Unexpected Attention

Wednesday, June 9th, 1982

“Dino,” Scotty Abernathy’s grip was strong, his round face as jolly as ever, “So good to see you. How was the plane ride?”

“Not too bad. A little bumpy for the boys here, but nothing they couldn’t handle.” His grandsons were staring at the front entry of his agent’s apartment, their mouths gaping.

Scotty’s penthouse was a-glitter with gold lame, gem-studded lampshades and mirrored walls. The floor was covered with a burgundy shag wall-to-wall carpet. It reminded Dean of an odd mix between a disco and a porn star’s boudoir. A happy scream emanated from the kitchen, and a blur of blond hair and a hot pink spandex pantsuit barreled towards Dean and the boys, “You’re here! And you brought the boys!” The owner of the spandex enveloped him in a tight hug, sending a wave of Aqua Net crashing over him. Gina’s nails were dagger-length and ornately decorated with multiple coats of shiny lacquer and sparkles.

“Hi Gina, good to see you again.” He hugged her back and watched with bemusement as the boys endured bone-cracking hugs from Scotty’s girlfriend of over ten years. She simultaneously smothered them in her impossibly large and quite obviously amplified breasts.

Scotty’s wife Lucinda had been a mouse of a woman in comparison to Gina. She had also had better decorating taste.

“For Christ sake, Gina, you’ll give ‘em an overdose of that damned hair spray, you keep it up. It’s gotta be like Agent Orange, stunt their growth or somethin’.”

“Oh shut it, Scotty,” she released the boys and adjusted her helmet of hair, “It takes a lot of work to be this fashionable.” She pouted and gave Dean her best come hither look. Beside her, Junior had a dazed grin on his face. Now nine years old, and closing in on ten, he couldn’t take his eyes off of the ample breasts that had cut off his oxygen supply mere seconds before. Next to him, eight year old Michael appeared just as dazed, with a horrified expression frozen in place.

Dean took in the dizzying array of gold, metal, and mirrors. It replaced the primarily orange and yellow hues the front entry had once been painted in. He couldn’t see a single familiar piece. June would be joining him next week for the book tour, and he couldn’t wait to see her face when she took in the latest transformation of Scotty’s apartment. “I see you have been redecorating, Gina.”

Her expression turned from coquettish to hopeful, “Oh Dean, what do you think?” She pouted again, “Scotty says it is too much. He says it looks like a gold mine made babies with the seventies.” She cast a hurt look in Scotty’s direction. “I’ve been following Liberace. The man isn’t just a musical genius, he’s got style.”

Dean smiled at her, “Liberace is certainly a trend-setter.”

Gina beamed, apparently taking his response as affirmation of her decorating skills.

“Oh, for Christ sake.” Scotty’s eyes rolled, “Gina honey, take the boys and feed them something fabulous, I gotta talk with Dino ‘bout the book.”

Gina looked rebellious for a moment, but if there was something she enjoyed more than decorating, it was cooking. And she was excellent at it. Scotty had once confided that her cooking had gotten him past any horror he felt over her bad taste in fashion and decor.

“I just close my eyes, Dino, and take a bite of cannoli. Food of the gods, I swear to you.” He had laughed then, “Between the fireworks in the bedroom and the masterpieces she cooks up in the kitchen, I figure I can live with Elvis, Liberace and disco.”

Gina waved the men off and grabbed the boys by her dagger talons, “C’mon boys, I got some zeppole waiting.”

Michael cast an apprehensive look back over his shoulder at Dean as Gina dragged them towards the kitchen, her ample spandex covered rear swaying from side to side. Dean had a difficult time not laughing out loud. Instead he followed Scotty to a set of large doors now covered with a thousand tiny mirrors.

As the doors closed behind him in the office, Dean stared at the ceiling, “Is that...?”

“Yeah,” Scotty said with a sigh, “It’s the bloody fucking Sistine Chapel.”

“How did she...?”

“Dino, I swear to God, that woman drives me nuts. All this damned decorating. She gets done, finds a new muse, and next thing you know I got God reaching out to Adam on my goddamn office ceiling.”

Dean couldn’t take his eyes off of it. “She had you made into God, I see.” The face was indisputably Scotty’s. “So who is Adam, then? He looks familiar.”

“The doorman.” Scotty let out an exasperated sigh. “She said he had a ‘classic beauty’ or some such bullshit.”

Dean chortled as he took a closer look, “I visited the Sistine Chapel a few years ago with June. I don’t remember Adam being quite that well-endowed.”

Scotty sighed again, “So help me, Dino, I swear that woman is doing her best to kill me. Can we please talk about your book now?”

Dean tore his eyes away from the ceiling, his lips twisting as he smothered a grin, “Sure, God, what do you want to talk about?”

Scotty let out an exasperated roar as the door opened, Gina’s stiff helmet of hair brushing the bottom of the tall door frame. “Dean Honey, I brought some zeppole for you.” Her eyes rolled over Scotty, her lips pouting as she ignored him, and deposited a plate heaping with the sweet treats directly in front of Dean.

“Thanks Gina.”

“The boys love them, they’re scarfing them down.”

Dean picked one up and put it in his mouth and sighed with pleasure. He tasted the ricotta hidden in the pillow soft dough, the sweet sugar melted on his tongue.

“These are fantastic, Gina. Thank you. You make the best zeppole ever.”

Gina preened for a moment, “I’ll let you get back to business. Don’t let Scotty scalp you for any extra percentages, he’s a shark.” The door shut behind her, leaving an overwhelming wash of Aqua Net and Giorgio perfume hanging heavy in the air. Dean tried not to breathe through his nose.

Scotty leaned over the desk, pulled the plate closer and grabbed one of the treats, popping it into his mouth. “Christ, that woman sure can cook. Between her authentic Italian recipes and those enormous jugs of hers I’ll put up with the doorman having a baby’s arm for a cock and gold sparkles in my sheets. By God, I will.”

Dean choked on his zeppole as he laughed. “Whatever you say...God.”

Scotty chortled, his mouth full of another pastry. “Ah Dino, I have missed you! Two years is too damn long!”

Dean nodded, “Same here, my friend. This book, it took on a life of its own.”

Scotty leaned over, pulled out a copy, and set it on the desk in front of Dean, snagging another zeppole. The book was neatly bound, its dust jacket glowed with the tall jagged cliffs, the castle and village below it just as Dean had described to the artist. The title A Life Relived spelled out in rich gold letters.

“I gotta say, it is a sharp departure from your normal work, Dino.” He tapped the book, “Don’t get me wrong, it is absolutely fucking amazing. Just different. I just don’t want you to be surprised if it doesn’t appeal to your usual readers. They can be fickle, always wanting what they just read, only different, but not too different, if you know what I mean.”

Dean did. Not all of his books had been bestsellers. A couple of them had been criticized as “repetitive, worn-out refrains that only an author’s mother could love.” That criticism had stung. No book had been a failure though, and all of them had gone to multiple reprints.

He shrugged, “We will just have to see how it goes.”

Scotty nodded and stuffed a third zeppole in his mouth. “So the tour dates for Europe are already being set up. It’s gonna be gorgeous there, Dino. June is going with you, and the boys?”

Dean nodded, “Yes. It will be the boys’ first trip to Europe. We treated their parents to stays in Bali and the boys will have a great time with June seeing the sights.”

“Get ‘em to Pompeii and some of those European castles.” Scotty advised, “They aren’t too old to think about valiant knights are they?”

“Who knows, we can try.”

Scotty’s fingers were now coated with sugar and he sucked them clean, nudging the plate of zeppole closer to Dean, “Eat up. If they aren’t gone, Gina will convince herself you don’t love her cooking and then she’ll set her sights on reproducing the goddamn Roman Coliseum in our front entry. Y’gotta help me out here, Dino.”

Dean took another one from the plate, “So what are the numbers looking like?”

“On A Life Relived? Well for now, they are good, damned good. We go to a second reprint next month. Hell, for all I know, you just wrote yourself into a whole new fan base. Which is all money in the bank, cha-fuckin-ching, Dino!” He leaned over, and pulled out a box filled with letters. “Oh yeah, I got some fan mail for ya. If ya want, I could have Gina go through it for you, but I also got a telegram askin’ for you to interview with someone in Rotterdam.”

“Rotterdam, Netherlands?” Dean asked.

“Is there some other Rotterdam I don’t know about? Yeah, the Netherlands. I guess you musta hit a nerve or gotten someone interested in your new book. They want to interview you for some magazine article or somethin’.”

“Huh. Well, by all means, set it up.” Dean sucked down another zeppole and smacked his lips. With Gina cooking, he would be lucky if he didn’t gain five pounds every day of their visit.

Scotty reached out and set the book upright, staring at it. “It is quite unique, this story. What made you write it?”

Dean shrugged, “Call it a dream, I guess. It’s more complicated than that, but such is the life of a writer.”

Scotty quirked an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. It creaked under his weight. “Well, whatever works, my friend. It’s different, but I enjoyed it. More important, we are moving up in the lists. Keep doing what you do, Dino.”

Thousands of miles away, deep below the ground in tunnels carved in stone, a group of women met. Raven-haired, with vivid green eyes, each wore elaborate embroidered robes. If one looked close enough, the scenes appeared to shift and change with each movement. The figures outlined in a copper thread, moved, adjusted themselves, just as the large panel of tapestry on the wall did, the cliffs of Behel in Fyrsta Heim in sharp focus.

Anna Verndari nodded to a younger woman at the far end of the table, “Read it again, Protectorate Saronica, for the official record.”

Mona Saronica stood, picked up the book, adjusted the slipcover with the rich gold letters and read aloud.

“It was a world not unlike ours yet indisputably different. The sky was overcast and gray and two moons hung bright in the evening sky. The air was damp, chilly, and everything smelled of salt and fish. On one side a sharp cliff descended to the pounding surf below. And on the other, a rock face stretched up out of sight, the top of it hidden in the mists. It was the castle, however, which drew my attention and set me to walking on the narrow path.

Behind me I could hear a bell toll. I counted thirteen deep resonant tones before it stopped and the walls of the great stone castle stood before me. As I entered through the tall wooden doors, they groaned, slowly turning on massive iron brackets.

What lay inside them took my breath away. Beneath my feet was a thick carpet, above me, however, were many levels - walkways, doors and balconies hung above me, at least twenty levels, more than any castle on our world, and at the top, a massive stained glass skylight. The beams of colored light danced on my face more than two hundred feet below.

A tapestry on a far wall shifted and changed. I saw a rush of what could only be the history of this world in the ever-moving landscapes. A great cataclysm, many dying, and the survivors fleeing through a rift of sorts.”

Mona paused and looked up, “And this line, a few sentences later, ‘They speak of white lights, of loved ones who have gone before waiting for you. I saw none of this. Instead, I saw the cliffs of Behel, a brief glimpse of another world just beyond the veil of our own. And I will never forget it.’”

There was a murmur among the seated women.

“Thank you, Protectorate Saronica.” Anna Verndari nodded and Mona sat down.

“How is this possible?” One of the women at the table asked, “Travel through the world walls is limited to Protectorates.”

“Yet my mother was able to imprison my brother there for over two years.” Mona responded, her green eyes flashing. “You have all read the reports from the 1949 tribunal.”

“No one has been able to repeat this. Not even you, Mona.” The woman tilted her head, “Unless there is something you aren’t telling us.”

Mona bristled, “I have always been loyal. My mother’s crimes have nothing to do with me. I have remained faithful to my duties, always.”

The woman persisted, “What is that human saying? Blood is thicker than water? You would not be the first to choose family over your duties as Protectorate.”

Mona’s face twisted and the air crackled with a dangerous, dark energy.

Anna Verndari slapped the table. Now in her late 60s, she appeared no older than forty, yet her new position as Crone within the Council carried weight. “Enough! Protectorate Saronica’s loyalty is not in question here. Instead, we are pointing fingers and dancing around a very real concern. How is it possible that a human, this Dean Edmonds, was able to describe Fyrsta Heim, the cliffs of Behel, and the oldest and most majestic castle of our world so precisely? More importantly, what are we going to do about it?”

The air still crackled, Mona’s eyes snapping. The women on each side of her pulled away slowly.

“Are we sure he saw it himself?” An older woman asked, “Is it possible that it was described to him?”

Anna turned on her with a cool gaze, “Are you suggesting a Protectorate shared our deepest held secret, that of another world past this one, with a human?” Her tone was measured, but several others winced and the woman withered under her stare.

“My apologies.” She whispered, her hands pulling at her robes.

Anna stared at the woman a moment more, long enough to make her shift in her seat, and sink lower in it, before Anna turned back to Mona.

“You have arranged for a meeting?”

“Yes, through his agent. He believes it is for a magazine interview.”

“And he is the one who saw Conor back in 1953?”

“Yes.”

“I want Castor here as well.”

“He is in transit now.”

“Good. I will conduct this interview myself.”