Part 15 (1/2)

Turning back to the audience, I say it. ”What is reality, anyway?”

There's a big laugh at this, and cheers. Evidently they're all familiar with this routine and want to hear it.

It's a shame I don't know the rest.

”Reality is too complicated for us to perceive, our brains are much to primitive. We only see a very small part of it at a time. You see, there are an infinite number of dimensions, and we all extend far into them, but we can only see three of these dimensions at a time.”

The audience has grown silent again. Gloria has her face covered by her hands.

”We humans are a lot larger creatures than you realize. What we all see are merely segments of each other, like segments of a worm. What we don't see is that we're all huge multi-dimensional worms, stretching through countless levels of the universe.”

There's some fringe laughter, but for the most part I've totally lost them and they're silent and confused. Even worse, they're starting to become disappointed.

”I told you I'm from another dimension,” I say. It doesn't help.

Someone from the audience yells out, ”Einstein!” I peer out, beginning to see shadows of heads. I'm starting to see the audience, and it's horrible. ”Does anyone know any good Einstein jokes?” I ask.

There's a couple whistles and a few claps, then silence.

Looking toward the side stage, I suddenly blurt out, ”I'm sorry. I have to go to the bathroom.” There's a low rumble of chuckles as I rush off stage. I shoulder past Gloria and Tad, past dozens of people staring at me with various degrees of concern. Gloria is following after me, calling my name. I run for the back stage door, burst through it to find it almost totally deserted. I head straight for the limousine, but find it empty --- the driver must be inside, watching the show. I try to open the driver's door, but it's locked. Security guards come toward me but stop when they see who I am. I turn away from them, jogging, running away. Behind me I hear Gloria calling my name, but it fades.

8. AMERICA WORLD.

Like before, I find my way home by giving the address on my driver's license to a cab driver. I hope like h.e.l.l that I've s.h.i.+fted dimensions, but the cab takes me to the same house. Once inside I find Pris has been there and removed all her possessions while I was at the amphitheater. I missed her, and she got away. I feel like death. I feel like all I have to do is lie down and stop breathing.

There's a black dial telephone on the bed stand beside my bed, sitting on top of a black and green phone book. I look through the book for 'Priscilla Nunez' but she's not listed, so in desperation I look for Tom Harrison. To my amazement, and with a small sigh of relief, I find it. I dial the number and a woman answers.

”h.e.l.lo?” she says. The voice is familiar.

”h.e.l.lo, Heather?”

”Yes?”

”Is Tom there?”

”Who's this calling?”

I tell her my name. When she says, ”Who?” I say it again, and then, hesitantly, add, ”. . . you know, the comedian?”

”Are you serious?!” she says with excitement. My heart sinks because, obviously, she doesn't know me personally. This means Tom probably doesn't know me either.

Tom comes on the line, sounding skeptical at first. The skepticism goes away after a few seconds, as it seems he recognizes my voice. ”I'm sorry, I don't remember ever having met you,” he says. ”I mean, I think I would have remembered. Heather and I are big fans of yours.”

”We met a while ago,” I tell him, feeling despondent. ”Unless, of course, I have the wrong Tom Harrison.”

”That must be it,” Tom says. ”I can't be the only Tom Harrison.”

This strikes me as ironic. If he only knew! ”I'm sorry to have bothered you.”

”That's no problem at all!”

I open my mouth to say something, but there's no words. I can't tell him anything, he'd think I'm crazy. ”Well, uh, good-bye.”

”Bye.”

I put the heavy black receiver on the cradle and collapse into the big bed. The pillows, I realize, smell like Pris. Hopeless tears start leaking out my eyes as I lie there staring at the ceiling.

Then I think: The h.e.l.l with this! I'm not stuck here, I can go somewhere else. My subconscious must have brought me here, searching for a world where Pris and I are together; obviously there has to be another world where this is true. I lie there trying to will myself to s.h.i.+ft dimensions, to slip somewhere off into another reality. I remember the dream I had, the dream where I rose up through the ceiling and into other rooms, other realities. Try as I might, however, nothing happens.

The phone rings, and I pick it up, hoping it's Pris. It's not, it's Gloria, and she's screaming at me over the phone. I hang up on her, then leave it off the hook. Lying back in the bed, I listen to the faint sound of the dial tone, wondering if it would start making loud beeping noises. But it doesn't, the phone system here seems primitive and the dial tone continues uninterrupted. It starts to fade as I think about Pris, about the night we made love. It's my most cherished memory. Dimly I'm aware that someone's knocking on the front door but I ignore it, knowing the door is locked. I have no intention of answering. I'm here until I leave, so to speak. Until I s.h.i.+ft dimensions.

The dial tone fades in and out. The knocking goes away. I fall asleep and dream that everything is the way it used to be, with Tom and I living in the Euclid, and me teaching Herpetology and Tom writing about people who see little red lights. Pris is seeing Tom and I'm l.u.s.ting after her in secret, but at least she's friendly to me and I can touch her arms and talk to her. I dream of a warm, lazy Sunday afternoon with Tom, Pris, Aaron and I are listening to familiar music and drinking b.l.o.o.d.y Marys. Then the dream turns weird, and the floor is replaced by a rope net with holes big enough to fall through, and below us another room identical to ours is fully visible, complete with its own versions of us, but in slightly different positions. Below that is another room, and below that another, on and on.

In the dream I stand there on the rope floor, wobbling and trying to keep my balance, and peer far down below to see a place where I'm with Pris. The other versions of me are doing the same, all looking down. Far below, so far that I almost need binoculars to see it, there's a version of me who is not mimicking my actions. It's a version of me who has a woman in his arms, and I think, That's it! In my excitement I forget all about caution and loose my balance. The net wobbles as I swung my arms and teeter back and forth. There's a terrible sensation of falling, and I wake up, nearly leaping out of bed.

It's a bra.s.s bed, queen sized, with a bright yellow and green flowered bedspread. The room is small but bright, with sunlight streaming through open windows. There's clothes piled everywhere, in heaps on the floor, on top of furniture, and from one of the s.h.i.+ny bra.s.s bedposts hangs a bra.s.siere. The cup size of the bra.s.siere looks large enough to hold cantaloupes.

Someone stirs in the bed next to me, and I realize that there's a bare leg draped across one of mine. I also realize that I'm naked. I look over with fascination and see bright blond hair all over a pillow.

It's not Pris. The head turns and reveals a face, and my eyes bulge.

It's definitely not Pris --- it's Heather! Tom's Heather.

I drop my head back onto the pillow and feign sleep as she continues to stir. One of her hands slides across my chest, and her nose nuzzles in my ear. Then I feel something soft, wet, and warm. Her tongue. She sticks it in my ear and I jump, and she giggles. ”Wake up,”

she says.

I mumble something, not even words, just word-sounds. So she continues tonguing my ear and then kisses the side of my face, moving downward to my chest. Reaching my left nipple, she rubs her tongue across it and fingers the other one, and while doing this I feel her legs on either side of mine and she's rubbing her v.a.g.i.n.a against my thigh. After about three minutes my thigh is all slimly and my p.e.n.i.s is hard and throbbing. There is no point in continuing to pretend I'm asleep. I stroke her hair and feel my p.e.n.i.s pressing insistently against her stomach.

From the open windows I hear traffic pa.s.sing on a street nearby, the heavy bustle sound of morning rush hour. The rattling and rumblings of motors, the occasional honk of a horn. Odd, sparkling music drifts on the breeze from a neighbor's window, swelling and receding. Heather's breath is loud, and her skin is hot. She smells like woman's sweat, sweet and musky. My mind shuts off, and hormones take over.

I take hold of her arms and pull her up. She moves to my wishes, her face rising to mine. We kiss hard, touching tongues, then she sits up on me and rocks back and forth. Her smile holds a hint of teasing. I stare into her blue eyes, seeing things there I've never seen before, then watch as she looks down to see what she's doing. I feel her hand take my p.e.n.i.s and guide it into herself, then both of us gasp as it slides in. She sits on top and moves slowly, savoring the feeling, her eyes closed and head tilted far back. I stare at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and feel overwhelmed. They're big. The nipples are big. Some ancient urge causes me to raise my head and take one into my mouth, suckling eagerly.

Heather gasps and makes other noises, then begins moving. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s swing back and forth, hitting me in the face. I enjoy it, I feel like I'm in a p.o.r.no movie.

She moves faster, gaining some sort of rhythmic momentum, and I feel my climax building like a light bulb that's about to flash and burn out. I try to hold it back but my control is gone. I feel every muscle in my body clench and then everything stops. Time stops. It's like G.o.d reaches down with a glowing golden staff and taps me on the head. Pow.

Wham. Time starts up again, and I feel like I'm buzzing with electricity. Heather is gasping and making jerking movements, crying out; apparently my o.r.g.a.s.m triggered her's. I smile, thinking that I've achieved s.e.x without guilt. Me with Heather Clarke, I would never have believed such a thing. And here I see her in this intimate moment, where her mouth is open and eyes are closed, looking very child-like, and I begin to see what Tom likes about her.

Heather collapses on top of me and I hold her. She feels like she's s.h.i.+vering, her back and arms giving occasional twitches. Perhaps her o.r.g.a.s.m is still going. I hold tight, feeling it with her. When she's finally still, and I feel like drifting back to sleep, she pulls back, gives me a quick kiss, then crawls off the bed and disappears. I hear a shower start. A few moments later I hear her singing.

I sit up in bed and look around the room again. Where am I? The clothes piled about here and there are all definitely her's. On the floor beside the bed is one single, small pile of male clothes. They must be mine. Before I can gather the energy to get out of the bed and try them on, Heather is done with her shower and comes walking in wearing a robe and a towel wrapped around her head. ”Are you going to stop by later?” she asks.

”Sure.”

”You will?” She smiles, pleased.