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Rainbow Connection; chapter two, part two

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“I like him, too, but I’m not tagging along on your date.”  I interject a teasing note into my voice.  “One of us should be getting laid, and it’s not me.  Just remember, though, no glove, no love.”

“Girl, you know you don’t gotta worry about that with me,” Paris says with spirit.  He is the poster boy for safer sex; I wish all queer men would follow his lead.  I’m tired of losing so many of them to AIDS.  “Guess who emailed me last week?  Jenna.”

“No way!  I thought she gave up.”  Jenna was Paris’s last girlfriend—the one he broke up with just before meeting Lyle.  Paris had been dating her a month when she wanted to take it to the next level.  Problem is, the shine had already come off the relationship for him.  She did not take it well when he broke up with her.  His ex-lovers rarely did, but hers was the worst reaction in a long time.  He considered having her served with a restraining order, but she backed off just enough to make it a non-issue.

“I thought so, too.  Apparently she heard about the break-in and was concerned that I might be hurt.  She won’t be satisfied until she sees me with her own eyes that I’m ok.”  Paris’s lip twitched as he relays the information.  I struggle to keep my face solemn as well, but can’t.  We both know it’s just an excuse to see him again.  Paris has the misfortune of being utterly captivating to the people he dates, making it difficult for them to let go when he dumps them.  Make no mistake about it, he’s always the dumper not the dumpee.  The only time he didn’t dump his lover was when Brett died of AIDs.  Other than that, he’s batting a thousand.  I, on the other hand, am much more likely to be the dumped than the dumper.  By the gods of karma, it’s my right to dump the next five people I date.

“You going to see her?”  I know the answer before Paris even opens his mouth.  Any attention would only encourage her.  In some ways, I’m surprised.  She was such a drab mouse when he dated her.  He tends to be attracted to people who don’t shine as brightly as he does because he likes to be the one in the limelight.  Not physically, necessarily, as he likes beautiful people, but personality-wise.  Unfortunately for him—and for his lovers—then he gets bored because the other person can’t keep up.  This has been his pattern since I’ve known him.  Only Brett and now Lyle have been anomalies which is one reason I have high hopes for Lyle.  Another is that he’s just as good-looking as Paris is with his thick, dark curls and intense blue eyes.  He lifts weights religiously as does Paris; in fact, that’s how they met.  At Paris’s gym.  One look and it was instant lust.

“Hell, no!”  Paris says emphatically.  “I haven’t even answered the email, and I don’t intend to.”  He knows it’s better to be firm than to waffle.  “I’m hoping she’ll go away peacefully this time.”  I have my doubts, but I keep them to myself.  I don’t want to harsh on his high over Lyle.  “Hey, you said you were going over to Lisa’s tomorrow?”  He watches as I mix the batter and start shaping the cookies into little balls.  “Is Vashti going to be there?”  He doesn’t offer to help for the same reason I never offer to help him—each of us is fiercely territorial when cooking.  It’s hands-off for the other person.

“Yes.”  I nod my head, my eyes dimming.  I’m not sure I can face her.  I unconsciously finger the bridge of my nose where there is a bump from being pistol-whipped and broken.  Of course, I get dough on my nose and Paris wipes it off for me.  My right knee twinges as if it senses my thoughts.  That’s where I got sapped with the same gun that night.  My injuries are mostly healed, but they like to remind me now and then of what happened.

“You ready for that?”  Paris rubs my back sympathetically as I continue dropping cookie dough balls onto the cookie sheet.

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Rainbow Connection; chapter one, part two

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“Just that she’s sorry.”  Paris’s cold tone indicates what he thinks of her apology.  “She kept saying it.  Like she always does.”  He pauses to flip over whatever he’s making.  “As if that makes it all better.”  I sit there, tears silently dripping from my eyes.  Paris turns around and sees me.  “Oh, honey.”  He rushes over and pats me on the back before returning to his cooking.  “I could kill that girl, I really could.  What was she thinking?”  He shakes his head, giving me time to regroup.

“She thought she was protecting a friend,” I say, sniffling up some snot.  I know I must look a mess, but there isn’t much I can do about it.  “She was doing what she thought was right.”

“Then how come you’re not speaking to her?”  Paris asks, not expecting an answer.  He knows that even though I think Vashti did what she thought was best, she still severed the fragile ties that bound us.  I have no idea when—if ever—I will be willing to try to trust her again.

“How’s Lyle?”  I ask, switching subjects.  Yet another thing to feel guilty for.  Paris’s new love who has been getting the short shrift because Paris has had to spend so much time with me.

“He’s fine.  We’re getting together tonight, if you think you’ll be ok on your own.”  Paris glances anxiously at me, trying to gauge where I am mentally.  It saddens me that I have been reduced to this—my best friend tailoring his dates around my mental condition.

“Go.  Have a good time.  I insist.”  I don’t give a damn what I’m feeling like—Paris deserves a normal life.  In the past month, he’s gone out with Lyle four times, rushing back home before midnight each time.  They talk on the phone all the time and meet at the gym frequently, but it’s not the same.  No more.  “And this time, spend the night.”  I look hard at Paris to show that I’m serious.  Unfortunately, his back is to me, but I feel better, anyway.  A tiny step towards feeling more like myself.

“Here we go.”  Paris sets a plate in front of me.  It has an omelet on it along with a chocolate croissant.  My mouth waters at the heady aroma.  I cut into the omelet, watching the aged sharp cheddar cheese ooze out.  The omelet is bursting with ham, onions, broccoli, and red bell peppers.  I pop a tiny bit into my mouth and chew it slowly.  I don’t want to make myself sick, so I masticate the bite thoroughly.  I wash it down with a sip of milk and wait anxiously to see if it’ll stay down.  It does.  I take a bite out of the croissant.  Pure heaven with the melted chocolate running down my throat.  Encouraged, I take a bigger bite of the omelet and immediately start retching.  Dropping my fork, I race to the bathroom and kneel by the toilet.  I am able to lift the seat in time just as the food forces its way back up my throat.  It doesn’t taste nearly as good going up as it did going down.  I have tears in my eyes as I finish gagging.

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Rainbow Connection; chapter one, part one

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Ed. Note: I wrote this nearly twenty years ago in memory of my time in San Francisco. It’s the second of a trilogy, and I had a lot of fun writing it. Let’s see how well it’s aged, shall we?

Paris runs his hands down my body, taking his time.  He stares in adoration at my generous curves, even though he usually prefers his women a bit more waifish.  I’m short, which he likes, but curvier than his usual suspects.  He licks his lips in anticipation as he peels off each piece of my clothing until he finally uncovers my naked body which is waiting for him to touch me.  Every nerve is crying out to him as he lovingly picks up the chainsaw resting by his hand.  My eyes widen as he starts it.  I try to move, but my arms are tied to the bed.  He turns on the chainsaw and raises it high in the air.  He is grinning savagely as he lowers the chainsaw, his wide-set green eyes dancing with maniacal glee.  My struggles increase as the chainsaw bypasses my head and nears my breasts.

“What the fuck are you doing?”  I shout at Paris, my best friend, only the words are stuck in my throat and can’t be heard.  I scream as the blade bites into my left breast.  Paris acts as if he hasn’t heard me, so intent is he on the task at hand.  I cannot believe he is doing this to me; we have been best friends for fourteen years, and he’s going to hack me apart with a chainsaw?  He pauses, lifting the chainsaw.  Chocolate syrup is oozing out of the wound.  He leans close to my ear.

“Rayne, Rayne, wake the fuck up.”  What?  Why is he saying that?  I struggle to get away from his hot breath, but he won’t leave me alone.  “You’re having a bad dream.  Wake up!”  I listen to what he’s saying, but it makes no sense.  He is shaking me, leaving the chainsaw to the side.  I slowly realize that I’ve been dreaming, and I allow myself to be roused from my sleep.

“Paris?”  I open one eye and see my best friend’s face filled with concern.  “What time is it?  What day is it?”

“It’s six in the morning.  Saturday morning.  February.  You were screaming so loud, I could hear you from my room.”  His green eyes, the same ones that had tormented me in my dream, gaze at me with concern.  I stare at him, his eyes, the blond hair, the muscular frame, as if I’ve never seen him before.  He sits on the edge of my bed and gathers me in his arms.  We have done this nightmare things so many times, we have it down to a science.  He has to repeat the same information to me after each episode.  Time of day, what day, what month.

“Paris, it was horrible.  You had me tied down and were cutting me apart with a chainsaw.”  I huddle against his muscular body, feeling the fear I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in the dream.  He is almost a foot taller than I, and I take comfort in his bulk.  It’s been this way for the last month, ever since I almost lost my life to a killer with nothing to lose and everything to gain by killing me.  Paris is a part-time personal trainer, and one of his client’s girlfriends was killed at a party Paris and I attended.  The client herself  was killed shortly after.  Paris and I were suspects until I cleared our names, almost losing my life and my faith in humanity at the same time.  A month later, I am nowhere near recovered.

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