Rock Star Down (The Psychic Registry) (20 page)

She shot him a look of
surprise, "I'm—
Laurel
."

"Tell me about
yourself, Laurel."

"I'm twenty-four
years old. I can type forty-eight words per minute. And I like line dancing,
but there aren't any good places for it in the city," she said, regaining
her composure.

"You a good dancer?"

Laurel nodded, "I
did ballet until I got too tall. Then switched to Jazz. And yes, I was a
cheerleader."

"I wrestled.
Played football," Nathan replied.

"Nothing quite
like a football game on a Friday night," Laurel sighed.

"I kind of
cheated," Nathan admitted.

"I bet you did,"
Laurel grinned.

He shrugged, "I
mean, what am I supposed to do?
Not
read the quarterback?"

"You were just
using what God gave you," Laurel mused.

Nathan shook his head,
"He gave us a
conscience
, too."

Laurel touched his
arm, "At least you have one."

Natalie.

Was that her problem?
Was her conscience missing, or merely broken? Whatever the problem it was too
late for her.

"It's just so
senseless," Laurel sighed.

Nathan nodded,
"Most criminals just act. They have an impulse and they follow it wherever
it leads. And there's often a primitive logic at work. But the crazies? You'll
go nuts trying to figure what motivates them."

"So is Natalie
crazy or just a criminal?" Laurel wondered.

"I don't know,
Laurel. But she's not our problem anymore."

They arrived at Nathan's office, parked
in the garage, and went directly to the conference room. Brendt met them
outside and they exchanged brief hellos.

"He primed?"
Nathan asked.

"Yes. And I think
he's worried."

"Good. What's his
name? Graham?"

Brent nodded, "Graham
Wilson. You want to look at the paper?"

Nathan waved him off.
He was done scanning files.

"Alright then,"
Brent nodded. "Will you be joining us, Miss Comfort?"

"I wouldn't miss
it," she replied.

Brendt opened the door
and led them into the conference room.

Graham was young and
doughy with a chin scruff that aspired to be a beard, but fell short by several
years. He was seated at the table busying himself with his phone. He glanced up
at Nathan and Laurel as they entered, then returned to his phone, pretending to
ignore them.

Nathan didn't have to
play bad cop; he was not amused.

He stood with Brendt
and Laurel flanking him. He said to Graham, "I have a counter offer: You
quit your job. No severance pay. No references or recommendations. And you
return the money you stole."

Graham shook his head
in disgust.

Nathan made a halting
gesture, "Don't answer just yet, there's more. If you refuse to cooperate,
then I will
make
you do it."

Graham scoffed, but he
still didn't meet Nathan's gaze.

"
I can. And I
will
," Nathan said. "But you know what Graham? I'm tired and I'm
in a hurry. And right now you're standing between me and this nice woman going
out for a drink, so I might end up doing a little damage."

"
Brain damage
,"
Laurel added gravely.

Graham looked at them,
clearly incredulous, "Just save the act—"

It's not an act,
Graham. I'm in your head. And you don't want that, because I'm about to do my
impression of a bull in a china shop.

"Fuck me,"
Graham muttered.

You're about to get
fucked, pal.

"Okay! Okay!
Okay! I'll do it. I'll do it," Graham squealed.

Nathan grinned, "We're
going to go have that drink now, Graham. Don't make me come back here, okay?"

Graham shook his head.

Laurel replied, "And
Mister Wilson? You stick to honest work from now on, okay?"

He nodded rapidly and
repeatedly.

Nathan and Laurel left
a smiling Brendt with Graham.

She took his arm as
they walked to the elevator.

"Honest work,
huh?" Nathan asked.

"Yeah, why not?"
Laurel replied.

"It's the crooks
and killers that keep me in business."

"I don't feel like being around a
bunch of people," Laurel confessed. "Why don't we go to my apartment
and have a quiet dinner?"

Nathan nodded, "The
privacy would be welcome."

"Maybe you could
finally tell me how you exorcise your demons," Laurel said.

"It's more of a
show than tell," Nathan replied.

"I'm obviously
not feeling entirely myself. Do you think it will work for me, too?"

"We'll just have
to try it and find out."

Laurel smiled. Hopefully
it wasn't simply more acupressure and mantras that Nathan had in mind. For her
part, Laurel had planned ahead: the food, the wine, the clean sheets…

What she hadn't
counted upon was the third wheel they were both trucking about. They were both
carrying a part of Natalie, and a deranged part at that. Laurel would be glad
to be rid of it.
She would be rid of it, wouldn't she?

She struggled to shake
the vision of Rock falling – no, not falling – being pushed. By
me
.
No,
by
Natalie
. Then she hit him with the guitar and his skull made that
awful
crunching
sound
.

"Laurel?"

"Huh?"

"It's not you."

"I— I know."

"Think of
something happy. Something peaceful."

"Like what?"

"Dancing?"

"Hmm. There's a
place called
The Gold Spike
. When I was a high school senior, my
girlfriends and I would go there to dance. I knew the bouncer so he didn't card
us."

"
Uh-huh
."

"And besides the
dancing, they had this mechanical bull, named
Sancho
. So we'd get a
little tipsy and take turns riding the bull. Well, I was pretty good. I even
won a big contest."

"What did you
win?"

"Eternal fame."

"How's that?"

"They put my
picture up on the wall of
The Gold Spike
."

"Nice."

"I got a t-shirt,
too— But there's more to the story. Mom and dad decided to go dancing for their
anniversary. They
never
go dancing Nathan. Anyway, one month before
graduation and my parents see my picture up on
The Gold Spike
wall of
fame."

"How bad?"

"They grounded me
for a month.
And I missed the prom
."

"Huh? That sounds
pretty harsh for a little drinking and bull riding."

Laurel blushed, "Did
I mention it was a
wet t-shirt
bull riding contest?"

Nathan was smiling and
nodding.

"Nathan? Are you
reading
me?"

"You made quite
the picture, back then," Nathan said.

"It wasn't
that
long ago. I've still got my moves," Laurel replied. "
And I'll take
the compliment
. But stop peeking!"

Once they were in her apartment, Laurel went
straight to the fridge, removing a bottle of wine and the lasagna that she'd
assembled the night before. Then she turned on the oven and opened the wine.
She'd told Nathan to make himself at home and he was quietly nosing about the
place as she poured them each a glass.

"I confess to
knowing nothing about wine. I suppose we should let this breathe, but I'm
thirsty," Laurel said as she brought him his drink.

He took his glass,
then drew a sip. "It's good," he approved.

"A man at the
store recommended it," Laurel replied before taking a drink of her own.

"You should thank
him for us."

"I don't think he
worked there," Laurel recalled.

"A market pickup?"
Nathan wondered.

Laurel shook her head,
"I think he was gay."

"Ah," Nathan
nodded, "A sommelier."

Laurel took another
sip and thought about it, "You know, I think you're right."

"So what's for
dinner?" Nathan asked.

"I made lasagna."

"Just now?"

"It still has to
finish cooking. I'm pre-heating the oven now."

"Good thing to
have on hand," Nathan grinned.

"You never know
when you're going to need fresh lasagna," Laurel blushed and she quickly
took another sip of her wine. "You do like lasagna, don't you?"

"Does it have
meat?"

"Of course,"
Laurel declared with pride.

"Good."

The wine was going
straight to her head, which was the idea, but the day was suddenly catching up
with her and she felt oddly light on her feet. She thought that she should be
worried, but she felt quite fearless standing next to Nathan. He seemed to loom
above her, and although his visage was nigh inscrutable, she sensed that he was
pleased. And she wished to please him, to understand him. To know what he
wanted. To
be
what he wanted.

She thought she heard
a soft chime.
Bells?
Was she swooning?
No, that comes later, she
thought… when he kisses me.
He would kiss her, wouldn't he?

"Laurel?"
Nathan said.

"Ah, the oven's
ready," she said as she turned and tottered over to the kitchen.

Laurel sealed the foil
around the edges of the casserole dish and placed it into the oven. Then she
set the oven to shut off via the timer.
Just in case we're preoccupied.

"How long do we
have?" Nathan asked her as she refreshed their glasses.

"About an hour. I've
got some other stuff, but it can wait until the lasagna's out of the oven."

Nathan gestured toward
her couch, "Come sit with me."

 And she did.

"Give me your
hand," he said.

She held out her empty
hand, which he took in his own. "Are you going to read my fortune?"

Nathan shook his head,
"I don't do that. I knew a girl once… She possessed true foresight."

A real fortune
teller?
"Is she in the city?"
Laurel wondered.

Nathan smiled, but his
eyes hinted of sadness. "She's gone," he told her.

Gone? As in
forever?

He pinched the back of
her hand.

"Ow!"

"Pain. Pleasure.
The body sends us messages, Laurel. Powerful signals. Hormones, neurotransmitters,
bio-chemistry and electricity," Nathan said and he held up her hand with
his own. "The body is a repository for the mind. But
thoughts
?
Thoughts
aren't
real. Yours, mine, the people we read. Those thoughts
aren't real. At best, they're only an approximation of reality."

Laurel was intrigued,
but confused. "So what's real?"

Nathan stroked her
hand with his. "The body.
And the
soul
."

"Okay. So,
what
?
Feelings?" Laurel asked.

Nathan smiled and
nodded, "Feelings."

She squeezed his hand.
"This is real, isn't it, Nathan?"

"This is real,"
he nodded. "The here and now."

"Our bodies?"
she said.

"The body
is
the mind."

"So how do I
change how I feel?" she grinned.

"Pleasure. Or
pain."

"I'm partial to
the pleasure option, myself," Laurel said.

"Me, too,"
Nathan answered.

She closed her eyes as
he drew her near and their lips met. As lusty as she was feeling, it was a
surprisingly chaste kiss, ever sweet and new. A tender, loving kiss. The first
kiss and the only kiss she could seemingly remember. An indelible, haunting
kiss that stole her breath and sent her heart lunging against her chest.

Oh—

Then he kissed her
again and she fiercely kissed him in return. Her body greeted him as a long
lost lover. How she'd missed him! Though it had been mere seconds since their
first embrace she longed for him as if it had been a lifetime. For it had been
a lifetime of needs and of wants, of prayers and wishes welling up from within,
saturating her body – her being – with longing.

Their hands were
everywhere at once. And her flesh was so alive, so warm, and so ample. She felt
everything!

Whose body was
touching whose? Where did she end and he begin?

The tongues and lips
were dancing to their own tune. She felt
both
mouths and as she kissed, it
was as if she kissed
herself
. And it was too much to think about,
because it felt so unbelievable. Yet it was so real. More real than anything
she had ever felt.

He was naked. Or was
she?
One of them was on top of the other, or were they
both
? Was that
possible? Laurel loved being on the bottom
and
on the top at the same
time.

And then it was all
skin and muscle. She held on tight, rocking under and over, as both bull and
rider.

So wet and warm. So
deep and hard. So good—

Laurel?

Nathan?

This is real.

The bodies moved of
their own accord, guided by some spontaneous choreography known only to the
flesh.

She enveloped him and
was enveloped in turn. She entered
herself
and was lost in the ecstasy.

It was more than she
could comprehend.

And she didn't care.

Because it felt so
fucking good.

Just let it all go.

And she did.

Something smelled
really
good.

"Did my soul get
a massage?"

Maybe a little one.

"That should be
illegal."

That was something
else.

"You bet your ass
that was something else! We deserve a medal. From
God
."

I think we already
claimed our prize.

"Do I smell
garlic bread?"

I already put it in
the oven.

"Good. How much
time do we have left?"

I don't know—

"Laurel?"

Nathan?!

"Nathan!" she wailed, her
whole body trembling.

He was still shaking
and convulsing as the last of his spasms trickled from his body into hers.

They were both wet
with a mixture of effluence. Their bodies slick against one another, pleasantly
sliding with minimal friction.

Laurel was giggling,
her arms wrapped around him.

And Nathan smiled, for
he was simply Nathan once again.

They fell asleep like that until the
chime of the oven awoke them.

"That smells
really good," Laurel mumbled.

"Can we just take
it out? Have a shower first?" Nathan sighed.

"Yes, it needs to
cool a bit. And I've got to put in the garlic bread."

Nathan opened his eyes
and looked at Laurel. Then he glanced about the apartment, but everything was
the same as far as he could recall.

Laurel opened her eyes
and studied him. "What?"

"Ever wonder what's
real?"

She smiled and ground
her body against his, "Does this feel real?"

He nodded, "Very
real."

They had their shower, which was quite
sensuous, but their bodies were in greater need of sustenance so they kept
their play to a minimum and cleaned up before dinner became cold. Besides, it
was not yet dark and they would need their energy for later.

As Nathan was drying
off, Laurel brought him a plush burgundy colored robe with a resort logo
embroidered on the breast. She wore a smaller, matching robe.

Laurel anticipated his
question regarding the robe's origin. "Work sent us to this spa. Coziest
robes I've ever used. Anyway, I bought two."

He accepted it and
found it was indeed quite comfortable.

"Nobody's worn
that one before," she smiled.

"I like it,"
he said.

"Then you'll have
to wear it more often."

They both ate and drank their fill. And
the meal was very good and Nathan complimented her so.

"My mother
believes that every woman should know how to prepare five really good meals.
And I'm not talking about toasted cheese sandwiches, I mean sit down dinners,"
Laurel said.

"So, Lasagna,"
Nathan replied with a gesture toward the remnants of their feast.

"It's really just
a casserole, so it's good for intimate dinners as well as potlucks,"
Laurel explained. "Then there's roast turkey, for Thanksgiving, Christmas,
and dinner parties."