|
|
The Usual Disclaimers Apply
Permission to archive to Bons and anyone else -- just send me the URL!! ;-)
This one's for Lisa Harvey, the DeCloseter!!! <waves wildly>
LC Kathy: Val, CP, DP, Faithful, Seducer, RoGe Listmommy, Les Mis, Urchin, IB, Mikie, Addict, NNP, WX-Ravenette: "Yes, for just the cost of good taste in clothing, *you too* can be a part of the faction chosen for the upcoming war by the illustrious *Kathy Walsh*!" So... whaddaya say?!!! ;-) piccolo_kathy@hotmail.com
My worst days combined plus a longing day(actually, night)dream equal,
You come home, dog-tired after a long day of running errands with your MOTHER, of all people. After checking your e-mail and figuring most of it can wait until tomorrow, you prepare for bed.
As you open the dresser to remove your nightgown, you remember it is still in the dryer downstairs. Being in no mood for moving any farther than you have to, you take a silky nightgown that you have always hated because it is too long for summer and has too low of a back for winter.
"Ah, well," you think to yourself, trying to put a good face on your day, "at least I won't have to use a blanket if the A/C gets too cold!"
Somehow, the rationalization doesn't help.
You wash your face, which feels slimy from all the sweat you've acquired from the unnaturally hot and humid environment today. Definitely not a plus. You take off your dark-colored shirt to find deodorant stains at the bottom of it. You sigh. As you brush your teeth, you notice that your toothbrush is getting old, you really must remember to replace it!!
You stumble through the darkened hallway to your bedroom, glassesless (they were so spotty with perspiration you couldn't see through them anyway). You throw yourself upon the bed and sigh once again.
After two hours of tossing and turning as angsty thoughts (about the library book that was due 4 days ago and the thank-you notes you really SHOULD have written already) flit through your brain, you sigh. Turning onto your side, you reach for your headphones. Perhaps you can find some soothing music. But it is not to be. You groan.
"The batteries are dead!!" you moan, tossing the radio aside.
Too tired to think, yet too tense to sleep, you bury your face in your pillow and hope against all hope that a miracle will save you from this torturous night.
You hear a sound. Raising your head three inches (7.5 cm) off the pillow, you listen more closely. Someone is playing the flute in your living room!!! The strains of Pachelbel's Canon in D float toward you, soothing your jangled nerves. It sounds to you like the flutist has companions playing the piano and guitar (which reside in your living room, a.k.a. music room, a.k.a. TV room), and they are performing the song as a quartet. You start to hum along with the flutist, but stop soon because you just want to enjoy the sound.
The piano and guitar parts remain at the same dynamics, but the flute part gets louder and clearer. As the sound comes closer, you decide that this, indeed, is a professional flutist, with a professional flute!!! Your face is no longer facing the door, so you do not see who the instrumentalist is, but suddenly the day's troubles are nothing, are lost in the music. Suddenly, the flute falls silent. The guitarist takes up the slack, with both living-room instruments playing two parts each.
You hear and feel a soft noise beside you. When your eyes open, you see a solid gold flute -- French-hole, B-foot, everything! -- right in front of your face. You'd never seen one before other than on the cover of James Galway albums, so you can only stare.
Your attention is caught once again by movement on the other side of you. Apparently, the flutist has sat down next to your prone body. The coldness of his -- for they are definitely masculine -- hands wakes you up enough to realize that this ISN'T a dream.
He slowly begins to knead your tense shoulders. For once, you're glad of the low back of your nightdress, since it's a hot evening and his hands are cool.
"Shh, just rest," he says in that wonderful VOICE of his.
You gasp. <Lucien Lacroix?!! How can this be?!>
"What did I just tell you?" he asks, mock sternly. "If you don't stop tensing up, I'll never play for you again."
On the off chance that he might be serious, you turn into human clay immediately. Besides, it's not wise to upset a nearly-1920-year-old vampire!
As he massages the knots out of your back, you think of a question. You turn your head to face him in all his glory. You suddenly metamorphose from clay to silly putty <tm>. He doesn't stop rubbing. Eventually, you manage to croak, "Don't you just play stringed instruments?"
He smiles enigmatically at you. "My dear, I've been told I have MANY talents -- and I must admit a certain musical preference for the flute family."
You sigh happily, sure now that you've died and gone to Heaven. Lucien Lacroix, flute lover!!! You sigh again, dreamily. As he smoothes the tension from your sore muscles, you hear him whisper in your ear.
"I took care of the book and the notes already. Any requests?"
You mull over the list of your favorite songs. "Fur Elise?"
He smiles softly at you. "Of course. Anything for you, cherie."
As you lay your head back on the pillow, he puts the wonderful flute up to his wonderful face and plays. You smile. He smiles.
~~~~~~~~~
Finis.
