faded. Her memories of youth, normally hazy and fuddled, were crystal clear for the first time in years. This was Clancy’s gift to her for time well spent.
On Saturday, Clancy and Eve went to a concert. Knowing that Eve was fond of a certain era of music, Clancy had gone to quite some trouble to have the perfect dream crafted for an aging hippie in Portland. Their host, who'd spent quite a few years stoned out of his mind before settling down to begrudging respectability as a music reviewer, embraced the dream fondly, made it his, and breathed life into it, conjuring up a Woodstock that almost certainly hadn't happened. The lineup in this dream included Janis Joplin, the Grateful Dead, The Who, Jimi Hendrix, the Beatles, the Doors, and Led Zeppelin, performing their greatest hits with a passion rarely found in the waking world.
Clancy, it must be confessed, cared little for the entertainment, and was uncomfortable in the outfit he wore to blend in, which he felt somehow offended his dignity, for all that he wore it well. Perhaps it was just that sense of having lived through it all before and finding it all terribly repetitious, or perhaps it was an underlying sense of chaos in the crowd that offended his propensity for control and order, but it was like an itch that wouldn't go away. He occupied part of his mind with ways to inspire new musicians, in order to bring about something new and interesting . . . or at least a variation on the old. Perhaps he could bring about a Neo-Pastoral resurgence, fused with the jazz from the other night. . . .
Eve, however, was thrilled by the concert. Radiant in her flower child regalia, sunflowers decorating her unbound hair, she basked in her surroundings. As the music flowed through her, she was overcome by the urge to dance, tugging a protesting Clancy to his feet in a spontaneous display of appreciation. After a moment, Clancy allowed himself to give in to Eve's contagious enthusiasm. Though he'd never admit to enjoying himself, he did find the experience liberating. Perhaps he took things too solemnly, came a traitorous thought from deep within. He quickly buried it, lest it upset his carefully controlled existence.
When at last the final band had left the stage, the last notes of their most famous rock anthem still vibrating in the air, Clancy and Eve made their own farewells. Impulsively, Eve drew Clancy in for a kiss, a quick peck that refused to end, evolving into a long, lingering caress of the lips. She tasted of Spring, of fresh flowers and gentle rains and new life, and Clancy was too startled by this to do anything other than return the kiss in kind. The dream faded around them, its essence returning to formless chaos. Eve finally pulled away, cheeks flushed and blue eyes bright. She placed a palm on Clancy's cheek, staring up into his own dark eyes for a long moment. Evidently, she approved of whatever she found there, for she smiled brilliantly before reclaiming her hand and taking a step back. When they made the arrangements for their next meeting, Clancy's voice was just a little raspy, though he was quick to regain his sense of self and equilibrium. He was sure that he wasn't supposed to let this sort of thing get to him. They went their separate ways, even as the hippie in Portland woke with a brilliant idea for a murder mystery set at a rock festival.
On Tuesday, Clancy and Eve went to the zoo, an outing suggested by Clancy as a way of reestablishing the control he'd felt starting to slip. Theirs was a delightful, casual stroll through a vast array of strange creatures, many mythological and others long-extinct, all housed in exacting replicas of their natural (or unnatural) habitats. Eve cooed over the unicorns, fed the dodos, traded riddles with the sphinx, and cringed when the kraken extended an impossibly large tentacle towards her, even though she was well out of its reach. She squealed with delight when a jet-black bat-winged horse accepted sugar cubes from her hands, snorting little puffs of fire in return. Only Clancy knew that this was no dream they wandered through, but one of the few permanent structures to be found in the dreamworld, a refuge for things that had no place in the waking world any longer. He was a collector of sorts, fond of these lost children and lingering remnants of earlier ages. Eve, enchanted by the magnificent and bizarre menagerie that continued to reveal itself around every new turn in the path, never thought to ask where such a dream had been found, and Clancy neglected to volunteer the information. While he’d brought visitors here in the past, he’d never brought a friend—a date?—here before, and he wasn’t sure what this meant.
Instead, they spoke of quiet inconsequentials, though Eve looked more and more troubled as time passed. Finally, even Clancy couldn’t miss the nervous pauses, the conversational stops and starts, and he asked what bothered her. Eve, tone distressed, blurted out that she'd been trying and trying, and couldn't seem to remember her past as anything more than a hazy series of loose, unconnected scenes, and she wasn't even sure they were -her- memories. Clancy was quick to soothe her, explaining patiently that such was the nature of the world of dreams, where most things were ephemeral, and very little remained constant for any length of time. For one such as them, to live out a life in dreams, the past was an alien concept, old experiences fading away to make room for new ones. Eve, swayed by his knowing, caring tone, accepted this explanation, as one generally accepts dream logic. Clancy brushed the back of a hand against her cheek, comfortingly, and she smiled at him with such affection that it seeped into his very bones, warming him.
When the time came for them to go their separate ways, it was a reluctant moment on both sides, though neither voiced this sentiment. Instead, they came together, and spent a long time kissing, while the hippogryphs and thylacines watched from either side of the path. Eve's body was warm and soft against Clancy's, and he took an unaccustomed pleasure in holding her closely. Hands roamed and mouths explored, until finally one pushed away from the other. Clancy had his dignity to think about, Eve her propriety. It was hard to keep the flames of gentle passion fanned with extinct mammals watching in fascination, anyway. Awkwardly, they settled upon their next meeting, and Eve fled into the ether, leaving Clancy behind to glare at the residents of the zoo defiantly. Some of the creatures capable of speech speculated upon whether their lord and master was finally thawing, but Clancy exited the zoo without a response. He had no answers for anyone, least of all himself, as to what was going on here. Surely he'd spent time with other women in the past. Surely he'd felt something for them. But this was different. This was special. Eve was special. He waved the feelings aside, for he had work to do, work that wasn't being done while he mooned over a certain blue-eyed blonde.
On Friday, Clancy and Eve met in the faded memory of an old resort, a beachside property that had once hosted kings and emperors, millionaires and celebrities, back in a more glamorous era. In the mortal world, it was crumbling and decayed, ruined by years of neglect, thanks to economic downturns and the fickle ways of man. Here in the world of dreams, it lingered, a little ragged around the edges but still in its prime. The grounds were green and immaculate, the crystal chandeliers sparkled and the brass trim work shone, and even the air smelled of luxury and grandeur. Its halls and rooms were filled with dreamers yearning for a taste of that romantic era, and among them moved Clancy, dressed to the nines in a crisp tuxedo, with Eve, looking majestic in a soft blue gown, at his side.
This was a night of opulence and comfort, where they were treated like royalty, every wish coming true with but a murmur. They sampled a dozen different courses for dinner, each inspired by a different cuisine, a sublime medley of tastes that defied description. From a white, flaky citron-infused fish that seemed to burst with flavor, to churrasco-grilled sirloin sliced paper-thin, to a subtle vegetable soup, every new dish was an experience unto itself, crafted by the ghost of a once-famous chef who'd lingered for years, hoping for such a chance. For dessert, a silent server brought out a selection of delicate spun-sugar confections. He presented them with the precision of a sacred ceremony, eyes dark and inscrutable as he bowed once and withdrew. When at last it was over, the last morsel devoured, the chef came out from the kitchen, and stared at his guests hopefully. Eve smiled, and Clancy bowed his head in silent praise, and the chef finally allowed himself to move on to what lies beyond.
This led to dancing in the ballroom, where Clancy led Eve through a series of waltzes, both Viennese and regular, teaching her the moves when she seemed ready to falter. And if he ever felt frustration at her lack of experience, he never let it show, his expression ever patient and his hands gentle. As they grew more comfortable with the movements, and Eve's confidence strengthened, she dared to meet his eyes
