Episode 1: Meet Toni Drake
by Tawn Krakowski
This and other series available at Tawnlandia.com/TalesFromTawnlandia
WARNING: Although there is no material subject matter within that couldn’t be found in any general bookstore with no age constraint, this series is rated 18 and contains adult situations and content. It is intended for mature audiences only.
I stood at the precipice, feeling the battering wind, the warm sun. Every sense was engorged as I drank in my surroundings. Spotting my prey far below, I tensed slightly, then, with a feral growl, leapt gracefully from the edge into a freefall. Time stopped. As the scream of air rushing past me and the slowly changing view of the ground thousands of feet below became the only clue that I was not stationary in space and time, I languorously arched my back and swept out my arms, unfurling my wings. The view changed again, becoming calm, still. The mighty lion's roar of the wind became the mewl of a cub punctuated by the snapping of my wings as I once again became aware of my prey. Narrowing my eyes, I began my approach.
"Toni? You awake? I have to go."
The unwelcome sound grated painfully against my subconscious.
"Seriously. If I'm late again that asshole is going to fire me."
Fire... warmth flowed through my body as...
The glorious dream began to slowly dissipate like January mist into the murky morning light. My soul desperately grasped for the freedom and exhilaration of the dream, only to be thwarted by the silky warmth of my bed cocooning my body and gently shepherding me to a most unwelcome level of consciousness. "Wha...?"
Sunlight suddenly streamed into the room. It harshly illuminated an attractive blond man donning a pair of jeans, searing the image into the back of my eyes. The light, successfully mimicking a mental bucket of cold water drenching my awareness, left me sputtering and angry.
"I'm going now. Thanks for last night. You were awesome, as always. But I have to go to work and you told me to make sure you were up before I left. Promised me some more, too, but I'll collect another time," he said with a wink.
Wracking my foggy brain for a name, I wondered what the hell I did last night. Knowing it was probably what I always did, I quipped with a sneer, "Fine. I'm up. Now get the hell out. I've got work to do."
The door slamming was the only response I received as I dragged my protesting body across the sub-arctic bathroom floor toward the shower. As I turned the knob, I was thinking it might be a good idea to finally get a couple of rugs to guard against frostbitten toes from the damn tile, when I caught my reflection in the mirror.
"A hickey?! Are you fucking kidding me? What am I? Twelve?" The offending bruise didn't reply, almost appearing smug on my olive-beige skin. Sighing, I stepped into the steaming flow of water and began to soap up my short, wildly curly hair. Letting my mind wander back to the dream, I imagined the pelting of the steamy water and sweet-smelling soap as the feel of the wind rushing past my body and the smell of rain on the horizon.
Toweling off my lean form, I took another glance in the mirror. Blurred by steam, my eyes took on a reptilian cast and my skin almost glittered beneath the dewy remnants of my very hot shower. Blinking, the illusion was gone as furtively as it appeared, and I only saw a damp woman with no clean clothes and an appointment to keep in a few hours. Sighing again, I retrieved my favorite jeans and a tank top from the floor as I went in search of a bra and underwear that may or may not have made it into the last load of laundry I washed.
Finally dressed, I popped a mug of eggs, onions, and green peppers into the microwave, set the timer, and sipped my Kona coffee. “Toni Drake, Professional Acquisitions Expert,” I muttered. Sounds a lot better than thief. But to be fair, I did find my niche. What else could a smart-ass girl on her own with a knack for blending in and being next to invisible hope to do to support herself? Fry cook? Not likely.
I discovered my talent early on. I'd be standing right next to someone, and not only would they forget that I was there, they would occasionally call out for me as if I weren't standing less than three feet away. Needless to say, I got accused of “sneaking around” and “surprising” people more often than not. But I eventually wised up and turned that into an advantage by taking courses at the local community college for free (why should I pay for it if no one even realizes I'm there?) and by becoming a professional thief. It was the only occupation I could think of that would turn my inconspicuous nature into an asset that would propel me to the top of the food chain.
Being a loner helped too. No parents to worry about my sordid enterprises. No sisters to steal my boyfriends, or even my shoes, for that matter. No brothers to teach me how to throw a left hook. No rules, no disappointment, no regrets, no reason to be more than a ghostly blip on the radar. Hence the almost endless stream of pretty boys to warm my bed. To make me feel substantial. Real. Sometimes I just feel so cold inside. But as a bonus of having no family, no one can accuse me of having bad taste in men either.
As far as friends go, most of the time I'm bitchy as a matter of principle. It's a chore pretending to be nice to people, most of whom simply annoy me, so I try my damnedest to discourage anyone from thinking they might somehow breach my impenetrable wall of bitchiness in order to be my friend. That isn't to say that I don't have any friends. I do. But we have an unspoken agreement to stay out of each other's personal lives. That's how we like it. And alternating rounds in our favorite watering hole in a very civilized manner helps to reinforce our bond, fragile as it may be.
The chiming of the grandfather clock I lifted from a mansion in the suburbs suddenly shattered my reverie. I checked my watch and grinned.
Showtime.
© 2011 Copyright Tawn Krakowski
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Presented by Tales from Tawnlandia and Barnstormer Publishing