Hell On Heels(11)

“I’d love to go to dinner with you,” I blurted a little louder than I intended. I wanted to nail down my acceptance before he changed his mind.
“I’ll pick you up at seven.” He looked so happy I started to giggle.
“What should I wear?” I asked as my mind raced through my closet.
He got up, gathered his books and whispered in my ear. “Flying clothes. Wear your flying clothes, Dixie.”

Chapter 5
 
“I’m afraid to ask, but what in the Hell happened to your house?” Stella wrinkled her nose and put her hands on her slim hips.
We both looked around my bungalow in dismay. Only days ago it resembled a chic yet cozy high-end home of someone with excellent taste. Now it looked like a house decorated by someone on crack who’d gone to a yard sale.
I shook my head and grimaced. “I didn’t realize how bad it was.”
It was so bad it was almost funny. Almost. It would have been hilarious if I didn’t have to live in it.
“It’s pretty damn awful.”
“It’s a long story, but suffice it to say group therapy got a little violent,” I said.
“How does that explain the butt-ugly furniture?” She sat on my scary new lavender and green tartan plaid couch and bounced up and down. “Hmm, it’s appalling, but at least it’s comfortable.” She moved to the floral chair.
“Myrtle beat the crap out of the therapist over Simon Cowell's man boobs and then all Hell broke loose. They destroyed my house and everything in it, so they brought me new supplies. I hesitate to call it furniture.” I piled six outfits on my brand spankin’ new blonde pressboard dining room table. Stella was here to choose an ensemble for my date.
“Ooo,” Stella squealed as she clapped her hands gleefully. “She nailed the shrink?”
“Yep.” I grinned as I examined several pairs of jeans, wondering which ones Hayden would like the best.
“I always liked Myrtle. Do you want your old furniture back?” she asked as she ran her hands over the super-sized black lacquered Asian-style coffee table. Not only was it shiny, but painted right in the center was a large bloody fire-breathing dragon destroying a village of unsuspecting mortals. The stuff of which nightmares are made.
“I can’t get my old stuff back.” I sighed. “They demolished it. Besides, I don’t have the time or the energy to redecorate my entire house. I leave for Earth soon. I’ll get around to it eventually.”
“But,” Stella interjected. “If you could have it back in its original form. . .would you?”
What was she talking about? “Of course I would, but that’s impossible.”
Stella’s excitement was palpable. “Watch this,” she sang with delight.
She threw her arms into the air and lightening struck inside my small bungalow. I shrieked in terror while Stella cackled like a crazy woman. Every time she flailed her arms a new bolt of lightning struck and thunder roared through the house. The walls trembled and the floor buckled. Sparks flew and bounced off the walls like a meteor shower. I continued to scream until I realized with each crash of lightning the ugly furniture was being replaced with my beautiful old furniture. How in Satan’s name was she doing that?
The violent storm lasted about twenty minutes. When it ended, my home was perfect again. Stella flopped down on my chocolate velvet cushy couch and promptly passed out.
“Dude,” I gasped and poked her. “Are you asleep or dead?”
“Neither.” She refused to open her eyes. “Just exhausted. Did it work?”
“Yes, it worked,” I said as I moved around the room and touched all my stuff. No more scary plaids and florals. No more highly lacquered tables with scenes depicting death and destruction. It was elegant and comfortable.
A thick Persian rug covered the hardwood floors. Chocolate velvet mixed quietly with pale rose silks and creamy coffee linens. Dark hardwoods complemented rich brown leather. It was peaceful. It was mine again.
“How did you do it?” I eased her over and sat down next to her. She was wiped out. I gently pushed her hair back from her face and gave her an arm tickle.
“Ooo.” She happily sighed. “That feels good.”
We’d been giving each other arm and back tickles since first grade. Oftentimes we made it a contest. If you moved, flinched or giggled, you lost. The loser had to tickle the other person. Right now, it was purely for comfort.
“How,” I repeated, “did you do that?” I stared at my wiped out insane best friend.
She pried her eyes open and gave me an exhausted grin. “You like?”
“I like.” I grinned back. “Now explain.”