It's the start of the last run of last season's material and the finish of the start of rehearsals for the next. Endings and Beginnings in eight-count step. She's moved from the chorus to the front line. In a year more, who knows? She might be able to make her break for the West End afterall.
     Days are usually taken up in acting classes, the London Actors Guild, with late afternoons for stretching, relaxing, last minute rehearsals, eating. Showtime starts at eight o'clock. Her days have become blurs. Her nights, colorful blurs. She has seen her lover as often as she can -- about three nights a week of late. Always with kisses and promises that she'll slow down in a month, in a month it'll all be better.
     But is it really all that different from when she played the role of Pussy Galore? She got about three nights worth of his undivided attention -- and he of hers, too. So maybe it's not that big a deal...
     It's three o'clock. Five hours to show time...
     Coffee...
     Juice...
     Fashion magazine...
     Cigarettes traded in for chewing gum (a pack of Juicy Fruit on the table)...
     Late snack consisting of cream cheese on warm English muffins and peaches...
     Blonde hair piled up on her head, held in pins and barrettes...
     A pink fluffy robe and bright red painted fingernails and toes.
     Samantha James curls on a kitchen chair -- old 50s Dinette, very mod -- eats her snacks and reads. Maybe he'll swing by today. If not... she'll go herself. In a few minutes more...

     He can be heard coming down the hallway. It's a private hall, with electronic locks. This part of the brownstone next to the club no one sees. Save the three who have lived there the last years. Soon enough, there's a knock at the door.

     "Coming!" she says, up and out of the chair and scampering, a vision of pink and white and blonde hair, as she jogs from the kitchen to the door. Her accent is losing the Midwestern nasal with her years -- years! -- now in England. Years you provided to her.
     She'll never be able to thank him enough...
     Samantha opens the door, pulling it open with a hardly breathless smile, the motion of the door creating a breeze that picks up the scent of rose-soap, her hand grasping the folds of the thick, cotton robe, fluffy, a gift from her lover...

     "Hey there," Julian says with a smile. It's a brilliant gleam, but there are uncharacteristic circles around his eyes. A slight weariness in his face. "Don't you look great," he offers, extending his arms for an expected embrace. "Busy bee," Julian chuckles.

     You are immediately surrounded in a pink, fluffy cloud (why is it all your paramours wear pink?), soft, feminine skin smelling of rose-soap, toned arms, full breasts, and the sigh of a woman in touch with the girl that she is, kissing you immediately. "Jules!" Samantha squeezes tight. "I was just thinking about you. I've missed you! I can't believe it, next week, I have the whole week off. I'm going to spend it with you," another kiss.
     She pulls back, hand to your face. "Want something to eat?" she murmurs. "Things must be banging at the club," her way of saying: you look tired, Jules. "I have some muffins and fruit, cream cheese. Juice, you name it." Her smile is wide, warm, now it is breathless, she adores you.
     She wants you...

     It never fails how he feels better in his lovers' presence. One, light with a sense of freedom that only mortals can understand. The other, something resonate and perfect, but laden with a story greater than itself.
     "I'm alright," Julian reaffirms, his large hand coming to touch a girl's face. "Things are the same," he whispers, closing his eyes. It's the best way to truly feel someone against you. "And juice is fine. Whatever's going." His arms embrace tightly, and he lingers in it.

     I could just stay like this...
     I really could...
     Her arms loop around your shoulders and she holds herself there, pressed against you, a hand moving, landing against your hair. She could just stay that way. She could just stay this way forever. Turning her head, Samantha places a kiss at your ear, your cheek and then on your mouth, tasting of citrus.
     It takes moments and moments for her to slowly pull away, and even then it's only for movement's sake. "I don't have to be at the hall until 7:30," she notes. That's almost half a day away! She loops her arm around your waist and leads you to the kitchen. "I'll pour you some juice, Jules," love she all but coos it, "...and some muffins and cream cheese..."
     The kitchen is a sunny place. Ultra mod with Atomic Age retro-furnishings. The sun pops in through the building's windows, thudding on the counters, stainless steel fixtures. Making the juice seem brighter and the toast seem all the more buttery.
     Samantha squeezes you, turns and kisses you again, smiling at herself and she goes over to the cabinets, pulling down a glass for you. "I was thinking that during my hiatus, if you had ...time that you could take... maybe you and I could get away for a while?"

     He's quiet, this is true. Not that Julian's ever been loud or boisterous, but his intent's never been muddled.
     Though it looks that way now.
     But is this harder than he thought. It should be easy. It's been easier before, with other women, in other times.
     Julian takes a seat on a stool at the kitchen bar and looks out into the sunlight, squinting slightly.
     "I'd love to, sweet. I really would..."
     But I can't. I have to go. To run off. Before they come looking. I can hear myself now, clanging like a cow, drawn stupidly into the barn at night.
     "I...um...I have to...go away for a while, I think."

     Samantha takes the carafe and pours. She looks at you and then back to the glass. She doesn't say anything until she's sitting across from you. Then ...
     The actress steps back and the girl from the Midwest is still there...
     "What's happening, Julian? Are you in some kind of trouble?" Drugs? "I'm starting to worry here," she says. "You look like you ...shot someone or... something bad is happening... I'm okay with you not being able to stay with me, but I can't handle it that something is happening to you and I don't know what it is..."
     Selflessness. To some mortals it comes so easily. More easily than it does to most gods.
     "Jules," Samantha leans in, juice forgotten, show forgotten, "...what do you mean... go away for a while?"

     His brows arch in surprise, then drop. Aren't you smart, Julian Kane. Guess you aren't as important to her as you'd like to think.
     "A little," Julian admits. "Someone may come looking for me and I'd...rather it...just not involve you or anyone else." There's a shrug.
     "The club is yours," Julian states, "...if you want it, Sam. It...should go to you. It's a lot of work, but it makes enough. It'll take care of you. And then you can sell it. Go back to Clearwater, if you want. Or travel."

     "I don't want the club," she shakes her head. "I don't know anything about running it, and I don't want it. It's... I just... I want you, and I want you to be okay. This is really freaking me out, Julian. You sound like you're not..."
     Ever coming back...
     This isn't temporary, Sam. It isn't about one week or not being able to go on vacation with you, stupid girl...
     Her skin goes pink and pale all at once and she stands up, only long enough to plop herself in your lap again. Her hands go to your face. "Julian... what's happening? We can go to the police, whatever it is... we can fix it or..."
     Or what?
     "You're not leaving me," she says that rather forcefully. "We can fix it... whatever it is... we can work it out, just... just tell me... tell me, Julian... what can I do?"

     No, no, no...
     Julian's panic rises as well. He steps off the stool, backing up a little, though hands reach to touch his face.
     "You can't do anything, and the police can't either, alright, Sam? Look," his face flushing and tension in his form, "...honey...you know that...we have lived well, right? And it has a price and I knew it. And I'm willing to pay it." It's not getting better, this tale. "But, I'm telling you this, because I don't want you to..."
     Why am I telling this? Oh, not for her to be safe.
     For her to know that I didn't run out on her. That I love her.
     "I just want you to know. And not to worry...that I'll be fine, but I can't stay here. Everything's legal with the club, Sam. It won't cause you any problems," other than the normal, cultural ones. "But we can't fix it, alright?" Julian's hands close on yours. "We," he says again, "...can't do anything. I have to. And you have to promise me that you understand."

     But I don't understand...
     Her face, her eyes, her body say as much...
     I don't understand what's happening...
     "You have to tell me, you can't just leave me," she is crying now, "... you're going to just go and I'm never going to see you again? Is that what you're saying? Or... " Or what? She takes a seat again, a little girl suddenly in a pink robe that's too big for her, in a life that is too big for her maybe.
     "I love you... how am I supposed to just... be here when you're gone? How ... how am I supposed to not wonder, not worry? With you ...wherever it is you're going? Are you going to be able to come back? Will I see you again? It sounds like you're running for your life, Jules? How can I possibly just sit here and watch it and dance and sing and let the show go on?"
     "I don't understand..."

     His agitation is evident. Whatever he had planned, this wasn't it. Has he ever seemed so ill-practiced and emotional?
     "No, no, Sam," Julian says softly, kneeling now. "It...it's not...like that. I mean..."
     Julian sighs and puts his hands to his face, covering it.

     "I'm so stupid, I don't know what you mean," Samantha wipes her eyes, her makeup is expensive, so it doesn't run or streak, it's flawless, no matter how splotchy her skin is at the moment. She takes a deep breath, then reaches over for her glass of juice, cradling it to her for a moment and then taking a long drink. "I'm sorry, Jules," she whispers. "I'm sorry..."

     "You're not stupid," Julian says, his hands falling away. He, too, is crying. "It's not you, Sam, it's me. And a what I have done. I...don't want it on you. And so, I must go, Sam. That's all. And I will be alright, I promise. But, you'll be safe. That's what's more important."
     "I love you, Samantha," Julian whispers, looking down at the floor. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," he half-laughs, "It's not...how it goes," he smiles, looking up. "But..." and he shrugs again, to indicate his helplessness.
     Yet, in the same moment, Julian's hand reaches out to pull at the belt of the robe. "I just...need this...once more." And I'll be better. It'll all be better.

     She used to have fantasies about you being on your knees, but there were always rings involved. She used to have fantasies about how things would end up, the story the two of you were making, how it would end up.
     This was never part of it...
     Samantha reaches out with her hand, to hold one of yours for a moment, but your hands are going to your robe. When she was a second tier dancer, you saw her one night. Then you saw her teaching some of the girls yoga and then she started teaching you. Then she became the lead dancer, Pussy Galore herself. Then you moved to London, she came with you. Your golden star.
     And then she became a star in her own right...
     She always thought of you and her living in a high-rise penthouse, the Good Life, Dolce Vita. It is sort of like a movie, she thinks suddenly, her hands going to her own robe's belt. Like one of those French films where they have incredible sex to say goodbye.
     Life isn't sweet...
     There's no Dolce Vita...
     There are just moments, small fragments when we almost touch a dream, right before waking...
     The pink fluffy robe drifts to the kitchen floor, thudding softly there, soft as a whisper, and there is nothing beneath but the toned body of a dancer-slash-singer-slash-actress in her early 30s. Samantha draws a hand along your face, wiping at your tears and leads your hand to her skin, leading you along with her to the table.
     That's how it goes, I guess...

     "You're the most beautiful girl ever," Julian whispers softly. An admission -- for even as he says it, some awareness crosses his saddened features.
     "You'll remember that, won't you, Sam? That I love you?" He won't ask if she'll promise not to forget him, because he will remember for you both.
     Julian's hand barely touches your waist. His fingertips follow the curve upwards. His eyes stare intently, though tears fall from them, and he seems somewhere else, his hand barely able to touch whatever it is he sees.

     Her arms lift above her head, and like a Venus in the midst of adoration, she lets the words pour over her for a moment like rosewater. Until her hair falls down in a riot of gold waves all around her shoulders. Her face looks like someone has slapped it (isn't that what this is, in its way), but her eyes and her fingers are focused. She leads your face to hers, her mouth opens at yours, teasing, playing...
     Remembering in advance...
     When you were so hot for one another, cars and public places, private dining rooms, behind the desk, on the desk, it never mattered.
     It never mattered until she loved you...
     And lost you...
     "I love you, too..."
     But that's all she says. That's all she can say without breaking down into tears, so she leaves it at that, her mouth returning to your mouth, her fingers disappearing in the shadows that separate her body from your own.
     She never knew the gap was a chasm...
     She never knew the chasm was hell...

     Not so long ago, there was a time when Samantha James wasn't sure whether Julian Kane loved her. Then, he asked her to London, gave her an apartment, a car. Independence. And with each freedom he gave away, Julian felt himself sinking more and more into the clutches of his own imprisonment. But when he saw the Truth of it, it was far too late.
     "I love you," Julian whispers into the mouth he's come to cherish. A human heart, truly made in the likeness and image of --
     He stills, closing his eyes in the touch. Some part of him still wants to say It is not True. None of it. The lies the Host told, the lies He, for the he hasn't said His Name in ages, ...made us all believe. Until the Lightbringer explained it. Explained it all. And that was when we were freed. When we knew --
      -- the Truth of it?
     What is it?
     "I...don't understand," Julian suddenly cries out, arms around the girl he's come to love. "I don't...understand...what happened?"
     And the two who could best explained are both gone now. Gone far away.

     In a Word?
     God...
     God happened, and it's not fair, Ramariel. It's not fair. And for Times out of Time, God, who or whatever It is We may never know, has sought to Understand Itself. It's not perfect. How can It be when It was splintered in the thousand-million-billion bits of matter known as the Universe, of which, Ramariel, We are a part. It's only when We are Together that God Itself is perfect. Until then, God's just a good idea and something to strive for.
     The problem is, We don't agree as to how that striving should manifest. Or even how God Itself should manifest. That's the real issue, isn't it? Free Will, Servitude, Loyalty. That's part of it, but where We differ is just more basic than that.
     So, Love... Lust... maybe neither are wrong in essence, pardon the pun, but how can stealing and hurting, damaging and destroying ever be the way to Understand God? Is that what We want God to be?
     Is that what We want to be?
     That's not the dream I had...
     That's not what I wanted...
     I think some of Us are still trying to find God. Michael, Blandine, Soldekai. Maybe even Lucifer. I don't know. Some, like Baal and Saminga, have forgotten there was even a point to the Debate.
     What I do know is this...
     Love finds a way, Ramariel...
     Love finds a way...
     Even as far away as where I once Was to where I Am now...
     Love finds a way...
     It even found you...

Posted by rowan at February 16, 2004 09:59 PM