Chapter

12

“Bullshit!” said Liz as she and Richard rode the elevator down to their floors. 

“Maybe she really did just want to walk down,” Richard mumbled.

“Gloria’s lying.  She’s seen that picture… that dream of yours.  And please.  Walk down eight floors.  Why’d anybody want to do that?”

“Maybe it was just frightening, you know?  The guy painted a pretty realistic…”

“Bullshit.  She doesn’t want to admit it.”

Richard gripped his canvas tightly and sighed.  “Hey, it’s probably just me.  I’m a drama, whatever, you know?  Shrink’s always telling me.”

Liz turned to Richard.  “You’re wondering and thinking and… we both had the experience, remember?”

“Yeah.  Once.  Crazy coincidence.”

“Coincidence, my… here’s my floor.   Don’t try to deny it, Richard.  We aren’t crazy people, you know.  Sleep warm.”

Richard chuckled.  “Yeah.  That would be nice.  You too.”

The elevator door shut and continued to the fourth floor.  Richard stepped off and made his way to his apartment.  Once inside, he locked the door and wedged the dining chair under the doorknob—a nightly ritual lately, with not particular reason, other than trying to keep invasion into his dreams at a distance.

                                                      ---

Marge was ironing a shirt in the kitchen when Gloria threw her handbag down on the living room coffee table. 

Marge jumped.  “Damn, Gloria.  Make some noise when you come in will ya?”

“Fuck!  You wanna hear noise?  I’ll give you noise.  They’re doin’ more than planting a chip in our fucking eyeballs… heads.”

“What?” said Marge, as she walked out with a fancy western cowgirl shirt.  “Like it?”

Gloria took one wide-eyed look.  “What the hell is that?”

“Square dancing shirt.  Remember?  Tomorrow night?”

“Oh, Christ.  You''re really serious.  No.  No.  I’m not going!”

“Not going?” said Marge, the disappointment obvious in her voice.

Gloria strode to the refrigerator.  “Not going.  You know it’s one thing Urian telling us… there were just a couple of us, you know… telling us they’re somehow picking up our dreams, but then to not even mention anything about having other people’s dreams… Jesus!”  She grabbed a beer and headed back into the living room.

Marge sat down.  “I’ve been counting on this for a month, and so have Spencer and Woody, and you say…”

“Christ, Marge.  We’re talking spooky shit here.  Shut the fuck up about that square dance thing.  Richard had the same goddamn dream I had.”

“Gloria.  You’re swearing a lot.”

“Thanks.  I wasn’t fucking aware.”

“You’re really upset,” said Marge.  “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.  You got your panties in a twist over a ding-a-ling, fucking square dance.”

Marge leaned back hard into the couch and folded her arms.  “Okay.  Forget the dance.  I’m all yours.  Just get it out… all out before ‘Space Chicks’ comes on.”

Gloria shook her head… then burst out laughing. 

Marge nodded.  “There.  That’s better.”

“Space Chicks.  You and your TV shows.  THEY DRIVE ME NUTS!”

Marge jumped and moved to the corner of the couch. 

Gloria dropped her head to her chest and began weeping.

“Gloria!  Calm down.  Forget the show.  Forget the dance.  Just tell me what’s got you so upset.  I’m sorry, hon.  I really am.  Just tell me,” said Marge, leaning over and opening the can of beer.  “Here.  Take a deep breath and have a couple of swallows.”

Gloria growled out a final purge, looked up, took the beer and down it in four gulps.

Marge got up, nodded and said,  “I know, you’ll have another.”

Gloria nodded back.

Marge quickly went to the refrigerator and brought back two beers, popping the tabs and sitting next to Gloria now.

Gloria nodded.  “Thanks.  I’m sorry.”

“No problem.  So…?”

“So, I had this dream three nights ago.  Richard must have had the same one, ‘cause he had a painting of it… something he did or had done, I don’t know… just the image was the same.”

“Being?”

“I’m looking up at this black robed something, my legs spread, and like I’m giving birth to a volcanic… a volcanic eruption.  Hot like I’ve never imagined.  Rocks, earth, I don’t know, lots of rough shit moving through my abdomen, like a giant… something.”

“Well, they say birth is like that,” offered Marge.

“No.  No.  No.  I’ve never heard of anything like this.  Not even from that talk-machine Agatha who can’t shut up about her giving birth every year for ten years… not even her descriptions…”

“Oh, she drives me crazy too when she gets on the bike and…”

Gloria continued.  “Not even her detailed dilations and caesarian, and all that… nothing like this.  And then, the dream explodes like some kind of bomb and I’m floating in pieces… my thoughts and everything… pieces floating around… like the end of everything.”

“Jesus,” whispered Gloria.  “Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

“Same reason you wouldn’t say anything to me.  Who wants to think another second about something like that?”

“What did Richard say?” asked Marge.

“Nothing.  I didn’t say anything when he asked if anyone else saw his image, and he just… he just put it away, like a frightened little boy.  It was sad.  And I was so pissed.  I was so pissed.”

“Did you say anything to anybody… to Urian?”

“No.  Of course not.  I don’t want to talk about it to them.”

“But…”

“Marge.  We were called together up there so Urian could tell us he didn’t know why, but our dreams, the five of us, our dreams are being picked up… just like we were wide-awake.  They don’t know why, but wanted to tell us, and… make sure we’re aware.”

“Well, at least they’re being honest,” said Marge, taking a swallow of beer.

“Yeah,” said Gloria, drinking her beer.  “That’s what they maybe want us to believe.”

                                                      ---

Across the street from The Godard, three shadows gathered at the park bench.  “Tito, I want you to meet Urian.  He’s a friend of mine,” said Hector.

Urian extended his hand down to the seated Tito.  Closing his script, Tito tilted his head, his eyes becoming visible beneath the fedora’s brim.  “Good enough for me.” 

“So,” said Hector, “I’ll leave you two.  Felix needs a break, covering for me as he did.  We’ll rehearse after you finish here, okay, Tito?”

“I’ll be there.”

Hector walked across the street to Felix, and Urian sat down.  “Fall is here, for sure.”

“Yeah.  Fall.  For sure.  Why’d you want to meet me?”

“So much for small talk.  Like Hector said, you’re a man who doesn’t waste time.”

“When you’re my age, time isn’t in your favor.”

“That why you took up acting?”

“Been doin’ that all my life.  Just have a coach… a director now.”

“How’s it coming?”

“The performance piece is coming fine.  Why?”

“Oh, the reason for meeting you?”

“Yeah.”

“You know, Tito, it’s actually cold sitting here.  How about we walk a bit?”

“Walking’s fine.”

They shuffled into the park. 

“Tito, I’m involved in some research.  That’s how I met Hector, and…”

“What kind of research?”

“Social behavior.”

Tito smiled.  “Oh, now I get it.  You want to ask me a bunch of questions.”

“Not really.  Just one.”

Tito nodded.  “Well, that makes it easy.  Shoot.”

“I understand you have a favorite horse.”

Tito looked over at Urian.  “Strange statement.”

“You do, don’t you?”

“Horse.  Yeah.  Down the street.  Why?”

“Part of our study is people and animals.”

“Part?  That’s a monster conundrum all by itself.”

“No doubt.  But we’re just interested in ‘special’ relationships.  Not many people enjoy sitting with a horse and checking things out together.”

“Oh, Hector’s been bragging again about his friend who talks to a horse, eh?”

“No.  I wasn’t referring to the talking.”

Tito stopped and gave Urian a long look.  “Got a cigarette?”

“As a matter-a-fact…”

“You do.  Great.” 

Urian offered his cigarette pack to Tito, who lifted two, placing one in the band of his fedora and the other in his mouth. 

“Light?  Satan’s a good listener.  Never asks questions, you know?  That’s the horse’s name.”

Urian nodded and grinned.  “Great name, Satan.  What I was really interested in was…” he lit Tito’s cigarette, then lit one for himself.  “…was... are you?”

“Pardon?”

“Are you a good listener?”

“Not getting you.”

“Let’s find a coffee shop.  I have something to tell you about that horse, Satan.”

Urian stepped ahead as Tito paused a moment, then caught up.  They both enjoyed a deep drag.  Tito smiled.  “You don’t look like a whacko.”

“Neither do you, Tito.  Good coffee at Beans.  Know it?”

“One block south.”

“One block south,” repeated Urian.  “So, what’s your next book?”

Tito kept his eyes forward.  This guy knows a hell of lot about me.  What gives?