Dream a Little Dream

Chapter 43

Even with the gas mask over his mouth and nose, Ned Ashton nearly gagged several times as the small motorboat he was in wended its way through what was once the streets of New Orleans.

He'd gotten into town the day before, and had supervised the delivery of ELQ products to the troops and volunteers remaining in the devastated city. In a few hours, the ELQ jet would take him to Houston, where more ELQ toiletries and medicines would be delivered to the Astrodome, where thousands of hurricane survivors were staying.

Ned had managed to talk one of the commanders into letting him take a boat into the neighborhood where the Johnsons lived. The stench in the city was obscene – sewage, gas, dirt and a rotting odor no one wanted to admit smelling.

He'd brought his top-of-the-line digital camera with him, along with a zoom lens. The Johnsons could use those pictures for insurance claims, he thought. But as the boat chugged along, Ned found himself taking picture after picture. A street sign with just the name plaques above the water. A straight shot down a devastated street. Debris floating along. He leaned over the side of the boat to get a picture of a teddy bear snared in tree branches.

“Don't lean out, Mr. Ashton,” said the young soldier driving the boat. Ned pulled back.

“Sorry,” Ned said. “Didn't mean to make it tip.”

“It's not just that,” the soldier said, pointing. Ned looked where he was pointing and saw a squiggle moving across the water not ten feet from the boat.

“Cottonmouth,” said the soldier. Ned made sure he was solidly in the middle of his seat. He took a picture of the snake, and looked around for something else to shoot. Then ...

Ned froze in horror as a human body floated nearby. With a trembling hand, he raised the camera. People need to see this, he thought. This is the reality. After taking the picture, he looked down with tears in his eyes. He looked over at the soldier, whose face was impassive as he radioed the location of the body to his headquarters. He's probably seen so many bodies already that he's had to numb himself to them, Ned thought. I can't imagine what seeing ... and smelling ... this day in, day out must be like.

The boat turned to the left. “This is the street,” the soldier said. Ned's heart sank. Things didn't look good.

“There it is!” Ned said. He saw the house number on the front of the porch roof, barely above the water. The soldier stopped the engine.

“See that black line?” the soldier said, pointing to a line of grime on the siding almost where it met the eaves. “That's where the water was at its highest. Looks like they probably had water in the house almost to the ceilings.”

“It's still standing,” Ned said hopefully.

“Yeah, but it probably got pushed off the foundation a little,” the soldier said. “And this water's not going to be going down very fast. Anything left in the house is ruined. Mold'll start growing everywhere. There's not a house on this street that can be saved.”

Ned sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, the soldier was probably right.

He raised his camera and took more pictures.

* * *

“Hey, Cowboy,” Luke Spencer said, coming down the stairs at Vagabond. “Where are Piph and the folks?”

“They left a little while ago,” Lucky Spencer said as he counted bottles of whiskey in the liquor closet. “Went over to Steve Hardy Park.”

“That's pretty far for Wayne to walk.”

“Epiphany was going to wheel him to the park, then he can walk some there,” Lucky replied. “He needs exercise, or else he'll lose the progress he's made. I'm really glad Aunt Bobbie got Epiphany that job at GH. She can hook him and Celeste up with doctors here until they can go home.”

“Don't know if there's going to be anything to go home to,” Luke said, going to the bar and pouring himself some orange juice and, with a grin, adding a splash of vodka. “Ashton's checking out the situation, to see if the house is still standing. One way or another, they're going to be here for a long, long time.”

“I know Stan's worried about finding a job,” Lucky said as he closed the liquor closet and came over to the bar. “He's young, doesn't have much experience and any experience he has can't be verified right now. And he's still worried about Marcellus. Anything you can find on that end?”

Luke shook his head. “It's total chaos,” he said. “If they're at one of those evacuee shelters, no one can tell me. Maybe Ashton'll have better luck.”

“Hope so,” Lucky said. “I called Robin this morning and asked her to bring some of the gang around tonight for drinks, so Stan can meet them. That way, he won't be totally alone at the Q cookout. Mom coming home for that?”

“She'll be home tomorrow night,” Luke said. “She's staying until Wednesday, to see Lulu through her first day at Port Chuckles High, so she wanted to work this weekend.”

“In the words of my trusted assistant, cool beans,” Lucky said. “Let's do the fall menu.”

They began tossing ideas around, including some suggestions from the chef. Cinnamon-roasted duck with gorgonzola scalloped potatoes and green beans. Bouillabaisse. Filet mignon with a spicy tapenade of olives and peppers with roasted asparagus and fingerling potatoes. Jambalaya. Salmon with black eyed peas and ratatouille. Braised lamb shanks seasoned with Moroccan spices in a chickpea and tomato sauce on top of couscous. Chicken cooked in a Thai red sauce over rice. Butternut squash ravioli with a sage and walnut pesto. Appetizers included spring rolls of curried chicken and vegetables, portabella mushrooms stuffed with crab, mini pizzas topped with shredded barbecued duck and Mexican cream, herbed goat cheese and a mini baguette, and borscht. Desserts were a pear tart, an apple crumble, homemade chocolate gelato spiked with cinnamon, flan, red velvet cake and lemon cheesecake.

“This looks good,” Luke said. “We may be coming here more often when your mom's not around. Gets me out of cooking for Lulu.”

“C'mon, Dad,” Lucky said. “Lulu loves your cooking.”

“Yeah, well, don't tell your mother,” Luke said. “I don't think she considers bacon to be one of the four basic food groups.”

* * *

“A little to the left,” Courtney Matthews said. “Now, lower.”

“Lower?” Jeremy Logan asked.

“The center of the painting should be at your eye level,” Courtney said. “Too many people hang their pictures too high. You can't see them properly if you have to tilt your head back.”

“Okay,” Jeremy said, and shifted the large, unframed abstract canvas a little lower. “Good?”

“Looks good,” Courtney said, marking the wall with a pencil at the top of the canvas. She got out a tape measure and measured where the hooks would hang, and marked them. The workmen would take care of hanging the picture.

They were in Jeremy's penthouse, organizing the few things he'd had delivered from his home near Seattle. The walls of the expansive living space had been painted a soft golden yellow. The guest bedroom was a pale apple green. The guest bathroom was done in a brighter apple green, which would be accented by brown. The home theater was beginning to take shape. The doorway had been redone so you stepped up into the space, and the floor stepped down to allow for theater-like seating facing the screen. Wires hung out of the ceilings and walls, waiting to be hooked up to speakers. The built-ins for the TV and storage for DVDs were halfway finished, done in a rich cherry stain. All the windows would be covered, either with heavy, light-blocking curtains or drywall.

Jeremy had decided on a restful light blue for the bedroom walls, with bedcoverings in the same shade done in duppioni silk, which would carry over into the curtains. The large space off the bedroom would be his home office. The walls were gutted, and wiring for his extensive computer network had just begun.

Up on the rooftop, the large pool had been drained, cleaned and covered for the winter. Jeremy would order new furniture and plants for the space in the spring.

“You didn't bring much back,” Courtney commented, looking at the small pile of packing boxes in the center of the room.

“Nope,” Jeremy said, sitting down on the floor and leaning against a pillar. “Most of what's in the boxes are photo albums and pictures, books, my good crystal, a few of my favorite art pieces, and my mother's things – her mother's wedding china, her favorite knickknacks, her Bible and her favorite books.”

“That's it?”

“Nothing else belonged here,” Jeremy said. “The rustic, earth-toned stuff fit in a Pacific Northwest lodge-type house, but it'd be out of place in an open, modern space like this. And I needed a change – it's like what you did with your clothes. This is part of my fresh start.”

“What other changes do you want to make?” Courtney asked, sitting down and facing him.

“The big one is just getting out more,” Jeremy said. “I never had lots of friends growing up – I was a total dorkwad. Glasses that looked like Coke bottles and made my eyes look buggy, dorky clothes, scrawny, and teeth that probably sent my orthodontist's kid to Harvard. And I loved to play on the computer. The only thing that could have made it worse was if I'd played Dungeons and Dragons. Jeff Webber taught me some boxing, so I could hold my own with the bullies. But I was never popular.”

“Neither was I,” Courtney said.

“Really?” Jeremy said. “You look like you'd be on the homecoming court.”

Courtney laughed bitterly.

“When my mom made a huge score once, she moved us into the best school district she could afford,” Courtney said. “It wasn't super-rich, but it was upper middle class, and those parents didn't want their kids hanging out with the daughter of a con artist. So I didn't have any close friends.”

“And here we are, the two outcasts, probably with more net worth than all our classmates put together,” Jeremy said.

“Revenge is sweet,” Courtney said. “You wouldn't believe all the fundraising letters I get, asking for donations for Dear Alma Mater. Give money to build new stands for worshiping the football players, like the guys who thought I would be easy because of my mother, and still spread rumors when they found out I wasn't? I think not.”

“Forgiveness is hard, but it's the best thing, that's what Mom always said,” Jeremy said. Courtney looked away and smothered a snort.

“Forgiving's one thing, giving that place money to maintain their smug status quo is another,” she said.

“Anyway,” Jeremy continued, sensing it was a sore subject for Courtney and that it'd be a good idea to move along, “I'd like to have fun here. Having the family around is a big help for that, and friends.”

Courtney smiled, hiding her nervousness. She already regretted her bitter outburst. Such revealings not only made her look bad, but made her feel vulnerable.

* * *

The Astrodome floor was a sea of humanity. Ned stared, trying to calculate how many people now only had this abandoned sports arena to call home.

ELQ trucks were unloading medicines and toiletries into the storage areas. Volunteers would distribute the toiletries to the crowd, while the medical supplies would be stored for the doctors and nurses.

“Do you think you can find him if he's here?” Ned asked, looking skeptically over the crowd.

“If he's here, he's registered,” the volunteer said. “What was his name again?”

“Washington,” Ned said. “Marcellus Washington.”

Several keystrokes and mouse clicks followed. “Aha!” the volunteer said. “Here he is. There's a Donella Washington with him, his wife?”

“Should be his mother,” Ned said. “How do we find them?”

“I'll have a look around,” the volunteer said. “You wait over in that office, I'll bring him to you.”

Marcellus sat on his cot, looking at his mother, who lay on her side, staring at nothing. She often remained like that for hours. A volunteer approached.

“Marcellus, there's someone here to see you,” she said.

“Me?” Marcellus asked in surprise. Donella sat up, too. “Who?” she asked.

“I don't know,” the volunteer said. “I think he's some bigwig who has something to do with some medical supplies that were delivered here today. Either way, he asked to see you. I'll wait here with your mother until you get back. He's in an office right past that entry over there, where the end zone used to be.”

Ned was sitting on the edge of a desk when Marcellus walked in.

“I'm Marcellus Washington, you were looking for me?” he said, looking warily at Ned.

“Hi,” Ned said, offering his hand. “I'm Ned Ashton. Your friend, Stan Johnson, wanted me to look for you when I came down here.”

“Stan!” Marcellus' face relaxed a bit. “He and his folks all right? They get to Port Charles okay?”

“Yes to both,” Ned said. “My brother, Dillon, helped them move in. The Spencers put them up in some apartments over their restaurant. Did you want to call him? Use my phone, I know he'd be glad to hear from you. I programmed the number in.”

“Thanks, Mr. Ashton,” Marcellus said, taking the phone Ned offered. Ned smiled and walked towards the door.

“No need to leave,” Marcellus said flatly. “Might as well hear it.”

* * *

Stan Johnson turned off his cell phone and sat on his mother's bed for several minutes, trying to absorb what he'd just heard. He'd gone in the bedroom when he got the call from Marcellus, because his mother and grandparents kept excitedly peppering him with questions so that he couldn't hear what Marcellus was saying.

He got up and slowly walked into the living room.

“Baby, what is it?” Epiphany asked with alarm.

“Oh, Mama,” Stan said in a choking voice. “You were right to get us out.”

“What happened?” Celeste demanded.

Stan told them of Marcellus' harrowing ordeal. Their home was battered by the storm, but had stayed together. The morning after, he and his father were outside cleaning up the damage when they noticed water coming towards them – fast. Marcellus' father, Curtis, grabbed Marcellus and pulled him into the house and slammed the door. Less than five minutes later, water was lapping at the top step of their front porch. The family scrambled into the attic with just the clothes on their backs and the emergency backpacks they'd packed ahead of time with a change of clothes, some cash, and some bottled water in each. Donella had also grabbed her purse; Curtis had grabbed the shovel he was using to clear debris from the yard. Marcellus had kept his wallet in the zipper pocket of his sweatpants.

It seemed mere moments before the water was swirling just a few feet below them, and was continuing to rise. Curtis, seeing the attic would soon be a deathtrap, smashed open the fire hatch on the roof with the shovel. He ordered Marcellus to go first, so he could help Donella up onto the roof. Marcellus scrambled out, and saw the water rising almost at his feet. Donella quickly followed. Marcellus got her settled on the ridge of the roof, and turned to help his father. At that instant, Curtis slipped and fell into the churning waters. Donella screamed, Marcellus scrambled down the roof to reach him, but all he saw was a hand reaching out from the water, and his father was gone.

Donella screamed and cried until darkness. Marcellus held tight to her through that long, terrible night, and the steaming, searing, endless day that followed. Then, just as he was gearing up to spend another night on the roof, a rescue helicopter spotted them. Marcellus and Donella spent a horrific day outside the convention center with no food or water before being brought to Houston.

“Good ... God,” Wayne said, and blew his nose.

“That poor boy,” Epiphany whispered, wiping her eyes.

“Curtis was a good man,” Celeste said. “He died as he lived, taking care of his family. I know he's safe at home with Jesus now. It's Marcellus and Donella who need our prayers.”

Epiphany and Wayne follwed Celeste's lead and bowed their heads. After a moment, Stan did, too, not wanting his pious grandmother to see the doubts and questions in his eyes.

* * *

Marcellus turned off the phone and handed it back to Ned.

“I'm so sorry,” Ned said in a husky voice. “Your father sounds like a strong, brave man.”

Marcellus smiled sadly. “He was, thanks.”

“What are you going to do now?” Ned asked.

“I have to take care of my mother,” Marcellus said. “She's been in some kind of daze since Dad ... disappeared. The doctors called it 'post-traumatic stress.' Her sister lives in St. Louis. I called her and she wants us to come. I think it'll be good for Mama to be with family.”

“What about you?” Ned asked. “What sort of job did you have before the storm.”

Marcellus laughed bitterly.

“A sweet waitering gig in the French Quarter,” he said. “I figured, work about two years, and two Mardis Gras, and I'd have enough to go to trucking school. That's my dream, to be a trucker. I thought I was finally on my way. Guess I'll figure something else out.”

Ned reached into his pocket and took out his wallet.

“No, please,” Marcellus said. “I can't take money. I've got nothing, and I'm living in a shelter, eating donated food and wearing someone else's castoff clothes. I can't take anything else right now.”

Ned nodded, then wrote something on one of his business cards and held it out.

“I understand,” he said. “But take this. My company has a warehouse in St. Louis. When you get there, call the person I put down on the back and tell him I sent you, and to call me if he has any questions. If there's an opening there, it's yours if you want it. And we train our own truckers. I'll call him when I get back and tell him to be on the lookout for you.”

Marcellus' eyes widened. “You're – you're serious?” he said. “Thanks, but ... why are you doing this? Some sort of rich guy's guilt?”

Ned shrugged. “Why? Because I can,” he said. “I was in New Orleans earlier. After seeing that, how can I not do something, you know? I've got to go back to Port Charles and tell your friends that their home is destroyed. I can't do anything about that, but I can do something for their friends. So, when will you get to St. Louis?”

“Who knows?” Marcellus said with a shrug. “They're still figuring out who's here, and trying to coordinate buses and stuff. It could be days, a week, I don't know. My main concern is Mama. This place, I'm grateful and all, but it's just not good for her.”

“Then come with me now,” Ned said. Marcellus stared.

“Look, my company flew me down here,” Ned said. “I can call the pilot and tell him to chart a course for St. Louis. We can have your mother there by bedtime. What do ya say?”

“I say ... yeah!” Marcellus said, hope flashing in his eyes for the first time since the storm. “I'll take help for her sake. Wait here and let me get her. Thank you, Mr. Ashton, thank you.”

“Call me Ned,” Ned said. “And, thank you, Marcellus.”

“For what?”

“For letting me do something,” Ned said.

* * *

“Good pie,” Ric Lansing said.

“I think it's the bacon,” Elizabeth Webber said as she picked another piece of pizza out of the box. They were sitting on the couch at his apartment.

“Everything's better either dipped in chocolate or wrapped in bacon,” Ric quipped. Elizabeth laughed.

“A good philosophy,” she said. “So, what did you get for us for tonight?”

Ric leaned over and picked up the pile of DVDs.

“Casablanca, Rear Window, The Thin Man and Animal House,” he said.

“Oh, my God, it has to be Animal House!” Elizabeth said, giggling. “I can't believe I threw up in front of Dean Wormer!”

“Face it, bud, you threw up on Dean Wormer!” Ric chimed in. He popped the DVD into the player.

At the end of the movie, they were curled up on the couch weak from laughter.

“I hope I never get to old to love that movie,” Ric said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, let's face it, the Deltas were total miscreants,” Ric said. “A good, grown-up DA should be wagging his finger – peeping Toms, animal abuse, destruction of property, public drunkeness, contributing to the delinquency of a minor, causing a riot. But, God help me, it still cracks me up.”

“Me, too,” Elizabeth said.

“Was college anything like that for you?” Ric asked.

“God, no!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “First of all, I was living with Gran, so no partying all the time for me. Then, my sophomore year, that's when Lucky was taken and we all thought he was dead. I spent the next year just going through the motions. I shut everything out except school, my family and my closest friends – Gia, Emily, Karen, Robin. Then Lucky came back, and there was all the drama that went with that. The next thing I knew, I'd gotten my degree and was a nurse. What about you?”

“I was in a fraternity,” Ric said. “Delta Kappa Epsilon. My dad really wanted me to get into one of the secret societies like Skull and Bones, but I wasn't interested.”

“Why did your dad want that?”

“Because it meant I'd be associating with people who would one day be major players in business and government,” Ric said. “Remember, he had high hopes for me. I think he saw me as the next Jack Kennedy or something.”

“Is he disappointed?” Elizabeth asked.

“If he is, he hides it well,” Ric said. “He may hold onto the hope being the DA here'll be a springboard into politics, or maybe becoming a judge and eventually a Supreme Court Justice. But even if that doesn't happen, he's proud of the work I do. He made sure when we brought Corinthos and the Five Families down, it got into the alumni magazine.”

“Well, he should be proud,” Elizabeth said. “I know I am.”

Ric smiled and caressed her cheek. “That means more than anything else,” he whispered.

Elizabeth nuzzled her cheek against his hand, then kissed it. Ric felt a shiver come up his arm. Elizabeth smiled, and kissed each fingertip. Ric stared, transfixed, as she took his index finger into her mouth. He could barely breathe. Seeing the effect on Ric sent a thrill through Elizabeth that also made her feel powerful, aggressive. She leaned into him until he was on his back on the couch and kissed him, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Then she kissed her way down his bare chest until she reached his belt buckle. Gazing into his eyes, she unbuckled it. Then, her gaze still locked on Ric, she bent over him.

“Oh, God, Elizabeth!” Ric panted, his hand caressing her back then moving lower. Her moan nearly sent him over the edge. Sensing it, Elizabeth stood up, and held her hand out to him, then led him into the bedroom. She finished disrobing him, then gently pushed him on the bed. He lay there, looking on in adoration, as she slowly stripped for him. Every inch of creamy flesh revealed had him breathing harder.

When she lay next to him, he rewarded her with a kiss that left her aching for more. He obliged, his gentle hands stirring feelings she never dreamed possible. “Please, Ric ... I need you,” she whispered. Ric blindly reached into his bedside drawer for a condom, which she rolled on with trembling hands. He moved towards her, but she stopped him with a soft “No.” Then she straddled him.

Ric thought he had never seen anything so beautiful as what he saw looking up at Elizabeth in the time that followed. She moved slowly at first, looking down with a soft smile. Soon, she was panting softly and moved faster. Her moans were sweet music in his ears. Her eyes shining with passion, her movements brought him to the brink and back. Again, back to the brink, and then she slowed down. Finally, she couldn't hold back. They tumbled over the edge together, their sounds of ecstasy fading into soft mews of joy.

Ric held her close as they came down. “I .. have ... never ... felt ... anything ... like ... that,” he gasped. Elizabeth could only purr in agreement. He kissed her forehead.

They lay their quietly getting their breath. Ric was so wonderful, Elizabeth thought. She loved how he looked into her eyes with such openness. And she trusted him implicitly in bed, something she hadn't felt since Lucky and getting over ...

No, she thought. Not tonight.

Maybe I should tell him, another voice in her head said. He'd understand. He's so good and loving. She sternly crushed the voice of conscience back. No. It'll destroy everything. He'll never look at me the same. It's over. It's in the past. It's not going to stain my future.

She nestled into Ric's chest and fell asleep. Ric stared down at her in awe, amazed at his good fortune and happiness.

* * *

The dawn's early light was still behind the horizon when Ned unlocked the back door of the cottage.

He'd just flown into Port Charles from Houston, dropping Marcellus and Donella off in St. Louis. Because the ELQ jet was a private flight, they were able to deplane in a more private area away from the crush of the commercial crowd. Ned's eyes misted as he remembered Donella slumping into her sister's arms, sobbing in grief and relief.

“Don't forget to call that guy,” Ned had said to Marcellus.

“I won't,” Marcellus replied. “And thanks again, Ned. Getting out of there was the best thing for my mom. I think she'll be okay ... in time.”

Despite the time and distance, the stench of New Orleans clung to Ned. He sniffed his shirt sleeve – yuck! He turned the light on in the mudroom and quickly undressed. Naked, he dumped all his clothes into the washer, then followed with the clothes in the duffel bag and the duffel itself. After starting the washer, he put his shoes out on the back porch to air, and went upstairs to shower.

The steam seemed to intensify the stench and Ned gagged for a few minutes before scrubbing his skin with a shower puff and bath gel. He washed and rinsed three times, then did the same for his hair, and finally shaved.

Day was just breaking as he dried off and collapsed under the sheets. He didn't move for the next seven hours.

Ned was walking down the stairs in his bathrobe and a pair of gym shorts when Brooke Lynn walked through the front door.

“Hi, Dad!” she said. “You look ... like hell.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I just got back from there.”

“How was it?”

“Let me have about ten cups of coffee, put the clothes in the dryer, and I'll tell you about it,” Ned replied.

Brooke put the coffee on while he tended to the laundry, and made him a whole-wheat English muffin with peanut butter. “Thanks,” he said with a grateful smile as she served him his breakfast. He ate silently, looking out the window and marveling at the tranquil beauty of the woods beyond the cottage.

“What are you looking at?” Brooke asked. Ned gestured at the view.

“Just that,” he said. “You take things like that for granted – trees, green things, everything looking ... normal.”

“Sounds like what you saw was anything but normal,” Brooke said. Ned gave a brief account of traveling the streets by boat.

“I thought I'd landed in some third-world country,” Ned said. “I couldn't believe this had happened here, in America. It's like looking out that window and seeing the trees all askew, and water hiding all the usual landmarks until you don't know which way is up. And the smell ... oh, God, Brooke, the smell...” He shuddered and put his head in his hands.

“What was it like?”

“Go out on the back porch and smell the shoes there,” Ned said. Brooke went through the mudroom and opened the back door.

“Holy sh–!” she gasped before stopping herself from swearing in front of her dad. She slammed the door.

“Yep, that was part of the smell, too,” Ned said wryly. “And that's after airing all morning.”

“Wow,” Brooke said, sitting back down.

“All around us was death,” Ned said, sipping his coffee. “Homes dying from flood waters, and later on, mold. Neighborhoods dying because everyone's scattered. And dead animals floating by on the water ... and people,” he choked.

“Oh, Dad!” Brooke cried.

Ned reached over and picked up his camera. “It's all here,” he said. “Look.”

They were silent for several minutes, except for gasps from Brooke.

“Is this the house that belongs to Lulu's friends?” Brooke asked. Ned nodded.

“I have to go tell them today that it's probably completely ruined,” Ned said. “Not only did they lose their home, but they lost their community and at least one of their friends.”

Ned told Brooke about Marcellus, Curtis and Donella.

“Oh, Dad,” Brooke whimpered softly. “Those poor people. What can we do?”

“Get involved,” Ned said. “Give blood. School starts next week, see about fundraising.”

“Uncle Alan invited the Johnsons to the cookout,” Brooke said. “And the mom, the one who used to babysit Lucky, is going to be a nurse at GH.”

Ned smiled. “That's really good of Alan,” he said. “Well, I guess I better go see them. I can't put it off any longer.”