Then what?
The dreams were hokey, but if she overlooked the bad scripts and concentrated on the two main characters—Paul and herself—what were the dreams telling her?
Each dream seemed to point out different nuances of Paul's personality. They had shown her things about him that had surprised her because of her admittedly prejudiced view of him. She had seen his hu-
mor and spirit in the Roman dream, his fire and sensuality in the twenties dream, his tenderness and vulnerability in the Western dream.
Why? she asked herself, her brow creasing with the depths of her concentration. Why had she been shown these things?
Leah shook her head helplessly. She simply didn't know. To make it even more confusing, reality had begun to reinforce what she had seen in the dreams. She had seen his humor the night they had dinner together. She had seen his tenderness when he talked to the little boy on the escalator.
And his fire? His sensuality?
Moaning, she buried her face in her knees again. Please—no, she thought in desperation. She definitely didn't want to see the sensuality. Enough was enough.
Stop it, you idiot, she told herself sternly. Think!
Leaning her head back against the chair, she rubbed her chin thoughtfully with her knuckles. Could it be that she had subconsciously picked up on facets of Paul's personality without being aware of it? Maybe she was merely playing back the hidden information in her dreams.
She shifted restlessly. That was a definite possibility. But why now? And why were the dreams showing her things about herself that were totally opposed to reality?
Or were they simply opposed to her idea of reality? she wondered in confusion. Reluctantly she admitted that the original attraction she had felt for Paul was
still there, and just as strong as ever. The crazy dreams had forced her to face up to that. But sacrificing her security and even her life for love? Was the potential for that kind of thing really buried somewhere in her subconscious?
And again, why now? she asked herself stubbornly. And why did the dreams take such a peculiar form? They all had seemed like silly little fragments from old, low-budget movies.
She sat up straighter. Movies? she thought, frowning.
Her feet slid to the floor, and there was a stunned look on her face as she absently pushed the hair from her forehead. Movies. Each of the dreams had come on a night when she had worked late. And every time she had worked late she had—
Jumping from the chair, she ran to the living room and jerked open the cabinet that held the videotapes. She ran a finger over the small stack that she had already played, working from the bottom up. For Caesar We Die... G-Men: The Chicago Story... Cattle Country.
For a long time Leah simply stood staring at them. Then she began to laugh. She laughed so hard that she slumped to the floor in front of the cabinet to keep from falling. Tears streamed down her face, and every time she tried to pull herself together, she would glance at the tapes, and the whole thing would start over again.
All that intense soul-searching for naught, she thought, shaking her head helplessly. She had been
trying to find some deep, psychological meaning in the dreams, when all along they had been nothing more than a combination of overwork, an understandable but hidden attraction to Paul, and the old movies she always played while she worked.
Drawing in a shaky breath, she rose to her feet and closed the cabinet doors. When she recognized just how overwhelming her relief was, Leah knew how much those dreams had been worrying her.
"From now on," she murmured ruefully, "I'll listen to the radio when I work late."
In the next few months Leah listened to the radio a lot. As she had expected, there were no more dreams, but she barely had time to notice. The candidates for the San Francisco job had been narrowed down to three, and she was still in the running. She had the advantage of being in the home office, while the
The dreams were hokey, but if she overlooked the bad scripts and concentrated on the two main characters—Paul and herself—what were the dreams telling her?
Each dream seemed to point out different nuances of Paul's personality. They had shown her things about him that had surprised her because of her admittedly prejudiced view of him. She had seen his hu-
mor and spirit in the Roman dream, his fire and sensuality in the twenties dream, his tenderness and vulnerability in the Western dream.
Why? she asked herself, her brow creasing with the depths of her concentration. Why had she been shown these things?
Leah shook her head helplessly. She simply didn't know. To make it even more confusing, reality had begun to reinforce what she had seen in the dreams. She had seen his humor the night they had dinner together. She had seen his tenderness when he talked to the little boy on the escalator.
And his fire? His sensuality?
Moaning, she buried her face in her knees again. Please—no, she thought in desperation. She definitely didn't want to see the sensuality. Enough was enough.
Stop it, you idiot, she told herself sternly. Think!
Leaning her head back against the chair, she rubbed her chin thoughtfully with her knuckles. Could it be that she had subconsciously picked up on facets of Paul's personality without being aware of it? Maybe she was merely playing back the hidden information in her dreams.
She shifted restlessly. That was a definite possibility. But why now? And why were the dreams showing her things about herself that were totally opposed to reality?
Or were they simply opposed to her idea of reality? she wondered in confusion. Reluctantly she admitted that the original attraction she had felt for Paul was
still there, and just as strong as ever. The crazy dreams had forced her to face up to that. But sacrificing her security and even her life for love? Was the potential for that kind of thing really buried somewhere in her subconscious?
And again, why now? she asked herself stubbornly. And why did the dreams take such a peculiar form? They all had seemed like silly little fragments from old, low-budget movies.
She sat up straighter. Movies? she thought, frowning.
Her feet slid to the floor, and there was a stunned look on her face as she absently pushed the hair from her forehead. Movies. Each of the dreams had come on a night when she had worked late. And every time she had worked late she had—
Jumping from the chair, she ran to the living room and jerked open the cabinet that held the videotapes. She ran a finger over the small stack that she had already played, working from the bottom up. For Caesar We Die... G-Men: The Chicago Story... Cattle Country.
For a long time Leah simply stood staring at them. Then she began to laugh. She laughed so hard that she slumped to the floor in front of the cabinet to keep from falling. Tears streamed down her face, and every time she tried to pull herself together, she would glance at the tapes, and the whole thing would start over again.
All that intense soul-searching for naught, she thought, shaking her head helplessly. She had been
trying to find some deep, psychological meaning in the dreams, when all along they had been nothing more than a combination of overwork, an understandable but hidden attraction to Paul, and the old movies she always played while she worked.
Drawing in a shaky breath, she rose to her feet and closed the cabinet doors. When she recognized just how overwhelming her relief was, Leah knew how much those dreams had been worrying her.
"From now on," she murmured ruefully, "I'll listen to the radio when I work late."
In the next few months Leah listened to the radio a lot. As she had expected, there were no more dreams, but she barely had time to notice. The candidates for the San Francisco job had been narrowed down to three, and she was still in the running. She had the advantage of being in the home office, while the
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