qu'en est-il d'une vraie conversation ?  Je tombe en panne d'essence sans but

alors je ne comprends pas ?  vous devez être précis.  j'ai pensé abandonner

e.d. noir/Between the plains

it is after I have finished off, cleansed the wound over the area …. when …. I see the strange neatness of the stitches and feel myself remove …. wrap the gauze around until it seals it away…. like some heavy dream; when the thick blankets smothers out your attachment to recalling the dream …. the dream down the heavy dark swamp 

I don’t know really what I think about sometimes ….these days anyway ….

the few hours between those few hours of sleep ….I’ve not been able to get past four at the most for so long 

….that heaviness that goes deep down into the dark morass…. right before dreams 

 …. so I watch him to be sure no fever sets in. I stay for hours wondering how I will explain to Sunny where I’ve been ….and how to get back here with supplies without catching his attention 

I realize as I sit there with one eye watching him and another dreaming past the hide’s several windows ….it has been weeks since I went somewhere like a shop or ….was among civilization and ….I don’t miss it. I don’t want it. I don’t want to be among people. among society. have I been a prisoner too long, I wonder….or is it the society? I have no interest in anything out there

I could stay here in these woods forever ….pretend I am not on the planet where some lunatic could press a button and blow up our planet ….I’m not here anymore. perhaps I am like a bear in hibernation or wasn’t it Merlin who went into his crystal cave and slept a few hundred years ….?

I think about Sunny with all his hunting trophies all over ….giant bears take up the main room and more deer than I can count adorn the walls and…. I realize he and I look at nature so much differently…. but I feel so unlike ….most in society; I don’t eat meat and I cry watching hunters go after their kill; cry more watching the blood and the skulls….and the casualness of how meat is consumed —why am I so ridiculous? so removed from normal ….but why isn’t this normal? I keep wondering 

yet….I don’t think it’s me so, fuckit….and then forget my thought when I look down now at my phone ….

as ….there is a message from Willem….oh, what do I do?

 la muse doit-elle rester dans l'ombre pour toujours ?

Electra’s dictionary and film noir; infinity

 

I truly get the feeling that nobody really knows that life is real 

so they waste every second 

   these things you think about as you are watching someone …. slip away 

or when it is you

when you see your small body crumpled up like road kill and 

you think …. poor thing 

and then God taps you on the shoulder and says,

“baby, that’s you down there…. she’s dying …. aren’t you going to save her?”

*******

I watch myself do things ….I watch from far away….

 as I watch fingers sew up Jörn’s wound …. 

And as I come back to myself I realize I’ve been somewhere far away …. lost in some dream world …. where dictionaries are all encoded and nobody ever figured it out ….And have to rush down the ladder as I now vomit at the sight of blood, I manage to clean it all up using the bottled water and by now …. the shields are all in place ….I remember now something else ….about his opera and …. the trigger that began this entire labyrinthine journey to a Celf …..

Electra’s dictionary & film noir/impairments have power

He says,

“the bullet is still in there,” in such a tone as one might say, ‘I had a shitty day’ with an accompanied resigned sigh 

something always switches for me in moments of crisis but it takes just the right shove to carry me over that threshold 

the shock of blood everywhere, the paleness of his complexion ….just to the welcome mat when first only I feel that lightheaded warning …. then the taste of fear when he says,

“I can’t reach it—“he suddenly moves to lean towards me extending a utility knife, “it’s in my shoulder—behind—you’re going to have to do it….” and looks up at me matter-of-fact with those eyes, now foggy with fatigue 

“Me? I’ll call 911–“ I reach for my phone

“Nej!” he shouts this and shocks me so much that I drop my phone. It lands loudly on the floor board wood plank

I stare at him

“No….” he says more calmly, “no one can know I’m here…. alive….”

This is when the switch occurs….

it is involuntary ….like spring loaded; a catapult when he says,

“But I might not be if an infection sets in….just need to get the bullet out— duva…. I’ll tell you what to do….”

It is always at that moment when it happens that I know ….I am invincible and all fears and emotions blow away, like stepping out of a costume and being aware of only ….energy and watch it all happen…. fingers, objects and just calculations 

It is a strange thing about this moment when you sit on the precipice of two awarenesses and I have heard it categorized as the common garden variety of disassociation but I don’t know but if it is, then maybe it is not well understood. Sometimes worlds need to be saved and not everyone in it notices what is happening in the furthest reaches of corners ….

“Use that needle ….” he tells me 

“There’s rubbing alcohol in the kit,” he tells me

I use it to cleanse the area with strips of fabric torn from the bottom of my shirt and then my hands

“There’s also a bottle of vodka,” he gestures with his head at the rucksack I only just notice by the door where I came in

I get the bag and bring it over,

“how long have you been here?” 

“What time is it?”

I show him my phone for the time 

“So I spent the night here….”

“How—?”

“Chopper.”

“Who?”

He shakes his head,

“I can’t tell you…. I’m surprised you didn’t hear—wake up the dogs or….”

“He has the television up pretty loud,” I hand him the vodka 

I watch him take a long swig, then look up at me with one brow raised,

“ready?”

invincible 

Electra’s dictionary & film noir;Notes to a stranger & codes/then it is you

name yourself

*******

The nightmares have returned —but I only realize as I walk through Sunny’s forest, there had been another last night…. as it now comes back to me; there is still something dark that is buried there that I am still hiding from 

But as I hike through leaves and branches on my way to find the right path which leads to that hunter’s hide, I see the clearing and the two objects ….and as I walk past them I see the path that leads to the hide which looks like a little gray house with dark green camouflage tree branches painted on it like all the others on Sunny’s hunting grounds. The small building structure is sat on tall metal props that elevate it high; like a treehouse, it is tree level and for a moment I seem to just stare at it as I compare it to the photo in the email attachment and…. I get a chill; a kind of shudder as if I get a sense of fear

I walk the rest of the distance to reach it, take a deep breath as I circle it, walking towards the front, where the ladder is that leads up to a door…. and— for just a quick moment as I get a jolt, I pause to take a deep breath and then climb the tall ladder slowly as I feel my knees start to tremble. With growing dread, I force myself to not think as I continue my climb to the top. And, once there, I feel myself trembling even more by now, then forcing out thought, haul myself up the landing with both hands. I land neatly in a quiet thud, then carefully I test the wood of the landing with my weight on it 

And as the landing proves sound, I test myself to walk two steps ….carefully to the front door and pause…. hold my breath…. and, squeezing my eyes shut, grab the door handle which looks like a regular old brass doorknob that you would have found in some old house from the 1940s….It turns with difficulty but manages to unfasten and now I start to pull open the door, at first very carefully, only about a centimeter —and peak in….but I don’t have to as —at that moment I hear Jörn’s cough just before he says, 

“yes it’s me duva…. it’s safe….”

Only he should have prepared me…. and as I swing wide the door, I see his blood everywhere 

 we are meant to live consciously. maybe now is not meant to know why. just to know; that what you feel matters and should be consciously acknowledged because ….it all really matters 

Electra’s dictionary & film noir;deception email (jmmusechron)

I go to the emails and find the one from Carmen and open it, it says

To Cabaret administrator; 

I require a refund for the two items you will see pictured in the attachments 

So I open each attachment ….but instead of items from the online shop the two photos are ….

rather odd…. one is a photo of two odd broken branches; one shaped like a V the other a Y

the other photo is …. of …. a hunter’s hide ….

suddenly it hits me; I have seen both these things …. because they are on Sunny’s property ….

 

 

[a break from events]

 thoughts…. & /of the dictionary

in all the relationships/lovers I’ve ever had, never was there one who ever read anything I wrote. Never asked to, never took the initiative to bother. the same is true for my visual art, they but took a casual glance at it and never commented during the course of our intimacy

one even walked right across one of my paintings and left a footprint 

Is that why I do this ?

I guess there is a contradiction of how I am perceived outwardly. My physical looks don’t match who I am (do I look like a slut?) and must be the reason I have always attracted the worst partners. I really do not see how others see me; I get confused whenever situations come about from the result of this (so it is no surprise I don’t post pictures of myself here and try to limit it in other places) 

Some people have been asking me what is happening with my ‘project’ side of “Electra’s dictionary” 

Electra’s dictionary ….. it’s been a part of me for as long as I have been self-aware. And, it seems that whatever I do in my life, it evolves into but it is also my clipboard of consciousness and —I guess, will continue to until the end 

To be and to morph, and bend to life around the nucleus that I exist in….but

Electra’s dictionary ….does it belong in that real world out there? 

I don’t want be commercial

so —what could it be? 

There’s a line in the movie Tootsie when Bill Murray’s character says “I wish I had a theatre that was only open when it rained,” 

and …. I guess it’s like that 

what kind of people venture out on rainy evenings? Possibly the kinds who wish to avoid crowds…. 

Those other types ….well …. they would never grasp the Dictionary

So, in trying to envision how to reach that rainy day audience —as they must exist but maybe just are scattered all over the planet in secret corners of the world, as, I believe there are a lot of introverts out there with similar leanings 

Lately when I have been thinking about this in consideration in making it as film, it would work best if it could be done very modestly. Almost like it is Electra’s iPhone filming it as an extension in her diary and just let the story tell it. 

Visually and audibly, as my diary depicts and blends the real with the haze of illusion…. move from verse to scenes fluidly like the blog; like a vlog …. it has become my favorite as an idea, so—in this way it would not need big budget special effects methods, as I couldn’t compete with this anyway but I really don’t think my style of storytelling actually needs it—and I have begun to believe it’s more a distraction to do the Dictionary in that way.

…. a bit gritty at first as it opens …. visually like stepping inside a diary and a consciousness 

Electra’s dictionary and Film Noir/A Short Shift; transition in thoughts (jmmusechronicles)

Electra—

I have heard nothing directly from him in so long, I start to lose faith …. and more odd messages come… but from whom? ….I don’t know what to think or what to believe; his silence I don’t understand anymore…. they …. leave me to question —is it Jörn? —or some copycat who has figured out our secret codes and ….so now I find I wonder how to proceed 

One message I find through our Cabaret website —from someone named “Carmen” but I don’t bother to open it right right away as it does not register immediately and—it is not until moments later when I go for a hike on Sunny’s grounds that I get a strange sense deep within …..and when I get a jolt suddenly —it occurs to me to think of that email; so find I rush to return suddenly when I get a sense something is quite wrong 

and ….decide to look at the email from Carmen 



…. life is so terrifying 

you enter this world and it all starts 

the canons in all directions

and it never stops 

nobody says aloud —are you scared? 

I am 

all the time ….it is always war everywhere, even the kind in little worlds; we are all so fragile 

why is love so intangible? 

….peace, little dove, Electra 

 

e.d.

I receive a strange message …. is it Jörn?

 

Electra’s dictionary and film noir/jmmusechron next chapter 

So I find I think of Jörn all the time; constantly and …. I wonder was it always this way? ….is it only that I am conscious of it now because …. or is it the fear of what danger he may be in?

I think of the thrill …. those times at Lincoln center; rushing to concert just to see him …. to watch him up there, so beautiful and golden in the lights and now, who knows what dark cover he has assumed for this new caper 

I don’t like this. Not to be near him has become a physical ache lately which— no, I don’t mean it in that way; I mean it in another way; a way I am not so familiar …. in a way that I never thought I was capable so—I wonder about it all with the world as it is

And I think about that Viking and that Celtic girl; a girl’s life I relive almost every night….

Maybe ….

it must mean something if it is another end to another era perhaps ….? 

I think of him that day in the lobby the first time I saw him …. I really don’t think I am supposed to ignore ….

He asks me to write about him here

 

he wants me to write of him; in the din of our world our separate peace

he wants to read how my words describe what our private dreams we wish to share do to me; or he wishes to crawl within my head and know my secret thoughts of him 

words that require decoding because, well, he knows that every thought I reveal, I say a thousand more 

so he wonders how would my contradictions describe one of —what— thousands of fleeting sexual thoughts of him? 

assuming …. do I? today —where, how, and how many…. such a bad boy —

No just a player —he needs my mind fucks to get through his day

But I know he’s just a player 

I’m your mind fuck forever seared into your mental retinas

searching….

…. his messages come to me and as clearly they do say so well; so very well….

as much as they do …. they do not …. 

e.d./in contemplation;world war z

The backdrop of Nazis and Hitler was always present in my life growing up. The stories and accounts were always in conversation. They came to my ears from grandparents as —it was quite impactful to our family background; on both sides—they covered all the territory of the events then —and was why they left Russia and Poland

So then there now were the stories to hear from those we met in the Netherlands. And I remember one in particular  I heard between my mother and an old survivor as they spoke outside the front steps of Anne Frank’s house and I listened to their conversation while I watched the canal boats…. you know, so, I guess it was not long since that Grim Reaper tore through when we first moved over there—relatively speaking, as I now look back and count the years 

I have said that I was brought up by the old Dutch men at the local Traveler’s Grill down the road where I lived and where I’d hide out for hours with these two old men and their stories. That was my education on life and the world 

and why I am so different from Americans where I am never understood by anyone 

Well, they warned me of such things we see now happening but, well ….and I keep thinking of Milan Kundera’s description of the invasion of Prague in his novel —which he witnessed in actual life…. 

these wars and world wars —it is a battle that seems to never resolve…. it seems to me, dark forces that gain muscle through lust of power, it is some dark dinosaur within the replication of mankind ….they cheaply spend lives not their own and we record this in the chronicles that are full of lies…. so, this ‘work’ of mine…. is it just a diary? why do I do it, what does it mean

A very Short: Melomusedramatic noir/e.d. (ou "une page par jour")

 

words in a journal, E.d.

Later….

still stuck to him, I think “he has washed away that other electra….” and think too much as usual, as I feel his fingers in my hair ….along with the heat as he moves to kiss my skin, going down my shoulder to my upper arm and stops there

I say,

“they send people into outer space and you wonder— for what —because it is not for humanity,” and then lean my head into him and close my eyes, “I find it all so empty and strange….don’t you? ….you know, mankind? —having the means to destroy with such venom when ….there are so many possible ….worlds….out there; maybe worse but who knows ….maybe not —maybe better—but would they bother to listen…. ?” I look up at him now, “so you are, what—just going, then? Like that, right? So, this may be  ….like the last time we may ever see each other—“ and he makes no reaction so I say, “and, you know…. again, we may never meet …. would you be sorry?”

“Don’t be so melodramatic,” he says in that voice (….and all resolve goes out the window), as he says, “my mission requires I return here to DC in a week or so but—I said, duva, you will hear from me….”

“Well…. “I keep my thoughts to myself not wanting to tempt the fates and so have to consciously push away all dark thoughts ….and so thus wrapped around him and —with the water pouring down …. no, after all, not too difficult to be distracted 

melodramatic 

 

More epiphanies(just a quickie); e.d.&film noir/A deep cleanse(jmmusechron)

Only as I step down inside it, the darkness within surrounds me; just like that, like a blackout. is it a flatline….?

 ….but the breathing is hard

 ….he says to

The day suddenly got so chill. the curtain blown a cold with its waves of violence and shudders across the globe; are we really here again —I should not wonder again only why must the cost always prey upon those who never had a part of the bargain…?

everywhere. Such misery. Bleakness. Such bad news from people ….the climate of the chess board; it mirrors everywhere. The darkness that looms…. It is here

And….  it all seems so worthless ….

what was the point of any of the victories if you never get anywhere, it depresses me ….do I want to be a member of such a club? 

& where is the Greek chorus when I really need one ? me —speak a voice to —what? them? such idiots. all of them…. instead of Shirley Valentine, I am Mulan 

“Come here,” he says 

but where is he? As it was dark stepping down into the boat and then —something came over me; it was the darkness ….but now my eyes adjust and then sounds too…. the lapping of the water is now mixed with …. running water, like a waterfall so, I follow the sound 

It leads me within wood paneled walls to a shower running within a glowing light and there is Jörn stripped down and getting his hair wet under the water as he waves at me to come 

I laugh, and look around behind me,

“no way! Somebody will come!”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he says and waves at me again to come 

“So why am I doing this?” I laugh, but go anyway, “I just bathed, so I don’t think—“

he gets out dripping and starts removing garments off me as he says—peeling my jacket snd cardigan off together and then over my head, I’m buried —he says through my tshirt,

“this is not to shower, so be quiet.”

I laugh,

“oh I get it—“

“Think of it as a baptism,” he says this, by now it’s possible to see his face but only just as he works his way down quick and says, “get in,” with a nudge 

“I don’t really want a shower—“I say as I get pushed in but —it is actually warm and nice, “a baptism….?” as it only now occurs to me what he said, “so is this your boat or —“ I start to sit down on the bottom but he pulls me up as he gets back in 

our voices echo weirdly inside the shower stall

“It’s like a—“ and he smiles in that way as I look up 

I say,

“are you going to say like an Airbnb”?”

He laughs,

“you’re starting to get things now—“

“so, how is this a baptism?” 

“Be quiet a minute and close your eyes,” he says 

so I listen to the water with my eyes closed and wonder if it is meant to be the waters of Lethe? ….Virgil ….maybe, this is his attempt at being symbolic or….no, I am wrong because —then I feel his teeth on my neck as ….his arms come around from behind me as —then I feel his mouth kiss my neck….hmmm

“is it that kind of baptism?” I ask

but his hands wash me instead,

“I said be quiet,” as he soaks my hair and starts washing it 

“So glad I put make up on today—“

“You really don’t listen,” he says but kisses me 

but the fox got away

 

 je m'inquiète pour toi

Electra’s dictionary & film noir(jmmusechroncont) Je réfléchis à— pourquoi devrions-nous rencontrer maintenant?

 

later, as he drives, we head to Chesapeake Bay 

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I can feel his tension 

He scowls and makes that sound of frustration, there is no translation for on my app

“You’ve been out of the loop of things ….” he sighs heavily 

“Oh. You mean no internet ….is this about Ukraine?” I ask

He doesn’t say anything and hardly responds but I can tell by the tension in his shoulders and spine. After a moment still staring out into the horizon he says,

“I may have to go deep cover for awhile—“

“You’re going?!” I move closer to read his expression but his profile is turned to me. And I feel myself become upset —and it makes me think of…. another who was once left behind

after a deep labored sigh, he shrugs, 

“it’s just slightly too close to my own backyard to ignore this this time—as it will be for everyone—sooner than later—duva, you know, it is my work—you know that….”

“something that goes beyond life and time ….” I say and ….think about fear and trauma …. it is no way to live 

 “that’s why you asked if I am comfortable here…. so…. what….? I may never see you again—“

“duva—“

“—or just too late ….”

e.d. —thoughts today for the dictionary/as background backstory for series 4

so, what happens is that, it does trigger the old scars

 and the unpredictability of what will surface and when….

in the aftermath of the newest trauma

well …. as the layers of the sheild wall melt off, with the adjustment to quiet —it does fool the senses to relax…. so then like a bolt or smack like a crack of a whip 

….cannot stop washing…. it is as if it is all over my skin…. to scrub it off….can everyone see it?

….

 I will not be branded 

is it a scent?

….a song?

….a random flash of a memory or—the insensitive remark by someone of a reference to a similar experience 

like a power keg ready to go off 

no, I was never big on crowds anyway …. but I used to try to convince myself to think people were worth the effort but, now, I don’t know. I really like animals better. And trees. I know there are some ok people out there. somewhere. I guess. the ones who trickle through 

but lately I’d rather create my own world apart ….

every experience forms an artist. I cannot ignore my experiences.and my work could never continue in a vacuum. of course this is part of the work …. that was why it ever began; it is about truth and as my reactions of things that happen causes the course…. to flow another way—it is a pilgrimage 

I am different from who she was when the Dictionary began 

recreated so many times—does it make me a better tree with new rings?more rings…. the roots go so deep….

I am resigned I think to accept it as what “is” —while no, it’s no mistake I ever landed here, but to be a part of—only apart is that endurable and I just don’t care anymore if I’m to be called a loner or recluse because who says that no longer matters to me and it never ever had to

I see it now 

not everyone is meant to take down the house and I’m ok with that 

….why do people stare?

Electra’s dictionary and film Noir/Noir days; dawn’s highway (jmmusechron)sr4

Dear e.d…..there are moments where—I swear, I panic ….forget how to breathe ….and I think “it’s crash and burn ….on my own ….lost out in space” ….I can’t breathe ….all the frauds I have known in my life —how can I ever know who to trust? who are these people —they are all liars….all liars ….I scream at the walls …silently …. Oh my god how did I get here. even texting UN Jackson about all this is strange ….How did I ever get here?  ….and where exactly am I ….? I stare at nothing, see nothing and only live in thoughts that no longer makes sense …. and the dreams are so ….sick 

*****

I sit in the car as Jörn drives silently 

but after awhile he says,

“Maryland? I…” he shakes his head 

I just watch reaped cornfields that I don’t even see ….crop circles …. anyone….? 

Jörn is saying…. by the buz of the road,

“right under our nose ….I just…. how, duva? How….because none of this makes any sense—“

“Stop the car, please,” I say calmly and look straight ahead. I repeat it too. Twice; like I do everything —like some idiot or maniac and ….easily both ….some fucking idiot 

I get out and start walking down the road 

It is awhile before I realize I am sat on the ground with my head in my hands and somewhere out there he is talking to me 

“I’m just trying to understand,” I hear him say 

“Yeah….” I say as if I agree 

“Where—?when….or do I mean how?” he says 

and it is something in his voice that pulls me somehow back to …. earth 

but it is a mistake as I fall apart 

“I’m sorry,” he says 

“No…. it’s just me….I guess I felt sorry —“there I break, “…for him—and ….he was fooling me—it was an act because then ….” And then I realize I don’t make sense 

I take a deep breath,

“I got a call when I went to help your father with the suitcases—remember that day? Your spy convention and—“

“I remember —you don’t have to remind me, I was there,” he says with a strain of frustration 

“Ok—yeah, so it was the drugstore. They said they found a credit card of mine I dropped the day I was there—which I should have realized was not true as I don’t have those on principle — but…. I don’t know, it was the drugstore in Southampton and I figured maybe they had something important of mine if not a credit card so—but I don’t know —he was at the area by where they do things like vaccines and —I didn’t recognize him, it’s been years—“

“Slow down,” he says….

and so, watch the sunset and hyperventilate 

“How did you meet Sunny?” Jörn half laughs and I look up

“I was walking down the highway…. literally ….passing cornfields and ….I got a lot of attention —“

“I bet—“

I laugh,

“I had to do something—no public transportation and three hours away by car to anything! Shit! Some creep from my past …. do you know what he told me? He’s thought about me every night since the last time he saw me —when was that? A million years ago….I don’t know how someone gets that fucked up—but why is it always me that weirdos go for—freaks …. he’s seriously out of touch with reality, not to mention a violent and raging alcoholic ….he really had no intention of letting me go….”

After awhile he says,

“well, he’s disappeared…. are you comfortable here? You could not have found a more unlikely swat team—a retired FBI agent in the middle of a cornfield ….” he laughs 

“I know—like how I met Willem….” I look up at Jörn to watch his eyes 

He nods and looks back at me,

“I know what you are thinking ….”

I shrug, 

“Well…. do you blame me?”

“Your imagination could get you in trouble ….Sunny checks out—Langley and DC were on the way and ….you know they never ‘retire’ ….”

But I forget the panic for just one very small moment and put my fingers in his hair to pull him to me and then trace his eye with my finger tip, to then stop at the top of his cheekbone 

“You know who we think is behind this….?” Jörn asks hesitantly 

“We?” I snicker “you-and-Willem?”

“And Stina.”

The way the light is angled can alter the tones of his eyes; they are ‘prism cells’, I think, as I do to his other eye the same

 and say to him,

“put you mouth here….”

and point to mine

 —but I don’t really wait 

this box is in the photo, not in the painting, but it’s funny there

this will look a thousand times better after I go over it in oil paint. I look at it, after not seeing it for awhile, and ….it anchors me, it seems

 Je suis désolé;  J'ai été distrait par le chaos

reconnecting with old friends 

it calls to be complete  

what’s in the box?

 

(I Hitchcocked this one, do you see my shadow?lol!) drive up front “lawn”
 

                 And what shall we call this, my lord?

 “Kate, that is the moon.”

“But it is the sun.”

“Yet say it is the moon as it pleases your lord.”

“It is that you are lunar, my lord, so it is the moon.”

I did not need another scar

I’ve witnessed friends are fake 

 I did not need another scar 

 I am my own knight 

It seems I have always longed for him, but I never could place where .... so what is the purpose we should meet now.... what purpose do we serve in each other’s lives.... something he needs from me? Something I need? Something that goes beyond life and time?

….the girl and the smeden 

Part 1 “Tequila; A Page a Day(prequel)”/Another Story

They leave the coffee place and as they walk, unconsciously they fall into pace with each other even though they are, to note strangers, but they are not really, are they? Only no, they don’t think about this either, while they walk past airport shops, for there is no time for such fleeting thoughts as ….well her flight is eminently approaching 

“So have you ever?” he asks her as they walk quickly past other masked travelers 

“Have I ever what?” 

“Been somebody’s unicorn….?”

“Well, I’ve had —you know….stalkers —who —“

“Stalkers?”

“Yeah— who thought I was their unicorn, yeah….” she shudders

“Christ—no, actually I meant it the other way—“

“Huh….?” she glances up at him as he says,

“the extra party—trois….”

and again the spots of bright color appear on her alabaster complexion. But she turns suddenly as though something has caught her eye in a shop window 

“Oh, I love these!” she says going into the shop which is filled with bohemian objects; she goes past batik print tapestries, takes a moment to inspect the designs and touch the fabric, but then swiftly moves on to stare at a wall of macramés hangings, captured by the deep emerald color of one but then is mesmerized by the red clay pots as tall as she. 

But it is this which got Beth’s attention —she goes over to a display of bracelets; bangles, cuffs, leathers and the kind with little glass beads and she tries them on but they don’t look right on her; they are all too big for her wrist and fall right off; she puts them back with a sad sigh 

He says,

“so have you?”

“Have I…?” but she suddenly remembers the question she dodged, “so what was that about tequila?” she happens to notice they pass one of many airport bars just now, “oh that place looks interesting, since you are stuck here anyway, let’s see if they have tequila—“ only now she realizes the time,

“but ohhh…. look, it’s getting closer to my boarding time….”

“You still have one hour,” he tells her, “unless yours gets delayed too.”

“Oh you wish!”

“What do I wish?” he asks her and it is something in how he says this 

Beth swiftly turns around to look at him and shocking her, his expression is intensely serious 

“No I meant….” she says, but forgets what she means to say; there is a weird stab that is actually physical, as she looks up at him, when caught inside his eyes, that makes her stumble, but he catches her 

He says

“Let’s see if they have tequila ….”

They go inside

It is deceptively small inside, once past the entrance; it seems all the customers prefer the bar where there is a slight crowd. But past the length of this, in search of a seat there, a waiter in black uniform suggests they sit in the dining area. 

He directs them there. 

There are only four little tables arranged privately like little booths. The waiter lets them choose which one

And once seated he asks,

“so what can I get for you?” 

“We were wondering if you have tequila,” Stefan says

“We have a selection. Do you have one you prefer?”

In the end Stefan says,

“we’ll just do shots of each.”

 

Another story/“do I want you for a ménage á trois?”

 

Beth burns her lip on the coffee as she sits there waiting for Stefan to return 

“Fuck!” she puts the coffee cup down and from her Nepal bag, she takes out her compact. She inspects her lip for signs of damage then jumps when she hears him calling to her as he walks back

“So…. it looks like my flight is delayed….the person said he would call to let me know….” as he sits down, he shrugs, “has the coffee gone cold?”

“No, it just scalded off my upper lip, so, be warned,” Beth half laughs 

“Let me see,” he says

“No, that’s ok….”

For a moment he studies her and then laughs,

“do I want you for a ménage á trois?”

She looks up at him now and he can clearly see that her face, which was before a paler shade, has now gone a bright shade of red 

“—my unicorn?” he is laughing now, “I just looked that up on Urban Dictionary.”

“Oh….” she lets out a heavy sigh of relief and then in delayed reaction she laughs

Only now can she look him in the eye, which, up until this moment she could not,

“no, like—that evasive unicorn….”

Stefan watches her as she says this and shakes his head,

“what do you mean?”

“Like a mirage…. that thing you can never achieve so instead, you just keep it there on the illusionary shelf. Look at it. Dust it off. Put it back. But never open. Like those expensive books still in the wrapper —but ….maybe what is inside is totally this whole other entity entirely….so…. Unicorn.”

“‘Blood of a poet’, Cocteau?” he says with a straight face but his eyes, that seem different colors in different angles of light, now twinkle and give him away

If it were in messaging she would …. say…. 

So—

instead she does:

“Don’t mock me,” she tells him and it seems to break the ice between them

“Maybe we should be drinking tequila and not coffee because there was a third meaning in the urban dictionary,” he teases her, “so why Alaska?”

“Oh! Well—hey, I get to complete my research and the money is perfect,” she says this with a kind of casual tone of bravado not her own and shrugs, “it’s like solitary confinement at the work station. That’s what they jokingly call it. There’s no one for miles. Only the postal guy and that’s if you get mail —but ….I have kind of ….’had it’ with people. So….just animals and the wild from now on. So what are you doing in—where did you just come from?”

“Portugal. I was covering a story on an eco-system, agricultural developer—“ his phone interrupts, “oh, it’s the airline’s person—“ answers, “yes….oh, I see…. so, how long can this—or….ah….” 

Beth watches him, sensing something is wrong 

After he ends the call he sighs and looks at her but shrugs,

“the airlines crew all tested positive.”

“What? You mean…. so….?”

“They just told me they booked a hotel room for me somewhere, so—it looks like I’m stuck here.”

 le vampire comme guide à travers l'enfer