smokeSCREEN : book6.1

He stands up and drops his National Geographic, striding over to me with a big grin on his face.

"Look at you," he says. "What's up?"

"Nothin', I just… got sick of baggy clothes. Heh – look at me, I got hips…" And I waggle them for effect.

"I see that. What, is it your birthday or somethin'? Is it mine?"

Why is he acting like yesterday never happened?

"Hm – is this what you want for your birthday?" I twirl, even.

Why am I acting like yesterday never happened? But his eyes narrow.

"Why are you like a new person every day?" he asks. I drop my arms.

"I'm not. I've just been… having weird dreams."

"No shit."

Like a good puppy, he follows me obediently to the kitchen area and I go through the fridge to find a nice soft bun to munch on my way down to the growhouse.

"So what was yesterday about?" he asks. Damn him.

"Let's just say yesterday didn't happen."

"But it did happen-"

"Hey – do I look like the woman who left you smokin' in the tub yesterday?"

"Well, no, but-"

"That's that, then – but I still think we should talk – come down to the workshop later, huh?" I'm already halfway to the stairwell.

"Sophie, what is going on?" he calls after me. But soon I'm downstairs, pushing open the double-doors to the lab. Anze pops her head up from a droopy tomato plant to stare at me.

"What is with the… girlie look? And this is not my fault," she tells me, pointing at the plant. My slowly-sprouting but otherwise healthy tomatoes are now weak and withered – their leaves drooping in a collective bow to Anze, who probably killed them.

"Yes. I need somethin' to work on – where's the coffee?"

"Two seconds… should I pack a bowl too?"

I pull a stool up to the dying plant and take up the magnifying glass. It's hot down here, so I shed the sweater. I'm a little conscious of all the scars on my shoulders, but the bandages on my arms cover enough for comfort.

"You're coming along quite well," I tell Anze.

"Back in a jiffy," she says.

Fifteen minutes later or so, we're both pretty fried and I'm chain-smoking as I stare out at the racks of flora. I'm not working out the plant – I've already figured the Plant Problem out – these tomaoes are about six weeks older than the ones I'd planted – it's just refusing to grow anyway.

So I'm just staring at the plant in a sort of zen-state while I contemplate the much more pressing issue of Justin. He's raised an excellent point, which I paid no attention to when Lisa asked me – what is going on? Let's look at this from a distance; logically.

It's quite obvious Justin has a thing for me. He let me see him wet and naked by candlelight. …does he always take baths with candles?

To stay on topic, let's get a more objective opinion. She's bringing a fresh cup of coffee now, and I say, "Justin is into me, right?"

Anze sets the cup down and sighs.

"Shut up, Sophie."

Which is her way of just affirming the answer she'd given a bazillion times.

The problem is with me. Why did I need to escape the bathroom? Why did I blow up at Lisa?

"Maybe I have intimacy issues," I suggest to Dying Tomato. It wilts at me, and I sigh again. Why would someone replace my crop with six-week old tomatoes? It doesn't make sense.

I smoke my cigarette and try to go zen again… it works, sorta.

Justin is very popular, and he's climbing the Tower ladder with a Cypressesque flaire. Soon he'll be running the soldiers at Phoebe's right hand. His pace is fast – if I don't pick it up he'll be over me and fall straight into the arms of some hot blond twig…

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Anze asks.

"How do you stay so thin?" I ask her.

"I breathe fresh air once in a while," she says like a good condescending seventeen year old. I hold out my bandaged arms to her.

"So do I," I smile.

"So what's the diagnosis on the tomatoes?"

"They're not ours. I suspect it's a prank by those snooty Courtyard Garden Girls."

"…better a Garden Girl than a Cave Girl," she sighs.

"Is that what they're calling us?"

"This is your problem, Sophie – you need to get out more. Out of here – you need to think about something other than these stupid plants. You need to see how all the rest of the Tower is moving on and you just…"

She stares at me long and hard before looking away and folding her arms across her chest. "…aren't," she finishes.

I look back to Dying Tomato and go zen.

Is she right? She seems to be right in most of her observations of me.

Do I get out much? No – I'm working a lot.

Ah – of course. But that doesn't necessarily denote an emotional insecurity. Does it?

I cock my head to the side.

May-be.

"Huh," I nod at her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, now what's with the clothes?"

"I just… looked in the mirror and saw a frump, so… it's some of Michelle's old stuff."

"Ooh, lemmie see – when was Michelle a b-cup?"

I smack her hand away;

"See with your eyes, not with your hands! Observe the hips…"

"Ooooooh… I like that. Teach me how."

"Later, get out of here."

"Why?"

"I left you stranded all morning, you go off and have fun." She shakes her head at me, but I say, "I'll only go 'till four, I promise."

"Four in the morning?"

"I'll come up and have dinner with everyone," I say. "I swear."

She holds out her little finger. "Pinkie promise."

I grip her pinkie in mine, shake and add, "The term is 'pinkie swear'."

She leaves, and having solved what I feel to be the central problem I turn again to the tomatoes.

Hm. There are any number of slimy little reasons the Garden Girls might switch the tomatoes on me. It must have been a massive effort – six palettes. I don't particularly have the energy to start a fight with Reiko – she and Tanya are pretty popular and Floor Thriteen doesn't have the political sway we once did, now that the leadership option is back in Floor One's court.

So I won't challenge it. But then what to do with six palettes of shitty tomatoes?

Why, make them shiny, healthy tomatoes of course. I kick the stool out from under me and start looking for my Ph kit. This'll be fun.

* * *

I check the clock on the wall and see that it's just after two. Time for another bowl. The Ph of the soil is way off the ideal mark and they've been overwatered – given too much fertilizer, too. No eggshells from the looks of it either. I should ask the kitchen if the henhouse is still working – maybe I could find some bonemeal instead.

But all that is shifted to the back of my brain as I set about packing a bowl, and I hear someone come in the double-doors. Whatever – let them find me.

…unless it's Justin. What if it is Justin? What would I say?

"Hellooooo?"

Aw – it's Reiko. What is her problem? I ignore it and keep packing the bowl.

"Sophie – I hope you're down here." That was Phoebe – I slide my gear back into the desk and slip out of the office, putting on my best smile.

"Yes?"

"Your assistant came to see me," Phoebe says. "…and what's with the clothes?"

"Oh, I just… didn't have anything else that was clean…"

"Anyway, she said that perhaps your tomatoes had been for some reason switched with Reiko's. Reiko and I had a talk about this – it took two hours but she has something she'd like to say to you." Phoebes looks to Reiko, and Reiko clears her throat.

"Thank you, no," I say. "I didn't give Anze permission to make a complaint about this, I don't see it as a problem – do you, Reiko?"

Her mouth's still open to speak, but she doesn't know how she should answer in front of our honored leader. "Uh, I…"

"You want to keep these… shitty tomatoes?"

"Yes, Phoebe, I look forward to the challenge – thank you, Reiko." I smile broadly at her, but she's turning a shade short of green.

"Well isn't that kind of Sophie, to take that on," Phoebe grins. "Don't you think that's kind?"

"…yes, Phoebe."

"And don't you think Floor Six should give half their cigarettes for this week to Floor Thirteen as thanks for Sophie's remarkable kindness?"

Reiko clenches her teeth and a fist, but says,

"Yes, Phoebe."

"That's not necessary-" But I'm cut off;

"Yes it is," Phoebe barks in her ear, and pushes her towards the double-doors. "You'll find some flowers, too…"

I stare after them for a while, a broad grin on my face. I'll be the Floor hero tonight.

That was… awesome.

* * *

Upon further ponderance, I've decided it's me that's changed, not the world. Reiko is still a bitch and Phoebe still doesn't have time for our little inter-floor squabbling. I just… handled it well. Why?

I had no real proof of Reiko's involvement – I chose my course with the tomatoes before they showed up. Staring at the still-weepy plants, I go zen.

Obviously, my ponderings simply lead me to the correct decision.

But how? Given that I couldn't possibly have foreseen Phoebe's reaction, certainly not the gift of smokes…

Think about it.

Cypress told me about his dream. I wonder if my dreams are important too. Perhaps the man in my dreams is some figure I must overcome, like Cypress's dreamwolf. Huh. Does that make sense?

Yes.

But the men in my dreams aren't a terrible wolf – it's Cypress, then Justin – guys I love.

Killemall.

I snap my head up.

"Cypress?"

I hear the click and scrape of Douglas's claws as she stands and comes to me, making a low growl in her throat.

Douglas knows.

"Jesus Christ!" I shriek. The voice is gone. The fear is gone – Douglas is comforting me, her head on my lap. She looks up at me – 'it's alright', she says.

"What do you know?" I ask her firmly, finally. She bolts into a perfect posture, her legs sprung beneath her like a toy horse.

…Douglas only does what she's told when she wants to. She took this very seriously, so I say again;

"What do you know, Douglas?" And she stops looking at me. She looks straight ahead – not moving a hair. Intercom. Is the intercom working?

BEEEP! Then static – then,

"Operator."

"Please send Justin from Thirteen to the Growhouse," I call into the device.

"You mean the Cave?" Then static.

"The Growhouse downstairs!"

"Set," the operator says. Static, then nothing. I look back at Douglas, who hasn't moved. What is she doing? I light a cigarette and stare, going zen – hopefully it'll come.

* * *

"Just a tanktop now?"

It's Justin, coming through the doors behind me a half-hour later.

"Shut up – come here."

"This better not be a weed emergency…what is she doing?"

"Douglas, come," I say. Douglas breaks posture and saunters over to me, proud of herself. I scratch her throat and say, "What do you know?" and she snaps into position.

"What the…"

"I have no idea why."

"This is obviously something he trained her for. This is it – this is a key to… to something." He stares at her long and hard, before suggesting, "Maybe she's pointing at something."

"The bench?"

"No – north."

"Whatever – she was pointing southwest before."

"Maybe it's in relation to the Sun."

"Twenty minutes before."

His brow creases. "Jesus Sophie, if you weren't so damn cute I'd say to Hell with this stupid dog." Douglas still doesn't break position, but she looks at him as he kneels and scratches her behind her ear, then the ruff of her shoulder.

"Don't change the subject, Mr. Conspiracy-Expert – you think I'm cute?"

"I'm a theorist, not an expert… how did she get a tick?"

"She doesn't have a tick."

"She's got a tick – it's in the skin already."

"Hold on, I'll get a needle."

I quickly find my hash needle and hold it up to an old jetlighter – it gets hot real fast.

"Alright, spread the fur around it and gimmie some light," I say.

He does, and I lean in with the needle in one hand and the magnifying glass in the other. Gently, I press the red-hot needle to the back of the tick. It hisses and even begins to smoke before it lets go, and I don't move as it drops away. Justin tries to grab it by the fat end so he can burn it, but I don't look from Douglas's skin.

"Justin – I found it."

"Found what?" I don't look away – I can hear the tick's life hissing away over his lighter.

"Cypress's message."

"What?"

I spread Douglas's fur for him, and his jaw drops as he leans down.

"…he tattoed the dog."

* * *

* * *

she walked in wearing steletto boots / fist woman, weddin', then honeymoon / this girl that i thought i knew so well didn't know her untill we hit the hotel and / we're on the dance floor / by the seashore she said / 'these nights we dance together / is what i live for'

* * *

* * *

I lock up early and Justin goes in search of an electric razor while I gather up the rest of Floor Thirteen. Soon we're crowded into our kitchen area, watching Justin shave the wolf while she obediently maintains The Position.

"That's not English," Lisa says as he uncovers some words on her shoulder.

"It's French," Justin tells her.

"Fuckin' spy guys," Josh huffs, but Justin explains as he works;

"Me an' Cypress and four others – we were the quiet spies for Westwood. Cypress taught himself to read French, then taught us 'cause no one else would understand it."

"Then, if Cypress did write this, why French if you guys were the only ones who knew it?"

"Because they were the only ones," Anze says. "The dog came to Sophie, but only a boy could read it…"

"So we could only read it if Westwood and the Tower were together."

"Sneaky fucker."

We light smokes and wait pantiently for him to uncover the two sweeping wings of inch-tall letters that flow from her shoulders to hips. Perhaps seven lines in all, Justin reads it;

"Go east – all the way to the Old City – we wait there in the Cathedral – don't disappoint me," and now the other side; "Our small group cannot protect itself – we need the protection of others – in the east we will start something new."

We stare at the shaved dog for a long time.

"…that's it?" Cat asks.

Justin nods.

"Where the Old City?" Josh asks.

"Part of Montreal," says Lisa. "He wants us to go to Montreal."

"Shit – that's a long way."

"And winter's coming."

"It wouldn't take three months to get there."

"But it would take more than three months to set up a location out there we wouldn't freeze to death in. Why leave the Tower?" They're surprised at me – staring at me.

"Cypress wrote this," Lisa reminds me.

"I just got that Growhouse respectable again, now we're supposed to traipse off across the country, where there just happen to be mad, starving dogs and a swarm of killer birds of prey, ecause someone tattoed Douglas in French and told us to 'seek the Old City'."

They look down, away – "well if you put it like that…"

But I'm in zen-thinking mode again;

"But that's not the question, the question is what do we do now. If together we think it's not even an option to go East, we should let no one know about this. If we want to go without the rest of the Tower, we decide now, on our own. If we tell Phoebe, we accept the risk she may kill Douglas to suppress this information."

The wolf looks at me, but doesn't break position. Good dog.

"…would Phoebe do that?" Josh asks.

"Yes," the four girls nod.

"If she didn't want us to go East," Anze says. "Or she would have before, anyway."

"Don't fool yourself, she still could be as mean, she's not on purpose," I tell her. Lisa nodds, adding,

"Phoebe just wants to prove she's better than her sister."

"Helloooooo?" We all snap to attention – Phoebe's at the stairwell on the far side of the floor.

"Douglas! Stay!" I hiss at her. She doesn't break position, and the six of us file into the open area and walk smiling up to Phoebe.

"Well, well – a whole floor spending the evening together. If that doesn't spell 'family' I don't know what does."

Not that she can read anyway.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?" Lisa smiles pleasantly.

"To Sophie," she says, nodding at me. "Reiko pulled a nasty little trick on the skirted wonder there, and Sophie handled it admirably. So Reiko?" Phoebe calls behind her, and Reiko appears in the doorway with a carton of cigarettes, a bouquet of flowers and a quarter-ounce for us.

"Oh, that's…"

"Wow…"

"Really not necessary," Lisa says quickly. "Whatever Reiko did, I'm sure she's sorry."

"She is now," Phoebe glares at Reiko, who obediently sets down the gifts on a table and scoots back into the stairwell. "I'm afraid Floor Thirteen has no choice in how I punish a soldier. Enjoy your smokes."

And she's gone, and Anze and Cat are already going through the cigarettes, divying them out.

"Christ, Sophie, what did you say?" Justin and Josh are already headed back for the kitchen, while Lisa sniffs at a bud from the quarter-ounce. That's one of Martha's own breeds, affectionately known in the lab as 'Martha's Muthafuckyouup'. She never did have a very clean mouth, but her horticultural talents came out in the drippy, red buds and bright purple leaf of her signature design.

"Reiko switched our tomato crops last night – I told Phoebe that it was fine, and that I'd get the grop healthy again."

"Josh?" Lisa calls. "My pipe!"

Like a golden retriever, he springs from our little kitchen into action; "Coming!"

Cat's buzzing at the Intercom;

"Is Herskie there?"

Static – the clanking of the kitchen, and a deep voice;

"Herskie."

"It's Cat," she says.

"What's goin' on?"

"We're gonna' have a floor meeting – could you make us a pizza?"

"Whaddaya want on it?"

"Good stuff."

"It's all good stuff."

"Then we'll have it all – a big one, okay?"

"Okay, gimmie… forty five minutes sweetheart."

"Thanks Herskie…"

Static – Anze and I exchange glances.

"'Sweetheart'?" she asks, flashing her eyes at Cat, who blushes.

"He's just nice to me – he really likes Jan."

"Jan thinks he likes Jan," Lisa says through a cloud of smoke. "No one else thinks that."

"That big fucker wouldn't make a pizza for me," Josh tells her. "What's a floor meeting?"

* * *

The comfy chairs and couches have all been pulled together in a circle around the coffee table and hookah – Anze decided that she would be responsible for candles in Crow's absence, and she's done an admirable job. Lisa let me pick the music – it's 'Bedroom Dancer' right now, and we're all feelin' it.

Cat kneels before the hookah and hits it with her lighter as Lisa, Anze, Justin and I draw smoke.

"Hhhholy fuck that's smoothe," Justin grins as he exhales.

"Hold it in, Sweetheart, it'll work better," Lisa advises. Cat snaps a look at her – wondering perhaps if that was a dig against Herskie. "Josh – go on."

"I'm good," he says, holding up a hand. Our collective heads turn to him.

"But it's… a floor meeting. Even non-stoners get stoned at a floor meeting – it's like drinkin' beer at the Spring Party," Lisa tells him.

"I'll have a beer, then."

"Floor Meetings are all about weed," she says. "Now smoke it."

"Don't make him," I say softly. Justin nods in his seat beside me – we're on a couch together, with Anze at the other end.

"You guys gotta' understand," Justin says, "Josh didn't even start drinkin' 'till he was seventeen – he's wary about all this stuff. Parents were religious, or somethin'."

"Whatever – I'll smoke it." He snatches the tube away from Justin and draws back hard, tries to hold it in, and fails in a hacking cloud of thick smoke.