“Countess, come in,” Siegfried called from his office, gesturing for Rumold to leave them in privacy.

Comforted by the darkness of his office and enthralled by his exotic décor, she removed her bonnet. “Call me Katerina.”

“I do not think that is appropriate,” he responded.

“I am not a countess here. I am a patient to a doctor,” she said strolling around the room studying all that adorned it—mounted heads of beasts, exotic sculptures and various books. “What is this?” she asked petting the fur of a delicate looking creature with soft, dead eyes.

“Gazelle,” he replied quickly and pointed to a large, straight wooden chair. “Have a seat.”

She sauntered toward him. “Did you kill it?”

“No. I bought it from a tribal hunter in Africa.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Preservation. It is a beautiful creature. It would be sad to see it decay, so instead I honor it with decoration.”

“There is a grim beauty in decay,” she replied with a sigh. “I have seen it way too often.”

“I would not have expected a countess to be witness to such horrible sights.”

“There is a lot more to me than being a countess,” she replied with a soft smile and flipped open an autonomy book. The various illustrations of the human form fascinated her. “Is that—?”

Siegfried peeked up at the open book. “What you are looking at is our internal nervous system. It controls our physical sensations,” he said tapping on a wooden chair with a high back and flat armrests. “Please, have a seat.”

Casually, she made her way across the room. “Africa is one place I have never been. What was it like?”
“Wild and savage,” he said.

She picked up an erotic woodcarving of a naked female body. “Did you make love to a woman there?” From his silence, she guessed his answer and laughed. “You have. What was it like? Was she savage?”

He took the figurine from her hands. “You would be disappointed if I told you.”

“Tell me anyway. I am usually always disappointed,” she replied.

“Shy and scared,” he said.

“You must have done something to seduce her?”

“I tended to her wound. She had fallen and skinned her knee. Offering healing to some people is a sense of seduction because they are not used to people being nice to them.”

“A healing hand can be very appealing,” she replied, When he did not offer a response, she continued, “You want to run experiments on me. Why?”

“You cut yourself on a glass and bled quite profusely, but you did not have any wound. I find that quite curious.”

“I am a very quick healer,” she replied.

“I have noticed.” He gestured for her to sit in the chair. When she complied, he rolled up the sleeve of her dress and wrapped a rubber strap around her bicep.

She watched him with deep curiosity. “What are you doing?”

“It is called blood-letting. It is often a practice to rid the body of infection, however, in this purpose, it is for research.”

Siegfried pricked a needle into her skin searching for a vein. Not being able to find one, he tugged at her arm and gently arched it back. With his finger, he pressed on what he could see as dark outlines in her skin. He watched her expression turn to one of desire as he inserted the needle into her skin.

As her blood bubbled and streamed into a bowl, Katerina watched with bemusement. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“At the university,” he said wrapping her elbow tightly with gauze. “That is not the best part.” He walked over to a table, took a droplet of the blood and squeezed it onto a slide. “Now we take a look at it under a microscope.” Rotating the knob to get a better look, he sighed. “Huh, I have never seen this before.”

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The theater was surprisingly crowded for a weekday afternoon. Olivia wondered if the patrons were tourists or Berliners. From the voices, she heard they were mostly native. Olivia paid for their tickets. Dimitri bought a round of beers and the two found seats in the darkened theater.

Both were sullen and quiet as other people entered to watch the movie. Olivia listened to the soft German whispers. She glanced at Dimitri, who seemed a mile away. There was no doubt his mind was on Daniella. It had to be the worst feeling, making love to a man knowing he loved another woman. Guilt, shame and overwhelming disappointment shrouded her once liberated mood.

Soon after the movie began, Olivia started to cry, but it wasn't the movie. She felt as though she was watching her own life. Why am I me? Why am I not you? Who am I? The questions were so complex, yet so simple. If the questions were so simple, why are they so hard to answer?

She didn't remember when sadness annexed her life, but she was able to see it in pictures and hear it in her voice. She became crass and blunt. What was it that made me this way? Was it really Trent? I care for him. He is a good man. Is it movies? Is it the fans, the media? There was really no one she could blame her angst on; it just existed inside her. Numbness arose when there was no release. Sex became unfulfilling. The limelight ceased to excite. Designer gowns did not differ from ten-dollar rags. The movies she made no longer inspired.

Wings of Desire character Marion struck her deeply—the winged beauty on the trapeze. She flew so high and with ease for everyone to admire, but inside she was haunted by sadness and fear. No one saw her pain; she never showed it, yet every performance she thought of letting go and falling to her death. Every performance was a near act of suicide. This is my life.


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Later that night as I lay in bed dreaming of my sweet Petru, a man appeared in my room. I could feel my mouth open and my throat strain yet no scream came out. I sensed his hand grasp my neck, but he did not touch me.

“You are a very special girl,” he whispered to me in a deep, hypnotic voice, “a girl worthy of so much more than just words and the promise of an ordinary mortal life. You are a girl worthy of immortality.”

As he approached my bed, the hair on my arms stood on end, my belly rumbled with butterflies and the space between my legs ached with longing. He lowered over me, ran his long fingers under my nightdress until he touched me, touched inside of me.

“What are you doing?” I asked finally able to speak.

In the shadows of darkness, I could see a grin cross his angular face and devilishness in his black eyes. “Ruining you for mortal men.”

He raised my gown over my body using nothing more than his mental intention, exposing my nakedness to the night air. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run away yet his power made me stay. Next thing I remembered, he was naked and inside me.

My legs widened allowing him inside deeper and deeper. I arched backward as he played with my nipples with his teeth. I was nearing orgasm when I felt the piercing in my neck. I was soon to pass out when he rose above me. He bit the space between his thumb and index finger and placed it in my mouth. As he suckled my neck, I sucked his hand. It was delicious. I wanted more, and then he was gone.

When he disappeared, I sat up. My nightgown was fully in place and the bite marks were healed. It was as though it never happened, as if it was a dream. It was not a dream. My life changed forever and so I lost my love, Petru.

I slept for two days. My mother thought I had died in my sleep and had called the priest. My father did not want me buried, not ready to let me go.

Late the second night, I awoke to the moonlight shining in my bedroom. It called me to come outside and I did. The towering juniper bushes smothered in the misty haze provided me my path forward, a path into darkness. A path I would never venture back.

I never felt such serenity and peace until I saw a silhouette nearing on horseback. The figure halted before me. A man jumped off the horse and lurched toward me. I could see by his eyes he was bad, shining in the darkness with deviousness. He pointed his sword between my breasts and tried to rip open my gown. My instincts took over. I grabbed the blade and pulled myself toward him. He was a tall, monster of a man, but that did not stop me. I sank my teeth into his chest and drank.

At the time, I thought the taste of his blood was delicious, but throughout the years, I found those tastier than him. However, he was my first. I drank until he faltered and withered beneath me. His power and even his cunning surged inside me. I was stronger than I could ever imagine.

When he fell at my feet, I gazed down at myself, my gown covered in his blood. I sank to my knees beside his body and cried. I could never return home again, never see my parents again, my dear Petru again. I would be forever on my own.

A few years later, I returned home to my village in hopes of reconnecting with my circle only to find my family and even my dear Petru had moved on with their lives. Petru had married a high-spirited daughter of a winemaker who bore him three children. 

The stranger who transformed me was prophetic in saying Petru’s commitment was mere words. Forever lasted only while I was present. All that existed of me was a small stone memorial my loved ones decorated with flowers on special occasions. It was hard walking through the village, breathing the air, feeling the wind in my hair yet not being a part of the living. My forever would be one of solitude.

Captain Namouth sailed up the Thames, but there wasn’t anyone in sight. There was an eeriness that surrounded them. It seemed as if they had arrived not just in England, but in a different time. As Venetia peered through the smog she knew it was true; it was a different time, but in this case there was no time. Time had stopped.

The Tower of London cast a grim shadow as Captain Namouth sailed his boat to the dock. Venetia and Poindexter disembarked. “You’ll be waiting for us?” Venetia asked.

“And where am I going to go?” Captain Namouth said as he lit is pipe and puffed.

Venetia nodded, but she was unsure. She wasn’t sure she could trust Captain Namouth. How could I trust anyone who doesn’t seem to care?  She tried not to let it bother her as she and Poindexter strolled down the vacant streets of London.

There was no hustle and bustle of cars, no businessmen, politician or tourists snapping photos. Flowers were placed around the Trafalgar Square as memorial to Britain that was once great, but now a ghost town. The only sound was the ringing of church bells.

They heard an announcement in a polite British male voice. “Please stay inside your homes. The government is doing all it can to make sure we greet our demise in an orderly fashion.”

Turning around on the street, Venetia and Poindexter heard the voice repeat. “Please stay inside your homes. The government is doing…” As they looked down the street they saw an ambulance approaching with speakers on top. “…all it can to make sure we greet our demise in an orderly fashion.”

Suddenly a flaming tire rolled down the street and crashed into the ambulance. “Stay plinside yer momes…” mumbled the recording as the ambulance erupted in to fire. “Bla blubberment id dwoing.” Another flaming tire spun by, hitting the ambulance causing it to explode before Venetia and Poindexter.

Venetia and Poindexter looked up the street as another flaming tire came rolling toward them. Venetia rushed to Poindexter’s rescue and pushed him out of the way. Lying on the ground, Poindexter fixed his glasses to his face. “Was that necessary?”

“Runaway tire,” Venetia replied out of breath as she watched the tire roll to the bottom of the street and fall onto its side.

As they witnessed more flaming tires roll down the street, they heard the roar of a young boy. “I am Jimmy Pop, King of Kensington!” Several more tires rolled past.

Venetia helped Poindexter to his feet. Carefully she approached Jimmy Pop, a red-haired freckle-faced boy who wore tattered clothes. His face was covered in soot and his hair stood on end. “Jimmy, you should be a home with your family.”

“I was told to go out and play!” he yelled and rolled another tire down the street.

“Jimmy, this is trying times. A young boy needs to be with his family,” urged Venetia.

“Family, schmaily. I don’t hae a family, just the old creepy nuns at the orphanage. They said I was uncringible.”

Poindexter cleaned his glasses. “Do you mean incorrigible?”

Jimmy stood erect and gave Poindexter and Venetia a cocky gaze. “Who are yeh two septic tanks?”
“Oh, no we’re not septic tanks; we’re people,” said Venetia.

Jimmy roared with laughter. “Yanks! Yeh sure a wazzock bint.”

Venetia stood upright and scratched her head. “What? I don’t understand scamp, but I do speak Italian.”
“Yeh out of this world, yeh and that quack square-head,” replied Jimmy.

A vein pulsated in Poindexter’s forehead. I don’t need to take insults from a scamp. “I am a Doctor Poindexter Schiegopherer. I am a world renowned scientist.”

“Yeh! Right! Yeh’re just a poindexter,” Jimmy laughed.

Venetia leaned forward to Jimmy and smiled sweetly. “I understand, I too was an orphan living with nuns.

“Yeh so, yeh think yeh know me, yeh can relate to me. Ha! Yeh don’t know nothing about this dustbin lid. Go back to playin’ patty-cake with the sisters, lady.”

Venetia stared down at Jimmy. “Do you know what is happening, Jimmy?”

“It’s the end of the world, so? Who gives a crap?” he questioned with a careless shrug.

“I do!” exclaimed Venetia. She could feel herself growing angry and she had to stop herself. She took a few deep breaths and said, “Jimmy, do you want to come along with us?”

“What?” responded Poindexter.

“Why would I wanna to go with yeh and that poindexter?” Jimmy asked.

“Yes, why would he come along?” Poindexter questioned, pressing his glasses to his face.

“Listen man,” argued Jimmy, “the lady’s asking.”

“Adventure, you can be a real hero. Jimmy Pop saves the world,” said Venetia.

Jimmy cocked his head and folded his arms across his chest. “I do like the sound of that. What do I need to do?”

“Well, we’re looking for the smartest person in England, someone who could help us save the world. Do you know who that is?” asked Venetia.

“Of course, everyone in England knows; it’s Merlin,” said Jimmy.

Poindexter threw his hands in the air. “Merlin! Merlin! Really, Merlin! Why don’t we go find Sir Isaac Newton?”

“Well, we can find him too,” said Venetia. “Anybody who can help.”

Poindexter’s head reddened and the vein in his forehead pulsated to the point of explosion. “Argh!”

“No, Its not ARR; it’s DER, remember?” Venetia took Jimmy’s hand in hers. “Let’s go find Merlin.”

Poindexter lingered behind Venetia and Jimmy as they headed back to Captain Namouth’s boat. So many brilliant people in England and the supermodel had taken the aid of a delinquent.

Venetia and Poindexter arrived outside a brownstone in Brooklyn. A blend of punk, hip hop and reggae music blared from an open window. Poindexter adjusted his glasses on his face. “This is what you have in mind to alert the people?”

Venetia gazed up at the open window with the doe-eyed stare of an adoring fan. “Blade Urban. People listen to him.”

Poindexter raised his eyebrows. “I guess if people will listen; it doesn’t matter who it comes from,” he said, as Venetia had already made her way to the door.

“Are you coming?” she called from inside. Reluctantly, Poindexter followed.

Winding up the staircase, the music grew to an earsplitting level—the bass turned up so high the interior of the building shook almost as much as the previous night’s storm. At the top floor, Venetia watched pretty-boy superstar Blade Urban, with his long hair, tattoos and tight leather pants. Blade screeched at the top of his lungs and ground against the microphone stand. When she entered the room, one by one, the band stopped playing, leaving Blade singing unaccompanied.

After a few notes, Blade realized the music had stopped and that Venetia was in the doorway. “Venetia love, could it be true? Have you finally given into the Blade?” he asked, giving her a slobbering kiss.
Venetia brushed herself away from Blade’s advances. “I need your help.”

Blade released her, seeing Poindexter in the doorway. “Ah, I see you’re not alone. You brought your own protection,” he said with a wily grin.

“He’s a brilliant scientist. He discovered ARR…well, now DER,” said Venetia, waving Poindexter inside the door.

“I don’t do DER, but I am always good for ARR,” Blade growled.

“Stop your messing around, this is serious,” replied Venetia.

“Got it. We all saw your bit on the telly and we’ve already started recording a song for your benefit gig,” replied Blade.

Venetia bit her fingernail and said, “I think it’s a little more serious and will take a lot more than song.”

“How do you mean love?” asked Blade, “A song can change the world.”

Carefully stepping over electrical cords and drunk groupies, Venetia walked to the window. “I’m not sure you noticed, but take a look at the sky. Don’t you think it’s a little weird? I mean it looks like sunrise all day.”

Blade squinted out the window at the pinkish indigo and brightly lit starry sky. “Wow, look at those stars man. It reminds me of the night in Machu Picchu where we all took—” he paused and gazed at Venetia. “That’s bizarre; I’m not even on anything. What’s it all mean?”

“Poindexter, come in and explain your theory to Blade,” Venetia said and turned to Blade. “He’s rather shy about his theories. They have been controversial.”

“Controversy, now you’re speaking my language,” said Blade.

In the presence of the rockers, Poindexter squared his shoulders and pressed his glasses to his face. “Well it’s all very simple; the Earth has stopped rotating.”

Blade and his band stared at Poindexter in disbelief. “What does that mean?”

“The world has stopped spinning,” replied Poindexter. “The Earth has stopped moving.” He looked at Blade in earnest. “The rock has stopped rolling.”

 “The rock has stopped rolling,” he muttered. He looked up at Venetia. “Well, even if the rock isn’t rolling we can continue to sing.”

Within a few hours, Blade Urban and his band recorded a new song. Blade sang:
 
Spin my world down the alley of shame
Into the gutter of my heart.
Spin the world, oooh, oooh,
Spin the world, baby.
 
Venetia sighed. “That’s great Blade. Hopefully people will listen.”

“Everyone listens to me babe; it’s only a matter of time until it hits the charts,” he replied.

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As Venetia snoozed peacefully, the shadow of a large machete crossed her face. Opening her eyes, she saw a tall, striking man wearing a white turban and a white silk robe tied loosely around his waist, exposing his tanned chest. “Who are you and why have you kidnapped us?” she asked, unafraid.

“I am the Sultan Saosh! Who are you?” he asked, pointing the tip of the knife at the nape of her neck.

“I am supermodel Venetia De Mille,” she replied.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, daringly.

“Why did your thugs bring us here? What do you want?” Venetia asked.

Saosh pressed the knife deeper into her neck, just enough not to pierce skin. “What were you doing in Haifa?”

“Looking for answers.” Venetia pushed the knife away from her neck and sat up. “My friends and I are trying to save the world. We have tried science, healing magic, prayer and now we are here at the cradle of civilization looking for answers.”

“Impossible! It is I who is going to save the world. I am the Sultan Saosh. I am the descendent of Aushedarapmah, who is the descendent of Ansedhar.” He swung his arm in a dramatic gesture. “It has been written from many ages, when the sun hung motionless in the sky my ancestors met with the angels and returned them to Earth, to bring peace and righteousness to humanity. As my ancestors have done in the past, I will do. I am waiting for my angel.” Saosh glanced down at Venetia’s beautiful face and vivid blue eyes, and believed she had arrived.

Venetia admired the dashing Saosh and his passionate declarations. Is it possible? Could I be his angel? Could this be fate, destiny? “How do you know when she…your angel will arrive? What are you supposed to do?”

Saosh thoughtfully pressed the tip of his sword into the sand. “My angel will tell me what to do, what to say. My angel will give me the answers humanity needs to hear. Do you know the answer?” he asked curiously.

“No,” said Venetia. “Sadly, I don’t, that is why my friends and I are searching.” She looked around at the cool, peaceful canopy, which gave her, and the rest of them shelter. She then turned her attention to the poor souls treading across the hot, red sand outside the canopy. The people screamed as the Earth scalded their feet. Some people melted to the Earth’s surface in hellish disfigurements. “Who are they? Why don’t you give them shelter if you are truly the champion of humanity?”

“Those are the evil doers that cannot be saved,” said Saosh.

“Everyone deserves to be saved, even the evil,” said Venetia.

Saosh gave her a big, white, toothy smile. “You are indeed an angel. You believe in humanity—all of humanity, but you see, I cannot save those who cannot see.” He displayed the sheltered oasis. “We are in a mirage, a mirage of hope and faith. If people cannot see it, they cannot be a part of it.”

“Wow,” sighed Venetia, “that’s deep, Saosh.”
             
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Wind blew through open windows of a hardwood floor, loft studio. White curtains fluttered like flags of surrender. Colorful ribbons, fabric remnants twirled randomly about the room. Martin Meelander a flame red-haired and flamboyantly attired male stylist postured before famous fashion designer, Milo Chagrin whose hair and face were so tight any sudden expression would seemingly crack his entire body.

In a grand, dramatic gesture Martin said, “It gives me great pleasure to introduce you to “Forever Fashion.” He turned and screamed harshly, “May I have the first model please!”

A lifeless model entered the studio wearing a cone-shaped Styrofoam brassiere. “The bust of the new millennium,” said Martin with gleeful pride. “Light weight, enduring—a bust that will never, ever disintegrate. It will be bust that will be admired until the next Millennium!”

Suddenly Venetia stumbled inside. Frizzed hair surrounded her face like a lion’s mane. Soot smudged on her cheeks and nose. She looked absolutely primal. “Sorry, I’m late,” she said, gasping for breath.

Martin gave Milo an apologetic grin and stepped toward Venetia. He cupped her soiled cheeks. “Darling,” he whispered, “I don’t expect you to be able to tell time; I just expect you to be pretty and prompt.” He noticed her red swollen eyes, her dirty face and mangy hair. “And now, you’re not even that. You need to get yourself into makeup pronto.”

Venetia nodded obediently as she entered the dressing room where models meandered about in various stages of dress. Bashfully Venetia disrobed behind a curtain away from the spying eyes of her model colleagues.

Suddenly black leather-clad claws ripped open Venetia’s curtain. Venetia gathered her clothes to protect her nakedness. Medusa held out a cellophane dress to Venetia. “Here’s your dress sweetie,” said Medusa with a cigarette perched between her wiry, dry lips.

Venetia stared at the dress with reservation. “This dress is…well, it’s transparent. I might as well be,” she whispered, “naked.”

Medusa grinned with the cigarette erect between her lips. “Honey, it’s only natural. You were born naked.”
Venetia stared at the cellophane dress limp in her hands. Natural, there is nothing natural about this dress. Doubt flooded Venetia’s rosy optimism, but then today seemed to be a change of all things. Today, nature fell from the sky and died in her hands.

“Medusa!” called Martin from the studio. “We are ready for you, gorgeous!”

Medusa puffed smoke in Venetia’s face. “I’m wanted,” she said and strutted in her spiked heels toward the studio. She paraded around the studio before Martin and Milo wearing a hard, plastic bustier.

“Hard, impenetrable, and permanent,” described Martin with daring conviction to Milo. Milo nodded his leather faced approval without a wrinkle of expression, while Medusa strode across the studio floor satisfied.

With his well-manicured hands pressed together, Martin called for his next model. “Venetia, darling! We’re ready for you!” Venetia did not come forth. Martin chuckled nervously. “Venetia sweetheart, don’t be a little prissy.” Venetia still didn’t appear. “Venetia!” Martin howled angrily, stepped behind the curtain and pulled Venetia out before Milo.

Venetia stood before Milo covering her revered private parts visible behind the clear cellophane dress. Martin wrestled Venetia’s hands away and exposed her to Milo. “Expose, Display, Reveal,” Martin demonstrated Venetia’s nakedness to Milo, “Taking something natural, beautiful and preserving for eternity—forever.” Milo grinned smugly; Venetia lowered her head ashamed.

Venetia returned to the dressing room and released a few tears of pride as she changed back into her clothes. She had been modeling for a few years, but never had she been so humiliated. It was something about the modeling industry she didn’t understand, if models were considered to be the epitome of human beauty, then why try to make them look so hideous. Why adorn natural beauty with artificial embellishments?
While she dressed, she spied Medusa through the curtain. She had never worked with Medusa before, but she definitely heard about her modeling reign, her affairs with rock stars, athletes and politicians. Any model who tried to compete for Medusa’s spotlight was run off the catwalk, blinded by high-powered camera flashes, or poisoned with tainted make up. Danger surrounded Medusa and Venetia knew very well to keep her distance.

Behind the curtain Venetia watched with curiosity as Medusa lit another cigarette and strode confidently toward the door. She waited to come out from behind the curtain until Medusa was gone. Last thing Venetia wanted was any confrontation from the most terrifying woman on the planet.

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A low-hanging fog covered the forest floor. All the night creatures were quiet. Yellow eyes of owls followed scant sounds of breaking twigs. A soft hoot alerted others of predators and prey. From the grey mist, Katerina appeared as an apparition walking unseen through the forest.

 The moon’s light showered down between the branches of the trees illuminating a wooded pathway in the ghostly white light. Ahead she spied a thatched-roof cabin with smoke billowing from the chimney. A warm glow radiated from inside the windows.

Through the thin glass, she spied a man and woman making love. When the lovers reached climax, the man rose and walked to another room. Katerina watched the woman resting naked and peaceful in bed waiting for her mate to return. Spinning into vapor, Katerina materialized inside the cabin behind the naked man.

He spun around aghast to find Katerina standing before him. Quickly, he covered his nakedness. “What are you doing here?”

Katerina did not offer a reply, only neared him with seductive tenderness.

“What are you doing?” the man repeated paralyzed.

Reaching her arm around him, Katerina drew herself closer to him. She lowered her face toward his shoulder, first kissing him tenderly as a lover, and then sank her fangs into his neck drawing his life into hers.

Upon hearing the thud of a body falling to the floor, the woman called from the bedroom. “Arnošt!”

The woman leaped out of bed and rushed to find her lover lying in a heap of lifeless flesh. She covered him with her own body heaving with heavy sobs not understanding his sudden demise. Lifting her gaze, she saw Katerina appearing to hover in the hallway.

“Why?” the woman simply asked.

Katerina floated to her lifting her by the chin with only her intention. “Love, my dear,” she said, and then offered the woman the same fate as her lover.

She vanished from the couple’s abode and surfaced inside Siegfried’s bedroom. Her eyes transfixed on his bare knees, to his under britches that covered him to his waist. She watched the gentle rising of his chest with every inhale and a slight surrender of his body with each exhale. There was such serenity in his slumber, and she wondered where his dreams have taken him. Were they with her, or another woman?

Lowering her hand just above his face, just close enough to touch the tip of his nose, she guided her palm over his chest, his waist and groin. She felt his energy and it raced through her nerves to her heart. Wanting so much to lie down beside him, she resisted. Instead, she stood above him as if a dark guardian angel protecting him from evil forces, protecting him from herself.

He opened his eyes and studied her with an illusionary grin. She noticed by the state of his expression and his bodily reaction that he was not fully conscious, not present with current reality. He was in fact dreaming of her. Not able to trust herself, she disappeared, returning to the solitude of her own bedroom.

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Andy parked her taxi. As she walked to the entrance, a bum accosted her. “Can I trouble you for some change?”

Andy brushed him off and entered. Inside the harshly fluorescent-lit store, she picked up some cleaner, paper towels, and a wrapped salami sandwich, a bag of chips, a package of powdered donuts and two cups of coffee. The clerk placed the food in one bag and the cleaner and towels in another.

Once she exited, she handed the bag of food and a cup of coffee to the beggar. “Here you go, Bobby.”

“You’re such a nice lady, Andy,” he said pulling out a small package of powdered donuts with his filthy fingers.

Setting the other bag and cup of coffee on the hood of her cab, she retrieved the bottle of cleaner and paper towels. She sprayed down her back seat from her last fare and scrubbed the vinyl trying to clean up any remnant sex stain.

Bobby lingered behind her watching with powdered sugar in his facial hair. “What’s going on, Andy?”

“Some idiot couldn’t keep it in his pants. Now I gotta clean it up,” she said.

“Yeah, I have a hard time with that too,” replied Bobby as he munched on a donut.

Andy sighed, discouraged, and wiped her brow. “Maybe that’s my problem. It’s all my problem. Civilization is fine. It’s just me that’s screwed up.”

Bobby stared at Andy as donut crumbs fell from his lower lip. “What?”

She faced him and shrugged her shoulders. “Forty years Bobby. Forty years. I haven't had sex in forty years. Sometimes I feel I'm not part of this world, this society or civilization for choosing this chaste life, for choosing to stay faithful to a man who never returned.” She started to cry and immediately turned away from him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You're the sweetest, the most beautiful woman I know. Why would you possibly think badly of yourself?” Bobby asked.

“Oh, you know the value of a woman is how she performs in bed. I have no man in my bed, so, therefore, I’m not much of a woman,” Andy replied.

Bobby wrapped his dirty arms around her and hugged her tight. “Any man would be honored to share your bed but few if any are worthy.”

Andy delicately pushed him away, mostly because if his stench. “Thanks, Bobby.”

“Don't give up on Earl. I know men; I am one. He'll be back. You're too good a woman for him to stay away,” he said.

She hesitated and said. “I think I saw him today. He was wearing his pilot's coveralls. Why the hell after all these years would he be wearing his coveralls? He never wore them when we were together. He kept them locked in a trunk. ‘The past was the past,’ he always said, ‘no use looking back.’ I see him today and he seemed to have become his past.”

“How would you know if the trunk was locked?” Bobby asked.

Andy threw her arms up in the air. “Because I’m a woman, that’s why. Women unlock things men keep locked. It’s just how it is.”

Bobby rubbed his filthy beard. “Maybe he’s going back to his past to find out what he’s missing. Sometimes we need to go back to the past to find our way to the future.” He shrugged. “Sounds to me Andy like he must be on a mission. Hey. Maybe that mission is you.”

Andy laughed. “I don't know about that.”            

“All I know is if I had your love to come home to, nothing would stop me,” he said.

Despite his smell, Andy embraced him. “Thanks, Bobby. You're a real pal.” She pulled back. “And make sure you go down to the VA. They have a food kitchen and showers. They can take real good care of you.”

“Only if I see you there,” he said.

 She walked over to a trashcan to toss the used paper towels. “I’ll be at the food kitchen on Sunday,” she replied getting back in her cab and saluted him. “Adios motherfucker.”

He smiled and saluted her as she drove away.

The stars shone brightly over the desert as Earl and Andy stepped onto the porch of an old-time saloon. Earl belched rubbing his belly. “That was a good steak.”

Andy burped louder. “Yeah.”

Earl laughed caressing her flat tummy. “Where do you even put the steak?”

“I turn it immediately into energy.” She stood on her toes and kissed his lips. “Sexual energy.”

“And burping is your mating call?” he asked.

She belched again. “I’m special that way.”

He draped his arm around her shoulder and escorted her from the porch toward their car. They stopped to admire the sky. Earl pointed to a cluster of stars. “See that? That’s the Little Fucker and that’s the Big Fucker,” he joked.

“I can’t wait to hear the story about the Fuckers,” Andy said.

“They were real fuckers, that’s for sure,” Earl replied. “They fucked this shit, fucked that shit, just all around fucking.” He somberly saluted the sky. “Adios motherfuckers,” he said and opened the car door for Andy.

Andy hesitated before climbing inside. By the look in his eyes, she knew his reference was for all those friends he’d lost in the war. She turned and she too saluted the soldiers in the sky. “Adios motherfuckers.”

He smiled warmly at her. “Thank you.”                  
 
She kissed his chin. “No, thank you.”

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