“Yeah, he was really happy to meet you guys. I hope I’m not ruining the impression you’re trying to make.”
It took her a moment to realize what he meant. “Oh, that doesn’t matter.” She gave a short laugh, and he liked that she didn’t seem to take it all too seriously. “Who you are is more important than what you wear. That might not be what you’d expect me to say, considering how much time I spend thinking about what I wear.”
“No, I get it.” He met her gaze as long as he could.
They ate, and questions waited on his tongue, but what could he ask? Telling Celia he had been standing in the backyard of her house, watching her in her window, would only make him sound like a stalker. He decided to try something less specific. “There’s a girl in my neighborhood who looks exactly like you.”
“Seriously? What’s her name?”
“I don’t know. I’ve seen her a couple times. That’s why I asked you where you lived yesterday.”
“Oh, right. Well, that’s wild. I wouldn’t mind meeting my doppelgänger.”
In his head he heard a distant echo of the plaintive, beautiful song that had reached him from Celia’s window. If he could only find out what it was, he could ask Celia about it. If she didn’t know it, he could go back to attempting to convince himself he had seen someone else.
BRUNO WAITED OUTSIDE SYLVIO’S room while he talked on the phone. He stayed far enough away so he couldn’t hear the words, but he could tell Sylvio was flirting again. When he heard Sylvio hang up, Bruno walked in. “Were you listening?” Sylvio asked.
“No. Were you talking to Regine?”
“Yeah. She knows some music really well, and then other bands she’s never heard of. She said most of what she knows is because of Brenden.”
“Is that bad?”
“No, but it’s weird. I mean, how can you love Siouxsie and the Banshees and not know that John Valentine Carruthers had been a member of Clock DVA?” Sylvio said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Bruno lingered in the doorway until his brother looked at him expectantly. “I’m trying to figure out the name of a song I heard.”
“Where’d you hear it?”
“On a show.” Bruno tried to think of anything he could compare to the mystery song he had heard through the mystery girl’s window. “It’s just a guitar—an electric guitar, but soft—and a woman’s voice.”
His brother made a halfhearted attempt to be helpful. “Do you remember any of the lyrics?”
Bruno shook his head. He scanned Sylvio’s crates of CDs. As always, his brother had music playing. Now it was a simple song with strummed guitars and a steady snare drum, with a childlike woman’s voice perched on top, lilting a wistful but pretty melody. “What are you listening to?”
“‘Shining Road’ by Cranes.” Sylvio went to the wine-crate shelves and located the disc, which Bruno learned was called Loved when Sylvio passed it to him. “What’s with the sudden interest?”
Bruno shrugged, studying the pastel drawing of four women, perhaps ballet dancers, on the cover of the CD. “I like it.”
“Well, that’s cool.”
Back in his own room, Bruno played the CD while he paged through the Book of Maps. He figured Celia probably liked Cranes, too. But this music wasn’t the tantalizing, half-remembered song that was the muddled score of his fascination with Celia.
That night he stayed in his room listening to Cranes. Bruno wanted very badly to return to the mysterious clearing, and through it to the mysterious backyard. He wondered if this was what someone felt after trying a drug the first time. It was intoxicating, but something about it all—the too-perfect-to-be-real Ebentwine clearing, the gardener who seemingly worked twenty-four hours a day, the house whose location was both next door and four miles away—felt dangerous and forbidden.
The confusion, the violations of the laws of the universe, made him suspect that he’d do better to stay away from that place. It just didn’t make sense. There was no way to draw a map that would show Bruno how he got to Celia’s backyard. It was as disorienting as being awakened from a dream. Bruno went to bed early.
***
THE NEXT DAY IN THE LIBRARY Regine looked up when Bruno approached the table where she sat with Sylvio and Marco. “Where did you come from?” Her eyes flicked over his flannel shirt and faded jeans, and he decided he didn’t like her.
“What do you mean?”
“Were you in here? I didn’t see you come in.” Regine pointed to the library door directly across from where she sat.
“I came in the back door.” Bruno hooked his thumb over his shoulder at the stacks.
“The back door?” Marco repeated. “There isn’t a back door.”
“Sure there is,” Bruno said, confused. He didn’t realize he had done something unusual.
“Show me,” Regine said officiously, standing up.
Bruno turned and led the way back through the bookshelves. In a short wall between two sets of shelves, he pushed open a door, and they all looked out into a narrow hallway that led to the new wing.
“I had no idea this was here,” Regine said.
“Me neither,” Marco said. “This place is crazy.” They went back to the table. “If we ever felt like stealing books, we could go out that door.”
Regine was looking around. “Is it just me, or does the library seem larger than last year? I mean, they didn’t do anything to it when they added the new wing, did they? I guess it’s the same. Why does it feel bigger, somehow?”
“You shouldn’t be surprised Bruno’s figured this place out so quickly,” Sylvio said. “He does it everywhere. We went to the shore on vacation when Bruno was seven. Last year we went back for the first time, and he remembered everything: street names, the way to get to the cottage we’d rented. It’s crazy.”
Marco smiled at Bruno. “I bet that comes in handy.”
“Sometimes.”
Regine turned back to Sylvio. “So, tell me about Hermetica.”
“It’s not as beautiful as Diaboliques sounds. It was kind of a hole, really—you know, brick walls painted black, that kind of thing. The owners spent all their money on the sound system and lights, and the rest of it was kind of falling apart. But the DJ, Pete, played the most amazing stuff. He loved to pull out tracks that you wouldn’t hear anywhere else, like the Bollock Brothers, or Anne Clark.”
“‘Sleeper in Metropolis’? I love that song!” Regine squeaked, and clapped her hands. The librarian passed by with a disapproving look on her face. “What happened to the old librarian?” Regine asked Marco.
“I guess she retired,” Marco said. “She was old enough.” He turned to Bruno. “Did you ever go to Hermetica?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I was too young. And I guess I didn’t care,” Bruno said. “Hey, would you help me buy some clothes?”
“Sure! How about this Saturday?”
THE GARDENER WAS STANDING there when Bruno pushed his way into the Ebentwine clearing. “Where have you been? Haven’t seen you in a of couple days.”
“Who do you work for? Who owns this place?”
“Ah, the time has come for questions. I shouldn’t be surprised.” The man put his rake down. “I don’t work for anyone, really.”
“But when I asked if you were the gardener, and you said you were . . .”
“It’s because my name is Gardner, and you were pretty close, so I agreed.”
“Your name is Gardner?”
“Well, Fredrick Calvert Gardner, but Gardner is good. What’s important, though, is that there are things I can help you to do.”
“How does this place work? How I can go through those trees and be across town?”
“That’s a tough one. Not all questions have answers. My job is to keep this place presentable, or else it doesn’t work so well.”
“So you’re in charge of maintaining a secret garden, which is some kind of shortcut between my backyard an
d Celia’s?”
“Shortcut is such a plain word; in these parts it’s called a liminal. Anyway, I suppose that’s true, but it’s not completely accurate.”
“What is completely accurate, then?” Bruno took a step to the side, steadying himself as his vision faded for a moment.
“Feeling it, are you?”
“What is that?” Bruno waited for the dots of light to swim out of his eyes.
“There’s going to come a day when you might be tempted to spend too much time here in Ebentwine. Other people certainly have tried. But this is a transitional place, here purely to help you get from one place to another by passing through. The dizziness, the disorientation, the enervation, the unconsciousness—it’s the best way to make sure you don’t stay too long.”
“Unconsciousness?” Bruno felt a popping in his ears, as though the air pressure had changed suddenly.
“You don’t want to try that. But don’t worry yourself about it. You come, you let me know where you’d like to go, and I tell you how to get there. And it’s time for you to go. Celia’s? Or home?”
“Home,” Bruno said, and staggered off into the trees in the direction Gardner pointed.
When he rounded the hedgerow into his backyard, his mother was there. “Bruno? Where were you? Didn’t you hear me calling you?”
“I was . . .” He gestured vaguely behind him.
“Come and set the table for dinner.”
He followed her into the house, firm in his resolve: I will not go back to that crazy place.
“IT WAS INCREDIBLE,” Sylvio said wearily as noon approached on Saturday. “It’s so much better than Hermetica. They have three dance floors, but the smallest room up on the top floor is just perfect. They know the DJ, and everything he played was fantastic. I heard a few things I’d never heard before.”
“That’s great,” Bruno said, idly looking through the newspaper.
“And the people! Everyone looked amazing. If you asked me to describe my ideal nightclub, Patrick’s room at Diaboliques would be it!”
“I’m glad you found a place to go.”
“Regine is an amazing dancer. You should see her.”
“Are you guys dating yet?”
“I think so.” Sylvio smiled. “I like her, and I’m pretty sure she likes me.”
Bruno wanted to say, You think? But he kept quiet.
“Speaking of liking someone, I met Celia’s boyfriend, Tomasi.” Sylvio looked disappointed when Bruno wasn’t surprised. “You knew about him?” Bruno nodded. “I think you might have to let your feelings for Celia go.”
“I don’t have any feelings for Celia,” Bruno said darkly.
Sylvio held up his hands. “Marco said he’s taking you clothes shopping today. You don’t want to go shopping with me?”
“Do you know where the stores are?”
“Well, no. Can I come along with you guys, then, to check it out?”
“How about next time?”
“Fine,” Sylvio said. “So you’re fast friends with Marco, then?”
“I don’t know. Not as fast as you are with Regine.”
“We have a lot in common. What about you two?”
The doorbell rang. Marco was there with a shirt on a hanger. “Hey, Bruno! I love this neighborhood. Hey, Silver! You have a good time last night?”
“I loved it! You guys are going shopping?”
“We are. I wanted Bruno to try this on before we go.” Marco handed Bruno a short-sleeved shirt with a covered placket and a small collar, made of charcoal twill fabric. “I made a pair of pants out of this material last year, and I had just enough left over for this. I’m having a Jil Sander moment, I guess.” Marco saw Bruno’s blank look. “Fashion designer.”
“You made this?” Bruno studied it. “It looks like it came from a store. I do like it—thank you! I’ll go put it on?”
“Sure. And those trousers you had on the other day,” Marco suggested. Bruno nodded and went upstairs to change while Marco reminisced about Diaboliques with Sylvio downstairs. The way the shirt fit him, it was clear Marco had sized him up as instinctively as Bruno read a map. Bruno also realized that if Marco was going to take him out in public, he didn’t want him to look like a slob, and that made Bruno smile.
Marco nodded when Bruno came back down. “Nice! All right, we’re ready. See you later.” Sylvio watched enviously as they left.
“You will never see this car in the morning procession,” Marco said as they got into his gray sedan.
“Why’s that?”
“It’s not black!” Marco chuckled. “I don’t mind. I never have to drive to school.” He started the car and lunged for the volume knob on the stereo. “I also like to play music a lot louder than the others. You like the Screaming Blue Messiahs?”
“I don’t think I’ve heard them.”
“Well, you’re going to now.”
Bruno listened and looked out the window. Instead of checking off the street signs the way he normally did, Bruno thought about how he had never done anything like this before: have a friend come over, go shopping for clothes—go shopping for anything. Meanwhile the man on the stereo sang about looking down the barrel of a gun, just to see where the bullets come from. It felt like an adventure.
After the song ended Marco turned the volume down. “So, if I don’t ask you questions, you probably won’t say anything, right?”
“Probably not. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. God, you’re just like Celia. I swear, the first half of last year the only time she spoke was if someone asked her a question. I’m a little chattier, if you haven’t noticed. When we go out and we’re being all serious and aloof, sometimes I have to fight the impulse to talk. So tell me, what are we looking for today?”
“Everything, kind of. I’ve never really shopped for clothes, at all.”
“Okay, so we’re starting from scratch. Have you seen things that you liked?”
“I like this shirt.” Bruno looked down at himself.
“Good!” Marco laughed good-naturedly, and Bruno smiled. “Well, we’re going to hit some of my favorite stores and try on clothes till you pass out.”
Marco drove to the outskirts of downtown and parked in front of a sleek clothing store called Chris & Cosey. “This place has the best selection,” he said as they walked inside. “Almost everything I wear that I didn’t make myself, I got here.”
Every wall was covered with built-in shelves and hang bars, like a massive walk-in closet. The store was bursting with unusual clothes. An elegant woman with black hair cut like Cleopatra’s came out from the back, her asymmetrical skirt rustling. “Marco! So good to see you!” She kissed both of his cheeks. “Have you brought me anything?”
“You know I would love to make clothes for you.” Marco beamed. “I’m just so used to designing with a specific person in mind; every time I think about making something without knowing who’s going to wear it, I go blank. Oh, Cosey, this is my friend Bruno.”
“Hi, Bruno.” Cosey shook his hand. “I love your shirt.”
“Marco made it,” Bruno said.
“Just make me six of those!” she told Marco. “I could sell them in a heartbeat. Oh, I won’t harass you. What are you guys looking for today?”
“Bruno needs to work on his wardrobe,” Marco told her.
In a matter of minutes, Bruno found himself in a dressing room with a stack of things to try on. Every time he came out for inspection, Marco and Cosey had something else for him to consider. Each time he put on something new, he stood in front of the mirror and tried to decide if it was himself he was seeing.
“You do know what you want,” Marco said after a little while, watching Bruno’s yes pile grow. “You just don’t know how to say it out loud.”
“I think you’re right.” Bruno saw a style emerging in his selections: monochromatic, military influences, fitted shirts and sweaters that stopped at the hip. He handed back the rejects, and he and Marco reviewed his c
hoices. “Do you like these?”
“I do. What matters, though, is whether you like them.”
Bruno nodded. He wanted very badly to ask if Marco thought Celia would like his new look, but he knew that was foolish.
Marco had to help Bruno carry everything up to the register.
“This is going to cost a lot.”
“I know.” Bruno took out his battered leather wallet and pulled out several bills.
“I’m just curious,” Marco said when they were outside. “Where did you come up with all that money?”
“I don’t really buy anything,” Bruno said simply. “Birthday money, lawn-mowing money, dog-walking money, allowance—I just keep it all.”
“Wow. So why spend it now?”
“I needed to buy something.”
Back at Bruno’s house, Marco whistled when they walked into his empty bedroom. “When you said you don’t buy anything, you really weren’t kidding. Are you planning on putting anything on the walls?”
“Maybe. I kind of like it this way.” He opened the first bag and put a new shirt on a hanger.
“That’s cool. There were a couple things I want to tailor a little for you.” Marco found them and put them aside. “Not everything fits perfectly off the rack, you know?”
“No, I don’t,” Bruno said. “But if you say so.”
Sylvio showed up and looked around curiously. “My God, you got a lot of stuff! This is nice.” He fingered a fitted black zippered sweater. “I’m going to have to go shopping with you, Marco.”
“You really should make some things to sell at Chris and Cosey’s,” Bruno told Marco. “I mean, I think you should.”
“Brenden has been after me about it for two years. I need someone to keep kicking my ass, or I’ll never do it.”
BRUNO SAT WITH SYLVIO and their mother in a pew at Wyndham Chapel for the first service his father would conduct as pastor—the whole reason they had transplanted their lives. As they had in their previous church, the Perilunas family sat in the second row on the left. Bruno caught sight of a few kids who went to Suburban. They looked curiously at him, and he understood: Just as in their old town, he never would be invisible here. The association with his father prevented that. Everything is different and the same.
Pull Down the Night (The Suburban Strange) Page 4
