A Kiss To Build A Dream On - Season 2: Bridge

Waltz For Zizi - Andante Moderato

Henry's smoking room was an ode to indulgence. Rich velvet curtains adorned every window in deep burgundy, combining with the dual sofas against the walls. A glass coffee table with worn-out books on top, mostly for aesthetic purposes, held ashtrays for easy access.

Not even that room was outside of the grasp of Zizi's artistic prowess, sporting at least three different ink paintings, ranging from the bizarre to the macabre. Of course, a fully equipped bar was also at hand, as well as a humidor and the occasional bowl of cashew nuts.

An old wooden radio played an upbeat blues, with the raspy voice of Louis Armstrong above every instrument. The smoke of his cigar, mixed with the oaken flavor of the whiskey in his mouth, left a musky aftertaste on his tongue. An acquired taste that took him years to develop.

Murray was the first one to speak, as always. "So, she seems to be holding up nicely."

"Who?"

"Zizi? Your wife. Small, big eyes, smells like mint and peaches."

"I know, I know. Yes, she's fine," said Henry dismissively while flicking the cigar over the ashtray. "But, the new medicine is making her a bit..."

"Wonky?" said Murray.

"I was going to say 'off,'" blurted Henry, cutting Murray off, "but yes, I suppose that would be fair to say. She stays awake longer, and according to Jennifer and Jacob, her narcolepsy episodes have been reduced. She does seem to suffer some disorientation after waking up."

Murray sipped on his glass, savoring the taste for a moment. "Well, I'll tell the flying monkeys at the lab to adjust the formula. Still, can't shake the feeling that we are using her as a guinea pig."

Murray was not entirely wrong.

Zizi was suffering from chronic narcolepsy, with cataplexy attacks. That means that whenever she had strong emotions, be it laughter, dread, anxiety, anything, she suffered a sudden loss of control in her muscles, turning the person into a human ragdoll. A loss controls, all in the snap of a finger. What a dreadful life.

Could it be fixed? No. Just controlled by a parade of pills she had to take every morning to make sure she didn't remember anything funny while walking down the stairs and cracking her bones when her brain decides it's automatic sleepy-time. But Henry was doing the best he could to at least reduce the number of pills she took every morning.

That he could make some money out of it was a nice extra. Of course, all off the books. The FDA would've never approved such tests.

"You do that. Did you bring the revised speech for tomorrow?" Henry was not much for idle chat. All business, no play.

"Shit. Knew I had forgotten something. It's on my desk. I'll call somebody to bring it up."

While Murray fiddled with his phone, a head peeked over the door, with another, smaller head peeking beneath it. "Knock knock," said Zizi. "Dinner is ready, boys. Wash your hands before sitting down. And crack open a window, it's getting stuffy in here."

Giggling like a little kid entering a treehouse with a "No girls allowed" sign, she opened one of the window panes. She gasped at the view of the snowy street as the tracks of passing cars marked the fresh snow.

There, seeing her astonished over something he so utterly despised, Henry thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Then, why did he cheat on her? And that is the sour feeling swirling in his stomach.

She suddenly bolted out of the room, making Henry yell at her down the hallway. "Hey, slow down! You'll get hurt!"

"Can't!" said Zizi, turning around while walking backward, "need to make a Snow Angel while the snow is soft and new!"