Sky Tongues Page 7

  Then I remembered and hurried downstairs with both the envelope and the letter to show the security guy. He examined each carefully, still seemed unperturbed but told me he’d send a guard over to watch my house every few hours or so, just as a precaution.

  “Is that really necessary?” I asked. “It seems like it would draw more attention than dissuade it.”

  “He’ll be very inconspicuous, ma’am. Not to worry.”

  I knew that in these kinds of circumstances it was best to just step back and let people do their jobs. I said ok and thanked him, sent him on his way with the foul letter and forgot all about it.

  50

  About a week later, I was in my trailer when the same security guy knocked, accompanied by another more official looking security guy.

  “Unfortunately, we suspect the person who sent you the letter has been sending mail to the studio for quite some time.”

  I looked between them. “How long is ‘quite some time’?”

  They exchanged a glance and the first guard said, “Basically since the show began.”

  I leapt out of my chair. “What? Why wasn’t I told about this?”

  The suit guy did his best to placate me. “You weren’t told because we didn’t deem him as a serious threat at the time. Just one of those whackos who professes his love for one celebrity or another. Usually those guys turn out to be harmless ugly loners who can’t get laid to save their lives.”

  “But not this time?” I asked.

  “We’re sure he’s an ugly loner all right, but we’re not so sure he’s harmless anymore.”

  I sat back down again. “Great. He never wrote in blood before?”

  “Oh, no. He has. That isn’t what we consider threatening. And it isn’t so much what he wrote, even. It’s the fact that he’s progressed to sending things to your house.”

  “Ok,” I said. “So, what does that mean exactly? Besides the fact that he knows where I live.”

  The first guy replied. “Generally, it means that he’s getting frustrated, probably due to the fact that he hasn’t received a response from you.”

  “Great,” I repeated.

  The suit again: “Well, we don’t want you to be alarmed. You’ll be perfectly safe at all times, of course. You can count on that. It is just our standard procedure to let the client know when something progresses to this degree, not because you’re in danger but just as a common courtesy and for your own awareness. Teaching the client to be aware and careful is half our job, after all.”

  I’m sure he expected at least half a smile from me, but he got nothing. “Well, thanks for making me aware then,” I said listlessly.

  “Absolutely. And remember, just be cautious. That’s all we ask and you can leave the rest to us.”

  “Gotcha.”

  I showed them the door and sat staring into space until I got my makeup call.

  51

  Somehow, the freaky son-of-a-bitch managed to break into my house a week later. I wasn’t home, thank gods, as we were doing a night shoot, but somehow he was able to climb in through a second story window, avoiding the notice of the guards on duty and spent several hours rummaging through my belongings before security finally noticed the glare of a flashlight moving back and forth across my bedroom window.

  He’d been parading around my house and wearing my clothes when they caught him. I was called immediately and asked to come to the house. When I arrived home, I was disgusted by what I found. He’d masturbated every where he could thing of: on my bed, my sofas, my toilet seat and tubs, even on a kitchen chair and in the fucking refrigerator. He’d also done obscene things with my toothbrush and various kitchen utensils.

  “Jesus,” I cried. “How long was he in here?”

  “An hour,” one of the on-duty guards said. “Maybe two.”

  “Fuck!” I was disgusted, scared, and furious all at once. “What the fuck?” I just kept walking around my house, saying “fuck,” over and over again.

  “The good news is we have him in custody,” someone said.

  “Fuck!”

  I was told of a reliable and trustworthy cleaning company and given their business card. “Fuck that,” I said. “I’m moving.”

  I went back to work and spent my downtime talking to people about where they lived and was anything for sale in the neighborhood.

  52

  I moved into a spacious place in the same area where Dove lived with his wife and kids.

  It was much more extravagant than my little Tudor had been. It had what the realtor called grounds. I had to hire a gardener, something I could never have pictured myself doing only a month before. I also hired a maid and was sure to make them both sign security clauses. My life was getting to be very bizarre, something I barely recognized, especially when I thought back to my beginnings. I had come a long way and with that knowledge came a sense of pride I would carry for the rest of my days. Beginnings were nothing more than that: beginnings. The end always counts more than the beginning.

  53

  Because our show had become such a ridiculously huge hit, some people got it into their moron heads to send us all on a publicity tour. In a bus, even. A painted bus. Painted with our logo.

  It was insane.

  None of us were thrilled with this idea but Dove seriously hit the roof. He threatened to walk off the show, and when they threatened him back with a lawsuit, he threatened them back with a countersuit.

  We thought it was the end of the show for sure and even starting planning cancellation parties, consoling each other by saying things like, “Well, we had a good run,” and “It was great while it lasted.”

  But in the end, Dove agreed to go on the tour and we all boarded the bus like good little corporate angels. We did a lot of special appearances, a lot of interviews, signed a lot of autographs. Much of the Mue hatred that had been going on had by then settled down enough so that we weren’t heckled very often and, as far as I know, we never had any security problems.

  There were a few bus problems, however.

  We were somewhere in rural Washington when the damn thing broke down. The driver told us fixing it would take a while, consulted a map and said there was a general store just a couple miles up the road.

  Dove was not a happy camper. “Why would I want to go a couple miles up the road?” he demanded. “I have everything I need right here, don’t I? I have food, I have air-conditioning? I even have a mini-movie theater right here at my fingertips? Why would I leave?”

  The driver looked like he might cry. He had been getting the brunt of Dove’s anger for the entire tour and I suspected the camel’s back would be breaking any day now.

  The rest of us left the bus in a hurry, not so much because we cared about going to a general store but because we didn’t want to be around when that kid pulled out a gun and decided that taking the show’s star hostage would be a great way to get his point across.

  It was hot from the moment we left the bus and Lucia doesn’t do well with hot. She briefly reconsidered, going so far as to get back on the bus, but we waited by the side of the road and she emerged less than thirty seconds later.

  No one had to say a word. We could hear Dove’s ranting from where we stood.

  David pointed and yelled, “Forward march, ladies.”

  So, we marched.

  By the time we reached “the center of town” (which we all agreed just had to be someone’s idea of a sense of humor) we were drenched in sweat and wanting a cold drink. It must have looked quite comical actually, almost the entire cast of Exquisite Afterlife showing up in Shitkickville, thirsty, without makeup and most notably, without wings. I’m sure we were a sight to be seen.

  The general store was smaller than my old house and evidently one of the best places in town to hang out with your buddies. About a dozen people were hanging around out front, mostly Norms, and every single one of them started staring the instant we came into sight and never took their eyes off us the whole time we were t
here. I don’t think they recognized us; their reason for staring was because they didn’t recognize us. We were strangers in their town, interlopers.

  David, being David, thought making conversation would be just the thing to ease the tension in the air. He stayed outside rambling gods know what at the rednecks while the rest of us went inside in search of beverages.

  “Shit,” Lavinia muttered under her breath. “I think Dove had the right idea.”

  “Yep,” I agreed. “From now on, I’m not gonna leave his side.”

  “You got that right, girl.”

  We peered into one of those old time box freezers for something to drink while Lucia was asking the proprietor where the magazine rack was. She was always in search of new articles about herself; I believe she had a collection.

  After a minute, she joined us in the back, saying, “Can you believe they don’t sell magazines here except Guns and Ammo and Penthouse?”

  We laughed and Lavinia said, “Honey, I am not surprised.”

  When we’d chosen our drinks, including one for David, we paid and went back outside. Sure enough, David had them laughing and so relaxed that they were suddenly not so shy and several of them began whistling and tossing catcalls Lucia’s way.

  We all walked away in the direction we’d come from, with Lucia practically jogging in front of us.

  The walk back wasn’t too bad now that we had drinks. It wasn’t until David saw a loose dog in someone’s yard that the trouble began.

  54

  David, quite innocently, spotted the dog and said, “Oh, look. It’s a pit-bull. I had one of those growing up.”

  Simultaneously, we all made a move or a sound to stop him but it was too late. He was already crouching on the ground and yelling, “Here, boy. Here, boy.”

  The last thing I heard before the barking began was Lavinia saying, “Oh, shit.”

  And then the dog charged us, all six of its legs pumping furiously, covering the ground between himself and us in about 3 seconds.

  It probably wouldn’t have been so bad, had it been just the one dog. But the instant the first one barked, three others rounded the side of the house at full speed racing towards us with teeth bared.

  Lucia screamed and started to run, but Lavinia was quick enough to grab her by the arm and hold her in place. “Don’t move,” she whispered. More to all of us than just to Lucia.

  But David moved. He stood up so fast he dropped his Diet Coke and good thing too because if he hadn’t the dog would have lunged for his throat. Instead, it lost its balance when it stepped on the can and went skidding past us and into the street. No matter to it though. It simply turned around from there and proceeded to snarl, covering our backs.

  We were surrounded by a pack of redneck dogs, all barking to wake the devils. None of them were attacking, but they were sure as shit trapping us, making it impossible for us to move.

  “David,” Lucia hissed. “If one of these dogs bite me, I swear to fucking gods I’ll have your balls on a plate!”

  “I think someone beat you to it, love,” he said, his eyes on the mutt at his crotch.

  It was easily five minutes before someone came out of the house to rescue us. A big guy with a long white beard and a straw hat on his head; he was dressed in dirty overalls with no shirt, his big bare boobies hanging out in the breeze.

  The man started screaming at the dogs and they all scattered to the winds as if they were terrified of him, which I’m sure they were.

  We all thanked him profusely but he never said a word to us. Just stared as if we were strange bugs he’d never seen before. Maybe bugs from space.

  When we got the gist that he wasn’t about to reply or apologize for his rabid murder squad, we hurried away down the street and the moment we were out of his sight Lucia began whacking David in the head, swearing at him, insulting him, threatening him. He kept apologizing but it did him no good. Hell hath no fury and all that.

  Lavinia and I followed them, mostly without speaking, occasionally wincing when Lucia landed a good one on him. Poor guy. More than once Lavinia and I exchanged a glance and had to fight like hell to keep from laughing.

  When we got back to the bus it was running again and Dove’s hands were covered in grease up to his elbow. He peered at us from over a newspaper. “Did you kids have fun?”

  We all made statements to the affirmative and he said, “Good,” and went back to his paper.

  And before long we were on the road again.

  55

  During the wrap party that year, I was popping an olive into my mouth when I looked across the room and saw the woman who had been my advisor on The Queen is Dead. She was standing in a corner talking to one of our shows editors. I stood there watching her for a minute, trying like hell to remember her name but it just wasn’t coming to me. Oh well, I thought. I’ll just bite the bullet.

  I left the bar and started making my way towards her. She spotted me over the guys shoulder and smiled. Smiling back, I thought, Fuck! What is her name!’ I figured by the time I’d reached her it would have come to me but it didn’t. Was it Rabia? I couldn’t be sure…

  “Hi,” I said, raising my glass in greeting. I never extend my hand to be shaken unless the other person does it first. Experience has told me that not everyone is thrilled to be grabbing a handful of tongues.

  But this woman actually reached around the man, offering me her hand. “Hi, Sky. It’s so nice to see you again.”

  “Likewise,” I agreed.

  “You two know each other?” Clyde, the editor, asked.

  I nodded, chewing a piece of ice from my glass. “We’ve met, yes.”

  He looked at her. “Wow. I didn’t know that. Why didn’t you mention it?”

  She shrugged, a little half-smile on her face as she watched me.

  Even though I regretted having to do so, I said, “I’m really sorry, but right now your name escapes me.”

  She seemed surprised but not particularly offended. “Rabia.”

  “Rabia! Of course!” I nodded enthusiastically, like a complete idiot.

  “Clyde, would you mind freshening up my drink?” she asked, still not looking at the guy.

  “No, problem,” he replied. “In fact, I’ll get you a whole new one. Open bar!”

  When he was gone, I said, “So, you and Clyde, huh?”

  “Oh, gods no. I just met him.”

  Really? Tonight?”

  “A few nights ago at a friend’s house. He told me he worked on your show and then when he invited me to the wrap party, I couldn’t say no.”

  “Cool.” I nodded again, feeling like a moron. “So, how have you been?”

  “I’ve been great, thanks. Working here in LA on my dissertation. How about you?”

  “Good, good. You know…” I gestured around us. “Same ole, same ole.”

  “Movie-star stuff,” she said with a mischievous smile.

  I laughed. “Yeah. Movie-star stuff.”

  Clyde returned with her drink and I excused myself. She gave me a look that said don’t go, but I had to. There was something about her that made me nervous as hell and I didn’t want to make a bigger ass out of myself than I already had.

  For most of the rest of the night, I did my best to avoid her but when it was getting on towards dawn and I’d stepped onto the balcony to toast the sunrise, she found me.

  She leaned her elbows against the railing, same as me, and asked, “Are you avoiding me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you make me nervous.”

  “Why?”

  I didn’t dare say the first thought that ran through my head. Instead, I looked down into the depths of my gin and tonic and said nothing.

  “Sky.”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m sorry I was such a jerk the last time we saw each other.”

  I looked up in surprise. “You weren’t a jerk.”

  “I was. I should have just said yes. I’ve been regre
tting it ever since.”

  “Really?” I was still surprised, but tried to make light of it. “You didn’t miss much, I can guarantee you that.”

  She leaned over and kissed me. “I beg to differ.”

  I took her home with me that morning.

  56

  I would have married her too, if the laws had permitted it.

  But, as we all know, our government is not open-minded and to this day forbids different breeds of Mues (yes, we are still referred to as breeds in the books) to marry, stating, basically, that, who knows what kind of children these unions will produce?

  It’s completely disgusting and racist (though the government denies this) and it is exactly these kinds of prejudices that events like the Walk on Washington are trying to rectify, but we still have a long way to go.

  In the meantime, Rabia and I were content to live together in sin.

  57

  We did have a commitment ceremony however, a very private one in our own back yard and only our closest friends were invited. It was held under a tent and Rabia wore flowers in her hair. We were both barefoot, proudly displaying our Mue bodies to everyone who cared to look, she with her see-through feet and I with my big tongue toes.

  Barefoot is not a state I like to be in often though, because usually the ground tastes terrible. While mostly people dread stepping in something gross, I live in terror of it. Have you ever had to taste dog shit? Or used gum? Or spilled day-old orange juice? I rest my case….

  But that day our grass was green and as sweet as could be. It was the happiest day of my life and when I think about it, that fact remains true even now.

  I often wondered how I landed such an amazing partner to share my life with but whenever I gave voice to such ruminations, she always replied that she wondered the same thing.

  My Rabia, the mate of my soul.

  58

  In the middle of the fourth season of Afterlife, Rabia announced that she was pregnant.

  “What? That’s not possible, babe. You must be mistaken.”