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======================Fluff the Tragic Dragonby Laura Resnick======================Copyright (c)1992 Laura ResnickFirst published in Dragon Fantastic, DAW Books, April 1992Fictionwise ContemporaryFantasy---------------------------------NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the purchaser. If you did not purchase this ebook directly from Fictionwise.com then you are in violation of copyright law and are subject to severe fines. Please visit www.fictionwise.com to purchase a legal copy. Fictionwise.com offers a reward for information leading to the conviction of copyright violators of Fictionwise ebooks.---------------------------------"Esther, dear, there's a dragon in the basement," said Mrs. Pearl.I climbed up the rain-splattered steps outside the apartment building on West 93rd Street as I perused the casting announcements in _Backstage_. "Hmmm?""I said there's a dragon in the basement," Mrs. Pearl repeated."That's nice." _Backstage_ proved to be just as depressing as I had feared. Since I couldn't type and I had already failed miserably at telephone sales, I would probably have to go back to waiting tables again."I went down to the basement with a load of laundry," Mrs. Pearl said excitedly, "and when I was putting my quarters into the machine, one of them rolled away. Well, dear, you know that I always say if you watch out for the pennies, the dollars will take care of themselves."I looked up to see her standing in the doorway. Her little tote-cart was full of groceries and took up whatever part of the entrance that her not inconsiderable bulk didn't."Yes, you _do_ always say that, Mrs. Pearl," I said mildly. "Can I get by?""So when my quarter rolled away, naturally I went after it.""Oh, good, Mrs. Pearl. I'm glad you got it back. Now, could I just get through here? My feet are killing me, and -- ""But I _didn't_ get it, Esther. That's the point.""I'm sure you'll find it tomorrow, then.""No." She positioned herself in the doorway as if she planned to take root there. "I'm afraid I may never get it back.""Well, that's too bad, but you know what all the tenants say about the greedy basement troll," I said lightly, trying unsuccessfully to get by. Things were always disappearing from our basement -- coins, coffee cups, articles of clothing. The washing machine had apparently eaten my favorite T-shirt two months earlier."It's not a troll that's living down there," she cried, moving with a pro basketball player's agility to block my way again. "It's a dragon!""Mrs. Pearl," I said, trying to maintain an even tone, "I've been pounding the pavement since first thing this morning. I've spent the day waiting in humid, stuffy, un-airconditioned rehearsal halls, auditioning before casting directors with faces so stony they could grace Mount Rushmore, and wondering how I'll pay not only this month's rent, but last month's rent, too. Now I'm drenched from this charming summer shower we've just had, and the one thing I want out of life is to go upstairs to my apartment, take off my shoes, and die in peace on my own couch. And if you will either go in or come out so that I can accomplish that feat, I will _give_ you a quarter to replace the one you lost. What could be fairer than that?"Mrs. Pearl's doughy face looked disapproving beneath her blue hair. "No wonder you're always having financial trouble. You'll never hang onto your money by giving it away.""I'm not _always_ having financial trouble," I snapped. The hell with maintaining an even tone. "Just lately." After a six month regional tour and lots of heady anticipation about our New York opening, the show I was in -- a musical based on _Clan of the Cave Bear_ -- had folded after only four weeks on Broadway.I, like everyone else in the cast, had anticipated that it would be a big success and that I could count on a pleasant interlude of regular income. Unfortunately, _Clan_ had instead proved to be the greatest Broadway debacle since _Shogun_. Considering that the New York theater community had given the previous year's Tony Award to a show with singing cows, I had thought they would welcome singing Neanderthals with open arms, but such was not the case.So there I was, still out of work more than three months later and completely broke. Having expected to be steadily employed for a while, I had finally invested in some furniture for my one-bedroom apartment, some clothes for myself, and even a motorcycle for my Significant Other after his had died. He used the new one to pick up another woman. The next time I spend my last fifteen hundred dollars on a man, someone should throw me up against a wall and beat me with a lead pipe."I'm sorry, Mrs. Pearl," I apologized wanly, trying to forestall a lecture on how to run my life. "I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just that things haven't been going so well lately. Summer is a lousy time to be in the city anyhow, but it's a _horrendous_ time to be looking for acting work. And when I got cast in _Clan_, I really thought that my table-waiting days were behind me at last.""Yes, and I'm sure that losing Lloyd to a younger woman hasn't helped," said Mrs. Pearl, whose sympathy is something of a double-edged sword.I sighed. "Thank you for those comforting words, Mrs. Pearl. Now can I go upstairs?""But aren't you concerned about the dragon in the basement?""The dragon in the basement?" I repeated. "Do you mean a member of one of those gangs, like the Pell Street Dragons or something?""No, no, not a gangster. A large, fire-breathing lizard with wings. You know." She made a bizarre attempt to demonstrate by imitation. "A _dragon_.""In the basement," I said."Living down there, on a level below the laundry room, in caverns of primordial darkness and gloom.""A dragon? Living below the laundry room? What makes you think that?" I asked, as if there could be a good reason."He spoke to me.""Indeed?""Yes. My quarter rolled under the stairs. When I followed it, I found an old, rusty, dusty door built into the wall. I thought my quarter must have rolled into the crack under the door, so naturally I pried it open.""Naturally." Prying has always come naturally to Mrs. Pearl."There's a series of steep iron stairs behind the door." She lowered her voice, and it took on a dramatic intensity I might have admired in other circumstances. "I started down the steps, and then..."Hey, I'm an actress, I know a cue when I hear one. "What happened then?""I heard a voice coming from far below me, from the bowels of the very earth it seemed.""Uh-huh." Subway tunnel, no doubt."I said, 'Who's there?'""And lo, there came a voice.""Yes!""Really?" A homeless person, perhaps? "What did it say?""I'm not sure. It was sort of muffled.""I see.""So I descended another step.""Wait a minute! Are you nuts, Mrs. Pearl? You don't want to mess around in old tunnels in this city. You could have been hurt.""And as I continued downward, step by step, becoming enveloped in darkness -- ""Good God.""Suddenly, there was a great heaving sound, and then a burst of fire shot across the ceiling of this cavern -- ""I'm calling the police," I said firmly, trying to push past her. "We could all be murdered while sorting our colors."She got a good stranglehold on me and kept talking. "And I saw his shape outlined in the darkness, highlighted by the fire pouring from his nostrils.""What?""He had a great lizard-like head, with square nostrils and tiny, pointed ears, a long, serpentine body, an enormous tail, vestigial wings, claws..." She shuddered and released me. After a moment of profound silence, she added wistfully, "He did have a certain strange, horrific beauty about him though..."Poor Mrs. Pearl. She was clearly the victim of too many episodes _of Beauty and the Beast_. Taking one of her trembling, clammy hands into my own, I asked, "What did you do then?""I went to the grocery store.""You what?" It seemed rather anti-climactic."Well, we were out of a few things," she explained matter-of-factly."But... what about this fire breathing dragon you had just seen?"She placed a hand on her bosom, which heaved alarmingly. I suddenly wished I knew CPR. "Oh, Esther, what are we going to _do_?""I think you'd better tell this whole story to Mr. Pearl. I'm sure he'll know what to do." If he had any sense, he'd have her evaluated immediately.I stepped past her at last and, finally free to go my own way, I climbed four flights of stairs to my apartment, took off my shoes, and lay down to die. A knock on my door interrupted my nap a couple of hours later. "Who is it?" I called groggily.It was my neighbor, Arnaud. His real name is Arnold, but when he opened his own hair salon, he felt that _Arnaud! _ in red neon had a certain quality that _Arnold! _ somehow lacked. Arnaud works out every day and is a damn good-looking guy. His lover Scott, who's a model who's always off on location somewhere, is even better looking.I let Arnaud into my apartment and said, "Are you a weekday widow, again?" When Scott is away, Arnaud practically lives with me. He apparently has some kind of phobia about being alone in closed spaces. A therapist is currently linking the problem to a past life experience.Arnaud nodded with noticeable agitation before adding rapidly, ... [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]