These Dreams of You

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In the driveway of the house, she stops the car aghast. The abode is Southern Californian Egyptian — white pyramid with gas jets at the top spouting fire, a flaming sarcophagus. When she rings the doorbell, the woman who answers coolly appraises Jasmine half a minute before letting her in.

“Why did they send you?” asks Anna, lit joint between her fingers as the two black women make their way down the hall. She considers her manners long and hard before offering it. “No, thanks,” says Jasmine. “I think they thought I might help.”

“I’m sure they did,” the other woman says, “but let me be fucking direct. His pasty white English ass likes the sisters. There was one before me and may be one after but it sure as shit isn’t going to be you.”

“That’s not what I’m here for.”

“Groovy, but wake up. That’s why they sent you.”

“The last thing they want is more drama. They’re worried about him.”