Zoe Rosenthal Is Not Lawful Good

by Nancy Werlin

  From behind me, a girl’s voice said, “I know! I agree! A total waste!”

  We all turned to see who’d spoken. She was all brown: bodysuit, skin, hair, and leggings. She wore a headband with triangular furry ears, her arms were covered by leather gauntlets, and she wore brown flat boots with fur edging the tops. A stuffed squirrel rode on her shoulder. She’d somehow attached an enormous furry squirrel tail to herself using a belt. Her cheeks were slightly chubby, as if there might be an acorn stuffed in each one. She’d painted round red circles on each cheek and wore lipstick to match. She actually made me wonder if I should make a kitty soap video with a human dressed as a cat. But no, no need; I wouldn’t be suffering with Wentworth much longer. And Ellen From Finance took direction.

  Sort of.

  “Squirrel Girl!” Cam exclaimed happily. “You look marvelous!”

  Squirrel Girl laughed. “Thanks.” She looked our group over with interest. “So, who are you all?”

  Liv said, “We’re from Bleeders. New show last year, on SlamDunk? In its second season now.”

  “I haven’t heard of it.”

  “Well, for one thing, there’s a woman of color as Captain,” said Meldel.

  “Oh my God, I definitely need to know this show,” said Squirrel Girl.

  I was only able to pay partial attention to this because Sebastian had stopped breathing, although nobody but me seemed to notice. I wanted to be ready in case he fainted.

  Finally, beside me, Sebastian exhaled in a great big huff.

  “Yes, me too!” Liv was now saying, in response to I-would-never-know-what. “But what questions would we have liked them to answer instead? And why didn’t we get up and ask them? Why didn’t I? We have to take personal responsibility.”

  “There is that,” Squirrel Girl admitted. She came alongside Liv, and we continued walking together. Sebastian was able to move, if somewhat robotically. I remained at the ready to grab his elbow if need be. “I had some ideas, but honestly? I felt too shy to ask,” said Squirrel Girl.

  “There were already so many people rushing the microphones,” said Cam gloomily.

  “Including that one guy who got in line and then didn’t have anything to say when it was his turn,” I said.

  I nudged Sebastian—say something, you fool!

  “I actually felt sorry for that guy,” Squirrel Girl said.

  “I didn’t,” I said. “Because I have a cold and tiny heart.”

  Squirrel Girl laughed, turning to look at me and, perforce, Sebastian. I elbowed Sebastian again, discreetly. He cleared his throat, but no words came out, and then he lost his chance because Squirrel Girl turned back to Cam.

  I leaned closer to him.

  “Who’s Squirrel Girl?” I whispered.

  He cleared his throat again. “Marvel. Marvel Comics. Her name is Doreen.”

  “You know her?”

  “N-no, I mean, Squirrel Girl’s alter ego is Doreen Green.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “I’ve never seen her before.” An expression of pure wistfulness filled Sebastian’s face as he gazed at Squirrel Girl’s back. She and the others were strolling the hallway ahead of us. Sebastian finally croaked out words in an attempt to join the conversation. “It’s hard to think of good questions, I guess.”

  But I was the only one who heard him.

  It’s all very well to roll your eyes about insta-love as a plot device in a show or book. But when you’ve seen it strike one of your real-life friends, well, you have to believe. Insta-love, insta-lust, insta-attraction, whatever it is.

  It happens.

  It hurts.

  Squirrel Girl was now using the kind of body language—stepping away, smiling, starting to turn—that meant she was about to leave. I saw my duty as Sebastian’s friend.

  “Squirrel Girl! Are you a big fan of Star Trek?” I asked.

  She turned to me. “Yes, and I’m excited about Discovery!—”

  Todd cut in right on top of her. “Bloodygits! Want to know my big disappointment? No miniskirts! That was a bust. Hahaha! See what I did there?”

  Squirrel Girl compressed her lips.

  “Todd, Squirrel Girl was talking,” I said pointedly. “About Star Trek: Discovery.” Which I had not had enough time to watch, but my mother was watching.

  “No problem, I’ve got to go,” said Squirrel Girl easily. “Another panel. See ya!” She waved and thumped off in her boots.

  I watched Sebastian watch her go.

  Maybe someone else, someone not Sebastian, would have been able to go after her. Say something like, “ Wait, I really want to get to know you, would you be willing to hang out later?” Or, “ Wait, what were you going to say about Discovery ? I’m really interested.” Or even, “ What panel are you headed to next?” Saying anything would have been better than saying nothing.

  But that’s easy to say when you’re the observer, not the actor.

  I kept a compassionate eye on Sebastian as the day waned and turned to night and the next day dawned. We did our con things—attending panels, handing out flyers, posing for photos as a Bleeders group. We stayed up nearly all night talking about Bleeders. The other Bloodygits didn’t seem to notice Sebastian wasn’t completely himself.

  But I did.

  He didn’t even ask us to see him bleed!

  Everywhere we went, his head turned, his eyes scanned. His chest rose and fell with the rapidity of his hopeful breath. But we didn’t see Squirrel Girl again.

  I felt terrible for him—and not just because he didn’t find her. I was also imagining what would happen if he did find her. Doom. That was what. Heartbreak. Disaster. Fantasies crushed to gravel!

  I cherished Sebastian. He was quirky and sweet and earnest and unique and smart and caring. But Squirrel Girl was out of my dear friend’s league, I had decided. All I could do was hope that—if he did find her, if he did manage to express his interest—she’d be kind. Reject him in a way that wasn’t personal. Maybe she wasn’t interested in boys. Maybe she wasn’t interested in white boys. Maybe she was with someone else. Something, anything!

  Things got even more depressing in my head from there, because I doubted Sebastian had the skills to get anyone. He’d have to get those skills, somehow, and it would be hard for him. Then I wondered, how did anyone get romantic skills? We weren’t born with them. I hadn’t been. And who was I to think I was such an expert now? I had one boyfriend who luckily liked me. Simon and I had been clumsy together. That was why it had worked out.

  So how was it that you could have a boyfriend and be totally and completely and utterly happy with him, but also realize that you had no idea really how it all worked, and that if you ever had to start all over again, which please God forbid, you wouldn’t have a clue and you’d be in as bad a shape as Sebastian, or nearly?

  In short, I spent hours secretly making myself miserable and insecure about the nature of love, because Sebastian had fallen in insta-love. I knew it had nothing to do with me, and yet I was reduced to a simple selfish prayer that Sebastian not see Squirrel Girl again. Please. How lucky, lucky Liv was that they didn’t care, I thought.

  I had basically exhausted myself emotionally by the time Sebastian actually did find Squirrel Girl.

  It happened late Saturday afternoon. We were browsing the show floor. The stuff on the floor is largely for sale: art, posters, comics and books, jewelry, clothing, games, toys, and fixings for cosplay. The vendors tended to be independent artists scrabbling a living, with some big companies representing, too. Most everything is themed to fandom, so, for example, you wouldn’t find cat posters; you’d find cats dressed as Captain America, Spiderman, and so on. Of course, my own personal favorite was Catwoman, because what could be better than a cat dressed as a person dressed as a cat? (It made me wonder again if I could or should do something with cosplay for Mrs. Albee’s kitty soaps. If I were allowed.)

  Our group mostly stuck together even though we had very different browsing interests. L
iv was, as usual, on the hunt for distinctive scarves. Todd checked out medieval weaponry: swords, axes, war hammers—most of which looked alarmingly real to me (because they were, it turned out). Cam wandered off and came back, wandered off and came back. When I wasn’t brooding about doomed love, I was searching for something for Maggie, in case I couldn’t find her just the right turquoise bag. Maggie likes to wear only black, and she accessorizes with turquoise. Period. You would think this makes her easy to shop for, but I could write a college application essay on the difficulties. (Yes, I have been torturing myself with bad essay ideas, and the deadline is next month and it is not like me at all to wait until the last minute.) Meldel walked silently alongside us, entering no booths because she was, she said, writing in her head. This meant she alternately grimaced and smiled randomly at nothing, while Josie humbly handed her a water bottle whenever Meldel gestured for it. (Josie’s worship of Meldel definitely contributed to my irritation. Who had brought Josie here, might I just ask? Who had paid for it? Whose kindness and inclusivity should be at least appreciated? Who had risked basically her whole life to do it? I am simply asking these humble questions.)

  I made the ungrateful little pip-squeak Josie send Simon a reassuring text. He sent back a thumbs-up, and I breathed a little easier then. I was just checking Simon off (for now) on my mental checklist as we entered a specialized, roped-off, expensive area called Original Art.

  Todd held up a jeweled dagger right out of Tolkien. He made a surprisingly skillful wrist twist with it. (Did he play with knives at home? Ugh.)

  It was then that Sebastian spoke. In an outdoor voice. “Bloodygits! Don’t you want to see me bleed?”

  I now must provide some essential background on the Original Art area of the con floor and what you will find for sale and display there, namely:

  Masks.

  Sculptures of elves.

  Handmade lutes, artisanal swords, silvery gauntlets.

  Necklaces and earrings. Intricately wrought diadems and tiaras and crowns set with semiprecious stones.

  Exquisite dragons with scales of hammered silver and jewels for eyes.

  An entire tray of One Rings to Rule Them All, and another of rings with secret compartments ( “For poison,” said Cam appreciatively).

  A life-size TARDIS for seven hundred and fifty dollars. Total bargain, because the price included shipping.

  So, basically, Original Art is not the right place for a spontaneous demonstration of bleeding. I opened my mouth to (gently) make this point to Sebastian, when I saw Squirrel Girl.

  Squirrel Girl stood, and this is important, near an enormous, realistic oil painting of Aragorn (or maybe I should say, Viggo Mortensen as Aragorn). She caught sight of our group, smiled with recognition, and started toward us.

  Sebastian had seen her too. Already. Of course. That was the whole point. So what happened next was like the ritual dance a male bird does in an attempt to impress the female. (Google “Bird of Paradise mating dance” and watch the video right now. I’ll wait.)

  Sebastian bellowed: “EVERYBODY! IN SUPPORT OF THE BEST NEW SHOW THAT YOU’RE NOT WATCHING! BLEEDERS ON SLAMDUNK! I AM A VICTIM OF THE BLEEDER PLAGUE! BEHOLD! BEHOLD HOW THE BLEEDING MECHANISM OPERATES!”

  He unbuttoned the front of his white pajama top and tossed it to the floor. He stood half-naked in his red cap and white pajama bottoms. Tubes ran all over his torso and down his arms and legs. The tubes were attached to a few large, bulging plastic bags duct-taped to his wincingly white skin.

  Of course, people other than us and Squirrel Girl were watching by now. If I could have stepped into the TARDIS and disappeared—say, to New Hampshire, where I should have been working in advance of the election—I would have done it. Believe me.

  Sebastian made a sweeping gesture over his chest. “FANS! THESE BAGS ARE FILLED WITH ACTUAL CHICKEN LIVER BLOOD! IT IS FORCED THROUGH THE TUBES! IT SEEPS OUT THROUGH A SERIES OF PINHOLES WHEN—I—DO—THIS—”

  He mashed both of his fists into two of the bags. But his bag-tube-pinhole system did not work as designed.

  Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up:

  At 1:32 a.m. on Sunday morning, Cam, Liv, Josie, and I were part of a bigger group playing Cards Against Humanity. Actually, Josie was snoozing, with her head pillowed on her arms.

  We were forbidden to return to the dorm until Meldel and Todd told us Sebastian was doing better. The idea was to create an atmosphere of calm for him. Basically, they were babysitting while Sebastian sat in Meldel’s closet. Also present, leaning against a wall, was the giant portrait of Aragorn. Perhaps I should say, my giant portrait of Aragorn. The vendor had literally hefted a pitchfork and started toward Sebastian’s prone body. (The pitchfork had a silver-coated blade and was suitable for the arms-length killing of vampires or, I supposed, orcs.) I’d stepped in his way and blurted, “I want it! I’ll buy it!”

  “PayPal, Venmo, or debit card,” snarled the vendor. “And you wait right there while it clears.”

  “No worries,” I said weakly.

  “Zoe, you are awesome!” Josie exclaimed while I anxiously double-checked my bank balance on my phone.

  Now, at the Cards Against Humanity table, Cam said quietly, “Let me say just one thing. I am never, ever going to forget the look on Sebastian’s face right before he fainted. It will haunt my dreams.”

  “Me neither.” Liv had on their new scarf. It was not to their usual taste, but it had been only slightly chicken-blood-spangled, and the spots had come out with cold water.

  Heartlessly (she is yet young), Josie snorted her snort laugh. (Neither Josie nor Simon can laugh without the snort. The first time Simon snorted in front of me, he was so appalled, he turned pink. It was adorable. Oh, things were simpler then.)

  At least I knew Simon would never ask me what had become of the chicken-blood-spattered top I’d thrown out, or where and why I’d gotten my brand-new “Do You Know the Way to Hobbiton?” T-shirt. Simon doesn’t usually notice my clothes. In any case, I wouldn’t wear this new T-shirt at home, where Simon could see. And I would hide Aragorn from him. Somehow.

  I didn’t think he’d fit into my bedroom closet.

  More or less simultaneously, our phones pinged.

  MELDEL: Sebastian spoke at last. He asked for pizza.

  MELDEL: Another $20 on my charge card. Hahaha. Why not? Pile it on!

  CAM: So he’s come out?

  TODD: Not exactly. He wants us to crack the door and hand it to him.

  TODD: Slice by slice

  MELDEL: In silence.

  CAM: So can we come back now?

  TODD: Negative

  MELDEL: Patience!

  MELDEL: I’m going to chant him a meditation that I learned recently.

  MELDEL: It’s to promote inner peace.

  Cam and Liv and Josie and I put down our phones in unison. Josie returned to napping.

  “Are you folks playing or not?” asked the current card czar.

  “We’re in. Except Josie.”

  “Good.” The czar put a black card down on the table. What’s there a ton of in heaven?

  I considered the ten white cards in my hand and went with Sweet, sweet vengeance. There were ten people playing, but the card czar awarded me the round. Yay.

  On impulse, I looked around the table and said, “Can I ask everybody a question? Have any of you ever screwed up big time in front of someone you really wanted to impress?”

  There was general laughter. A bunch of yeses, a couple noes. The man sitting across from us, middle-aged, in Harry Potter glasses and with temporary tattoo of a lightning bolt on his forehead, said, “My story is a record breaker.”

  A woman cosplaying as Ursula the Sea Witch asked him, “Well?”

  “You really want to know?” We nodded. “Okay. Brace yourselves. I was with my then-boyfriend, now-husband. Meeting his family, right? We’re there for the weekend.”

  He paused. “So, I should back up and say that my husband’s white and
comes from this very religious family, and they’re freaked that he wants to marry a man. But you know what? They’re trying. We’re all trying. So, we’re in the dining room and it’s the good china and this elaborate meal that Seth’s mother spent hours on. Only it’s meat and I’m vegan. So is Seth, but it turns out that when he’s home, he eats whatever his mother serves. Which, by the way? He didn’t bother to mention to me beforehand.

  “So, the platter goes around, and Seth gives me this pleading look, like, ‘Take the ribs, Ali. Please, just take the ribs.’ What can I do? I’m horrified, but I take a rib.”

  The new card czar for the round interrupted. “Can we play and listen at the same time? This card is actually relevant.” She put down: What ended my last relationship?

  We all groan-laughed.

  The storyteller checked his cards, put in his choice card, facedown, and continued. “So, I’ve got a barbecued rib on my plate, which I am trying to hide under my creamed corn, which I actually don’t want to eat either, if you know what I mean. Meanwhile, there’s, you know, polite conversation about people I don’t know, including a whole lot about Seth’s high school girlfriend.” He articulated carefully. “Ka-trin-a. Who, guess what? Is still available.”

  Josie snorted again. We all looked at her. She cracked one eyelid and then closed it. “I’m awake,” she said. “I’m listening. I just can’t keep my eyes open.”

  The storyteller laughed and went on. “But, like I said, Seth’s family really is trying. In their way. That’s what I tell myself. But I’m also feeling kind of pissed off. Only then.” He paused. “Then, I start to notice this smell. This really bad smell. Which is getting stronger and stronger.” Another pause. “And stronger.”

  Several players have also put down cards in response to What ended my last relationship? I added mine, face-down: Judge Judy.

  “Everybody starts to notice the new smell. The family’s shifting in their seats. They’re exchanging glances. Seth’s mom sniffs. But nobody says a word. They go on with the stupid small talk. Now they’re discussing their family history.