Chapter 1: Setting the First Book's Table

He hadn't heard from her in centuries, or at least a couple days. He could see the writing on the wall if he wanted. He didn't, at least not the script in big letters and heavy strokes seeming to carve into its surface, a trompe l'œil. Instead he studied the surface and saw diverse pathways of life intersecting in a massive ungainly knot, a confusion, a place for collision, a wreck of humongous proportion in which passengers ran full speed, heads down and thrust forward until slamming into others exploded the skulls and the viscera of grey brain matter and burgundy red blood and other viscous liquid pooled and congealed and formed the tapestry texture of its surface, and realized the thousand and one colliders had once looked like various permutations of him as he changed through the ages of a young man.

At twenty-four a huge life stood before him like a gorilla in blue jeans, both threatening and amusing. He'd set it all aside to grovel in her wake. The cell phone thrummed a low note against his thigh. Nearly dropping it when he extracted it from his tight denim pocket, dismay etched guiltily on his visage. Mom. He silenced the hum with a press on the green button.

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm fine. You? How's dad? Good. That's good. Unh-hunh. Unh-hunh. Probably not. I just started. I think so. Yeah. I'll ask my boss, but ... No, but I'm meeting with him tomorrow so I can ... I hope so. I'm not worried. Yeah. You're biased. But I know there's a new big case and ... Yeah, it's challenging and I like it and I'm up to it. Yeah. He gave me a pat on the back sort of thing. I heard it's a rare thing. I will. I will. I promise. Love you too. He's here. Roger's here. I know. He'll call. I thought he had. I'm not my brother's keeper, Mom. What about Carol? Really? Why? He slept with her best friend! Yep. Give me the guy's number. Okay. I might give Carol a call. No Mom, I'm just curious about ... He probably forgot to do something before he left. I'm sure it's nothing. Okay. I'll call. I'll call. I'll make sure he calls I promise. How's Patti? Of course. Yeah. You should be proud. Tell her hi. Love you. Talk to you later. Bye."

Temptation brought his finger to stroke buttons until her face filled the cell phone screen. High cheekbones looked higher from her crooked drunken smile, her soft pale skin subtly tinged with red, her wry eyes a quarter hooded by wrinkled lids contained a subdued glint, the surface slightly matted by an alcoholic haze, her complex eye color a mix of blue and green and red creating steel gray vaguely apparent, set in a pair of wide ovals bifurcated by a fairly substantial nose with a cute upturn at the tip and topped by a dusting of dirty blonde eyebrows. Her high rounded forehead bespoke her emotional liveliness with subtle lines sweeping across. Her lips stretched wide in the smile revealed sensuality in both their kissable pillow thickness and their seductive width. With the smile even her chin, perhaps her least striking feature in its weakness, revealed its pleasant parabolic dimensions as skin stretched across it. Framed by long wavy hair, bangs trimmed just enough to avoid encroaching on the eyes, the untamable nature of it somehow keeping most of it away from the face, that face beckoned embrace. Foolishly he kissed the small screen. The buzz tickled his lips and dissolved the image. Marta.

"Hi," he said shyly, the word tightened by a desperate grasp for cool.

"Sorry."

"Me too."

"Things got a bit chaotic and I didn't want to bring you into the chaos. I needed to recover." Her voice low and slightly raspy from bad habits, smoking and drinking, vibrated into his ear, the vibrations echoing downward to the lowest chakra where it stimulated a soft tube and hardened it like always.

"I'm glad you did. I was afraid I said too much or not enough. I said bad things, unfair things and you left before I could say all the good things I wanted to."

"I probably deserved it."

"Are you alright?"

"I chose the bed I'm lying in," she sighed.

"You could lie in mine," he said with as much restraint from desperation as he could manage.

After a long pause interrupted by his lifting her name in a question, she answered. "We can't make love."

"Define make love."

"I'm too sore."

Anger flared inside. He tamped it down. "What has that got to do with making love?" he asked.

"Nothing. Should I grab take-out?"

"I'll make us something. Just bring your gorgeous ass here."

"Just my ass?"

"I'd prefer the rest of your gorgeousness to accompany it."

"Are you sure?"

"Never more," he said.