Chapter 31: Thursday Evening

"We've Got Tonight"

Rebbecca

Finally I woke up from the surrealistic dream I had suddenly found myself in. I finished the prep, looked around the kitchen, and planned out what was left to do to provide the high carb load, high protein, and delicious meal I wanted to serve My Mountain.

I had a few minutes, so I sat at the table and started writing notes about the Pep Rally and my thoughts about classical music.

It didn't take long before I knew I needed the Internet for some research. Upstairs, I cranked up my system and searched "classical music composition" and received a wealth of hits. One website helped hugely.

It talked about themes and organization of themes in concertos and symphonies. Damn, this fits. It even went into how the music differed depending on how the themes repeated through the movements. And, it gave everything specific names as to how patterns emerged and blended.

Kewl.

I organized my thoughts. Thought about whether this would be an essay or a basis of a story. Both were possible.

BEEP!

Real life interrupted by way of a kitchen timer! Time to go back downstairs and tend the food. The food for My Mountain.

I need to start this water boiling. These things in the oven. A whip here, a dash there. Quick taste. A pinch and a sprinkle. Rethinking this. Nope, okay. It all was looking good, smelling great, and, from the quick tastes, the texture was perfect and the taste wonderful, if I do say so myself. I may not be Luis's Mom in the kitchen, but I do know that food should involve all five senses. To me, it is just an extension of my art training.

Everything ready except the last, last minute stuff. Let the flavors blend. Just like a concerto ... Yeah. Just like that. Hmmm. Yes I have enough time to run up and work a bit more. I know, I know, it is a laptop computer, but I work better in my room than in the kitchen. I guess that's my place to explore and create.

Running up the stairs, I thought how much exploring and creating I'd like to be doing tonight.

Damned lake between my legs. I'd better double up the towel on my chair, I'd hate to ruin it.

Where was I? Oh, the sonata form. Oh, and the sonata-rondo and the sonata-allegro. And others. Okay, we have movements, sections, themes, keys, and pacing. Sounds like writing to me when you think of keys as being different aspects of writing such as point of view, voices, and phrasings. Themes are plots and characters. Or, are characters part of the keys?

Back to the Pep Rally. Are the themes the primary groups or are they the instruments? Different solo instruments? No ... School spirit is the primary theme. The secondary theme is beating our arch rivals. The orchestra is comprised of the different groups like the cheerleaders, the coaches, the school administration, and the players. Oh, let's not forget the school band! The students are the audience and this performance is directed at them.

I opened my word processing program and started with the title, "The Champions", and I started typing. The characters just emerging, the energy from my experiencing of a Pep Rally with new vision went into the pacing, voicing, the choice of instruments from the orchestra I had available. The first theme started and was "Exposed", then the second theme in a contrasting key - different characters, different pacing. I was just getting into the "Development" phase of mixing themes and keys, building the dramatic tensions through plot and uses of the orchestra, when I looked at the time.

"Shit!"

I ran to the kitchen, making doubly sure not to kill myself on the stairs. I needed to save dinner! Things had been simmering a bit too long. I guess practice was taking longer than normal.

A stir here, it's salvageable. That one is okay, just turn the heat down a tad. Oh, well, good thing I didn't put in the bread yet. It would be charcoal.

Practice must have gone on for a bit. No problems.

Now, where was I with the Pep Rally story?

Hmmm ... Yeah. Okay, the Coach is getting ready to...

This is fun. What an interesting structure to approach writing. Plus, it keeps me from wondering off plot. Of course the development period allows for some interesting key changes - pacing, characters, and stretching some of the themes to their limits.

Ah, the "Recapitulation" phase. Time to pull the themes back together and use the same key as the original theme.

This is so easy! What a good way to write a short story.

Now, to do a "Coda" or not? Maybe a short one, a bit of an epilogue. Not too much. Leave room for a sequel. More importantly, always leave them wanting more. But, not too much more.

Ah! Not bad. A quick two thousand word short story.

Oh. It's getting late. I guess that wasn't so quick.

Okay, I'm getting officially worried. Where is he? Did something hap-

The stupid music of the doorbell. Did the designers of those things have no soul?

Should I be pissed he's late? Glad he's here?

Well, glad.

Be careful of the steps. A header down the stairs right now would not be good.

Oh, I still have on my smock and the apron.

Too late. He'll just have to see me this way.

Just as I was about to grab the door handle, my mother's warning about my expectations versus where he needed to be hit. I composed myself.

Okay, maybe another breath would be good.

Wipe the sweat off my palms on the apron. Good idea.

Now, open the door. Smile on my face.

Luis

I found myself in front of Becca's house and parked.

It took almost all my energy to get out of the car. The damned door weighed more than East's offensive line. After they'd had dinner at the local all-you-can-eat.

The images of the last hour or so swirling through my head. This continuous loop of images playing over. And over. And over. And...

My left hand reminding me constantly of the whole fucking thing.

The post-adrenaline-rush shakes coming on with a passion. With my body already being low on fuel it was quickly approaching massive shakes and critical.

The sidewalk was endless. The steps up to the front door higher than my feet were comfortable lifting.

Yet, the primordial beast inside of me forcing each foot to reach the next step. I felt like Frankenstein's monster plodding forward, unsure how to work my massive limbs.

My shaky arm reached out and tried to ring the doorbell. The third time I tried, my oversized finger finally managed to press it.

I wanted ... No, I needed my Becca.

The door opened and there she was. Smiling.

I think I smiled and started to collapse into the entryway.

"Oh! My! God! Are you Okay?" I heard her scream.

"Wreck. Bad Intersection." I collected my wind, "I'm ... Okay."

My sweet Becca put her shoulder under my arm (yes, I was slumped down that far) and moved me to the sofa in the Living Room. As I collapsed onto the soft cushions, I realized my chest was wet. Right about where her face had been.

Oh, you dumb, insensitive bastard. You've upset her by your dramatics.

Now, I just wanted to curl into a little teeny-tiny ball and wish the world away. But, I can't.

Dude, pull yourself together.

I pulled her to me, "Hug and I'll tell you about my last two hours."

"Are you Okay? Are you sure? I-I-I mean..."

"Hug?"

Instantly I was the target of massive amounts of petite Becca flesh wrapped all around me. And, immediately, I began to feel ... well, somewhat human.

We kissed. I have no idea who started it. Don't care. All the tension left me. The last couple of hours shifted into the right perspective. I might be able to tell her, and hear it myself.

"You know that nasty intersection between here and school?" She nodded. "Well, I was coming up to it. The light was green. Cars were moving through it in both directions. I still don't trust that intersection. I watched a minivan with a mom and a bunch of kids coming the other way.

"Then this air horn blared as I was entering the intersection..."

She jumped up and looked out the window. "Your car, is it alright?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry. I thought you'd been hit." As she melted back into my chest, it got wetter.

"No. I wasn't hit. A dump truck, overloaded, ran the intersection a-and hit the minivan."

"Shit," I heard from my chest. If possible, it got wetter.

"Yeah. Shit. I can't get the mom's face out of my head. I can hear the screams of the kids going from fun time to-to..." Her arms tried to circle me. I rubbed her back with my hands. I suddenly realized she was dressed. The fabric of her smock was rough on the bandage on my hand.

"W-Wha..."

"My hand?"

"You said..."

"Not in the wreck. After. Please?" She curled back into my chest, but pulled my bandaged left hand into her to comfort it. Junior, the fucking traitor, liked that. Okay, I did too. "The truck clipped the rear of the van, spinning it right in front of me. I was able to swerve. As I said, I hate that intersection. The truck slid a bit further, I managed to turn and miss him as well. Then I stopped. The van came to rest, the rear mangled, but the front looked okay. I jumped out and ran to it. The mom was freaking out, the kids screaming and crying. The damned door wouldn't open, but there was a gap. The window was cracked.

"I didn't think. I hit the window hard enough with my elbow to shatter it, but not push on the lady. A hole formed, not thinking, I grabbed it with my hand and pulled. Then I was able to rip the door open. Don't ask me how, other than super human strength. The mom calmed down and helped the kids out through her door. They were all fine, just upset and a bit of shock."

"Your hand?" She was lightly caressing it, but avoiding the worst of the bandage.

"A few cuts. Nothing bad. They put a few stitches into my palm."

"Will it affect you tomorrow?"

"It shouldn't. I've played with much worse."

"Are you sure?" She had turned to stare hard into my eyes.

"Sure, sweets."

She held my eyes for a minute. "Okay. I'll believe you."

"I'm going to have the trainers check it out in the morning and before the game."

"Good."

"I'm sorry I worried you." She looked at me like I'd punch her.

"You didn't worry me. To be honest, I got lost in some writing. The first I've done this week. It felt really good to open that part of my brain and soul again. Every now and then, when I came back to reality, I did wonder what you were doing. I wasn't really worried. Yet." She stressed the yet a little hard. But, she did have a twinkle in her eye.

"How about another of those patented, magical, healing kisses of yours?"

Rebbecca

After we drifted back from Einstein's world, I took a moment to clear my head. "I've got dinner about ready. I just need to turn up the heat and such. Hungry?"

"Not really, but I need to eat."

"I understand, My Mountain. You just relax here on the sofa and I'll get dinner ready. The TV remote is there. It also controls Dad's extremely complex music system. It has buttons, so I don't touch it."

"I'll play some music and relax. No idiot box for me. Anything you want to hear?" He gave me a smile, obviously recalling my performance in his car the other day with the stereo.

"I trust your choices."

I headed into the kitchen and started the final touches. Crank up the oven, put this on the burner, and give this a stir. Why? Well, isn't that what cooks do? I chuckled to myself.

A couple of minutes later, I heard, "Cool! Your dad has some neat playlists."

A few seconds later, some classic rock came rolling into the kitchen. Argh! I'm a writer and I can't do better than that line. Some singer with a ... harsh voice? Rough? Whatever. Anyway, he started singing about being like a rock. I hope that wasn't sexual innuendo.

Crap! I forgot my manners. And my plans.

I walked back into the living room. My Mountain was sprawled, that is the only word to describe it, on the couch. His eyes closed, but his foot moving to the music. I had about five minutes, so I carefully snuggled up to his right side.

"I'm such a bad hostess, I forgot to ask if you wanted anything to drink."

"Right now, a very large glass of water, or two."

"Would you like a glass of wine with dinner?"

"That would be wonderful. But just one glass."

I snuggled for a second. Well, a minute or so. A quick kiss, for us anyway. I put as much slink as I could into my hips as I walked back to the kitchen. That's when I realized I still had my smock on. Oh well, I hope he liked it. I peeked over my shoulder just as I entered the hall. Yep. He enjoyed it. His eyes were locked on my ass. He caught my turn, looked up, and grinned at me. I gave him a wink.

I found one of Jason's huge cups and filled it with ice and water and then fixed a pitcher.

I took off the apron and unbuttoned the smock, so I would flash him, and walked back into the room. Doing the "catwalk" stroll while carrying a huge glass and a pitcher of water is tough. But worth it. He repaid me with the vacuous stare I've written about, but never had directed at me.

And Junior twitched and started to expand.

A lake began forming in my core. I honestly believe my nipples were the only thing holding the smock on.

I carefully handed him the cup and slowly placed the pitcher on the coffee table, making sure that the smock opened completely. When I stood, it took just a boob shake and a shrug of my shoulders and the smock was puddled on the floor. I winked at him again, turned, bent at the waist, leaving my legs straight, and picked up the smock. I looked around, winked again, straightened and headed back into the kitchen.

When I was out of his sight, I nearly collapsed against the wall. Damn, that was hot. Wanton as hell. But, hot as hell. Remembering Mom's warning, I figured I needed to dial it down a notch.

Not bad, though, for my first session of teasing. I guess reading all those romance novels, the online story sites, and my own fantasies and writing was worth something!

I padded into the kitchen in bare feet, feeling myself squish with every step.

It was damned tough to finish preparing the meal. All I wanted to do was run into the living room and rape my man. Damn!

Eventually, without too much damage to the cuisine, I managed to deliver the meal to the table, pour the wine, and light the candles.

Without the glass and the pitcher, I think my catwalk was much more impressive. Junior agreed completely and saluted me. My Mountain locked his eyes on me immediately. The goofy grin he got on his face was precious. The love in his eyes was intense.

"Dinner is served, sir."

Luis

DAMN!

DAMN!

DAMN!

Junior and about 95% of what was left of my brain wanted to ask if she was the meal.

Before I could form anything coherent, other than a grunt or some other set of primordial sounds, her delicate, beautiful hands where pulling me off the couch. Amazing that such a small girl could cause me to rise so easily. Not to mention how quickly my body got off the couch.