Love Is Strange (A Paranormal Romance) (47 page)

Farfalla shrugged in irritation. “You already know that. So do I.”

“Of course, we both already know it, but he might have said it in some more interesting way! Like, something we could put on a bumper-sticker.”

Farfalla’s four separate caipirinhas arrived, in their frosty, sugar-rimmed glasses. Gavin pulled fantastic Brazilian paper bills from his wallet, and paid. “Do you really want to drink all of these? Just to catch up with me? Why? You are so stubborn.”

“I never like it,” said Farfalla, “when I’m behind you, and you’re ahead of me. Or you’re behind me, and I’m ahead of you. We should not do that. We do that all the time.”

“Why are you scolding me about that? You’ve been gone for three solid days! I thought you would never get here.”

“It was not three days that I left you here,” said Farfalla, blinking.

“
Yes, it was.
Yes, it was. Check the calendar. You said three days ago, that you would come get me any minute, and then you were gone. I was completely alone here, without a translator. I had to wing it with all these Brazilian Futurists.” He belched. “Luckily, I was in top form. In fact, I’ve never been better. I totally wasted those guys.”

“But it can’t be!” cried Farfalla. “If I am living three days in the future, then I didn’t eat for three days!”

Gavin silently passed her a cut-glass fingerbowl of Brazil nuts.

“These are fantastic,” said Farfalla, munching.

“You’re dressed in rags,” Gavin diagnosed. “And you’re starving.”

“Well, you’re fat, and you’re drunk.”

“Cookie, maybe that’s true, but that’s not a logical argument! You can’t just say to me, ‘Well, you’re as bad as me!’ Of course, I’m as bad as you, but that’s not how we repair our situation.”

Farfalla hungrily munched more Brazil nuts. “What is our situation?”

“We are getting married. Till death do us part. I told everybody here. I predicted that to everyone I could see. I staked all my futurist credibilty on that, and thank God, it’s really coming true.” Gavin sighed. “I’m the happiest man in Sao Paulo. No, I’m the happiest man in the entire planetary Google map.”

“I’m glad you are happy,” said Farfalla. “I wish that we lived in two different worlds, instead of one world — but we don’t. It’s all the same world. And so we are doomed to marry.” She reached for her caipirinha glass.

“Cookie, tell me something, while I still remember this. What did you do with that supernatural entity? You know, that bronze statue. The Cosmic Cupid. ‘It.’”

“I hid the Cosmic Cupid in a sacred voodoo temple, where no one from your world will ever find It.”

“Well,” said Gavin, “I sure would have liked to, um, subject that statue to some more scientific study, but, well, never mind! I trust your judgement. I’m sure that burying that awesome thing in some spooky basement somewhere was probably the perfect thing to do... Out of sight, out of mind, that solves a lot of my problems, that’s just great. Let’s blow this town, book a flight to Seattle and get married right away.”

“Just like that,” said Farfalla. She snapped her fingers.

“Yeah, I know, I know, I was gonna make this big fuss about my Swedish Methodist church and the proper costumes and the big occult ceremony... but I changed my mind about that. You and I, we should grab a cab right now. For us, ‘getting married right away,’ that might be
too late
to get married. We probably should have gotten married years ago.”

“To fix all our troubles, you mean.”

“Cookie, listen. I can see you’re upset about something. I know that sometimes I hurt your feelings. I see things in the wrong way, or I say the wrong things to you, or I can’t say things that you need to be said. But listen, I promise that once we’re married, we will never part. Only death will part us. I promise. I’ll be with you, at your side, and you’ll be with me, and maybe we’ll quarrel or struggle sometimes, but we’ll be together in the same world. We’ll be a comfort to each other. This will all work out. Somehow. Have faith.”

“I’m pregnant,” Farfalla said.

“That figures.”

“I am expecting a baby. Your baby is kicking me, Gavin. A week ago, I was not pregnant, and today your baby is kicking me, right here, inside my stomach! I thought it was hunger pangs.”

“You’re haunted by an unborn baby?”

“That is not funny, Gavin.” Farfalla began to weep. “It’s happening inside my body! It’s scary and weird! To be kicked by a baby hurts so much!”

Gavin sighed. “Cookie, that is one weird omen. Only you could pull an awesome stunt like that. You’re haunted by someone who doesn’t even exist? I never even heard of such a thing.”

“I knew you would get mad at me if I told you I was pregnant.”

“Baby, some weird omens are
good
omens.
Weird
can be
good
. That is the truth. Life happens. How can the promise of renewed life be an evil thing for a man and a woman? We need to find it within ourselves to rejoice at a miracle like that.”

“Well, you’re not a woman.”

“Nevertheless, I rejoice.” Gavin leaned to his right and sharply poked the posh Brazilian businessman at the next barstool. “Hey. Fatso. Rich guy in a suit. Get the hell off that chair. This woman in rags here is pregnant.”

The Brazilian looked up, startled, and faded into the crowd.

Farfalla sat down on the barstool. She smiled. “Well. This is a nice bar. It’s like you said. They make a good caiparinha.”

“You shouldn’t be drinking that thing, not in your tender condition,” said Gavin, gently lifting it from her fingers. “I’ll have to put away all eight of these myself.”

“Stop that. You’ll get too drunk.”

“Baby, it’s true. I am drunk, but I am also entering a state of mystic exaltation.
In vino veritas
. I understand my life now. I accept my destiny. Marriage, children, weird and difficult foreign spouse, I am saying ‘yes’ to the Cosmos. I feel totally great about everything.”

“You know,” said Farfalla, “for a married woman, maybe a baby is
not
the worst-case scenario. It certainly seems that way, but first impressions can be deceiving.”

“Now you’re talking,” nodded Gavin. “Loving this new, positive attitude.”

“Everyone lies to us women about babies,” said Farfalla, wolfing her Brazil nuts. “They tell us we should want, want, want a baby, for some reason. They make such a fuss about that! Then, what happens? A mother has to be a slave for eighteen years!”

“I am totally down with the parental-slavery angle,” nodded Gavin. “You and me, we’ll have to
maintain our reality
because of our kids. We’ll get ourselves a roof, diapers, baby food, all that good stuff. Maturity, and responsibility. Those are good things for two married people.”

“Maybe our children will be born mentally retarded and horribly deformed.”

“Oh yeah, ‘say yes to life,’ cookie!” Gavin nodded, clutching his drink. “Yep, that acid little remark was you all over! I don’t want to belittle your major concerns there — but I’m pretty sure that no other man in this world can
survive
being with you. I need to make sure you’re kept under wraps. I should be thinking hard about the safety of other people.”

Farfalla swirled her glass. “I hate it when you make fun of me.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t hate that at all. To tell the truth, you kinda like it. Because I’m the only man who knows how to do that. I’m the only man who gets it that you can be hilarious. You know why? Because I am Cassandra’s boyfriend. That’s why. That’s why I get it about you. And as soon as I realized that, a whole lot of things became very clear to me.”

Farfalla said nothing.

“I thought hard about it. I thought: so, what is it about Cassandra? What gives with her? What is it that Cassandra needs from life, that she never gets, that she’s so upset about? Is it the poetry? No, because she’s a poet. Is it some sex, or religion, or money? No way, because Cassandra is a sex-slave priestess and she lives in a palace!

So, I had to hack that issue from whole new angle. I thought, what’s the least Cassandra-like thing in the whole world? Comedy. That’s what. It is slapstick comedy. It’s Cassandra giggling uncontrollably, while her boyfriend tickles her feet. It’s just goofy teasing, raw affection, and a complete loss of womanly dignity. It’s some intimate, silly, rough-house fun from the guy in her life, that’s what Cassandra needs. If Cassandra only had some of
that
stuff, there wouldn’t be any of that shrieking, axe-murders, and the Medea-like burning on pyres.… Cassandra would thrive like a weed in the garbage. Cassandra would
become indestructible
.”

“You can’t tickle my feet. Nobody tickles me! I am not ticklish. No! I would
scream
if you tickled my feet. I would die.”

“Oh, sure, I knew that all along,” slurred Gavin. “Madame’s plantar surfaces are perfectly safe with me. Hey, bartender.”

“Yes, Mr. Tremaine?” said the bartender.

“Call up room service, have them bring the missus a cheeseburger and an order of curly-fries. Actually, double that order. I’m about to pass out here.”

“Certainly, sir. Right away.” The bartender lifted his cellphone.

“They’ve got such great service at this hotel,” Gavin confided, “They’ve got the kind of food that Americans like.
Food that is fast!
When I throw my own Futurist event in Sao Paulo, I’m definitely gonna hire these guys.”

“Was this a good conference? You liked it that much?”

“Yeah, it was totally a great conference. I was in my element, I could live in a scene like this. You shoulda been here. You missed a lot.”

“I could run a conference like this one,” said Farfalla, turning on her barstool to look at the chattering crowd. “Italians and Brazilians never understand each other, but I do. I know how these gigs get arranged, behind the scenes. I could do work like this. I would be good at it.” She sighed. “I’d need some fool to raise the funds and do the dirty work.”

“That would be me,” said Gavin.

“He’d have to be polite to people. He’d have to make them feel good about doing that.”

“That would be me, too.”

“I could be the queen of a conference like this,” said Farfalla, “and when rich, smart people showed up, they would leave with their brains in small pieces.”

“So,” nodded Gavin, “to continue on this subject of you and your emotional needs. Very compelling topic. This is all about what people really need. From the opposite sex. What we
need
is not what we
want
. It’s all all about what
we don’t know
we need. That’s what it’s all about, between men and women. Love is all about the absences, the mysteries. Love is about the Abyss.”

“Gavin, you are babbling. You are talking nonsense. You are drunk, Gavin. We need to go now.”

“I just ordered us a couple of burgers. Now, listen to me. It’s true that I’m drunk, but I’m also really, really close to saying what you need me to say to you. I know that I haven’t said it. I know that. I know that tortures you. But, I’m finally getting way outside of my own shell here. Brazil is doing it for me. Brazil and
you
. I think. You know what? I was here, alone, in Brazil, and I was alone in this big hotel with a crowd of total strangers. I thought, what the hell am I doing here? She has deserted me! I’m all alone here, she’s never coming back to me! And then, I thought, you know what? I’m going to say — I’m going to say the things that will make me
deserve to have her
. Because these are her people. This is her world here, and I am going to say the things to them that
only the man who loved her could possibly say.
And I knew how to say them. Then, I really said those things. And they went wild for that. They ate it up with a spoon. Because then it came
easy,
because it wasn’t coming from
me
, it was coming from
us
.”

She gazed at him in astonishment and dawning hope. “Yes! Yes! You are! You are getting much closer to saying it! You are saying much too much, but that was almost it!”

“And you
did
come back to me. You’re
here with me right now
. See, that proves that I was right all along!”

“No... no, Gavin, that’s not what you are supposed to say! No, Gavin, we have to leave this place now. I have a bad feeling. I have a premonition. We need to leave together. Now. Don’t sit here boasting. We have to go.”

“I am not boasting! I know we have both missed something. I know that we missed it, I can feel it! I feel the lack of it, just like you do. I feel the loss! Listen. We’re both Futurists. We are two Futurists, and we love each other. But, we are never in the right time and space together! We’re just never quite in sync! We can tear this world to pieces, that will never be a problem for us, but what about you and me? We should have had our special time... just, maybe one brief, perfect moment... when two people are truly
surprised
by finding the one they love. Instead of expecting each other, all along... and predicting each other, foreseeing each other... we should have
discovered
each other. We should have had these sweet days of surprise and discovery... days of freshness, and promise. Those days of dawning love that are rapturous. A honeymoon for us. Maybe two months of real, true romance, sixty days. Where was that time for us? We didn’t ever get that. What happened to that? We were always too far ahead of ourselves.”

“What a sweet thing to say,” said Farfalla, wiping at her eyes.

“We could have treasured every single day! We could have kept scrap-books about our honeymoon.”

“That is so true,” said Farfalla. “Where is our rapture? My heart should sing.”

“Where was our wild joy, baby? We always outguess our love, or predict our love, or fend it off as if it were some curse. We try to set limits on what love is allowed to do to us. Love should surprise us... sweep over us in a wave... and open us up to feelings that we never knew we could have.” Gavin was choking up.

Farfalla looked at him with pity. “Yes, there should have been more surprise about our love, and... more sense of wonder.”