by May Burnett
“He’s a wordy old fart and I wouldn’t read his books if you paid me,” was Christabel’s reply.
“Then how did you do your essay?” Ms Cowslip’s smile slipped.
“I paid someone on the internet fifteen dollars to do it for me,” Christabel blithely replied, then paled as she realised what she’d said.
“Is this a joke?” Ms Cowslip stared at Christabel, unable to cope with this gratuitous revelation.
Christabel started to stutter. “Y-No-Y-No, it’s the truth.” She tried to overcome Hell’s command with all her will, but in the end hadn’t been able to.
“Have you done this before?”
“Oh, often, most of us do it.” Now Christabel was receiving furious glares from several other students. Hell and I exchanged grins.
Ms Cowslip seemed stunned. After a hesitation, she announced, “I will inform Dr. Hollingsworth of this confession. He will decide on the appropriate steps.”
For the rest of the class, she took care not to call on Christabel again.
As soon as the bell rang, almost everyone converged on Christabel in a babble of angry and puzzled words. I ostentatiously ignored the scene, but couldn’t help overhearing some parts of the ensuing quarrel.
“Are you crazy?”
“If you tell them about my maths exam I’m going to kill you.”
“What did you do that for, have you taken drugs?”
“They may banish you from the school, and serve you right if they do. You should have said it was a joke.”
“No, she should never have said anything in the first place.”
“Chris, how could you?”
To the latter question she replied, “I have to speak the truth.” That produced a nonplussed silence for a moment.
“Who are you, and what have you done with Christabel?”
“Are you going to go on like this?”
“Yes.” Christabel looked at them with hostility, then threw Hell and me a quick glance of hatred and fear. Several of her clique left in disgust, and others threatened her with dire consequences if she didn’t shut up.
Melinda was as puzzled as the rest. “What’s going on here?” she wondered, but fortunately didn’t realise that Hell and I could have answered her rhetorical question. “She must be taking drugs or something.”
“Or something.” I remembered the scene with the bracelet the previous night, the way Christabel had smirked at me, certain I’d be thrown out of her school. She hadn’t felt a smidgen of pity for me. I saw no reason why I should feel any for her now.
“Hey, Christabel,” I asked in a loud voice, across the room, “What do you really think of your friends?”
“Well, Harriet is a fool who’ll do anything I say. Mary has no taste in clothes and will believe the most stupid things. I sometimes make some shit up just to see if she’ll swallow it…..”
By the time she was finished answering, she had no friends left. But after all, it was her own fault if she surrounded herself with people she secretly despised. The answer could have been, I really like and admire them and I’m glad they are my friends.
Possibly I’d gone too far, but on the other hand, maybe the experience would be good for her character. In the end.
Maybe.
15
Christabel got off with a severe reprimand and a hundred hours of community service. Her family’s standing and wealth must have helped prevent any worse consequence. I didn’t fool myself that she’d really reformed. Whenever our paths crossed, bright hatred shone out of her lovely eyes, and I knew I’d made a mortal enemy. Since she’d already hated me before, though, I didn’t expect anything to really change.
The day after Christabel’s falling out with her supporters, I had an unexpected phone call.
“Is that Myra? Myra Dollinger?” I didn’t recognise the male voice.
“Yes, who’s calling?”
“This is Jerry Murdock, Jason’s agent. Listen, doll, I want you to get your hooks out of my boy. He’s acting totally crazy lately.”
“Don’t call me doll, Mr Murdock,” I said coldly. “I’d be the first to be happy if Jason stopped this obsession with me. I’m not encouraging him in any way.”
“He is about to break a contract and cost me a fortune,” Murdock raged. “All because of you.”
“Sorry, it’s not my doing, that’s between you and Jason.” I switched the phone off. I wanted to be angry at the man, but he was just defending his livelihood, after all.
A moment later the phone rang again. Same number. I let it ring a couple of times before answering. “Yes? Are you going to apologise?”
“I guess,” Murdock ungraciously replied. “Maybe I was out of line. The reason I’m really calling is that Jason absolutely refuses to do the recording session in Atlanta on Friday if you don’t come along.” His tone left little doubt how little he thought of that idea. “A lot of money and reputation is on the line, so are you willing to come along?”
“I wouldn’t mind, but I’m enrolled at this school, same as Jason. It’s not just up to me.”
“What about your parents?”
“They’re out of country. Listen, Mr Murdock, I don’t really want to come along with Jason as his official girlfriend. If my brother and best friend Melinda were to go along too, a sort of group outing, the school might be more inclined to permit it, and my parents would like it better, once they learn about it.”
“I’ll talk to Hollingsworth.”
Murdock clearly still did not feel very happy about me as he rang off.
I called up information on Atlanta on my laptop, to see how far away it was and what the climate was like.
Leaving the school for a couple of days sounded good to me, if Murdock could swing it. It would be nice to get away from Christabel’s glares. Maybe they even had well-seasoned food somewhere in Atlanta?
Brightening at the thought, I called up a list of the city’s top-ranked restaurants.
16
The headmaster approved our trip to Atlanta, rather to my surprise. He sent Ms Allerton along to keep an eye on us. (“In case your parents have questions, when we can get hold of them. Just where did you say your father was travelling, Miss Dollinger?”) I didn’t know her well. She was a teacher’s assistant in her early twenties, quiet and reserved, and apparently could be spared from her usual duties.
Melinda and Hell were excited, and Jason was ecstatic. My own hopes centred on finally getting some edible food. Surely there would be time for checking out the restaurants while Jason was busy recording.
In fact, right upon arrival the whole group of us had dinner in the restaurant attached to the Hilton, where we were staying. It was a lot better than what we got in school, though not a patch on Olympian cuisine. We met Mr Murdock there, who stared at me doubtfully before drawing Jason aside for a business discussion that sounded rather like a scolding. The agent couldn’t understand what Jason saw in me to make him risk breaking a contract. My ears burned; a good thing that Melinda and Miss Allerton, seated next to me, had less acute hearing.
“So tomorrow morning we’re going to the studio with Jason, and we’ll get a private tour while he’s recording,” Miss Allerton’s eyes gleamed. “Then at lunch we’ll get to meet the MacDudes! I can’t believe it! This is sooo amazing.”
She sounded like a groupie, not a teacher, I thought sourly. “Where are we having lunch?”
She consulted a printout that she had tucked in her purse. “It says here, privately catered at the studio. If it’s for Jason and the MacDudes and the studio bosses, it’ll come from some top restaurant, probably.”
“Mmh.” I hoped she was right.
I looked around for Melinda, who was coming back from the rest room. “What a nice change from the school,” she said to me. “Thanks for including me in this trip.”
“We all enjoy your company.” I regarded her with affection. “Do your parents know that you’re here?
“Oh yes, they agreed to let me co
me right away. Mom is a big fan of the MacDudes. She asked me to get her autographs of all four of them.”
Jason had clearly had enough of his agent’s critical remarks and came back to my side like a homing pigeon. Murdock followed more slowly and sat at the other end of the table.
Jason smiled at me. “Did you leave me any of the roast, darling?”
I frowned at the endearment. “There’s plenty left, and we can always order more.”
“You don’t know how happy I am that you came with me.”
“Well, it’s no hardship, what with the better food.”
“Will you come for a walk with me after dinner, just the two of us?”
“And the bodyguard I hired for you here, he’ll walk behind,” Murdock added. The bodyguard, a stocky guy in his thirties, was hovering two tables over at the moment.
“I don’t know,” I began, then at Jason’s hopeful look, relented. “Oh, all right.”
Jason didn’t get to eat more than a couple of bites before a gaggle of girls, the youngest only ten or so, came over from another table, to ask for autographs. This happened several times during the course of the meal. He dealt with these interruptions professionally and gracefully. My own patience wouldn’t have been so elastic.
Eventually everyone had finished eating, and it was time for our walk. Jason tucked my hand under his arm, and we ventured out into the hot, humid atmosphere of the city. Not the best idea he ever had. Why had I agreed to this?
We stopped at a little park with a fountain in the centre. It could have been romantic if I’d been in a romantic mood. The moon was almost full. The bodyguard trailed us a few steps behind, so silently I could almost forget his presence.
To my surprise, Jason took a small box out of his pocket, and shyly offered it to me. I opened it with misgivings. It proved to contain a delicate gold chain with a locket, set with three huge, irregular pearls and a flat-cut diamond in the middle.
“Look, it opens,” – he showed me, and inside the locket I found a tiny engraving of him and me, with our initials entwined underneath.
“I know we’re too young for rings and engagements,” Jason said, earnestly, “but I wanted to give you something that tells you how I feel. How I’ll always feel about you. My life would be pointless if it didn’t have you in it.”
What to say to such a declaration? You are a poor deluded victim of Eros, and I’ll try to save you from this state if it’s the last thing I do? Hardly. Until I could get Dad to undo the damage, it was probably for the best to just play along.
Instead of replying, I placed a soft kiss on Jason’s lips. He was bursting with happiness when I drew back.
“This is the best day of my life,” he said, simply.
I sighed. “You’re sweet, Jason. Thanks for the locket – I’ll keep it as long as you feel like that about me.”
Over Jason’s shoulder, I caught the amused gaze of the bodyguard.
“Let’s go back to the hotel and celebrate a bit with our friends, shall we?” I suggested.
It was a fun evening, after all. Hell and Melinda tried out various dances in the bar, where a live band was playing, and did surprisingly well. As I saw them foxtrot, I blinked – had my brother grown half a head overnight? Well, he could change his appearance any way he liked. As I could have, under normal circumstances. The interesting question was rather, why he’d bother. I did notice that he was exactly Melinda’s height now.
17
After a restful night in the hotel and a hasty breakfast, we were whisked off to the studio in a sparkling white limousine. Only Miss Allerton looked impressed. From what information she’d let fall, Melinda’s family owned a good part of Colombia. Hell and I had ridden along in Phoebus' chariot.
A crowd of fans stood waiting near the studio entrance. They went almost hysterical at seeing Jason descend from the long car, and started to chant, rhythmically, Ja-son! Ja-son!” Several photographers were busily flashing their cameras.
Jason was immediately shielded by flunkies and also separated from his fans by a rope barrier, but he good-naturedly exchanged a few words across the rope, signed a couple of pictures, and waved to the rest of the fans. This seemed to make them even more enthusiastic.
I looked on in astonishment. Sure, he was talented and good-looking, but did these girls and boys have nothing better to do? Did they have no pride?
Jason soon returned to my side and firmly grasped my hand in his.
His agent bustled towards us. “Jason, you come this way. The press conference will start as soon as you’ve arrived.”
Jason pulled me along, while the other three were led off in a different direction by a young man. I looked to Mr Murdock for assistance, but he just shrugged.
We emerged from a corridor into the front section of a larger room that I couldn’t even see properly because dozens of flashes went off right in my face. Jason was unfazed and confidently strode to a pulpit in the middle of the front section. I had managed to detach my hand at last and tried to fade into the background of the stage, but beside the entrance we’d used, blocked by the bodyguard and several others, there was just a wall with some cloth hanging over it. I stood there, grinding my teeth.
“Is she your girlfriend, Jason?” the journalists asked.
Jason beamed. “Yes, this is Myra, the girl I love more than life.”
This corny phrase was greeted with a mixture of incredulity and sniggering. I felt myself flushing, embarrassed for both of us.
Jason turned back, grasped my hand again, and pulled me forward. I thought about resisting, but that would have made me look even more foolish.
“Howdy, Myra,” one of the journalists shouted. “Tell us your side of the story!”
I saw Murdock glare at me from the side of the room. Well, he could have prevented this. I took a deep breath.
“I go to the same school in Colorado as Jason,” I told the assembled reporters. “When I transferred to Rockview a while ago, we hit it off right away. I really admire Jason’s talent.”
They took notes, but didn’t seem to find this terribly fascinating.
“Do you love him?”
“My feelings are my own affair. It was nice meeting you, now I’ll leave you to Jason, who is the star here.” I left the room at a walk, though quickly, with my head held high. After all, a daughter of Zeus is not afraid of anyone or anything.
But still. Whew. I’d hate having to deal with such intrusive questioning on a regular basis.
One of the recording studio flunkies escorted me to the rest of my group – Miss Allerton, Melinda and Hell – who were being shown a gallery of posters of all the stars who had been recording there at some time or another. Their guide was a young, skinny guy who looked to be barely twenty.
It was boring, as I’d never heard of most of these singers, but I feigned interest, relieved to have escaped from the media attention. All those flashes, though – I’d be outed as Jason’s girlfriend, no doubt about it. Maybe even put on TV, and certainly on his fan pages on the internet. I hadn’t even put on any cosmetics or makeup, as I understood was the normal practice for human media appearances.
On the other hand, who cared? From what Pallas had told me, most gods and goddesses had looked foolish at some point in their long lives. She always advised me to look on any mishaps as comedy. To remember that, later on, I would laugh about it all. I wished it were later on already.
If only I had my glamour back. Then I wouldn’t ever need to bother with messy make-up and other human enhancements.
After the gallery, the guide showed us their media library, and we finally came to the highlight of the tour, the recording studios. We were led to one that wasn’t currently in use and shown all kind of expensive-looking technical equipment. Hell was more interested in that part than I was. A couple of technicians sat in a booth behind thick glass, looking out at us. The younger one winked at me.
“Go on, you can try it out,” our guide said with a patronizing smil
e, gesturing at the equipment. “Here, take the mike – sing your favourite song!”
Miss Allerton immediately shook her head, claiming she was completely unmusical.
Melinda held the microphone in front of her bosom, struck a sexy pose, and sang something that began Reloj, no marques las horas. She had a pleasant contralto voice.
Then it was my turn. Without thinking much about it, I sang the first thing that came into my head, a ditty that Phoebus had composed the year before. Hell chimed in with the counterpoint, and – no, I was not mistaken – he even added an almost inaudible echo of the lyre with which Phoebus usually played the piece. As it was a short song, we both remembered all the words.
When we finished after a couple of minutes, the guide, Miss Allerton and Melinda were all staring at us. So were the technicians, who were talking to each other, but the thick glass partition made it impossible even for me to hear what they said.
One of the technicians spoke to us through a mike. “That was real unusual. Could you do it over?”
I shrugged, and we sang the song again. It did have a lovely, haunting melody.
“What language is that?” the guide asked when we were through.
“Uh – I don’t know. We learned the song from a friend who came from Macedonia,” Hell said, off-hand.
“That was a really strange sound you two produced, almost otherworldly,” Melinda commented. Hell shook his head at her.
“I liked your song too, even if it was a bit old-fashioned.”
“My granny loves Boleros, I hear them all the time when I visit her. El Reloj is one of her favourites.”
“You’re all three amazingly talented,” Ms Allerton said. “I couldn’t sing in tune if my life depended on it.”
The tour being over, our guide led us into the executive cafeteria, where we were supposed to wait for Jason. I ordered a lemon soda. Hell and Melinda broke into Spanish and engaged in a detailed comparison of favourite songs. I drank my soda and Ms Allerton stirred her latte, looking around curiously. The guide was also silent and looked bored, and – I suspected – resentful at having to do babysitting duty.
