by L-J Baker
Rye woke from a tangled dream of sitting exams naked and of Ms. Flora Withe. She lay in tepid water. Holly’s thumping music had stopped, though one of the neighbours had picked up the slack with loud party noises. Rye dragged herself into the lounge and crawled into her bedding. She remembered to turn the alarm off. No work tomorrow. Well, apart from shopping, housework, laundry, and her class assignment.
Rye set her shopping bags down and peered in the butcher’s window. She rubbed the circulation back into her fingers as she frowned at the meat. The things she could do with those possum cutlets. And those bat ribs. Rye sighed and hefted her bags. Her imagination never had to worry about price tags.
Rye paused at the intersection of Dandelion Avenue and Ditch Street. Even at midday on Fifth Day, the flyways teemed. Rye waited for the signal and set her bags down to give her hands a rest.
A horn honked right beside her. Rye jumped. She turned to give a three-fingered gesture of appreciation of the fright, but stopped her hand partway. The sporty little carpet with the top peeled back was driven by a stunningly beautiful dryad woman wearing sunglasses.
“Hi, there,” Flora said. “Hop in. I’ll take you home.”
“Um. Hello.”
“Put your bags on the backseat.”
“Um.” Rye was aware of people looking.
“I don’t want to hurry you, but the signal is about to change.”
“Oh. Right.”
Rye set her bags on the back seat and climbed into the front. She snapped the safety harness into place. The carpet zoomed forward and climbed three lanes. Rye squeezed her eyes shut.
“You’ll have to direct me.”
“Oh.” Rye peeled her eyes open and pointed.
Rye guessed that Holly would admire Ms. Withe’s flying technique as self-confident rather than suicidal. For the short duration of the flight to the apartment, Rye tried not to pay too much attention to what was going on outside the carpet. That wasn’t hard to do when sitting beside a woman more attractive than any in her fantasies. Her companion wore a smart tailored jacket and skirt. Her well-turned legs were every bit as good as Rye remembered. In fact, the whole package was even more desirable than her memories.
“I take it that your broom is still not working,” Flora said.
“If it could speak, it’d be begging to be put out of its misery.”
Flora smiled. Ravishing. Rye suddenly felt too warm. She pointedly looked down at her hands clenched in her lap.
“Do… do you come this way often?” Rye asked.
“No. I’m on my way back from the opening of a new gallery down in Onionfield.” Flora negotiated the turn into Rye’s street. “Sixteen ninety, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. That tree there. With the broken branches at the top.”
The carpet turned into the ascending lane and lifted fast enough to leave Rye’s stomach behind for several seconds. Flora parked with barely a whisker’s width between the front of the carpet and Rye’s garbage hamper.
“Thanks for the lift,” Rye said. “Again.”
“I’ll come clean with you. This wasn’t exactly on my route home. I was coming to see you.”
Rye fumbled the release latch on the safety harness. “Oh?”
“I’d kill for a cup of tea. Would you think me too terribly pushy if I invited myself in for a drink?”
“Um. I only have plain stuff.”
“Marvellous. They served nothing but exotic non-alcoholic punches at that gallery. My tongue is ready to disown me.”
Rye smiled. She felt an air of unreality when she opened the door and led the way along the short hall to the kitchen.
The apartment stifled. The tree’s heating system was on the blink again. Rye set her bags on the table and peeled off her jacket. She wished she could remove her shirt, but settled for rolling up her sleeves.
“Can I do anything to help?” Flora removed her sunglasses. She wore only light makeup on her creamy skin. Even in the dingy setting of Rye’s kitchen, she looked gorgeous.
“Um. You did. You saved me twenty minutes walk. Sit down. I’ll put the kettle on and tidy this stuff away.”
“Couldn’t you shop somewhere closer?”
“I suppose so.” Rye set pots of pollen and honey on a shelf. “But the stuff is fresher at the market. And cheaper. You never get kowhai flowers like this at the hypermart. They put something on them to make them stay yellow longer in the store. This is what they should look like. Taste much better, too.”
One of Flora’s green eyebrows twitched. Her interested stare sharpened. Uncomfortable, Rye turned away to put her vegetables in the bottom bins.
“Holly not home?”
“She’s shopping,” Rye said. “She has to decide what to spend her prize money on.”
“You don’t go together?”
Rye smiled. “She’d rather ask the doorpost about clothes than me. To be fair, she’d get better advice that way.”
Flora laughed.
Rye grabbed two mugs from the cupboard. They were thick and mismatched. Still, if Ms. Withe had not baulked at entering an apartment in Hollowberry, she probably wouldn’t run screaming at cheap, ugly crockery. Rye gave herself the mug with the chip in the rim. She hesitated over biscuits. Her willowy guest looked more like the body-sculpting-at-the-gym type than the sort to eat junk food. On the other hand, Rye wanted something sweet, and Ms. Withe need not eat if she didn’t want to. Rye surprised herself by shaking a few biscuits onto a plate rather than just plonking the jar on the table.
“Holly seems a very nice young woman.”
“She was,” Rye said. “Before adolescence. I’m hoping she will be again when she comes out of it.”
Flora smiled. “Do you two live here alone?”
“Us and the damp patches. There’s no room for anyone else.”
Flora drank half her tea like she really needed it and then helped herself to one of the biscuits. Rye noticed she didn’t wear a ring, bracelet, earring, or tattoo that might indicate she was married. Still, there were so many different species, races, and religious groups that Rye didn’t pretend to know all the possible symbols to indicate that someone was in a committed relationship. For all she knew, dryads might marry several husbands at once and have children by planting acorns.
“Do you have any children?” Rye asked.
“Me? Oh, no. But I hope to, eventually. Five or six, perhaps. Or seven.”
“Good luck.”
Flora smiled. “Maybe I’ll change my mind once I realise what’s involved. As an only child, I have some rather romantic notions about large families.”
“You’re welcome to borrow Holly for a few days as a cure.”
Flora chuckled. “Have you been looking after her long?”
“Eleven years. Not that I’m counting.”
Flora’s green eyebrows soared. “You can’t have been much older than Holly is now.”
“Nineteen. It was the best thing I ever did. No matter how pissed she gets me, I don’t ever regret it for a second. More tea?”
“Yes, please.” She sat back in her chair. “Look, let me be honest. I was coming to see you for more than just a cup of tea.”
“Oh?”
“I could’ve called, but I got the impression that the phone isn’t your best medium of expression.”
Rye blushed at the same time she self-consciously grinned. “Um. You noticed. What did you want? If it’s about some stain I left on the backseat, I’m sorry.”
“Did you? I don’t mind. What I wanted to ask is if you’d like to have a few drinks with me.”
Rye felt every speck of her body go still.
“I know this place near the bridge,” Flora said. “Very low key. Relaxed. The music isn’t so loud that you can’t hear yourself think. In fact, it’s quite comfortable for conversation. We could – Have I said something wrong?”
“Um.” Rye found it difficult to breathe. She ran her hand through her hair and scowled at the peeling wallpaper.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You’ll probably find this hard to believe, but I’m not normally this pushy.”
Rye’s mind had gone blank.
“Branch,” Flora murmured. “I’ve done this rather badly, haven’t I? I’m so sorry. Look, I think I’d better leave. Please think it over. If you change your mind, you have my number. And thanks for tea.”
Rye stood with a scraping of her chair legs. Her limping brain realised that she had better see her visitor out.
The front door slammed.
“Hey, Rye!” Holly strode to the kitchen. “You’ll never guess what is parked – Oh. Ms. Withe.”
“Hello, Holly,” Flora said.
Rye chewed her lip and didn’t know where to put herself. Flora behaved as though the awkwardness didn’t exist. She looked genuinely interested when Holly dug out her purchases to show her.
Rye sat and watched and tried to think. Flora Withe wanted to have a few drinks with her. Was that so shocking? Rye had been out to the pub with some of the blokes from work on odd occasions. Rye imagined Flora Withe would prove better company than Knot and Blackie. There was the disturbing aspect that she was easily the most attractive woman Rye had ever met. But that was not likely to matter. Rye had been safely celibate for years, and it was highly improbable that Flora Withe was gay. Even if she were, Rye would be deluding herself to think that the successful, stylish, poised, beautiful dryad would want anything to do with a builder’s labourer. On the other hand, she was a very nice person. The last hour or so had been enjoyable and easy… and adult.
“I’d better be going.” Flora rose and picked up her sunglasses and purse. “Thanks for the tea.”
“I’ll see you out,” Rye said.
Holly leaped to her feet. “I’d better come to give you directions. Rye is hopeless. You’ll end up in the river.”
“Don’t you have to go and show Daisy your new clothes?” Rye said.
Holly’s rebellious pout faded in an eye blink. “Oh, yeah. Stupid me. Okay. See you later, Ms. Withe.”
Holly grabbed her bags and strode out. Rye frowned. That had been unexpectedly easy.
“She’s a good kid,” Flora said.
“Yeah. But very strange sometimes,” Rye said. “I guess it’s the hormones poaching her brain.”
Flora smiled. “Look, I’m really sorry about before. Can we forget I said anything?”
“Um. Well. I was sort of thinking that… um. Yeah. I mean to the drinks.”
Flora’s eyebrows lifted. “Yes?”
“I was a bit, you know, surprised. So, if… if the offer still stands.”
“Of course. When? How about Third Day?”
“Um. No, I can’t,” Rye said. “How about next Fifth Day? Or today?”
Flora blinked. “Sure. Why not? No time like the present. Shall I pick you up at seven?”
“Can… can I meet you at the corner of the street?”
Chapter Three
Rye surveyed the piles of her clothes. She pulled on her tightest of tight T-shirts. Then what? Rye frowned and ended up choosing the shirt and pants that Holly had picked out for her to wear to the school art exhibition.
She pulled out the loose knot in the wall and retrieved a small wad of money. She had just paid Holly’s school fees, so her savings only amounted to fifty-five pieces. She took a ten piece note. That would cover the cost of a couple of jars of beer. Although, Flora Withe did not look the beer type. She probably drank wine. Rye reluctantly took a second note and promised herself that she would forgo next week’s beer ration.
Rye tapped on Holly’s bedroom door. Holly made no attempt to disguise her surprise.
“What are you dressed like a normal person for?” Holly asked.
“I’m… um, I’m going out for an hour or two.”
Holly smiled. “Yeah? And here I’ve been thinking you’re dead from the neck down.”
Rye tugged nervously at her shirt sleeve. “Um. One of the blokes at work is having a bachelor party. I told you.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“You probably weren’t paying attention. It’s Spike. He’s getting married. So… Um. I won’t be gone long. Will you be okay? If you’d rather I stayed, I will.”
“Go! I’m not three years old. I can throw a wild party.”
Rye stiffened.
“Joking,” Holly said. “Shit, you can be hard work. I’ll quietly decay here on my own and finish my homework, okay? I’ll keep the chain across and not open the door to anyone strange until you come back.”
Rye frowned and strode to the front door.
“Wait!” Holly called. “Those pants. You can’t go in them.”
“What’s wrong with them? They don’t have holes.”
“Gods of fashion, see my martyrdom! Come and put these on.”
Rye poked her head into Holly’s room and saw a pair of new black pants thrust at her. “Where did you get those?”
“I showed you them earlier. I bought them with my prize money.”
To Rye’s surprise, the pants were a good fit. They were baggy enough in the back of the legs that her wing membranes didn’t show and they were exactly the right length. Rye took a critical look at Holly.
Her little sister was as tall as she was. When had that happened?
“Much better,” Holly said. “If you get any stains on them, I’ll kill you. Slowly. With blunt instruments. And eyebrow tweezers.”
Rye should not have been surprised when Flora flew past the grimy bridge district, with its docks, warehouses, and seedy bars. They continued to the trendy north side of the bridge. None of the streetlights had any broken lamps. Rye had no real idea where they were, except that she was out of her natural habitat. The carpet lowered into a parking lot. Rye made out the name Owl’s Nest on the wall sign.
They stepped into a world wholly alien to the Ball and Chain Pub. Instead of smoke, a blaring jukebox, and tables sticky with spilled beer, this place was subdued lighting, tasteful music, and chic décor. Rye’s attention quickly slid from the booths and bar to her companion. This was the first good look she had of Flora in decent lighting. She wore a slinky little black dress. Rye’s wing buds twitched.
“Good evening, Ms. Withe.” A well-dressed woman nodded to them. “Can I show you to a place at the bar or a booth?”
Rye trailed them to a booth. She tried not to be so conscious of Flora’s body. She didn’t realise that she had agreed to a drink until a waitress brought them each one. Before Rye could dig out her wallet, Flora dropped a crisp twenty on the waitress’s tray. The size of the bill for two drinks made Rye blink. She sipped her drink, which contained a strong spirit, and made a mental note to eke this one out because she could only afford one round.
“You… you come here often?” Rye asked.
“I used to. When I was younger. I’m slowing down. I must be getting old.”
Rye didn’t think she looked very old. Although, it was harder to pick the ages of some species than others. She looked sleek and firm, with no hint of brown or autumnal reds or gold in her dark green hair. If Rye had to guess, she would go for early thirties.
“I seem to have lost most of my appetite for loud music and nonstop dancing all night long,” Flora said. “I’ve noticed that when I do come here now, it’s usually on nights when they don’t have a live band. I’d rather talk and get to know someone. I suppose that’s a rather sad admission. How about you? What sort of haunt do you frequent?”
“Um. I don’t get out much. When I was younger, I couldn’t leave Holly alone.” Rye didn’t mention that she had worked two jobs back then, too, and couldn’t have afforded a busy social life even if she’d wanted one. “I don’t have much time.”
“I can’t begin to imagine how you raised your young sister on your own. I don’t think I could have done it. Nor anyone else I know. I do admire you for it.”
Rye shifted uncomfortably and sipped her strong drink. She wished she had a bee
r instead. She wasn’t used to spirits.
“Um,” Rye said. “So, Ms. Withe, Holly says –”
“Flora. Please.”
“Um. Right. Flora.” Rye cleared her throat. “Holly says you’re a famous artist.”
“That’s very flattering, but not terribly accurate.”
Rye began to relax as their conversation wandered away from her and over every possible topic. This really was much, much better than the grunted conversations she had with her drunken workmates at a pub. When it came to ordering fresh drinks, Rye only sweated for the several minutes between placing the order and when she handed her two ten piece notes to the waitress.
“I’m having a few friends over for dinner on Second Night,” Flora said. “You’d be more than welcome.”
“Um. Thanks. But I can’t. Um. I have night class.”
“Night class? What are you studying?”
“I’m aiming to take the longest ever to get a basic business certificate. I’ve been at it for six years and still have a couple to go.”
“That’s astonishing. I do admire your perseverance.”
“It’s not by choice. I can’t take more than two classes a year.”
“So, you’re not only raising your sister and putting her through a good school, but you’re also educating yourself?” Flora shook her head. “You’re amazing.”
Embarrassed, Rye stared down at her remaining drink. She glugged it in one swallow. When Flora smiled, Rye couldn’t help smiling back. She also couldn’t help flicking a glance down at Flora’s bosom. Rye quickly looked away. She felt too warm and light-headed.
“Um. Where is the bathroom?” Rye asked.
While Rye waited in the bathroom for a stall, one of the women at the basins gave her a disturbingly frank appraisal.
By the time Rye emerged, some couples had taken to the dance floor. She gave them a wide berth as she made her way back to the booth. There was something odd about the dancers, though Rye couldn’t immediately identify what it was. She frowned around at the other patrons when she sat. In all the time they’d been here, she had been too engrossed in Flora to notice anyone else. With a jolt, she realised that all the couples dancing together were women. Rye’s gaze jerked to the booths across the room and to the bar. Banshee, naiad, sylph, leprechaun, and dryad. They were, one and all, female.
