Her Thirties Part 102
I’ve never been a weekend person—Oh, I’d enjoy Friday nights, but come Saturday morning, a depression would descend. I guess everyday reality never quite lived up to my expectations—and that was true for all holidays.
But somehow this Saturday morning felt different.
I was with her.
We slept together for the first time and we’d spend our lives together—in this era and in every era to come.
We were elementals—like fire and rain—we lived before in the past as Marilyn Birnam and Joey Woods and we’d live together again in whatever future world Fate chose tp place us
The aroma of coffee wafted into the bedroom—a throwback to a different era—when old-fashioned percolators could produce heavenly morning incense. I felt transported to a place where I really belonged.
“Breakfast is ready, Sleepy Head,” Marilyn’s bright voice sang out.
“I’m coming,” I called back.
I hastily pulled on my pants and slipped on my shirt, not tucking it in, but leaving it hanging out—a concession to the informality of the situation and the earliness of the hour.
I entered the kitchen. Marilyn was plating sausages and pancakes in the between world she inhabited—poised between the Thirties and present like Nick Wallenda on a high wire.
She brushed back a stray tendril of blonde hair and gave a knowing smile. “Looks like you slept well.”
“Why not, when all my dreams have been fulfilled?”
“Ah, Joey—you always had a way with words.”
I ignored the slip—kind of like a shift into Caps Lock—or our song, regardless of key, it was all the same.
I was Joey—I was Scott—and she was Marilyn Birnam and Catherine Forrester—and my mermaid goddess, my silvery, slippery fish.
The phone rang and jarred me out of my reverie.
Marilyn answered and exchanged some pleasant banter then handed the phone to me.
I arched an eyebrow and she cupped a hand over the receiver and whispered, “It’s Abe—he’s been phoning your number all morning and figured you’d be here.”
I shrugged my shoulder and gave her an innocent stare.
She wasn’t buying my innocent act—she figured Abe knew we were intimate and her natural Thirties modesty kicked in.
I hoped Abe hadn’t ruined our newly established arrangement, but it didn’t matter—I’d marry her in a heartbeat.
I picked up the phone and tried to act chipper as if we hadn’t just rolled out of bed.
“Hey, Abe—you’re up early on a Saturday.”
“I might say the same for you, Pal.”
I could picture Abe’s eyes crinkling with mirth.
“So what’s up?” I countered, hoping to change the subject.
“I need to see you and Marilyn—right away, if possible.”
There was a brief pause while I collected my thoughts.
“Sure, sure,” I stammered, raising my eyebrows to Marilyn to telegraph my surprise and helplessness to her.
“Sorry, Pal—I hate to rain on your Easter parade, but I guess you’ve figured it’s important.”
“I got that message,” I said somberly.
“Be there in fifteen minutes—keep the coffee warm.”
I hung up feeling I had fallen into a deep pit of despair.
It was a familiar feeling—too familiar. It reminded me of my mindset on Scarborough bluffs before I leaped into the darkness, following Marilyn to my destruction.
I smiled grimly—the situation also reminded me of my first meetings with Abe.
It was déjà vu all over again, only this time, Neither Abe nor I would be smiling
Very curious ... what does Abe have to tell. The bliss before the storm.
it can't be good to phone so early on a Saturday - I have no idea - I hope my characters do :)
It will come to you:)
Hmm, so what might Abe have to say? I wonder if they found Charlie! I still can't believe Joey threw himself to death...
devotion to the end - I can see that in Scott too :)
good post, nice information.
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