Broken Wings (12 page)

“You’re not pissed?”

“Why should I be angry?”

“Because it’s not a proper eight to five job. And I wouldn’t go to university.”

“I know that.”

“It’d take me years and years to go solo like Flora,” Holly said. “But I’d work
in shops and boutiques. Get an apprenticeship with some top artist. I’d work
really hard. Not like school. This would be real work. It’s what I really,
really want to do. And have for ages. I won’t change my mind.”

Holly bristled defiance, as if expecting Rye to fight her on this. Rye
considered that. What did it say about their relationship if she intimidated
her?

“Holls, if this is what you really want to do, then I’m behind you all the way.”

“Shit. You are?”

“Language.” Rye glanced around to make sure no one sat within earshot. “How much
do you remember about Fairyland?”

“Not much.” Holly shrugged. “What you told me. Why? We’re not going back?”

“Never! I got us out of there so that we could do what we wanted, not what
someone told us we had to do. You’re… you’re someone different from me. What
I’ve been wanting for you… well, maybe it’s really what I’d want for myself. I
should’ve asked you a long time ago what it is you want for yourself.”

“Wow.”

“You’re nearly old enough to get your wings. You’re nearly an adult. It’s time I
started bearing that in mind.”

“Yeah?”

“But that also means that you have to start taking more responsibility for
yourself,” Rye said.

“Does that mean I can stay out late at night? And drink?”

Rye frowned. “It means that if you want to drink, you pay for it yourself.”

“Oh.”

“Come on, let’s go and find Flora.”

Holly leaped up and fell in beside Rye. “You’re not so bad. When you’re not
getting all knotted.”

Rye grinned.

“I’ll have to thank Flora,” Holly said. “I owe her half of Infinity for this.
Who’d have thought anyone could talk you into being reasonable and letting me do
an apprenticeship?”

Rye lost her grin.

They found Flora in a massive tent crammed with people. She was sitting at a
bench with some other people signing autographs. Rye and Holly found a place on
the grass to wait where they could watch the tent entrance. Over an hour passed
before Flora emerged.

“Sorry it took so long,” Flora said.

“You really do have fans, don’t you?” Rye said.

“She’s one of the best,” Holly said. “I told you that.”

Flora peeled off her name tag. “I’m not going to be Flora Withe for the rest of
the day. How’s that?”

The way Flora smiled made Rye go all warm and forget everything else. So much so
that Rye halfway reached to hold Flora’s hand before she remembered. It occurred
to her that, no matter how many autographs Flora signed for all those people,
only Rye Woods got to kiss Flora and give her orgasms on her living room floor.

“Florrie!”

Flora stopped and turned. An older dryad woman, with red and yellow highlights
in her hair, leaped up from a chair beneath an awning.

“Aunt Ramble,” Flora said.

“Little Florrie.” Ramble stepped across to envelop Flora in a hug. “It’s been an
oak’s age. I was just saying to Wind that we hadn’t seen you. I bumped into
Hazel three or four days ago.”

“My mother was Upriver?” Flora said.

“One of her charities,” Ramble said. “She didn’t mention anything about you
having buds.”

“Oh.” Flora lost her smile and stiffened.

Ramble directed a sharply interested stare at Rye. “Perhaps you’d like to
introduce me to your budmate, Florrie?”

“Oh,” Flora said. “Um. Ramble Vine, these are my friends Rye and Holly. Perhaps
I could call you, Auntie? We really must be going.”

Rye felt Ramble’s stare on her back as they walked away.

“What did she mean about buds?” Holly said.

“It’s a dryad thing,” Flora said. “Aunt Ramble is actually my mother’s cousin.
She’s the district coordinator of the Community Art Fund.”

Rye frowned. She had not seen Flora disconcerted before. Ramble had stared to
the point of rudeness. Had Flora told her about them?

By late afternoon, the crowds had grown even larger. Rye drew a breath of relief
when they passed into the calm of the VIP parking lot. Flora flew her carpet up
and out. Lines of waiting carpets and brooms still clogged the floating parking
beacons.

“How about we end the day together?” Flora said. “I’m hungry enough to eat an
early dinner.”

“Me, too,” Holly said.

Rye frowned and frantically tried to remember what food she had in the house.
She had delayed her weekly grocery shopping until tomorrow.

“I’ve been told about this new restaurant in Oak Heights,” Flora said. “They
specialise in imp food. Their interior decoration is supposed to be like a
grotto. What do you think?”

“Astronomical!” Holly said.

“No,” Rye said. “No, thanks.”

Holly’s back set rigid. Rye could imagine her murderous expression. But, then,
Holly didn’t have only twenty pieces in her pocket. When Flora parked, Holly
stormed into the apartment and slammed the door. Rye sighed.

“What did I say wrong?” Flora asked.

“Not you. Sorry about that.”

“Call me?”

Rye nodded.

Inside the apartment, Holly’s music was loud enough to hurt. Rye pounded on the
door. When she received no answer, she shoved the door open.

“Turn it down!” Rye shouted. “Or I will.”

Holly hit the switch. “You don’t want me to have any fun, do you?

I hate you so much.”

“Very mature.”

Holly picked up her pencil holder and hurled it at the wall near Rye.

“You keep this up,” Rye said, “and I’ll spank you like I used to when you were a
little kid.”

“I hate you. Hate you!” Holly screamed. “How could you embarrass me like that in
front of Flora?”

“You’d rather I was embarrassed in the restaurant when I couldn’t afford to pay
for anything?”

“Flora would’ve paid!”

“It’s not Flora’s place to pay.”

“She has so much money that she wouldn’t care.”

“I care. We’re not charity cases.”

“I’m the only kid in my whole school who has never eaten at a restaurant. Do you
know that? Do you know how that makes me feel?”

“You have eaten at a restaurant.”

“When I was seven and you washed dishes in one. Big fat fucking deal.”

Rye’s wings and fists clenched. She forced herself to bite back her retort and
take a couple of deep, calming breaths. “Considering your present behaviour,
it’s a good thing we didn’t eat out with Flora. Maybe I was too hasty in
thinking you were becoming an adult. This doesn’t convince me that you’re ready
to leave school and start an apprenticeship.”

Rye walked out. She thought she heard Holly mutter “bitch”, but chose to ignore
it. What she wouldn’t give to be with Flora and forget the rest of Infinity.

On First Day after work, Rye hung her jacket on the peg inside the front door
and braced herself for a resumption of combat.

“I’m home, Holly.”

Rye carried her groceries through into the kitchen. Holly appeared when Rye put
away the last bag of dandelion roots. She looked sullen.

“How was school?” Rye asked.

“Stupid.” Holly slumped into a chair. “I want to get a job.”

“You’re not leaving school. What happened to the idea of wanting an
apprenticeship?”

Holly gave her a filthy look. “You quit school.”

“I had no choice. I have to pay for you to keep going.”

“You needn’t. I never wanted to go to that limping school. And the job is at Mr.
Cloudnut’s store across the street. Filling shelves and stuff. After stupid
school. So there.”

“Oh. Okay. As long as it doesn’t interfere with your homework.”

“You won’t even know that I’m gone. You’re never here!”

Holly stomped out and slammed her bedroom door.

Rye took a deep breath. This was a good development. If Holly worked, maybe
she’d have more feel for the value of money.

Rye filled the kettle to start dinner. Tonight was going to be her first night
working at Mr. Nuttal’s pot boutique. If things worked out, and it became a long
term job, she’d have saved enough for a secondhand broom in two or three months.
Then she’d quit working at Pansy’s. That would give her two nights free a week
and she’d still be earning more than she did before. One night a week with
Flora.

Holly barely grunted two words to Rye over dinner.

Someone tapped on the door.

Holly leaped to her feet. “I’ll get it.”

Rye stood to gather the dishes.

“Flora!” Holly said. “Wow.”

Rye peered around the door to see Flora walking toward her. Had she forgotten a
meeting? Although, Flora looked dressed for a date rather than just steamy sex
with Rye.

“You’ve just eaten?” Flora said. “Good. Take a shower.”

“What?” Rye said.

“Can you find her something to wear?” Flora said to Holly.

“What is this?” Rye said. “I’ve got a job to go to.”

“I’ll drop you off there afterward,” Flora said. “Oh, Holly, stuff some of Rye’s
work-clothes in a bag that she can change into.”

“Afterward?” Rye said.

“We have an appointment with Letty Elmwood,” Flora said. “You’re going to talk
to her about cooking her dinner. I’m taking you. Moral support. Holly, clothes,
please.”

“I’m on it!” Holly said.

“But –” Rye said.

“I know I should have warned you, but you might’ve wriggled out of it,” Flora
said. “I talked with Letty. She needs to have something in place in the next day
or two. You need to take a shower.”

Rye frowned in the direction of the living room where Holly was making
disparaging comments about Rye’s clothes.

“Look,” Rye said, “I appreciate your effort, but I can’t do this. I’m not a real
cook. I haven’t spent years at chef school or in training kitchens or working in
restaurants.”

“You don’t like cooking?” Flora asked.

“Of course, I do. But what –”

“And you’re extremely good at it,” Flora said. “And didn’t you say that you
earned more doing it than your usual evening job? Which, you have also told me,
you hate. So, why not do something you like doing and will pay you well?”

Rye couldn’t immediately counter that. Holly burst out of the living room and
thrust a clean tight T-shirt at her. Flora checked her watch.

“We really don’t want to be late,” Flora said. “Letty can be funny about
punctuality.”

Rye snatched the T-shirt off Holly and stomped down to the bathroom. When she
stood drying herself, Holly shoved some clothes into the bathroom. Despite her
continuing misgivings, Rye took them.

A few minutes later, Rye sat frowning in the passenger seat of Flora’s carpet as
they sped toward the Upper Westside. Flora put a hand on Rye’s thigh.

“Am I being too pushy?” Flora said.

“Yeah.”

“I cannot understand why you’re so resistant to this. It amazes me that you
don’t cook as your full time profession. I’ve brought a copy of the menu that
you did for me. You need to think up some alternatives. Letty won’t want exactly
the same as I did. What other mains could you do?”

“Um.”

“How about possum?” Flora flicked on the light so that Rye could see to write.
“I had some very succulent possum the last time I ate with Daddy at his club.
Slices off a roast, I think it was.”

“Um. Yeah. I guess I could always try a haunch.”

“Terrific. Write that down. Now, what would you serve with it?”

By the time Flora stopped her carpet outside a fancy big house in Overhill, Rye
had three complete menus planned.

“You can do this,” Flora said. “I have faith in you.”

“Um.” Rye saw the tall, skinny silhouette of the sylph at a glass door.

Flora patted Rye’s thigh. “You’re my girlfriend, remember? Letty can keep her
hands off.”

“As if,” Rye said.

Rye took a deep breath and climbed out of the carpet. She would not have had the
courage to walk inside if Flora hadn’t been beside her.

Forty minutes later, Rye dropped back into the passenger seat and stared
half-dazed at the notebook in her hands. Flora started the carpet and flew them
away.

“Safety harness,” Flora said. “Well? That wasn’t so bad, was it, lover? Mind
you, from the way Letty was looking at you, I’m so glad I’ll be at this dinner.”

“Shit.” Rye ran a hand through her hair. “Sixteen hundred. Did she really agree
to pay me one thousand six hundred pieces? Why… why did you say so much? I was
only going to say twelve hundred. And I thought that was a lot. Too much.”

“Letty can afford it. In fact, she’ll respect you more for charging more rather
than less.” Flora squeezed Rye’s thigh. “Panic not, lover. You give her the
dinner you discussed, and she’ll be getting her money’s worth and more. Plus,
you’ll need to pay someone to help. I’m sure Holly will want to do it, but for
eight people, you really need someone else as well. Have a look in my purse.
There should be a green card with a number on the back.”

Rye felt uneasy about rummaging inside Flora’s purse. Amongst an eclectic
collection of loose change, banknotes, lipstick, tissues, breath mints, and a
tampon, she found several cards. One was green.

“Yes, that’s it.” Flora said. “Briony Butterflower is a sister of my
housekeeper, Aloe. She’s an apprentice, so she’s always looking for ways to make
some extra money. I’ve met her several times. Very pleasant and capable. Give
her a call.”

Rye felt more dazed than ever. “You’ve thought of everything. I had no idea you
were so aggressively organised.”

“Only when it comes to other people. Now, don’t you have to put your work
clothes on? Where am I supposed to be taking you?”

Rye remained in a haze of disbelief as she contorted herself through changing
her clothes. Part of her mind was already planning what ingredients she’d need,
how they should be prepared, and the best way to present the dishes.

“Sixteen hundred!” Rye said. “That’s five times more than I earn in a week.”

“Really?” Flora flicked a frown at Rye. “Oh, Elm. I’m glad Letty didn’t see you
like that.”

Rye zipped up her pants. “The strangest thing is, I’m already working out what
I’m going to do.”

Flora smiled. “Am I forgiven, then?”

“Yeah.” Rye kissed Flora’s hand. “You’re wonderful. Even when you’re being
pushy.”

Flora parked outside the darkened pot boutique. “I wish I were taking you home.”

“Me, too.”

Rye waved until the carpet’s rear lights vanished around a corner. She trudged
around the back of the row of shops and thumped on Nuttal’s back door.

While Rye hauled load after heavy load of metal waste out to a dumpster, her
mind swirled with cooking, one thousand six hundred pieces, and Flora. After an
hour, Rye sweated and ached. Her hands hurt and her clothes were filthy. Maybe
this wasn’t such a good job.

“Hey, there.” Mr. Nuttal, the elderly pixie, shuffled into the workroom. He
carried a tray holding a plate of biscuits and a pot of tea. “That looks great.
Come and sit down.”

“Um. Thanks. But I’d rather get finished.”

“That looks like more than enough for tonight.” Mr. Nuttal poured the tea into
two large mugs. “Mrs. Nuttal brewed this special. And she made the biscuits.”

Rye bit into a biscuit and found it dry and too sweet.

“Here.” He put fifty pieces on the table.

“Um,” Rye said. “I’ve only done an hour.”

“You’ve done the work I wanted done. All that junk cleared out of there. That’s
what’s important to me. Not how long you take.”

Rye pocketed the cash. “Thanks.”

“You still want to come back on Fourth Night?”

“Yeah. I’d like to.”

“Good. Maybe we should settle on Second Night and Fourth Night,” he said. “Oh,
and you can take your shirt off if you get too hot. I know how sweaty it can be
working in here with the burners going. You’ve not got anything this old man
hasn’t seen before.”

Rye didn’t contradict him.

On Third Night, Rye put aside her meal planning and went to tap on Holly’s
bedroom door. Holly sat at her desk chewing a pencil end.

“I’m off early tonight,” Rye said. “I’m going to the library before I go to
Pansy’s.”

“Uh huh.”

“Um. If I wanted a book to teach me something about art, where would be a good
place to look?”

Holly smiled and scribbled on a scrap of paper. “I think this has what you’re
looking for.”

The Hollowberry branch of the municipal library contained thin pickings in the
cooking section apart from budget meal planning, economic cooking for large
families, and wholesome, inexpensive meals. Rye dug out the scrap of paper Holly
had given her.
Contemporary Artists
was a slim paperback with glossy pages.
She had been thinking more along the lines of some textbook explaining weaving
for idiots. Before Rye put the book back, she turned to the contents page. She
saw Flora’s name.

Rye flicked to page forty-two. A very nice picture of Flora, which looked fairly
recent, filled a third of the page. The section started with a brief biography.
The book must have been written two years ago, because it gave her age as
thirty-one. Most of the section was devoted to pictures of her works along with
stuff written about each piece. So that was what
Adventures in Four Panels
looked like. Rye didn’t understand what it was supposed to be, but it was nice
to look at.

That night, Rye lay in bed frowning at
Contemporary Artists.
She would have to
borrow the dictionary out of Holly’s room tomorrow, because most of the
technical terms left her for dead. Rye stared at the photograph of Flora as she
phoned Flora for their late night talk. Even after all these weeks, it still
astonished Rye that anyone as sexy, beautiful, wonderful, and successful as
Flora Withe would look twice at Rye Woods.

On Fifth Day morning, Rye ran from the transit node to Whiterow Gardens but
still got soaked in the driving rain.

“You’re dripping,” Flora said. “Take this towel. Strip. I’ll fetch you a robe.”

Rye grabbed Flora’s arm. “I’d rather you warmed me up.”

“How about I run a hot bath for us?”

“Oh. Okay.”

Rye frowned as she peeled off her wet clothes. Flora usually couldn’t wait for
sex. She looked only marginally happier when she returned.

“Something wrong, babe?” Rye asked.

“You should’ve waited. I’d have fetched you.”

“I know. But Holly went out early. And I couldn’t wait.”

Flora’s smile seemed forced. When Rye kissed her, she didn’t feel physically in
tune.

Flora insisted on stuffing Rye’s clothes in the dryer herself. The new robe that
Flora had given Rye was thick and warm, and Flora had made slits in the back to
comfortably accommodate Rye’s wings. It was much nicer than anything Rye could
have afforded to buy herself, which made her uneasy. When she had tried to
decline it, Flora had pointed out that she could not return it now that she’d
altered it even had she wanted to. It was something else she owed Flora.

Rye wandered into the living room. The glass doors framed grey rain pounding the
deck and swimming pool. A fire burned in the hearth. Rye warmed herself in front
of it and smiled as she remembered last week’s sex on the rug.

A magazine and some papers lay scattered on the closest sofa. Rye couldn’t help
noticing the fancy invitation card sitting open beside the magazine. Ms. Flora
Withe and partner were invited to some glitzy-sounding event.

Flora came in and took Rye’s hand and led her to the ensuite. The huge tub,
which was easily large enough to accommodate six, filled fast with steamy water.
Flora poured in some green liquid which bubbled and released a gentle scent of
chamomile.

Rye climbed in and watched Flora strip. Unusually, Flora didn’t make a
provocative show out of it. She merely dropped her clothes and stepped into the
water. When Rye pulled Flora onto her lap, Flora’s head sagged onto Rye’s
shoulder.

“What’s the matter?” Rye said.

Flora sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s hormones.”

“Anything I can do to make it better?”

“Stay here with me, like this, for the rest of our lives.”

Rye smiled and kissed Flora’s temple. “I thought you were a tree nymph not a
water nymph. Want to talk?”

Flora listlessly played with a mound of bubbles against Rye’s arm. “Tell me
something nice that has happened to you.”

“Okay. I’m in a bath of hot water with the most wonderful woman in the world. It
doesn’t get any nicer than that. Unless it was last week, when I was lying on
the rug in front of a fire with the most wonderful woman in the world after we’d
had sex.”

Flora smiled fleetingly. “We live for Fifth Days, don’t we?”