don’t want to be late,” Flora said. “Letty can be funny about punctuality.”

  Rye snatched the T-shirt off Holly and stomped down to the bathroom. When she stood drying herself, Holly shoved some clothes into the bathroom. Despite her continuing misgivings, Rye took them.

  A few minutes later, Rye sat frowning in the passenger seat of Flora’s carpet as they sped toward the Upper Westside. Flora put a hand on Rye’s thigh.

  “Am I being too pushy?” Flora said.

  “Yeah.”

  “I cannot understand why you’re so resistant to this. It amazes me that you don’t cook as your full time profession. I’ve brought a copy of the menu that you did for me. You need to think up some alternatives. Letty won’t want exactly the same as I did. What other mains could you do?”

  “Um.”

  “How about possum?” Flora flicked on the light so that Rye could see to write. “I had some very succulent possum the last time I ate with Daddy at his club. Slices off a roast, I think it was.”

  “Um. Yeah. I guess I could always try a haunch.”

  “Terrific. Write that down. Now, what would you serve with it?”

  By the time Flora stopped her carpet outside a fancy big house in Overhill, Rye had three complete menus planned.

  “You can do this,” Flora said. “I have faith in you.”

  “Um.” Rye saw the tall, skinny silhouette of the sylph at a glass door.

  Flora patted Rye’s thigh. “You’re my girlfriend, remember? Letty can keep her hands off.”

  “As if,” Rye said.

  Rye took a deep breath and climbed out of the carpet. She would not have had the courage to walk inside if Flora hadn’t been beside her.

  Forty minutes later, Rye dropped back into the passenger seat and stared half-dazed at the notebook in her hands. Flora started the carpet and flew them away.

  “Safety harness,” Flora said. “Well? That wasn’t so bad, was it, lover? Mind you, from the way Letty was looking at you, I’m so glad I’ll be at this dinner.”

  “Shit.” Rye ran a hand through her hair. “Sixteen hundred. Did she really agree to pay me one thousand six hundred pieces? Why… why did you say so much? I was only going to say twelve hundred. And I thought that was a lot. Too much.”

  “Letty can afford it. In fact, she’ll respect you more for charging more rather than less.” Flora squeezed Rye’s thigh. “Panic not, lover. You give her the dinner you discussed, and she’ll be getting her money’s worth and more. Plus, you’ll need to pay someone to help. I’m sure Holly will want to do it, but for eight people, you really need someone else as well. Have a look in my purse. There should be a green card with a number on the back.”

  Rye felt uneasy about rummaging inside Flora’s purse. Amongst an eclectic collection of loose change, banknotes, lipstick, tissues, breath mints, and a tampon, she found several cards. One was green.

  “Yes, that’s it.” Flora said. “Briony Butterflower is a sister of my housekeeper, Aloe. She’s an apprentice, so she’s always looking for ways to make some extra money. I’ve met her several times. Very pleasant and capable. Give her a call.”

  Rye felt more dazed than ever. “You’ve thought of everything. I had no idea you were so aggressively organised.”

  “Only when it comes to other people. Now, don’t you have to put your work clothes on? Where am I supposed to be taking you?”

  Rye remained in a haze of disbelief as she contorted herself through changing her clothes. Part of her mind was already planning what ingredients she’d need, how they should be prepared, and the best way to present the dishes.

  “Sixteen hundred!” Rye said. “That’s five times more than I earn in a week.”

  “Really?” Flora flicked a frown at Rye. “Oh, Elm. I’m glad Letty didn’t see you like that.”

  Rye zipped up her pants. “The strangest thing is, I’m already working out what I’m going to do.”

  Flora smiled. “Am I forgiven, then?”

  “Yeah.” Rye kissed Flora’s hand. “You’re wonderful. Even when you’re being pushy.”

  Flora parked outside the darkened pot boutique. “I wish I were taking you home.”

  “Me, too.”

  Rye waved until the carpet’s rear lights vanished around a corner. She trudged around the back of the row of shops and thumped on Nuttal’s back door.

  While Rye hauled load after heavy load of metal waste out to a dumpster, her mind swirled with cooking, one thousand six hundred pieces, and Flora. After an hour, Rye sweated and ached. Her hands hurt and her clothes were filthy. Maybe this wasn’t such a good job.

  “Hey, there.” Mr. Nuttal, the elderly pixie, shuffled into the workroom. He carried a tray holding a plate of biscuits and a pot of tea. “That looks great. Come and sit down.”

  “Um. Thanks. But I’d rather get finished.”

  “That looks like more than enough for tonight.” Mr. Nuttal poured the tea into two large mugs. “Mrs. Nuttal brewed this special. And she made the biscuits.”

  Rye bit into a biscuit and found it dry and too sweet.

  “Here.” He put fifty pieces on the table.

  “Um,” Rye said. “I’ve only done an hour.”

  “You’ve done the work I wanted done. All that junk cleared out of there. That’s what’s important to me. Not how long you take.”

  Rye pocketed the cash. “Thanks.”

  “You still want to come back on Fourth Night?”

  “Yeah. I’d like to.”

  “Good. Maybe we should settle on Second Night and Fourth Night,” he said. “Oh, and you can take your shirt off if you get too hot. I know how sweaty it can be working in here with the burners going. You’ve not got anything this old man hasn’t seen before.”

  Rye didn’t contradict him.

  On Third Night, Rye put aside her meal planning and went to tap on Holly’s bedroom door. Holly sat at her desk chewing a pencil end.

  “I’m off early tonight,” Rye said. “I’m going to the library before I go to Pansy’s.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Um. If I wanted a book to teach me something about art, where would be a good place to look?”

  Holly smiled and scribbled on a scrap of paper. “I think this has what you’re looking for.”

  The Hollowberry branch of the municipal library contained thin pickings in the cooking section apart from budget meal planning, economic cooking for large families, and wholesome, inexpensive meals. Rye dug out the scrap of paper Holly had given her. Contemporary Artists was a slim paperback with glossy pages. She had been thinking more along the lines of some textbook explaining weaving for idiots. Before Rye put the book back, she turned to the contents page. She saw Flora’s na
me.

  Rye flicked to page forty-two. A very nice picture of Flora, which looked fairly recent, filled a third of the page. The section started with a brief biography. The book must have been written two years ago, because it gave her age as thirty-one. Most of the section was devoted to pictures of her works along with stuff written about each piece. So that was what Adventures in Four Panels looked like. Rye didn’t understand what it was supposed to be, but it was nice to look at.

  That night, Rye lay in bed frowning at Contemporary Artists. She would have to borrow the dictionary out of Holly’s room tomorrow, because most of the technical terms left her for dead. Rye stared at the photograph of Flora as she phoned Flora for their late night talk. Even after all these weeks, it still astonished Rye that anyone as sexy, beautiful, wonderful, and successful as Flora Withe would look twice at Rye Woods.

  On Fifth Day morning, Rye ran from the transit node to Whiterow Gardens but still got soaked in the driving rain.

  “You’re dripping,” Flora said. “Take this towel. Strip. I’ll fetch you a robe.”

  Rye grabbed Flora’s arm. “I’d rather you warmed me up.”

  “How about I run a hot bath for us?”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Rye frowned as she peeled off her wet clothes. Flora usually couldn’t wait for sex. She looked only marginally happier when she returned.

  “Something wrong, babe?” Rye asked.

  “You should’ve waited. I’d have fetched you.”

  “I know. But Holly went out early. And I couldn’t wait.”

  Flora’s smile seemed forced. When Rye kissed her, she didn’t feel physically in tune.

  Flora insisted on stuffing Rye’s clothes in the dryer herself. The new robe that Flora had given Rye was thick and warm, and Flora had made slits in the back to comfortably accommodate Rye’s wings. It was much nicer than anything Rye could have afforded to buy herself, which made her uneasy. When she had tried to decline it, Flora had pointed out that she could not return it now that she’d altered it even had she wanted to. It was something else she owed Flora.

  Rye wandered into the living room. The glass doors framed grey rain pounding the deck and swimming pool. A fire burned in the hearth. Rye warmed herself in front of it and smiled as she remembered last week’s sex on the rug.

  A magazine and some papers lay scattered on the closest sofa. Rye couldn’t help noticing the fancy invitation card sitting open beside the magazine. Ms. Flora Withe and partner were invited to some glitzy-sounding event.

  Flora came in and took Rye’s hand and led her to the ensuite. The huge tub, which was easily large enough to accommodate six, filled fast with steamy water. Flora poured in some green liquid which bubbled and released a gentle scent of chamomile.

  Rye climbed in and watched Flora strip. Unusually, Flora didn’t make a provocative show out of it. She merely dropped her clothes and stepped into the water. When Rye pulled Flora onto her lap, Flora’s head sagged onto Rye’s shoulder.

  “What’s the matter?” Rye said.

  Flora sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s hormones.”

  “Anything I can do to make it better?”

  “Stay here with me, like this, for the rest of our lives.”

  Rye smiled and kissed Flora’s temple. “I thought you were a tree nymph not a water nymph. Want to talk?”

  Flora listlessly played with a mound of bubbles against Rye’s arm. “Tell me something nice that has happened to you.”

  “Okay. I’m in a bath of hot water with the most wonderful woman in the world. It doesn’t get any nicer than that. Unless it was last week, when I was lying on the rug in front of a fire with the most wonderful woman in the world after we’d had sex.”

  Flora smiled fleetingly. “We live for Fifth Days, don’t we?”

  “I know it’s my fault that we don’t see much of each other. Can you bear with me for another few weeks? I’m going to quit my sandwich frying job.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Mr. Nuttal pays much better than Pansy, and he’s a nicer bloke to work for. He’s like I imagine an uncle would be. Or grandfather.”

  “You didn’t know your grandfather?”

  “I didn’t know my who father was.” Rye kissed Flora’s cheek. “So, I’m going to have two evenings free. That means more time for us.”

  “You want to?”

  “Of course.” I gave up night classes for this.

  “I woke up this morning halfway convinced that you were a dream. Like a ghost or imaginary friend that no one else could see.”

  “If I were a dream, surely I wouldn’t make you sad?” Rye stroked Flora’s arm. “Hey, listen. Thanks to you setting me up with Ms. Elmwood, I’ve nearly got the money for my broom. That means I’ll soon be able to whiz over here for fast sex in my lunch breaks.”

  Flora smiled, but cocked her head to one side. “I’m not sure I understand. You’ve been working yourself to death just so that you can buy a broom?”

  “Not to death.” Rye kissed Flora’s wet throat. “Hmm. Definitely not dead yet.”

  Rye kissed Flora’s shoulders and let her hands explore Flora’s body. Flora put both hands against Rye’s shoulders to hold her away.

  “You’re not going to turn out to be one of those women who thinks sex is the answer to every problem?” Flora asked.

  Rye sagged back against the side of the bath. “I’m sorry.”

  Flora shook her head and slid away. “No. I’m sorry. This is not how I wanted to spend my time with you.”

  “You look like you’re going to cry.”

  “I am.”

  “Hey. Come here.” Rye gathered Flora and held her. “I’m sorry, babe. Does this have anything to do with that invitation? I couldn’t help seeing it on the couch. Is this a big deal?”

  “That’s the oddest thing. It’s not. It’s a fundraiser for a local charity. Quite small. It’s on a Third Night. I know you can’t make it.”

  Rye gently wiped a tear from Flora’s cheek. “But?”

  Flora sighed. “But imagining going without you felt so desolate. I burst into tears. I know it doesn’t make any sense. I’ve been out since we started seeing each other. It’s not as though I’ve become a hermit. It hasn’t killed me to go anywhere alone.”

  Flora’s tears were like acid inside Rye. She frowned down at the part of Flora’s thigh she could see through the floating bubbles. “This is a small party?”

  “Why?”

  “Well,” Rye said. “If this is important to you, I could go.”

  Flora’s expression swiftly passed through surprise and delight to settle into a soft, teary smile. “Oh, I do love you. Thank you. But I can’t let you do that. I know you’re not really comfortable with us as a public entity.”

  “I’ve said I’ll go, babe. I mean it.”

  Flora lightly kissed her. “I know. And now I feel like shit for having manipulated you into offering.”

  “What?”

  “I did. I got all weepy on you and you were nice to me. ”

  “I want to be nice to you,” Rye said. “I don’t feel manipulated. You were sad. You told me why. I saw a way to make it better. I know I’m new to relationships, but isn’t that the way it’s supposed to work?”

  Flora gave her a despairing look, covered her face with her hands, and sank under the water. Rye reached down to lift her back up. With Flora’s hair sloughing water, Rye saw how prominent her buds looked.

  “Oh, Holy Elm.” Flora looped her arms around Rye’s neck. “I think I’m going to explode with contrary and irrational emotions. Do you think there’s a chance that sex might help?”

  Rye grinned. “No harm trying, is there?”

  Flora was sitting on the side of the tub and Rye had lowered her head between Flora’s legs when she heard a woman’s voice.

  “Flora!”

  Rye jerked upright.

  Flora snapped her head around to stare at the door. “Branch.”

  “Flora?” The w
oman sounded closer. As if she were just next door in the bedroom. “Where are you?”

  Rye bristled. “Who-?”

  Flora clamped a hand on Rye’s mouth. “I’m in the bath, Mother! I’ll be right out.”

  Rye’s eyes widened.

  Flora slid off the tub and grabbed her robe. She whispered, “I’ll get rid of her. Wait in here.”

  Rye looked for her clothes. Fey. Where had she left them? Not all over the bedroom floor? No. They were in the dryer. Rye sighed with relief.

  Flora slipped out the door and clicked it closed behind her. “Mother. This is a surprise. I didn’t realise you still had a key.”

  Mrs. Withe’s reply was muffled, as if she’d turned away.

  Rye wrapped her robe around herself and crept to the door.

  “Perhaps I could make you a cup of tea.” Flora sounded like she was standing with her back to the bathroom door. “In the kitchen. We –”

  “Oh! It’s true,” Mrs. Withe said. “My baby girl has buds.”

  “Mother, this really isn’t a good time to –”

  “Do you have any inkling how devastatingly humiliating it is to learn from a stranger that one’s own daughter has buds?”

  “Hardly,” Flora said, “since I don’t have a daughter, do I?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” Mrs. Withe said. “There is so much about your life that you find necessary to conceal from me and your father.”

  Rye heard Flora’s sigh through the door.

  “I shall never forget,” Mrs. Withe said, “the indescribable joy I felt at holding my baby girl for the first time. It even momentarily eclipsed the unspeakable indignity of the process of giving birth. I don’t believe my maternal rapture would have been any the less even had I known the heartache to come.”

  “Mother –”

  “A stranger, Flora. How could you be so thoughtless as to let me find out through a stranger?”

  “Aunt Ramble is not a stranger.”

  “So, you know who told me,” Mrs. Withe said. “Well, you would, wouldn’t you? Since you confided in her and I don’t know how many others, but not your own mother. Well, my little girl has a budmate. I won’t say that it’s not a teeny bit overdue, darling. You’re hardly a spring twig anymore. And the Holy Elm knows you’ve had enough casual girlfriends to last anyone for a lifetime. Next Third Day. Will that suit?”