I grimaced. “Really?” I glanced over my shoulder. “Why won't anyone buy these? It's not like Vintage City's gay and lesbian free."
"The recession's been biting us in the ass, and there's no support inside the community or outside. Not enough, anyway. Look around you, sweetheart. This store's been around for thirty years, and it's on its way to closing if things don't change.” He paused and looked up at the ceiling, frowning deeply. “Goddamn it, what the hell's wrong with the vents this time?"
"Yeah, it's kind of irritating, but you know, this isn't the first place to have that problem,” I replied.
"Well, I can't afford to have anything fixed up.” He looked back at me, his annoyance melting away in an expression of defeat. “I'm really sorry, but you'll have to look for a job somewhere else. This store's closing at the end of the month."
I left the shop feeling all bummed out. If I had any money on me, I'd have bought one book to make him feel better, but I kind of needed to work first before I could do that. The walk to Brenda's antique shop was spent pretty much lost in sad gay thoughts.
"Hey, hon,” Brenda called out when I stepped inside her shop. Despite the fact that there was a ton of creepy old stuff that littered the place and filled up the space between the counter where she stood and the front door, I was always amazed at how she knew that it was me stepping across the threshold. “How's it going?"
"Fine,” I said, my voice weak as I wove my way through her gloomy shop. “I'm feeling a little depressed."
"Ah,” she replied as I drew near. “Dr. Dibbs isn't here yet, so you've got time to hang out with me. Tea and cookies, coming up!"
Without waiting for me to say anything more, Brenda turned around and marched toward the back, while I dumped my bag on the floor and perched myself on the bar stool in front of the counter. I'd long claimed that stool for my own, by the way. Brenda didn't have any use for it, frankly, but since we'd gotten to know each other better, she hauled that old thing out and set it where it now stood, so I could sit and chill with her while waiting for the time. She even stuck a piece of masking tape under the seat with “Eric” scrawled on it in thick, black permanent ink.
"So, what's up?” she asked, once the snacks were set on the counter, and I was busy chowing down.
I told her about the bookstore, and she just listened closely, leaning on her elbows and staring long and hard at me the whole time. I really liked talking to Brenda. She was sort of my private therapist without the sky-high fees, and besides, we had the same experience of being manipulated by whackjobs, so that was our real bond.
"Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry,” she said once I'd done. She watched me refill my cup with hot water. “Times are tough, and some businesses just can't cut it."
"Yeah, but where do kids like me go for stuff to read? I mean—there's the big bookstore downtown, but did you see their gay and lesbian section? It's so lame! I bought only one thing from them since I came out to my family, and I couldn't see anything else there except blue collar porn, and Mom won't let me get a copy.” I shrugged weakly. “So far, I've been gambling on Olivier's to see if they've got anything new in their used book collection."
Brenda smiled and gave my chin a gentle nudge with her fist. “Then tell your friends about the store you went to. Get them involved, and see if they can get other kids in Renaissance High involved, too. I'm sure you and Peter aren't the only gay kids there."
I nodded, feeling a little better. I guessed she was right, but I didn't know how late any rescue efforts might be for that shop. Then again, I really shouldn't have let that doubt stop me. Any little bit helped, and if the shop closed at the end of the month, at least we could comfort ourselves with the fact that we tried.
"You know, I'm glad your store isn't falling apart the way other stores are,” I noted after a moment of silence.
"Hmm?"
I pointed at the ceiling. “The vents."
"What about the vents?” Brenda asked as she blew at her cup.
"They're not making weird noises...like things crawling all over up there. That gay bookstore? I heard those sounds, and it was the same for that one store with all the handmade stuff from different countries. I figured that the buildings were just too old, and the ventilation systems were falling apart."
Brenda's gaze remained fixed on me as she sipped her tea. “This building's one of the oldest in Vintage City,” she observed. “I've never had any problems with it. The vents work perfectly, and I haven't noticed anything weird about them."
I shrugged and snatched a lemon cookie. “It makes me think of cheesy monster movies, like, little flesh-eating critters invading ventilation systems and attacking people when the right time comes or something.” I chuckled. Brenda just listened, sipping her tea and staring long and hard at me.
* * * *
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 5
* * * *
A couple of days later, I finally got to play an online game with Althea. Blame it on my propensity toward the macabre, but I challenged her to a game of online Hangman. What I didn't realize then was that, since she was the computer, she also had the ability to manipulate the results.
Wrong! You're getting strung up, dude! Sure enough, I only had one limb to go.
I stared at the monitor, frowning. “What the hell is this crap?” I cried. “What's MUB O Q UU XIIA ?"
It's a sentence, dill weed. Come on, choose another letter.
"I've chosen every single letter in the freakin’ alphabet, you cheating pile of computer chips! I'm not playing anymore! This sucks!"
Man, talk about a sore loser.
I narrowed my eyes at her. It. Her. Whatthehellever. “Sore loser, my ass. Anyone with half a brain cell could see that you're messing up my chances of winning anything."
Beep. Sorry! Hangman
Have I ever mentioned how much I sometimes hated the way Althea's powers evolved? Sure, they were pretty cool where thugs and crime fighting were concerned, but in this situation? Major, major suckage.
The limb on my “body” appeared, and the screen flashed in a burst of multicolored light. It was sort of like one of those TV game shows, where the winners were treated to an explosion of colorful confetti, while stupid, cheesy music was played. Then cables shot out of the monitor—and I'm talking cables that weren't real cables, but the kinds that were made of a collection of wild, pulsing, crackling light and electricity. So they shot out of the monitor, sending me jumping out of my chair and crying out in surprise. Before I knew what was happening, they looped around my arms and upper body and pulled me off the floor till I was dangling. Yeah, like Hangman, but not strung up by the neck.
"Ohmigawd, whatthehellareyoudoingyoucrazyb—” I shrieked, kicking. It was kind of sad, really, since moving my legs was the only thing I could realistically do, being wrapped up in pulsing light cable thingies. “LetmegoorI'llfuckingkickyourelectronicass! Daaaaadddd!” Another “cable” flew out of the screen and wrapped around my head and over my mouth, muffling me.
I need your attention, Eric. I really need a favor. I mean, seriously. I'm totally desperate.
Everything that followed was a blur. I might have passed out, even, but maybe not. All I can say right now is that Althea was so on my crap list after our “talk” and “negotiations.” I had to be un-muffled first, but it didn't make things any better from my end. She eventually released me and even gave me a consolatory pat on the head with one of the bizarre cables before withdrawing them. I couldn't even stand when she finally set me back down on the floor. I think I teetered a little before my legs gave out from under me, and I landed on my ass with a pretty embarrassing plop. I couldn't even feel the pain from the contact. I was too messed up to feel anything.
Thanks, Eric. You're a doll. I'll call you when Grandma tells me when the next Bingo Social will be at the senior center. [333
I couldn't remember how long it took for me to recover from the shock of being harassed into agreeing to accompa
ny Althea to her grandmother's bingo night, but I recovered eventually. I had to stagger off to my bathroom, where I peed because I nearly literally wet my pants from my ordeal. After cleaning myself up, I staggered back to my room and sat down on my bed, all brain functions frozen.
It wasn't until after dinner, when I had sufficiently recovered, that I got back on my computer and fired off a pretty pissed-off email: Coercion doesn't count. Go to bingo night on your own, girlie. And if you attack me that way again, I'm filing a restraining order against you. You suck so much ass. I expected her to possess my computer again and slap me ten different ways for going back on my promise, but I figured that Althea'd had a change of heart in the end. After all, what was the use of bullying a friend into making a stupid promise?
That was so uncool, and I was sure that she realized it.
* * * *
Whenever I talked to Peter on my private phone, I always lay on my stomach. I don't think it's necessary to explain why.
"So how're things in good ol’ Renaissance High?” I asked, smiling. I couldn't help it. I'm disgustingly schmoopy that way.
"Same old, but you're not there to harass anymore,” he replied. “Althea's gone so far as to stick flowers in your old locker as a memorial. She's been talking about tacking on an old photo of yours and somehow figuring out a way to set up a votive candle somewhere, but I had to smack her upside the head and get her back on track."
"You didn't!"
He laughed. He was hot when he laughed over the phone. Reason number one as to why I had to lie on my stomach when we talked via landline. “No, of course, I didn't! You dill weed. I did drag her away using her shirt collar, though. I think that woke her up."
"Are people talking about me?"
"Meh. Not really. A few tongues wagged when the Trill was around, but not anymore. I think there's some kind of rumor going around about you needing special tutorial help or something because you've got a learning disability, which was why you got pulled out of school."
I made a face. “Well, considering how much I suck at Geometry and Chemistry, I wouldn't be surprised if that kind of rumor's making its rounds. Don't bother stopping it or correcting anyone."
"I almost did a couple of times, actually."
I sighed against my pillow. “Better to be thought of as a real dumb ass than a freak."
"Eric, you're neither. Okay? Stop it. I'm not going to hear any more crap talk like that about yourself. Come on..."
My jeans felt a little too tight. “Speaking of coming, are you free anytime soon?"
"I've got work tonight on top of homework. How about tomorrow? It's Saturday, and Mom and Dad will be at a friend's wedding or something."
Sweet. It had been an eternity since we last went out on a real, ordinary date. Like, about a week ago, and it had been a really short one—a whopping two freakin’ hours—since it was a school night, and while Peter had already gotten some homework done, he was still expected to turn into Calais and battle the forces of evil after dinner. Somehow he managed to convince Trent that he was going to clock in a little late that night.
A week ago? Mom shouldn't have kicked up a fuss about that. So we settled on the what, where, how, and how much before I reluctantly let him go. I waited a while, still lying on my stomach and enjoying the blissful pressure of a boner against my mattress, and reflected on the conversation I'd just had with Peter. Thank God I'd taken care to lock my bedroom door. If Liz were to barge in to get me downstairs for dinner and then catch me dry-humping my bed...
I remember Wade, when she first introduced herself to me, saying, “I think Peter's a really lucky guy.” She wasn't pulling my leg; Wade's just not capable of being a real jerk like that. She actually sounded slightly jealous, not in the sense that she had a crush on me or something, but that she seemed jealous that Peter and I were together. Of course, I also wondered what Peter had told her about me, and no matter how much I'd been prodding him, he kept that a big secret. It'd been pretty easy to throw me off the scent, anyway. All it took was a kiss and a hand down my jeans. Peter had persuasion down to an art form.
It was that one thought that sprang to mind whenever I reflected on any conversation I had with him. To wit, how lucky we'd been.
Now if I could only play matchmaker for both Wade and Althea without them killing me...
* * * *
I was so brilliant, I could marry myself and spawn forever. I took a shower after Peter's call and then did the laundry. Only mine, though. Jeebus, I got enough problems, and handling my family's dirty underwear would be the proverbial straw on the proverbial camel's proverbial back. While waiting for things to dry, I went to the kitchen and prepared a part of tonight's dinner. That is, I snagged the bag of salad from the vegetable crisper and dumped the stuff in a big bowl.
I set it down on the table with the bottles of dressing neatly lined up next to it, and the icing on the cake was my livening up the table with napkins. Yeah, those napkins that we only saw during holidays. I was seriously good.
When everyone got back home, I was fresh and tidy, my laundry was neatly folded and put away, and I greeted everyone with an offer of ice, cold water to soothe frayed nerves after a hard day in the office.
"I've got a feeling that you're about to be hauled off to jail, and this is your way of saying goodbye,” Liz said when I gave her a glass of water with a slice of lemon tossed in. She just stared at it. Then she stared at me. I mean, what the hell? That was gratitude for you.
"Oh, God, don't tell me you failed your Chemistry quiz,” Dad croaked as he stood just inside the foyer. I didn't even bother to wait for him to settle down. He still had his hat and coat on, his briefcase still dangling from his limp hand, and I could still smell the familiar scents of old leather car seats and carbon monoxide on him.
"Honey, I'm not bailing you out of jail if that's what you're wondering,” Mom sighed as she shuffled past me in the direction of the stairs. At least she took the glass of water with the lemon slice and nursed it on her way to her bedroom. “I didn't raise my children to be juvenile delinquents. And the answer's no."
Man. I lived with a tough crowd.
So I upped the ante and made dinner. Like frozen pizza that had been sitting in the freezer for a couple of weeks now because apparently Mom forgot about it, and I figured it was high time to put some factory-made goodness out of its misery.
Good thing it normally took everyone at least half an hour to wind down before shuffling off to the dining room. By the time they got there, everything was set: plates, silverware, napkins, glasses, salad, salad dressing, and pizza. I even cut the damn thing into nearly equal portions, fer chrissakes.
"Oh, God,” Mom gasped as she froze at the dining room door. “Oh, Eric, please tell me you're okay. I don't think we can afford therapy right now."
I narrowed my eyes at her. “I'm fine, Mom."
"What do you need? Just tell me now."
"Can I go out with Peter tomorrow for a nighttime date?” Flash perky, dimpled grin. Exude squeaky-clean teenage innocence (whatever that means). Widen eyes very slightly to complete squeaky-clean teenage innocence look. Hope like hell that everything was working its magic. Remind self to vomit before eating.
"Mom, say yes and be done with it,” Liz said as she cautiously sat down at her usual place. She never took her eyes off me, either, and she didn't blink. Maybe she didn't dare blink. “I don't think I can survive another creepy Eric moment like this again, and that's saying something."
From where I stood near the stove, I could feel the maternal energies vibrating in Mom. I could easily sense the yes-no battle going on in her head. Another five minutes of that, and her skull would've popped like a zit.
"But you just went out, what, a few days ago,” she said. I figured as much.
"It was a week ago, actually. And we were together for only two hours, in a family-friendly burger joint, with creepy children running all over the place."
"Wow, that must've been a real t
hreat to your manhood,” Liz said, still looking uneasy as she scowled at me.
"Come on, Mom, it's not like we go against your curfew. We don't go to the same school anymore, either. By the way, would you like some red wine with your pizza? Hard day at work, you know..."
"Mom!” Liz cried, panicking. “Do it!"
"Okay, okay, yes, you can go out with him!” Mom actually pinched her eyes shut and flapped her hands in front of her as if she were warding off a swarm of flies.
Broaden perky, dimpled grin at confused mother. “Thanks, Mom. You're the best. One glass of red wine, coming up."
"Forget the wine,” she growled, rubbing her temples as she sat down. “Do we have whiskey anywhere?"
I rocked.
So I celebrated my victory by staying up late after doing my homework, sorting through my growing pile of hot gay ads, ogling the models, and letting my imagination do the rest. Then I cleaned up and sat down to write in my journal. The night was a little on the cool side, with the usual acidic fog forming up and down Vintage, so it was perfect for setting the mood. My lights had all been turned off, and I sat by my window, looking out and finding inspiration in darkness and urban grime. Once in a while, I'd hear police sirens wailing. I figured that my superhero buddies were all out there, up to their ears with cleanup work.
I also wondered what the Sentries were doing, besides setting up the usual training grounds for the heroes. I knew better than to ask Dr. Dibbs for specifics, and Brenda sure wasn't going to let me in on anything, even though she was like my other sister. During moments like these, I couldn't help but think back on my adventures when the Trill was still alive, and I wondered how things would've turned out had I not let myself get suckered by my own demons. On the one hand, I'd have spared my family all that pain and grief. On the other hand, I wouldn't have learned anything about myself, even if those lessons came at a pretty high price—though I wouldn't call private tutorials a high price; I kind of liked being given undivided attention when it came to my education, and I didn't have to put up with high school drama and status quo crap.
Curse of Arachnaman Page 5
