Talk about being torn between two women—Stella is incredibly beautiful and flirtatious and Elias, my shrink, feels I should choose her.
But his reasons are obvious—I’m in love with Jessica Skye, a long-dead 1930’s movie star and he thinks I’m delusional.
It’s true, Stella exists in the here and now and Jessica inhabits the there and then, but what Elias doesn’t accept is that I can go back in time and be with her—I bought her mansion which is my portal back to her time and her arms—and that’s where I want to be.
Unfortunatley, when I return from Elias’ office, Stella is waiting in my front room and bent on doing everything in her power to seduce me, but somehow I manage to resist.
]
But the girl has gotten my body buzzing.
I endure the tremors another ten minutes, and then reach for a drink—one glass of Shiraz to calm me down, I promise myself—but my promises don’t mean much, as Stella will attest.
I wonder how long she’ll endure before deserting me like Maya, my former flame.
As an alcoholic, I shouldn’t drink but I have to do something to calm down.
I’m onto my second glass now and feeling mellow—a third, and I won’t care.
But it’s really coming down outside—a tin pan staccato on the terrace raising a din, and between thunder peals I’m hearing another sound, low and persistent—a chorus of frogs.
How ironic—the name of the play Stella wants me to attend with her!
This is insane, I tell myself. Mind you, I have a water feature in the back garden, but I seriously doubt frogs inhabit it. Still, owing to the state I’m in, I have to check it out.
I grab my waterproof hoodie and head to the terrace. The storm is at its height—the lightning flashes are almost continuous, yet beautiful at the same time—romantic, as wavering moonlight.
I make a mad dash across the lawn heading for the arbor before continuing on to the water pool beyond—running between the rain drops, I smile to myself.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a white blur—someone else running for the shelter of the arbor. Stella?
I duck under the portico to get some respite from the beating rain and use the back of my hand to wipe drops from my face and blink away the blurriness. When my sight clears, I find myself staring into Jessica’s rain-streaked face.
My heart leaps.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” she laughs.
“I hope not,” I say, “I’ve been missing you all this year.”
“But we share this estate—what’s been keeping you away?”
I shake my head, feeling dismal as the sky above our heads. “I’m ashamed to admit but I can only do this when I’m drunk. It’s caused me a bit of grief.”
“So you are an oracle—that’s what Howard told me—he said the Delphic oracles used vapors or potions to enter a trance state, and were even said to disappear—like you.”
“You mean Howard Menzies—your manager?”
“Of course, Silly—but he’s also my mentor and a sensitive as well. He knows things. He knew you were coming—and said you’d return.”
“Yeah, I seem to have mastered that, but does Howard know if I can stay?”
She frowns. “No, you can’t stay—I asked already. But he says you can keep coming back though.”
“Do I—do I have to drink in order to do that?”
“I’m not really sure. This is all new to me too, but it seems Fate has put us together, and Howard assures me it will last.”
“How does he know?”
“It’s simple,” he says. “Love always returns.”
I find her in my arms and am greedily plundering her icy lips.
Later that night, we’re lying in her bedroom—or my bedroom, as the case may be, watching the moonlight flare at the windows.
She’s trembling and I’m holding her close.
“I’m frightened of storms,” she whispers.
“Then why on earth did you venture out into the garden?”
“I was more frightened of never seeing you again.”
Like everything else in this upside-down dream, it’s completely insane and yet makes perfect sense.
The next morning I come to, lying on the love seat in my own front room, staring at Stella’s vacant chair.
Is anything real in this anti-world of pain?
Perhaps, the only still point in this maelstrom of madness is not Elias who fancies himself my guiding light, but Jessica Skye and the certainty that I’ll keep returning to her over and over again.
Howard’s right—love always returns.
