Read Online Ivory and the Horn by Charles De Lint - Free Book Online Page B

the rest of the night in brief flashes. At some point they were in the stairwell of his building, what felt like a month later he was propped up beside the door to his apartment while she worked the key in the lock. Then he was lying on his bed while she removed his shoes.
    “Who… who are you?” he remembered asking her.
    “Debra Eisenstadt.”
    The name meant nothing to him. The bed seemed to move under him. I don’t have a water bed, he remembered thinking, and then he threw up again. Debra caught it in his wastepaper basket.
    A little later still, he came to again to find her sitting in one of his kitchen chairs that she’d brought into the bedroom and placed by the head of the bed. He remembered thinking that this was an awful lot to go through just for a donation to some rainforest fund.
    He started to sit up, but the room spun dangerously, so he just let his head fall back against the pillow. She wiped his brow with a cool, damp washcloth.
    “What do you want from me?” he managed to ask.
    “I just wanted to see what you were like when you were my age,” she said.
    That made so little sense that he passed out again trying to work it out.

    She was still there when he woke up the next morning. If anything, he thought he actually felt worse than he had the night before. Debra came into the room when he stirred and gave him a glass of Eno that helped settle his stomach. A couple of Tylenol started to work on the pounding behind his eyes.
    “Someone from your office called and I told her you were sick,” she said. “I hope that was okay.”
    “You stayed all night?”
    She nodded, but Dennison didn’t think she had the look of someone who’d been up all night. She had a fresh-scrubbed glow to her complexion and her head seemed to catch the sun, spinning it off into strands of light that mingled with the natural highlights already present in her light-brown hair. Her hair looked damp.
    “I used your shower,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind.”
    “No, no. Help yourself.”
    He started to get up, but she put a palm against his chest to keep him lying down.
    “Give the pills a chance to work,” she said. “Meanwhile, I’ll get you some coffee. Do you feel up to some breakfast?”
    The very thought of eating made his stomach churn.
    “Never mind,” she said, taking in the look on his face. “I’ll just bring the coffee.”
    Dennison watched her leave, then straightened his head and stared at . the ceiling. After meeting her, he thought maybe he believed in angels for the first time since Sunday school.

    It was past ten before he finally dragged himself out of bed and into the shower. The sting of hot water helped to clear his head; being clean and putting on fresh clothes helped some more. He regarded himself in the bathroom mirror. His features were still puffy from alcohol poisoning and his cheeks looked dirty with twenty-four hours worth of dark stubble. His hands were unsteady, but he shaved all the same. Neither mouthwash nor brushing his teeth could quite get rid of the sour taste in his mouth.
    Debra had toast and more coffee waiting for him in the kitchen.
    “I don’t get it,” he said as he slid into a chair across the table from her. “I could be anyone-^-some maniac for all you know. Why’re you being so nice to me?”
    She just shrugged.
    “C’mon. It’s not like I could have been a pretty sight when you found me in the alley, so it can’t be that you were attracted to me.”
    “Were you serious about what you said last night?” she asked by way of response. “About quitting your job?”
    Dennison paused before answering to consider what she’d asked. He couldn’t remember telling her that, but then there was a lot about yesterday he couldn’t remember. The day was mostly a blur except for one thing. Ronnie Egan’s features swam up in his mind until he squeezed his eyes shut and forced the image away.
    Serious about quitting his job?
    “Yeah,” he said with a slow