A Strange State of Affairs Ch. 11

            

Riyel tugged at the collar of his navy dress shirt and picked up another wineglass from a passing waiter.  He’d left Fye upon arrival seven hours ago at the Tellurim �" he’d wanted nothing to do with the hassle of preparing for the show.

            And now, Fye was nowhere to be found.

            He chugged down the wine and placed it on the tray of another passing waiter.  The paintings were starting to blur, and the room was swirling.  His head was pleasantly fuzzy, but his stomach was snarling for sustenance.  Riyel looked about for a map of the Grand Tellurim’s interior and spotted one mounted on a wall nearby.

            The restaurant was in the South Wing, and he was currently in the North.  Riyel groaned and tromped off in search for food. 

            He walked speedily, drunkenly, unaware when he passed the boundary between the Northern and Western sections.

            Riyel pushed along until he suddenly spotted Fye frowning at a painting �" a Guerrero?  He called out, “Fye!!”, but his cry was drowned out by the conversations of the crowd.

            A woman was now walking towards Fye, a woman with white, shoulder-length hair.  Her innocent, powder-pink gown rustled as she walked.

            Riyel squinted.  Did he know her?

            The woman said something to the young artist and gestured toward the painting on the wall.  Fye shrugged and replied.  The woman smiled and turned towards him.  She gestured to the painting again, moved her lips.  They laughed together now, in tandem, and Riyel saw Fye’s eyes soften. 

            A sudden realization hit.  This was…this was the mystery date!!  The woman Fye was supposed to see tomorrow!! 

            His inebriated mind fumbled, stumbled, and flubbed.  His temples throbbed.  He loosened his tie and yawned.  A timepiece chimed nearby.  The crowd grew louder, more festive.

            Riyel passed his oldest friend in ghostly silence.

fgfgfgfgfgfgfgfgfgfgfgfgfgfgfgfgfgfgfgfgfgfgfgfgfgfgfgFye ambled from one painting to the next.  Guerrero’s work always puzzled him �" the man pushed the limits of abstract art in his every work.

            He had been ambling along for a while, thinking about a new project, when a particular Guerrero intrigued him and he paused before it.  That was when she had shown up.

            Her name was Sherry.  She had told him right after making a remark about Guerrero’s eccentric habits.  It was something he himself had not known, and Fye had been genuinely intrigued.  He remember, mind clear even from the flutes of champagne, the scent that clung to her skin, a crisp aroma that smelled like fresh rain…

            His heart throbbed in an odd way, and he shook his head gently to dispel his thoughts.  The topic of splatter-painting re-entered his mind, and he welcomed it gladly.  It was better to swim in familiar waters.

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            The sound of a truck pulling up the path woke El.  They were back!!  She stood and scrambled over to the kitchen window, pressing her nose against the glass in eagerness.

            An unfamiliar man with red hair was driving the truck, and Riyel was in the passenger seat.  She could not see Fye.  The truck came to a stop, and the doors popped open.  Fye climbed out of the backseat lethargically.  The strange man killed the engine and hopped out of the driver’s seat, frantically racing to the other side.

            Riyel opened his own door, unbuckled his seatbelt, and fell flat on his face while trying to exit his compartment.  Fye took one look and began to laugh hysterically.

            “They’ve been drinking,” Elevine thought accusingly.

            Fye fumbled with his keys and unlocked the front door.  He stumbled over the doorstep and swirled in a dizzy whirl into the living room.  “Elala?” he slurred.  “You there?”

            Elevine meowed loudly from her station on the kitchen counter.

            Now the stranger traipsed into the house, Riyel shunted onto his burly shoulder.  “Put m’ down, Vert,” the drunken man was saying, “I wanna walk.”

            Vert ignored his protests.  “Where should I put him, Fye?”

            Fye gestured wildly with one arm, the other occupied with petting Elevine.  “Jus’ throw ‘im on the floor.  He’ll sleep it off.  Drunkard.”  He looked exasperatedly at Riyel and then snorted.  “And I’m one to talk.”

            Vert deposited Riyel on the sofa, where he groaned and instantly fell asleep.  After a quick word with Fye �" something about having Riyel come to pick up his car later - , the man hopped back into Riyel’s truck and drove away.

            Riyel’s snores and the sounds of Fye running water in the shower suddenly seemed like the perfect lullaby to Elevine.  She yawned, curled up on her pillow, and dreamed of a multi-hued bird.