Disclaimer: The worlds of Amber, Chaos and Shadow belong to
Roger Zelazny, together with all the Amberites and Chaosites
mentioned in the books. Any original characters, like
Jacqueline, Harriet and any other that may appear - are my
property, heh...
If you are confused in the beginning by not mentioning of Amber etc. at once - well, it's all part of the story. It will come... My grammar might not be perfect, as I'm not native English speaker, but I do my best...
Have fun! ~Cynewulf
It wasn't the first time in my life to go to bed with a guy, and then to wake up with a message - so I wasn't too bothered. I noticed some embarassement deep in my stomach, though - the guy had left his phone number, and I, try as I might, couldn't even remember his name. Without looking at the signature, at least.
"Honey," (I read, already slightly irritated over this needless intimity). "I had to go to work, didn't feel like waking you up only because of this. You'll find some croissants and youghurt on the kitchen bank. I bought them for you together with some "morning-after" pills - just in case. Last night you said you didn't use any, but you know my opinion on that matter, so..." (no, I didn't know it, didn't remember it - and didn't care). "I hope you don't take it as too forward a step from my side, I did it only because I care... Hope you will have a beautiful day. I know I will, thinking only of you!" (I wanted to vomit!).
"Call me during the day," (I read on), "so we can see more of each other.
With love and care,
yours
Sammie"
I began to laugh aloud, and then stopped, doing a quick introspection. No, as far as I knew, this "Sammie" definitely wasn't my beloved husband for ten years already, or anything like that. Or was I crazy?
I'm easily disturbed in the morning, and, having gotten all paranoid, I grabbed the phone and dialed a number. No, not my "with love and care" one-night-stand.
Harriet answered, and by the buzz in the background I councluded she was stuck somewhere in a traffic jam.
"Jacki? Are you ill?"
I considered for a moment.
"I guess you are refering to my physical condition?" I inquired. "All my toes are in their proper places, so - no. I guess I'm OK. Just in need of a big cup of coffee."
"I'd make one for you if I were there, but sorry. What are you doing at home at this time anyway? If you are healthy and sane as you say you are, I mean?"
"Healthy like an oak. A healthy oak, I mean. As for sane... What time is it, anyway?"
Harriet snorted. She had that bad habit of criticizing me by a single inarticulate sound. Trough her nose.
"If I guess right," she said, "and if you are still in your bed..., Well, you have a big shiny clock on the oposite wall. Anyway, it's somewhat past nine."
"Hell! Late Again"
"You never think of setting that alarm clock of yours, do you? It can ring, you know. There are some tiny buttons on the backside, and if you only..."
I couldn't help but laugh.
"God, Harry, I wasn't quite in a condition for such last night.
"You are going to get fired one day, and then..."
"And then I'll find a new job. Simple. Come on, Harry, you know I hate being preached at this early in the morning..."
I anticipated her answer, something in line with " 'early in the morning' is a term that can be discussed", but she spared me.
"Hey, we are moving!" she said instead, her voice full of fake enthusiasm. "We gained almost a meter! At this pace I'll be at work by 6 p.m. at worst!"
I swallowed my comment of uselessness of standing up early in circumstances like this. Instead, I got on the matter.
"Look, Harry, I didn't call only to keep you company and to stop you from murdering the guy in the car before you. I know you can do it in a very creative and somewhat morbid way, but still..."
"Why then?"
"Well, to start from the beginning..."
"Do it, Jacki. Please. You know how much I hate starting from the end, and..."
"Look," I interrupted her, slightly irritated. "I love your witticisms sometimes, but now simply isn't that sometimes. So, please please shut up!"
"Sorry."
Harriet was like this every time she was irritated, and even Saint Francis would be irritated over the traffic in New York on Tuesday mornings. On the other hand, Harriet was my best friend from junior high, and the only person whatsoever whom I could call at this point - without causing reactions like "God, Jacqueline, how could you, it's terrible!". Most of my female friends used to get drunk and have one-night-stands once in a while, but only Harriet didn't go all hypocritical about it.
So, I told her about my getting up with the message.
"God, Jacki, don't go all sentimental about it, now. It's better than waking up embraced with a bold guy in middle forties, the one who sleeps in his socks."
No matter her prickly nature, Harry was always able to make me laugh.
"It's not that," I chuckled. "It's the type of message. All like: 'I bought you youghurt and morning-after pills, please take them'. Almost asked me to marry him.
"Why, that is actually sweet. Maybe you finally ran into a decent guy. Let me guess - he left the phone number as well?"
"Yeah. And it's the only thing that convinced me I'm not mad, or haven't lost my memory, or that I don't have double personality."
"God, Jacki, you don't need much to go all paranoid."
"You haven't seen the message. It actually made me wonder if we were happily married for ten years."
"That would mean you got married at 17, so - nope. You are sane. Feeling better now?"
"Yeah. I just wanted, well, to share.
She paused, and then:
"Another two meters. This is promising."
She giggled.
"Now what?" Harry continued, after a terrible swear and a loud sound of siren that made me glad she didn't carry a gun. "I actually think you should call him back. Seems OK to me."
"Seems psycho to me," I snorted, and I could literally sense her rolling her eyes.
"Listen to me, now. Please, Jacki. And don't interrupt. You are 27 now. Most girls your age have begun to think of a relationship. I mean a real relationship, like moving in together with a nice, responsible guy. Sharing the life with someone, and all. Having kids. Biological clock and all, remember? I know you feel young, and all, but trying to be a bit more mature wouldn't harm you at all. I'm not saying you should marry off to the first guy who remembers to buy you a breakfast... All I'm saying is - don't run away at once. Simply...give it a try. When you have talked to him once (In a sober condition, I mean), you'll know if he's your psycho... Though your definition of a 'psycho' is rather arguable, knowing that..."
I stopped listening.
If you are confused in the beginning by not mentioning of Amber etc. at once - well, it's all part of the story. It will come... My grammar might not be perfect, as I'm not native English speaker, but I do my best...
Have fun! ~Cynewulf
It wasn't the first time in my life to go to bed with a guy, and then to wake up with a message - so I wasn't too bothered. I noticed some embarassement deep in my stomach, though - the guy had left his phone number, and I, try as I might, couldn't even remember his name. Without looking at the signature, at least.
"Honey," (I read, already slightly irritated over this needless intimity). "I had to go to work, didn't feel like waking you up only because of this. You'll find some croissants and youghurt on the kitchen bank. I bought them for you together with some "morning-after" pills - just in case. Last night you said you didn't use any, but you know my opinion on that matter, so..." (no, I didn't know it, didn't remember it - and didn't care). "I hope you don't take it as too forward a step from my side, I did it only because I care... Hope you will have a beautiful day. I know I will, thinking only of you!" (I wanted to vomit!).
"Call me during the day," (I read on), "so we can see more of each other.
With love and care,
yours
Sammie"
I began to laugh aloud, and then stopped, doing a quick introspection. No, as far as I knew, this "Sammie" definitely wasn't my beloved husband for ten years already, or anything like that. Or was I crazy?
I'm easily disturbed in the morning, and, having gotten all paranoid, I grabbed the phone and dialed a number. No, not my "with love and care" one-night-stand.
Harriet answered, and by the buzz in the background I councluded she was stuck somewhere in a traffic jam.
"Jacki? Are you ill?"
I considered for a moment.
"I guess you are refering to my physical condition?" I inquired. "All my toes are in their proper places, so - no. I guess I'm OK. Just in need of a big cup of coffee."
"I'd make one for you if I were there, but sorry. What are you doing at home at this time anyway? If you are healthy and sane as you say you are, I mean?"
"Healthy like an oak. A healthy oak, I mean. As for sane... What time is it, anyway?"
Harriet snorted. She had that bad habit of criticizing me by a single inarticulate sound. Trough her nose.
"If I guess right," she said, "and if you are still in your bed..., Well, you have a big shiny clock on the oposite wall. Anyway, it's somewhat past nine."
"Hell! Late Again"
"You never think of setting that alarm clock of yours, do you? It can ring, you know. There are some tiny buttons on the backside, and if you only..."
I couldn't help but laugh.
"God, Harry, I wasn't quite in a condition for such last night.
"You are going to get fired one day, and then..."
"And then I'll find a new job. Simple. Come on, Harry, you know I hate being preached at this early in the morning..."
I anticipated her answer, something in line with " 'early in the morning' is a term that can be discussed", but she spared me.
"Hey, we are moving!" she said instead, her voice full of fake enthusiasm. "We gained almost a meter! At this pace I'll be at work by 6 p.m. at worst!"
I swallowed my comment of uselessness of standing up early in circumstances like this. Instead, I got on the matter.
"Look, Harry, I didn't call only to keep you company and to stop you from murdering the guy in the car before you. I know you can do it in a very creative and somewhat morbid way, but still..."
"Why then?"
"Well, to start from the beginning..."
"Do it, Jacki. Please. You know how much I hate starting from the end, and..."
"Look," I interrupted her, slightly irritated. "I love your witticisms sometimes, but now simply isn't that sometimes. So, please please shut up!"
"Sorry."
Harriet was like this every time she was irritated, and even Saint Francis would be irritated over the traffic in New York on Tuesday mornings. On the other hand, Harriet was my best friend from junior high, and the only person whatsoever whom I could call at this point - without causing reactions like "God, Jacqueline, how could you, it's terrible!". Most of my female friends used to get drunk and have one-night-stands once in a while, but only Harriet didn't go all hypocritical about it.
So, I told her about my getting up with the message.
"God, Jacki, don't go all sentimental about it, now. It's better than waking up embraced with a bold guy in middle forties, the one who sleeps in his socks."
No matter her prickly nature, Harry was always able to make me laugh.
"It's not that," I chuckled. "It's the type of message. All like: 'I bought you youghurt and morning-after pills, please take them'. Almost asked me to marry him.
"Why, that is actually sweet. Maybe you finally ran into a decent guy. Let me guess - he left the phone number as well?"
"Yeah. And it's the only thing that convinced me I'm not mad, or haven't lost my memory, or that I don't have double personality."
"God, Jacki, you don't need much to go all paranoid."
"You haven't seen the message. It actually made me wonder if we were happily married for ten years."
"That would mean you got married at 17, so - nope. You are sane. Feeling better now?"
"Yeah. I just wanted, well, to share.
She paused, and then:
"Another two meters. This is promising."
She giggled.
"Now what?" Harry continued, after a terrible swear and a loud sound of siren that made me glad she didn't carry a gun. "I actually think you should call him back. Seems OK to me."
"Seems psycho to me," I snorted, and I could literally sense her rolling her eyes.
"Listen to me, now. Please, Jacki. And don't interrupt. You are 27 now. Most girls your age have begun to think of a relationship. I mean a real relationship, like moving in together with a nice, responsible guy. Sharing the life with someone, and all. Having kids. Biological clock and all, remember? I know you feel young, and all, but trying to be a bit more mature wouldn't harm you at all. I'm not saying you should marry off to the first guy who remembers to buy you a breakfast... All I'm saying is - don't run away at once. Simply...give it a try. When you have talked to him once (In a sober condition, I mean), you'll know if he's your psycho... Though your definition of a 'psycho' is rather arguable, knowing that..."
I stopped listening.