Girlfriend
> > Sapphire awoke with a start. That same nightmare again.
She shook her head clear. The Xanax kept new nightmares away, but it did nothing to scrub the memory of nightmares past. In a way, it was a torture all its own, letting her recall the one nightmare that scared her the most with just enough emotional detachment to suffer every lurid detail. A nightmare exposed to the light of day should lose some of its terribleness in the mismatched details, the off-kilter connections. But Sapphire found that this one only brought her present troubles into sharp relief.
Dr. Ward would have had a field day with that nightmare, if only Angela could have shared it with her. But how do you tell a psychiatrist that you're a superheroine?
Not that she could tell Dr. Ward anything. Not anymore.
Sapphire wondered if the things the Xanax was doing to her were normal. Was this how it was supposed to work? Was this detached replay supposed to help her work out her problems? And what about the physical effects? Dr. Ward had said she might feel a little tired, but sometimes "a little" didn't begin to cover it.
Then there was this new problem. She already knew the sapphires did things to her. More than just the... urges when they started to fade. Things she hadn't thought about until she'd gone those first two weeks after Labor Day without using them. Like throwing her cycle totally out of kilter. Had she even had a period all summer? Or had to shave? She smiled at the memory of sending Ricky out for "feminine products" and a razor that first week back. Adequate punishment for an indelicate "cactus" comment made one afternoon on the couch...
Honestly, she didn't mind the sapphires making her un-normal in those ways, but what other effects might they be having? Could they change the way medication worked? And could the meds be messing up the sapphires? Or were those two "dim moments" just because she was out of practice?
Sapphire decided she'd better get down off this tall building while the getting was good. By normal estimates, she had hours left before the sapphires became really... distracting. But after those two weird drop-outs... well, she better not push it, just in case.
Still, she'd come up here for a reason, and she wasn't leaving without getting a look...
Sapphire hopped silently into the air well before she reached the edge of the building. She wasn't about to just step off into the void after what had just happened. After a moment of critical introspection, she glided out beyond the edge, an uncharacteristic lump making its presence felt in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't felt that since the early days...
Calm down, girl, everything's fine.
Sapphire dipped and turned neatly to face the penthouse window. A light was on inside, pouring through the translucent curtains and silhouetting objects. Something long and low with an irregular top -- a couch maybe? Or an unmade bed with pillows.
A man-shaped shadow seemed to stand in the middle. Darker than the couch/bed thing -- closer to the window.
Sapphire moved closer, hoping to make out some detail through the curtains, to just more than twice arm's length...
The shadow moved away from the window -- she could tell because it softened -- toward the irregular lump. The lump shifted. Someone on the bed?
The shadow got up, sharpening again, then moved off to one side. The lights went out. Must be going to bed, Sapphire thought.
Suddenly, the curtains opened all the way in a single fluid movement.
Sapphire only looked for an instant before a panic instinct thrust her down and away from the window. But details of the image burned with fierce clarity in her mind.
There, at the edge of the window staring back at her, an old man, small and thin but far from frail, thick white hair slicked back, wearing a satin robe -- no, a smoking jacket -- and pyjama bottoms. (Sapphire thought "Playboy.") Eyes wide with surprise, but whether scowling eyebrows above or severe cheekbones jutting beneath those twin white-ringed orbs, that surprise came with outrage. Such was the self-importance of this figure that the impossibility of a flying girl did not trump the imposition of prying eyes.
Behind him, lounging on the bed but very alert -- a woman. Tall, pale skin, dark hair, in a short black slip, or maybe a dress. Her expression: a simple dumbfounded stare.
Sapphire's breathing was rapid; adrenaline shot all her senses to full alert, or as much as they could be through Xanax's artificial calm. She found herself drifting downward, suddenly aware of how very bright it was down here between downtown's towers. She looked up; she was too low to really see the penthouse window, but quick looks all around her revealed literally dozens of lighted offices, with movement in a couple of them -- and hundreds of darkened windows. How many curious janitors, security guards, and late-working office drones might be staring at her right now?
The city park was only a few blocks away; she would be safe in the veil of darkness that hung over it. Sapphire launched herself toward it, slowing the initial panicked pace as she reached the peak of her arc. She gently pivoted to face downtown, gliding slowly backwards. She was too far away to see anything, but she homed in on the penthouse window nonetheless. She imagined the old man wrestling a telescope into place up next to the window, straining to get an oblique view of the superheroine now mostly shrouded in darkness.
The superheroine's heart was still pounding. The old man had really startled her! Who was he? What connection did he have to the lanky car thief? Friend? Employer? She wondered if he'd been watching the street that afternoon as he waited for Mr. Sports Car Stealer to show up -- probably. Had he seen her following the younger man into the building? Would he make the connection between the girl on the street and the girl in the sky?
And what about the woman? Maybe *she* was in charge. No, not with a guy that age.
All such thoughts disappeared in an instant. That feeling in the pit of her stomach returned, along with sudden weightlessness -- she was falling!
The rush of passing air blew up her top and skirt; her wings snapped angrily, tugging at her wrists and neck. Sapphire tried not to panic, focusing on a mental image of a dead hover, instinctively straightening her legs and arms. She tried to sense the warm buzz that coursed through her body when she used her powers; it felt suddenly faint. She looked down; the toy-model-sized lamps and tiny walking path snaking across the park were getting bigger and closer...
Her hand went to her head -- but her tiara was in place. Frantic, she smashed her hand down on the ornate head sculpture, desperately hoping that if it was just a little tighter against her head her abilities would return... but as the ground rushed up with terrifying speed, primitive instincts took over. Hands and arms pushed out in front of her, head tucked and cringed, eyes squeezed shut...
...and after a strobe of blinding light, darkness came to Sapphire.
< < Angela was a blur in the kitchen. Her nervous heels clicked back and forth across the linoleum floor. This was her first big dinner for the Aquinos -- "my men" she thought fondly -- and the first time she'd tried anything this complicated in... in... well, a long time. Her mom's birthday two years ago? Or was it three?
She felt the sadness creeping up at the thought of her mom; she pushed the thought away and tried to busy herself. The pork chops were simmering, the pie was starting to look good in the oven. What's next? ...the rice. Oh, and wash the vegetables...
Suddenly she felt Ricky's arms around her waist.
"How about joining me on the couch to watch some TV?"
"Ricky, I'm busy."
"Too busy for a kiss?" Ricky moved in, lips pursed and eyes closed...
Angela turned, gave him a quick peck on the lips, then resumed bustling about the kitchen.
Ricky's eyes snapped open. "That's it?"
"What?" Angela turned to look at him. He looked cross.
"What do you mean, 'What?' A half-hour ago when you picked me up at school you ripped into me because I didn't want to 'show you off,' and now you're acting like June Cleaver."
Who's June Cleaver? Angela wondered. But she got the gist of Ricky's complaint. Not that she agreed with it -- he'd missed his chance.
"Boys," she said, rolling her eyes. "You think girls can just be flipped off and on like a light switch. Go watch TV, or do your homework. I've gotta get dinner going before your father comes home."
Ricky threw the unfamiliar term back at her. "My 'father?' What's with you lately? I'm beginning to wonder whether you're my girlfriend or my mom."
Girlfriend. Angela realized it was the first time Ricky had actually used the term. He'd never asked her -- they just sort of fell into it. And now he was using the word like a weapon.
Well, he's gonna get nothing but frost tonight, she resolved stubbornly.
"You've never made this before?"
"Nope."
Angela watched Noel daub his napkin to his mouth before setting it on the table. "You really can cook."
"I told you!" Angela tried to use mock consternation to suppress the huge happy grin that wanted to take over her face, and mostly failed. She got up and started gathering up their dishes.
"I'm impressed," Mr. Aquino said.
"Me too!" Ricky chimed in. "Now how 'bout some of that pie!" Angela squeaked in surprise when she felt his playful slap on her behind. She nearly dropped the dishes.
"Ricky, careful!" she scolded. Did he think she'd forgotten about the way he'd shut her down earlier? "I don't want to get anything on this suit." Her tone was as dismissive as she could make it.
"You could have changed before dinner," the boy moped.
"I told you, there simply wasn't time." Angela busied herself loading the dishwasher.
Mr. Aquino jumped in, apparently trying to calm the sudden tension between son and houseguest. "Why don't you go get changed now," he said to Angela, "let me and Ricky clean up."
But Angela wasn't about to give up her housekeeping reins short of a full meal -- and there was still pie. "Don't be silly. I'm almost done. You just relax, I'll get you both a slice of pie in a sec."
"Hey, can I have mine in the family room?" Ricky asked. "'Smallville' is starting in a few minutes."
"Angela?" Mr. Aquino deferred. It was nice of him to leave the decision to her after she'd worked so hard. She noticed Ricky bristled a bit -- his "girlfriend or mom" comment replayed in her head.
"Sure, whatever." Ricky could do whatever he wanted as far as she was concerned. But if he expected her to join him, he could just forget it. "I think once I'm done in here I'll go take a nice hot bath and unwind a little."
"Aw, you're not gonna sit with me and watch 'Smallville'?"
So he could be Mr. Groper in front of his dad but he couldn't stand anyone at school knowing she existed? Sheesh. "Nah, it's not really my thing." She answered without attitude -- she didn't need the elder Aquino butting in to 'fix' anything...
...but Ricky sure got the message, and he broadcasted it with his dejected look. Mr. Aquino picked up on it and came to her defense. "She's had a hectic day, Ricky."
Angela scooted over to the table, anxious to end the discussion before it started with diversionary dessert. Dipping gracefully at the knees, she set down both plates simultaneously in front of her men, turning the plates with a slight flourish that said "bon appetit!"
She'd just started to remove her apron when she heard Mr. Aquino sigh contentedly.
"Thanks, Maggie."
Angela froze in her tracks. Maggie was Ricky's mom's name. Noel Aquino's wife. She hesitated, wondering if anyone else recognized the slip.
Am I Ricky's girlfriend, or his mom?
Does Mr. Aquino -- Noel -- see me as his houseguest, or as something more?
He was tired. It probably didn't mean anything. She was being rather house-wifey. She should take it as a compliment -- it was just a sign of how comfortable she'd made the evening for him. Best not to make a big deal over it.
"You're welcome," she finally said. After another tense moment, breath held to see if there was an awkward reaction and released when there was none, she quickly excused herself.
"I'm gonna go get cleaned up."
She fought the urge to run out of the room.
Angela relaxed her legs, watching her knees rise as her neck and chin slipped into the soothing bubble bath.
I'm beginning to wonder whether you're my girlfriend or my mom.
Thanks, Maggie.
The two comments had suited up and mounted, raising lances and charging at each other in her head, crashing past each other over and over...
Angela submerged, feeling her hair slowly go weightless in the water before coming back up. The water felt so soothing; it was too bad she had to breathe.
Stop it you two, she scolded her dueling mental knights. I'll settle this in the morning; in the mean time, just let me relax . . .
If Ricky and Noel were confused about just who she was, she'd set them straight all right. *Very* straight. She smiled as she drifted off, her foggy mind conjuring an image of a sexy young woman wearing that *very* sexy babydoll . . .