The Stranger

Chapter 7

Lorenzo takes me to an art opening on the back of his Harley Davidson, and as the wind whips through my hair, and a light rain drizzles on my face, I can feel the world coming back alive, and wonder if he has your powers, if he too is an ancient magician, sent here to save me from you.  The gallery is full of stuffy academic types, eating fine wines, and sampling cheeses.  The art is large, abstract, like a giant Rorsharch test and I can't help but seeing dark figures inside each of them, evil faces, twisted bodies. Lorenzo offers me a glass of wine, but I tell him about how I quit drinking because I was afraid of turning into my mother.  He laughs, and says he doesn't drink because he's afraid of turning into his father, and so we end up drinking Perreir, and joke about what dorks we've become.

Christ, Lorenzo says, I could piss art like this.  I am sorry, Anne, he says.  I thought this was going to be an art exhibit, not somebody's father-issues taken out on an innocent canvas.  I mean these things are just plain creepy.

It relieves me to here him say that.  I didn't want to think I was the only one seeing this.

Suzan is here with her husband, Phil.  I introduce them to Lorenzo.  Suzan winks at me, as if to say, nice work.

Isn't this art great, says Susan.

Oh yeah, Lorenzo says, it really brings up issues.

I laugh, sip my wine.

Phil is talking with Lorenzo about soccer or some such thing, and I'm talking with Susan, but really wondering how long it will be before I can get out of here, and go home and sleep with Lorenzo.  This is the first time I've felt that mysterious attraction since you and this is how I know you're magic because somehow you manage to show up, right in the middle of this strange art showing.  You are slunk against column, smoking in a black overcoat.  You hair is wet with rain.  The magic I'd been carrying around since I met Lorenzo, suddenly withers and it's the first time since we met that you look like a stranger to me, and I don't know if my heart is racing because of fear or desire or both, but  I like to Lorenzo, telling him that I have to go to the bathroom just so that I can find out why you are here.

I'm here because I got hurt, you say, and open your coat to show me a bloody cut you have beneath your right rib. 

Oh Christ, what happened?  Why didn't you go to the hospital?

They can't fix it, you say.  Only you can.  It's not from a mortal blade.

What do you mean?

The dark wizard did this to me, Anne.  Only you can help me.

How? I get sick at the sight of blood.

Just come with me, you say.  You look at me, sensually, the way you used to in my college apartment.  You say, You look beautiful tonight Anna.  Your voice is as soft and as sweet as it was the day we met, and I take you back to my place and fix your wound with fifteen Scooby Doo band-aids, that somehow stop the bleeding. 

Our last night together, when we made love in such a sad and violent way, I thought I could never feel another emotion, but this time everything feels tender again, innocent as I try not to disturb your  wound.  You tell me not to worry, it's gone.  I look down and there is only the bandaids and your smooth pale skin.

As we lay together, spent, you say, You're going to have to choose, he says, between me and him.

Since when do I have a choice with you? I ask.  I thought we we're cursed.

You we're right about your boy here, Lorenzo Lamas, the hunky tattoo fella.  He is also an ancient, and he knows half the counter spell, but in order to get it you will have to break up with him, tell him you never want to see him again, or he won't give it to you.

I feel like you're lying to me, tricking me, but I can see how woried you look, and wonder if it's true.  You can see the future, and you know that we're getting closer. 

What about the other half? I ask.  Who holds the other half?

I can't tell you that now, just as I couldn't tell you this until you were in a place to hear it. 

Time is a motherfucker, my love.