Read Online Phoenix Fire by Billy Chitwood - Free Book Online

intelligence now in her loneliness, an almost caressing awareness that these moments were but a linking part of a larger passage. It was nearly contradictory in its message, but it was there, and she was sure of its communication.
    “Wow!” she uttered aloud. “This is crazy! I'm lonely and miserable but I'm enjoying it! Nuts!” She again thought of the lightning episode and her out of body experience.
    In spite of herself she smiled up at the stars outside her window. She must be in some kind of delirium. She finally rose from the chair and made her way through the strewn advertising papers on the floor. She exchanged the Bach tape for Puccini's La Bohème on the way to running her bath.
    When her bath was ready she poured a glass of Gallo Chablis, turned up the volume on Puccini, disrobed, and sank tentatively into the hot water. Soon, the water's heat brought a languid concession to her loneliness. She lazily soaked and sipped her white wine. The image of Jason Prince's face came to her softly etched on the steam rising from the tub. A wistful smile played upon her lips. Without fully knowing why, she felt a deep sense of contentment. She felt at peace and her earlier feelings of emptiness and solitude dissipated into the evaporating mist.
    She remembered their first kiss, his lips like a warm dewy sweetness on her own; the gentle stirring within her body as he held her close; his eyes, intense, sparkling with something like devotion. She purred in the hot water and gave herself to the romantic imagery floating around her, purred and languished in the ecstasy of thought. The hot silky water soothed her, and the imagery swayed to and fro on the melodious arias of Puccini.
    She must have fallen asleep. The telephone was ringing from some deep place, growing louder, more urgent, to her returning consciousness.
    “Darn it!” she mumbled, her words bouncing off the wet tiled walls. She struggled out of the bath, feeling heavy and unfocused, reached for a large bath towel and wrapped it around her dripping body. “Oh, I'll never get it in time. Should have connected the answering machine.” She almost slipped on a throw rug next to the bathroom door as she hurried to reach the phone in her bedroom.
    She was too late. She picked up the receiver and heard a dial tone. It could have been Jason, she thought. “Darn!” she said again, angry with herself for missing the call.
    She glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. It was 9:40 PM. Maybe she would call him. His telephone number? She didn't have it. Maybe it was listed in the phone directory. She checked the thick book of listings but there was no Jason Prince. She called the information operator and was informed that the customer had requested an unlisted number.
    She felt tormented and trapped by the small and tedious details of the moment. She wanted to talk to Jason. It was probably he who had just called, and she did not have his unlisted number. She was also dripping water all over the carpet. “Darn! Darn! Darn!”
    She turned off Puccini and returned to the bathroom, unplugged the tub drain, and thoroughly dried herself. She paused to check herself in the wall mirror above the counter sink. Her hair was pasted against her forehead and was hanging in damp clusters about her head. Her face had a rosy tint and her eyes gleamed and teasingly grinned back at her. She puckered her lips in a mock sadness and finally laughed at the mirror image. Her petite but ample breasts danced a jaunty jig in time with her laughter and she became momentarily beguiled by the curve and flow of her body. Her self-appraisal did not disappoint her. She raised her eyebrows, puckered her mouth, and slowly nodded her head in silent affirmation.
    The telephone rang again, startling her. With an unaccountable embarrassment, a mild gasp escaped her lips as she grabbed her terrycloth robe from the hook on the bathroom door. She rushed to the phone and reached it on the third