Among The Cloud Dwellers (Entrainment Series)

by Giuliana Sica

  I swept my head back, taking in the foreign, aseptic surroundings of the airport. A river of strangers coursed around me, an unraveling of unfamiliar smells, colors, and vibrations. “That’s not the kind of leaping I’m struggling with,” I whispered, closing my eyes. “Gabe, you’re gonna have to tell me to be strong, and you’re gonna have to be strong for both of us right now.” I began to cry. “Because I can’t.” Oh, merda!

  “We’ll be there soon, luv,” I heard him answer softly. “Hang in there, and we’re gonna be fine, Porzia.”

  I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and swallowed hard, choking back a tidal wave of tears. “I’ll call you once I get home to let you know I’ve made it alright.”

  “Please, I won’t be able to sit still until I know you’ve made it.”

  “OK, then—”

  “Have a safe flight and remember everything, Porzia. Don’t let distance dilute our present.”

  “I won’t,” I snuffled. “I have my multicolored shadow following me,” I said, remembering his words. I heard him laugh softly.

  “It’s not as colored as I could have made it with a little more time.”

  I felt myself blush. I smiled, lifting my head, and opened my eyes, remembering where I was. Melbourne. Airport. People. Civilization. Clock. Ticking. Next connection.

  “I need to get going, Gabe.”

  “OK, luv.”

  “I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “I’ll be here.” His loving words revived my spirit.

  My hands shook as I hung up. I looked for my shadow. It was right where it was supposed to be, stretched and angled at the waist, along the near wall. I stood still for a few moments almost expecting it to wave at me. Finally, I grabbed my carry-on bag and went looking for presents for Benedetta and Evalena. While I shopped for a boomerang, my mind whirred.

  I can handle the magic of putting ingredients together and making a dish by following a recipe. Even Madame Framboise had tapped into that one. But I’m not used to abstract, esoteric forces. I’m not sure how to go at embracing them. So how the hell did I end up falling in love with a former Australian racer who shared lifetimes with gods and shadows of mysterious entities? He made love to me like he was tracing his own words along my pages, touching my inner core with the flame of his soul igniting mine.

  *

  I ended up with a boomerang, a hand-painted reproduction of a David Malangi Daymirringu painting of Dhamala, Catfish and Brown Snake, tea tree oil and soap, and sheepskin slippers for Benedetta, having remembered that her last pair had been stolen and probably buried by her Doberman in her back yard.

  Laden with the goods, I looked like the typical American tourist boarding the plane. At least my eyes were finally dry.

  Mercifully, I fell asleep, my last thought trapped between my crossed fingers as I wished for answers.

  *

  “When your own Dreamtime erupts,” he had said.

  *

  Part of me—most definitely the French part—screamed at full volume that it was about time, and woke me up just as the pilot performed a landing as smooth as a perfect béchamel sauce. Although jet lag most definitely ruled my body, I lit up when I saw Benedetta stretching her neck like E.T. trying to see through an unexpectedly large crowd for such a late hour.

  She shot me a huge grin and blinked twice behind her gold-rimmed glasses. “You look like something I’d flush after a binge on Mexican food,” she said, hugging me.

  “Nice to see you too.” I returned the hug and planted a loud kiss on her cheek.

  “Yeah? Stop the smooching.” She pulled away, straightening her glasses. “People might think we like each other.” She flashed a look that meant she didn’t give a fig what people thought, she was just embarrassed by my affectionate display.

  “Did you have a good time?” she asked, grabbing some of my shopping bags and poking through them. “What did you bring me?”

  “Siii. I did,” I replied dreamily. I clutched my laptop carry-on bag to my chest as we walked toward the luggage carousel.

  “Oh, oh, oh! What’s his name?”

  I just smiled at her while the carousel burped luggage. I found my bag, swung it off the conveyor belt, and gave Bene a look that said, “Can’t talk now, my hands are full.”

  Prancing around like an overjoyed puppy, she followed me outside and did her best at trying to coax the information out of me.

  “Oh, come on now—”

  “Let’s get in the car, and I’ll tell you all about it.” The muggy Florida air hit me like a shower. I shed my sweater; I was way overdressed for such weather but bare skin would not have cut it either.

  She found her car, deftly loaded my bags, unlocked the passenger door, and ran to the driver’s side. We sped out of the airport parking lot merging into an almost deserted late-night highway.

  What a difference. I had been gone only a week, and it felt like an eternity. The magic of flying and being catapulted to the other side of the world in just over the length of a day; it would never cease to fascinate me.

  “So? I’m all ears,” Benedetta demanded.

  I reached over and vigorously twisted her right ear. “That you are.”

  “Ahia! That hurts!” She swatted at my hand, and the car swerved.

  I forgot that it’s dangerous to interfere while she’s driving. I took my hand back and turned to look out the window.

  “Gabe Miller.”

  “Wow! Sexy name! Sounds like something out of a sassy novel.”

  “He looks like he ought to be on the cover of one,” I said.

  “Maybe I read that one.” She frowned. “His name sounds familiar. Hang on—” She turned her right signal on and sharply left Highway 110 behind. At the traffic light she realized she was in the wrong lane to turn right off the ramp and cursed in Italian under her breath.

  Her hands fluttered at the traffic light and the general surroundings. “I hate this spot,” she said.

  Suddenly, two deep parallel tracks, respectively named incredulous and suspicious, creased her forehead. “Gabe Miller? Porzia?”

  I nodded.

  Her mouth opened, she blinked twice, and soundlessly, her mouth closed.

  Somebody behind us honked.

  She woke up from her stupor, shifted gears, startled the rearview mirror into life cursing the mother of the driver behind us in Italian, and cleared out of the intersection.

  “The Gabe Miller?” she asked once she found her voice. We were almost at my place by then.

  “Which one are you referring to, Bene—?” I tried to stifle a yawn but failed.

  “How many Australians named Gabe Miller are there?” she asked.

  “I didn’t say he was Australian.”

  “You’re exasperating me.” She turned to look at me. “Is he that particular one or is he not?”

  “He is.”

  She whistled softly. “He won the Paris–Dakar.”

  “Twice.”

  “No shit!” She gripped her steering wheel with a little more pride. “You’re right!” For no apparent reason she jammed on the brakes, and I just about collided with the dashboard. Her ancient seatbelt stretched like worn-out chewing gum.

  “How do you know so much about off-road racing?” I was impressed by the fact that she had recognized the name when I had not.

  “I don’t really know that much, but a guy I dated in college was really into racing and that was big news back then. I heard him talk once, on TV,” she said dreamily. I knew what she meant.

  “I know. He’s got a great voice.” I started thinking of all the other great things he was. I shook my head. “How’s Peridot?” I asked.

  “He’s a sweetie,” Benedetta smiled. “You’ll see for yourself. I told him you were coming.”

  “You talk to him?” My eyebrows
shot up.

  “Don’t you?” She cast a surprised glance at me.

  The speed bumps of my driveway stirred my dormant brain marbles back into action. I would have hit my head on the car roof if it weren’t for the fact that with Benedetta driving, I hung on to the seat with both hands.

  “Welcome home!” She smiled, screeching the car to a stop beneath my windows. Gingerly hopping around, she grabbed all the shopping bags and left the carry-on for me. Despite everything, it’s always nice to feel welcomed home where there are familiar surroundings and belongings.

  I left Gabe less than a day ago. I glanced at my watch and mentally tried to compare Australian and Floridian time. I needed to give it a rest—at least long enough for me to get inside and get some sleep.

  *

  Peridot jumped off his bed by the sofa and ran to greet me. Purring loudly, he coiled himself around my legs and sniffed my sneakers. He was ecstatic to see me. After dumping the bags, I grabbed my cat and greet him properly. Peridot rubbed his nose against my chin and couldn’t stop purring, kneading my shoulder with his strong tiger paws. I almost felt like purring myself, his joy felt so contagious. Crazy to think how much a tiny animal can influence one’s moods, I thought. Carrying Peridot, I looked around and noticed fresh flowers on the kitchen counter and new candles scattered around. The place looked great, clean and neat.

  “Bene, you did a fantastic job. My herbs are thriving!” I walked with Peridot still in my arms to the bathroom windowsill to sniff at the oregano box I keep there.

  “No big deal. It was clean to begin with.” She shrugged. “I just had to keep it.”

  Peridot started munching on some of the tender leaves but stopped as soon as the pungent flavor reached his taste buds. He looked funny, making faces as he tried to get rid of the bad taste in his mouth.

  “I’d love to stay and grill you about the details of your trip,” Benedetta said, jingling her car keys, “but it’s indecent timing, and you need to rest.” She pranced to hug me. “Call me if you need anything when you wake up tomorrow.”

  “I will. Thanks for everything.” I returned her hug, squishing the cat between us.

  I walked her to the door and waited on my threshold until her car bounced out of the parking lot. I closed my front door behind me and let Peridot down as I headed for the bathroom to quickly freshen up. Exhausted, I grabbed a pair of short pajamas and climbed into bed to call Gabe, struggling to mentally calculate the time difference once again. I tried his home first.

  The first ring came and went, echoing in my ears; the second came and went, chipping a couple of my heartbeats away. He answered right in the middle of the third ring, settling my heart.

  “Hi, it’s me,” I said, crushing pillows, releasing the familiar scent of my laundry detergent. Peridot jumped on the bed purring and sniffed my feet.

  “Porzia. How you going? Did you have a good trip?” His voice sounded like he was right around the corner.

  “Well, I was extremely upset about leaving you, but the planes were mostly empty all the way back here, so I managed to churn myself into sleep.”

  “Great, so you didn’t meet any great-looking Aussies this time?” he asked, laughing.

  “No. Nobody asked me to hold their hands,” I teased.

  “You sound tired.”

  “I am, and my cat is biting my toes,” I said, pulling my feet away from Peridot.

  “Smart cat,” he answered in a sexy voice.

  I laughed and blushed, remembering his nibbling.

  “How about you get some sleep, and I’ll ring you tomorrow sometime?”

  “Sounds good.” I slid deeper under the sheets.

  “Thanks for letting me know you got there all roight. It’s a long trip.”

  “I know, tell me about it.” I yawned, almost locking my jaw wide open. Oddio! I was tired.

  “OK, get some rest, luv.”

  “Goodnight. I miss you,” I whispered.

  “I miss you too. Bye.”

  I hung up with his voice still warm in my ears and pulled the sheets almost all the way up to my head. I fell asleep with Peridot purring contentedly at my now covered feet.

  CHAPTER 16

  The fluorescent-green digits of my nightstand clock diagnosed me with a bad case of acute jet lag. It’s a bitch. The first concrete thoughts to blaze through my sleepy mind were of Gabe and what he might be doing at that exact moment. They fired my body like a torch set to parched underbrush on a torrid August day. Longing swept over me. An abrupt sense of unconquerable distance brought tears to my eyes. I rolled over and caught a glimpse of the world outside the window. In the breaking dawn, birds barely stirred. I had hoped for at least several hours of uninterrupted rest, but the fires burned too hot to stay in bed.

  Spurred on, I thumped to the bathroom. A long shower washed away the remains of sleep and any traveling cosmic matter that might still be clinging to me.

  Wrapped in my favorite oversized bathrobe I padded around my condo opening windows, smelling the fresh ocean breezes. The morning was about to explode crystal clear. Not a single cloud stained the little slice of purple-blue sky peeking through the Spanish moss draping the ancient oak in my back yard. I unpacked my clothes and hung the Dhamala painting in a corner of my living room. I stepped back to better take a look at it when a sleepy Peridot rubbed slowly against the hem of my robe. He yawned impossibly wide. I could see all the way down his tiny esophagus; it was empty. We set off for the kitchen. It was time for coffee anyway.

  While Peridot attacked a breakfast of crunchy bits, I settled in with a double espresso with double sugar and wondered what time it was in Australia. I wanted to go for a run along the beach, then pop into the Napoleon Bakery for fresh pains au chocolat, and knock on Benedetta’s door to get her out of bed.

  I thought about it and decided to go ahead; my answering machine could trap any calls I might miss. I rinsed my cup, slipped into my running shorts, and grabbed some cash, Benedetta’s presents, and my car keys. I ran out the door trying to get a head start on the rising humidity.

  I live only about ten minutes from endless dunes of white sand, but since the last hurricane, the beach road I used to run on has been closed off, and who knows when it will be reopened. Instead, I drove over the Gulf Breeze Bridge where I parked at the entrance of the Sound National Park. I soon found myself running on a trail shaded by dwarf pines edged with saw palmettos, yuccas, and fiddlehead ferns. The pungent scent was almost alien, so different was it from the fragrant Australian acacias. I had Nine Inch Nails on my Walkman and a load of frustration to fuel my pace. Lost in thought, I left behind the sandy dunes and ended up in a somewhat familiar neighborhood behind Evalena’s temporary dwellings. The jolly yellow paint I had irrationally resented on my first visit looked cheerful and warm. In a bathrobe that defied any sort of fashion sense, Evalena was happily watering some obscure bush. Three words: chenille, purple, daisies, and I am not describing the bush.

  I paused, jogging in place. “Evalena?” I called from behind the short net fence.

  She turned, raising her head. Her oversized watering can magically spilled a wet rainbow against the sunlight.

  “Oh! Hello there! I was just thinking of you. When did you get back?”

  I stopped jogging. “Last night.”

  She dropped the watering can, walked over to hug me—sweat and all—then asked if I’d care for a glass of tea. Evalena’s sunshine tea is worth dying for any time of day. Formosa Oolong, dried Georgia peaches, candied orange zest, and something secret even my gourmet-trained taste buds fail to identify, all left to steep and brew in warm sunshine.

  I told her I was going to be able to stay only a few minutes. Once we were settled in her sunlit kitchen, she asked me if I had a nice trip.

  “Yes, I did have a nice trip. As a matter of fact, I met somebody interesting. I also had a
true gypsy do a tarot reading for me, and I believe the magic has awakened.” I shook my head. “I’m extremely confused by it all.” I paused to take a sip of what the gods used to call Amrita, hoping its magic powers would actually stretch beyond quenching my thirst and give me answers.

  “Have you ever thought about selling your secret recipe for this stuff?” I asked, pointing at the pitcher lazily soaking in the sun. Sweat beads trailed down the handblown, green glass.

  “Yes, but then it wouldn’t be a secret any longer.” She gave me an enigmatic smile, sipping from her own glass. “What did the cards tell you?”

  “Not much. By the time things started to get interesting Neige jumped on the spread and scattered my fate.”

  Evalena speaks French. She gave me a dumbfounded look. “It snowed on the cards?”

  “No, that’s the name of a fluffy white cat,” I said, pleased with my little joke.

  She shook her head and snorted daintily.

  “The cards confirmed some of what I’d seen with you in the regression and announced the arrival of a new romance.” I paused to sip my tea and frowned, remembering something disturbing. “I had the Magician as opposing brewing forces—”

  “And a new love interest?”

  “Yes, a Two of Cups?”

  “Do you remember any of the cards that the cat disrupted?”

  I was silent for few minutes, focusing backwards on that afternoon, but to no avail. I shook my head. “No, I don’t.”

  “It could be that the Magician and the Two of Cups are inescapably linked,” she said in a voice that made me think.

  Gabe? A magician? Did she mean Gabe or did she have someone else in mind?

  I suddenly remembered his scars and the way he recognized certain electric moments between us. But then, why would he be an opposing force? I looked up at Evalena who seemed again to have read my mind.

  “He’s intriguing,” she stated.

  I nodded.

  “That’s why you’re attracted to him?”

  I loved how she didn’t even concern herself with taking the regular route of name, looks, business, and bank account info, all of which average women worry about. Evalena’s intuition went straight to the core: Gabe’s enigmatic energy.