would be in order.”
Rebecca froze. Her brother Ash had gotten an MRI when he got migraines in high school. It was a huge, clunky machine that made awful thumping noises like an out-of-control robot. It scared the willies out of her when she was a young teenager. Anything but that.
“Well, my insurance isn’t going to cover the Mayo Clinic.” Rebecca laughed in spite of the serious expressions all around her. “Which you guys think I need.”
“Well, it will cover a simple doctor visit,” Allison announced, closing the book and standing up. “I’ll be damned if I can find anything in this book —”
“Okay, okay,” Rebecca said, glad to give in, her mulishness broken. The worry was threatening to kill her. How bad would it be to have a doctor check her over? “I’ll make an appointment. Now, why don’t we see what’s in the apartment to eat? I feel like I could demolish everything in the refrigerator.”
Raven nodded her head and helped Rebecca to her feet. When it was obvious Rebecca could walk with no problem, Raven narrowed her olive eyes, gazed at Rebecca’s face, and turned to leave the bedroom. A little food couldn’t hurt. Her mind might have gone beyond the bounds of time for a while, but her body told her it was dinnertime.
#
That night, Rebecca twirled into the night, dancing under the constellations, swirling linen cloth around her long, tanned legs. She had visions of people, thousands of them, gazing at her with unquenchable curiosity as she walked a path lined with flowers and spiced with aromatic oils. A man walked up to her and asked her to dance, a man with eyes darker than pools of oil and a physique to rival a toned athlete.
Then she stood alone with a man made of stone. She lifted a hand to the shoulder muscles of the carved icon and marveled at the life-like quality of each detail. She lifted her eyes to meet those of the statue. Black pupils, alive with spirit, gazed back at her, and she stumbled back, afraid. Nowhere to run. All the doors were sealed.
#
Lunch with Emmylou Sailor and Randy was set for one o’clock at the Strand restaurant, but Rebecca got there just early enough to order a pre-luncheon glass of wine. A drink during the day or before important meetings was an anomaly, but she trembled with absolute panic today. She wanted to tell Sailor what she knew about ancient Egypt but didn’t want to give away too much. How can you tell someone you’re seeing visions of life in an ancient culture in your dreams? That you’re watching someone’s dark-rimmed eyes stare into your own? They’ll have you propped before a psychiatrist before you can count to ten.
Sailor breezed in on the hour and took a seat opposite Rebecca and stared. Rebecca experienced no interaction with celebrities out in Iowa. Now she was supposed to converse with a world-famous choreographer by herself.
At least Rebecca knew what she thought of Sailor’s work. Her dance craft for “Aïda” was as perfect as a twenty-first choreographer could create it, with each Egyptian movement finely honed and almost mesmerizing in its uniform, dreamy style.
However, Rebecca also knew something about the show didn’t fit. Maybe it was the costuming or maybe the set, but somehow, the production missed the essential sense of Egypt. Over the past week, she’d paged through dozens of tomes by crusty old authors and squinted at pictures of relics and tombs. Yet the information that really mattered bubbled up from her intuition — and how do you tell any sane person that?
As Rebecca’s mind wandered, the waiter plunked a dish of miniature spinach-pie appetizers smack in front of Sailor — as if Rebecca weren’t leaning forward in expectation of food. Randy, strolling in late, picked his blaring cell phone out of his pocket and listened to some loud, harsh voice audible from his earpiece. He hurried the pushy caller off the phone, and his shoulders sagged. He bowed a bit to Sailor, apologized and told both
Rebecca froze. Her brother Ash had gotten an MRI when he got migraines in high school. It was a huge, clunky machine that made awful thumping noises like an out-of-control robot. It scared the willies out of her when she was a young teenager. Anything but that.
“Well, my insurance isn’t going to cover the Mayo Clinic.” Rebecca laughed in spite of the serious expressions all around her. “Which you guys think I need.”
“Well, it will cover a simple doctor visit,” Allison announced, closing the book and standing up. “I’ll be damned if I can find anything in this book —”
“Okay, okay,” Rebecca said, glad to give in, her mulishness broken. The worry was threatening to kill her. How bad would it be to have a doctor check her over? “I’ll make an appointment. Now, why don’t we see what’s in the apartment to eat? I feel like I could demolish everything in the refrigerator.”
Raven nodded her head and helped Rebecca to her feet. When it was obvious Rebecca could walk with no problem, Raven narrowed her olive eyes, gazed at Rebecca’s face, and turned to leave the bedroom. A little food couldn’t hurt. Her mind might have gone beyond the bounds of time for a while, but her body told her it was dinnertime.
#
That night, Rebecca twirled into the night, dancing under the constellations, swirling linen cloth around her long, tanned legs. She had visions of people, thousands of them, gazing at her with unquenchable curiosity as she walked a path lined with flowers and spiced with aromatic oils. A man walked up to her and asked her to dance, a man with eyes darker than pools of oil and a physique to rival a toned athlete.
Then she stood alone with a man made of stone. She lifted a hand to the shoulder muscles of the carved icon and marveled at the life-like quality of each detail. She lifted her eyes to meet those of the statue. Black pupils, alive with spirit, gazed back at her, and she stumbled back, afraid. Nowhere to run. All the doors were sealed.
#
Lunch with Emmylou Sailor and Randy was set for one o’clock at the Strand restaurant, but Rebecca got there just early enough to order a pre-luncheon glass of wine. A drink during the day or before important meetings was an anomaly, but she trembled with absolute panic today. She wanted to tell Sailor what she knew about ancient Egypt but didn’t want to give away too much. How can you tell someone you’re seeing visions of life in an ancient culture in your dreams? That you’re watching someone’s dark-rimmed eyes stare into your own? They’ll have you propped before a psychiatrist before you can count to ten.
Sailor breezed in on the hour and took a seat opposite Rebecca and stared. Rebecca experienced no interaction with celebrities out in Iowa. Now she was supposed to converse with a world-famous choreographer by herself.
At least Rebecca knew what she thought of Sailor’s work. Her dance craft for “Aïda” was as perfect as a twenty-first choreographer could create it, with each Egyptian movement finely honed and almost mesmerizing in its uniform, dreamy style.
However, Rebecca also knew something about the show didn’t fit. Maybe it was the costuming or maybe the set, but somehow, the production missed the essential sense of Egypt. Over the past week, she’d paged through dozens of tomes by crusty old authors and squinted at pictures of relics and tombs. Yet the information that really mattered bubbled up from her intuition — and how do you tell any sane person that?
As Rebecca’s mind wandered, the waiter plunked a dish of miniature spinach-pie appetizers smack in front of Sailor — as if Rebecca weren’t leaning forward in expectation of food. Randy, strolling in late, picked his blaring cell phone out of his pocket and listened to some loud, harsh voice audible from his earpiece. He hurried the pushy caller off the phone, and his shoulders sagged. He bowed a bit to Sailor, apologized and told both
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