Thank you so much to all of my reviewers. I'm sorry that I haven't replied to y'all personally, but this week has been more than hectic. Biological anthropology is difficult, and I have this minor thing on Saturday called the LSAT. I'm glad to know that there are more people out there who appreciate Talking Heads. I also apologize for the delay in updating; this story isn't prewritten, I'm just making it all up as I go along, so please, if you notice any inconsistencies or anything, let me know.
Fried oysters were very different from raw oysters, but just as good, if not better. Had there been any left over, he would have gotten up and raided the fridge, but as it was, he and Lee had devoured them all.
Erik didn't usually eat so much, but the salty little tid-bits had been too good to pass up, and went down even more easily with cheap beer.
Cheap, but still alcoholic beer and perhaps he'd drunk a little too much. A slightly elevated mood had been increasing in mirth since dinner; he'd been horrified to find himself actually smiling at one of Chrissy's corny jokes.
The four of them were certainly an interesting lot. He didn't know exactly how Lee had come to know the gulla gee chee woman, or the Hispanic man who resided below, but apparently they'd been living in the same house for quite some time.
He flipped the TV over to the TV Guide Channel and gracefully slid off the bed, daintily tip-toeing to the fireplace.
Erik had been meaning to inspect the pictures since he'd first noticed them. There were only three, enclosed by cheaply made frames, displaying cryptic images. One was old, a black and white of a man and woman, obviously on their wedding day. The man was tall and stern, broad shouldered and reminiscent of a 1950s movie star. The woman was a taller, stouter version of Lee; the same black eyes stared out at him from the glass, chilling and killing his buzz.
He set the picture down carefully and glanced at the other two. The same man from the first was in all three, though much older in the last two. In one he held a very small girl on his lap; not looking at the camera, the man's attention was solely on her, a look of pure love on his face. It had to be a very young Lee.
The last picture was of a group. The man from the first two, who by now Erik had concluded was Lee's grandfather, stood behind a smiling couple, also clad in wedding attire. They had to be her parents.
There were only two other pictures in her house. Both snapshots were on the wall in the living room. One displayed Lee wearing a graduation gown, standing beside of Chrissy in front of a large Washington and Lee sign. The other was of Lee, Chrissy, and Ramon, standing on a tropical beach somewhere and obviously wasted.
It was more than curious. He pondered over it more while shuffling back to the bed. Erik had the inclination that Lee, L double E, the masculine spelling, which she had made a point of telling him at dinner, was named after her grandfather.
But, that wasn't her first name. She'd said so in the hospital. Not that it really mattered, he wouldn't be sticking around long, and no one called her by anything other than Lee anyway.
So why was he so curious about it? Why was he so curious about her?
Maybe it was because of how human she'd made him feel. The ride out to the Anchor Line had been longer than he'd expected, and they insulted each other the entire way there and back.
He really had to be on his toes with her; she was a clever one, her retorts always hard hitting and full of immaculate wit.
At first it had been insulting, but very quickly angry banter had turned into meaningless sparring.
And then there was dinner. For the first time in his life since he'd run away from his mother, he had sat down at a table with other human beings and consumed a meal; he ate with them, drank with them, and conversed with them; the whole ordeal being surprisingly low-key and enjoyable.
He adjusted one of the dark blue pillows. All of the bedding was of very high thread count; he preferred silk sheets, but hers weren't unbearable.
So he had one night of relatively common behavior. If he continued…it could only end badly. Erik had learned that the hard way.
He closed his eyes; unable to contain the tears conjured by the memory of Christine. The look on her face when she had taken off his mask…
Erik would never forget it.
The warmth that spread through him when he felt her behind him; the thrill of her hands connecting with his shoulder, and then a dagger straight to his heart; the cold air of his basement causing him to shiver as it unexpectedly collided with his exposed flesh.
Her scream had been shrill and ear piercing, enough to shatter his soul.
He had to leave. Erik knew he couldn't go through such heated betrayal again. He'd been very close to not making it through the first time. A life of friendship wasn't for him; God had seen to it that he was denied companions.
And yet…part of him wanted to stay, to enjoy the simple pleasantries he'd been afforded. Lee wasn't anything like Christine. Some long-lost, blue-eyed twit showing up out of nowhere wasn't going to impress her very much. At least…he didn't think so.
And when asked about Ideal Forms Lee could actually construct a highly conceivable argument in favor of her point, instead of just, staring at him like he was an idiot for asking.
It didn't matter. The following day he'd have his car and-
"Merde." He shouted much too loudly as a dark feline jumped onto his chest, straight out of thin air. "Que l'enfer?"
A pair of yellow eyes stared back him, sharp claws kneading into his skin. "Feuille."
The cat, probably the ugliest one he'd seen in his life, didn't listen. It occurred to him that maybe the vile creature couldn't understand French. "Shoo."
It still didn't move, if anything, it dug its claws in harder. He couldn't get over how ugly it was; a dark mix of black and orange, if it hadn't been lying on his chest he might have felt sorry for it.
Erik slowly reached for it, only to be met with a malicious hiss and swat. "Ow." He sucked on an injured finger; the little she-devil had brought blood. "Bitch." The cat purred.
He couldn't remember falling asleep but a heavenly aroma seeping into the room woke him up.
He opened his eyes and saw the cat. Erik decided to take his chances and rolled over, thanking everything holy that the persistent feline didn't roll with him.
He got up quickly and dug through his clothes, finding something satisfactory, he proceeded to the bathroom.
The hot water felt divine as it poured down on him, purging him of that horrid hospital smell, and allowing him precious moments of thoughtless bliss.
And then came the major dilemma, should he shampoo and condition with Garnier Fructis, length and strength? Or John Frieda, brilliant brunette?
Erik opted for the brilliant brunette and was just about to repeat when the furry beast from Hell scrambled into the shower with him.
Lee stopped stirring the pot of shrimp 'n grits and looked up to Chrissy. "That's funny. I could have sworn I just heard a ten year old school girl screaming."
The older woman walked out of the kitchen, a concerned expression on her face; Lee followed, trying to not laugh.
All her self-restraint failed when her new house guest ran into the hallway, wearing nothing but a towel and his mask. "L'obtenir loin de moi."
He spoke too quickly for her to make sense of it. She didn't speak French, but could usually piece recognizable bits together and make sense of things. Four years of Italian and a summer in Palermo hadn't been a complete waste of money.
That's when she saw V.W. "Aw, who's afraid of Virginia Woolf?" He glared at her, but she was more concerned with the hilarity of the situation, and the sight of him in nothing but a towel. "I think she likes you."
"This cat slept on me last night, attacked me, and assaulted me in the shower."
"I can see that." The non-shiny side of his face turned red. Without saying anything, he scurried back into the bedroom. "Breakfast is almost ready!"
As soon as they were back in the kitchen, Chrissy and Lee burst out laughing.
"Poor man." She looked back over her shoulder at Lee who caught her strange expression inquisitively.
"What?"
"Nothing, you'd better start fixing them eggs."
Lee looked at her skeptically, but Chrissy had already turned her back. Whatever she'd been thinking, she wasn't going to tell.
V.W. meowed loudly from down the hall, no doubt trying to coax out her new love interest.
That cat hated people, even Lee, to whom animals were prone to flock. Not Virginia Woolf, she hated everything.
So she'd found a kindred spirit.
"When are we going to get my car?"
It really wasn't fair that he dressed so well. As if the towel hadn't been enough (or perhaps, too much), black slacks and a dark red button down, the top buttons undone, well…damn.
She realized she was staring and needed to say something irritating. "What about, 'Good morning Lee and Chrissy, lovely day isn't it? My, my is that breakfast you're cooking? Smells wonderful.'?"
He smirked, smugly of course, and ignored her. "My car?"
Lee let out a sigh and sub-consciously lowered her shoulders. "I forgot."
"I'm reminding you. My car, impound, is it coming back to you at all?"
"No, I forgot which day of the week it was."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
She really had forgotten. It happened occasionally, one of the many downsides of insomnia. Lee just hoped that the past two days hadn't been some kind of hallucination.
God, what if the masked man was her very own Tyler Durden? She shivered at the thought of insanity.
"I forgot that today was going to be Sunday." She ran back over the sentence; it didn't really make sense. "The place we need to go won't be open."
His hands turned into fists. "How could you forget…Never mind."
"Would you two stop bickering and help me get this breakfast on the table?"
Lee had come across Chrissy when she was about sixteen. Chrissy, at the time, was forty and slightly addicted to cocaine.
They had met one night on King Street, in front of a long gone coffee shop. Chrissy had no home to go to, and Lee owned, or would own, in a matter of two years, a house which nobody lived in. It seemed very logical at the time that she should live in Lee's house, rent free.
Melanie's parents had strongly disagreed, but Lee had never gotten along with them anyway. They weren't really family, just, distant cousins, and the only people around to take her in when her grandfather died.
They kicked her out, and she moved in with Chrissy, who went to rehab and became the mother Lee never knew.
So when the stern gulla gee chee woman "asked" her to do something, Lee did it.
Erik let out a groan and took the stack of plates out of Chrissy's hands. "What is that stuff anyway?" He pointed toward to the pot Lee carried.
"Shrimp 'n grits, Chrissy's specialty." V.W. jumped onto the counter. "Hey," before Lee could finish the cat leapt onto Erik's back.
It was more than impressive that he didn't drop the plates. "What the hell is wrong with this cat?"
Chrissy's laughter rang out from the kitchen. "I don't know; she typically hates everyone."
"She's getting her fur all over my shirt."
Chrissy laughed harder and Lee could no longer contain herself. "Just…throw her…down." She managed to get out between giggles.
"I've already tried that." He set the plates on the table and sighed. V.W. seemed more than content to cling to his shoulder.
"Lee Jones, you get that cat off your guest this instant!" She had tried to keep her voice serious, but by the end of her command it was choked with laugher.
Lee edged toward the cat carefully. V.W. was her other cat; her favorite one, a gorgeous short-haired, black and gray tabby named Atticus, was currently sleeping on top of her piano.
"Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf?" She chided softly grabbing the cat in one swift, fluid motion.
"Ow. Shit." She threw V.W. into the bathroom and shut the door. Blood trickled down her arms from deep scratches.
"I know you're going to clean up before you sit down to eat." Chrissy had that look.
"Yes, mother."
"Don't you yes, mother me, Lee Jones. I'll invite your cousins over for dinner."
"Anything but that." Lee washed off the blood and applied pressure to her wounds.
Discarding a bloody paper towel, she finally seated herself at the table. "So…" They both eyed her suspiciously. "What?"
Neither answered; Lee suddenly felt like the victim of a poorly planned conspiracy. "I was thinking we could…spend the day at the beach."
He dropped his fork and simultaneously choked on his food. It would have been more entertaining if he hadn't looked so cute flustered like that.
She mentally kicked herself for being so girly, but damn, the buttons…
No, no, no, no, no, no…He might have had damaged goods written across his face, but she had it up and down her leg. Neither one of them were relationship material.
Splitting up with a fiancé of two years, best friend and lover, all the corny shit people put into their own wedding vows, had left her more than a little jaded.
It wouldn't have been so bad if he had been an asshole, hit her, cheated on her, given her a reason to hate him. But no, Grey Richards was always the perfect gentleman.
It was a revelation Lee would always regret. Somewhere between freshman year and graduation, they had changed. And the people they had become just weren't meant to be together.
Or maybe they hadn't changed. Maybe they were just too young to realize how different they were at the time.
She hated it, and he hated it, but they both knew. She wasn't bitter, just…disenchanted. The fact that love wasn't enough to keep two people together was just too counter-intuitive.
In truth, Erik was the first man she'd paid any attention to at all since Grey had left. He was completely different from Grey. Grey loved life, but hated change; he was smart, but not very intellectual, and his sense of humor had been nothing like hers.
He'd never understood why she found Monty Python so amusing, and she'd never understood why he'd found the NBA so entertaining.
Erik, however, was…highly intelligent. A smugly clever SOB, surely he appreciated NCAA ball.
Actually, he probably didn't watch basketball at all. She only kept up with The College.
"Lee, are you going to eat those scrambled eggs, or push them around your plate some more?" Chrissy's voice jerked her out of her reverie.
"What? Oh, yeah." She took a bite, but the eggs were already cold.
Lee looked up from her plate and straight into his eyes. She felt heat rising to her cheeks. As much as she tried to resist, there was something greatly captivating in those stormy gray spheres.
The College is how they refer to The College of Charleston on TV when they broadcast our basketball games. We should actually have a good team this year.