Electra I
Carrie was a dream guest. We touched on life as a sylph, what it’s like to be bid on, some celebrity stuff, and how she had dealt with being a manic depressive inside an aquarium. “Ever try climbing the walls when the walls are glass? It’s hard!”
I almost never wanted the conversation to end, but all too soon the lights started to flicker. We said goodbye, and I walked her to the door. Her daughter waited with the coolest carrier I’ve ever seen.
It was The Death Star.
Four times the size of my carrier, it rested on a slightly flattened bottom, and there were two hatches. A hidden one on the bottom where she could climb in and out, and the superlaser crater opened into a doorway a human hand could fit through.
“That’s….so COOOOOOL!” I drooled.
“A fan made it,” Carrie said. Then she kissed me on the cheek and ran off.
Stunned, I turned to see Kerri waiting on the porch swing. “I, uh… Hi!”
“I get knitted blankets from my fans,” Kerri said cheerfully. “But I’m only a little famous…”
“I get requests for naked pictures of myself,” I replied. We went inside. “I wanted to take you up to the talking pit.” I turned to a camera, talking as I walked. “The upper floor’s kind of a den, library, conversation pit.”
Conrad and I had rehearsed this part the most of anything. I kept talking directly to the camera, talking about my inspiration for the space, where I got the scrolls, which scrolls I chose.
He manipulated the views so the audience saw me. He didn’t want to show Kerri on the stairs. She can look a little ungainly, and we both respect her too much for that.
Of course, we decided this before she started wearing kilts. I’d have to see her on the stairs before the next time she was on the show.
The camera picked her up again as she cleared the last step and walked over to the nearest sofa. We sat there and talked.
“Oh, this is such a groovy pad, Electra.”
“You’re NOT old enough to use ‘groovy pad,’ Kerri,” I protested.
“Thank you, sweetie!” She hugged me.
We talked about her book tour, and her idea for a new strip. I was fascinated. I hadn’t heard anything about this until right then.
“They’re a blended family, really,” she explained. “A man who owns a sylph dates a woman who owns a sylph. They hit it off, because they’re tired of the assumptions people always make about other people’s sylphs.”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “I mean, Conrad doesn’t date, but we’ve had people on the show talk about it. They complain if-“
“Conrad doesn’t date?” Kerri asked.
“Um. No?” I said. It was just a fact of life. We haven’t talked about it, and I have never tried to influence my owner’s sex life. At least, not the human side. But I suspect two things.
One, I believe he’s had a crush on me since about 6th grade (It was Sheila Jones in the 5th grade.). He owns me now and that might be enough for him.
And two, I suspect that Chrissy Obrien got him in a headlock or something and said, “If you ever hurt her, I will find out, and I will make you pay.”
Anyway, he hasn’t even been paired with a woman since he was one of the ushers at Chip and Chrissy’s wedding. He escorted one of the bridesmaids to the rehearsal dinner.
But that’s just between us. “From what I hear, though,” I said, “they complain if he doesn’t keep you naked. They complain if he overdresses you. They complain if he won’t put you on a Passion Cake.”
“And if he won’t let them hold you,” Kerri said. “And especially if he won’t let them play dress-up with the little costume they brought, JUST for you.”
We giggled over the silliness of non-owners. She returned to the strip. “But see, THEY make an assumption, too. They figure because they hit it off, their pets will, too.”
“And they don’t?”
“Working title, Living With The Weirdo. Each sylph thinks the others bizarre.”
“I can’t wait to see it!” I said. The lights flickered, then, and Kerri had to go.
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Index
125. Kerri H
127. Annie K