by Dan Alatorre
Barry had been leaning on the machine and pointing things out to Riff. He stopped us before we made it out the door. “Hey, how about getting us some supplies? Ear plugs, for sure, and something to protect our eyes. Like maybe some welder’s glasses.”
Riff furrowed his brow. “What do we need that shit for?”
“The machine’s a little hard to work with.” Barry waved a hand at the turbine section. “It puts out a crazy loud noise and a big flash. We need something to guard us against that if we’re going to try another test.”
“Another test? You tested it without me?” His shoulders slumped.
Melissa sighed. “Okay. Like I said, get him up to speed and I’ll be right back. Barry, where can I find that stuff?”
“Hard to say…”
“Try Radio Shack,” Roger said. “The one up by K-Mart.”
Barry rubbed his chin. “Radio Shack won’t have welder’s glasses. Maybe try BuyMart. They have everything.”
Melissa hung her head. “Ugh, I hate BuyMart.”
“Seriously.” Roger twisted around to eye her. “Try Radio Shack. That place will surprise you with some of the oddball junk they carry. It could be a front for a covert military operation, with the things they bring out of the back room.”
Riff laughed. “They’d have to be. They sure never have any customers. How much money can you make selling batteries to kids?”
“I bet they have ‘em.” Roger leaned in to inspect the machine. “Hey, what do you guys think about some kind of head protection, too? Like maybe a football helmet?”
“We’re half a mile from the varsity practice fields.” Riff hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I can get you some football helmets.”
“Don’t.” Barry waved his hand. “Let’s not steal anything else if we don’t have to.”
Riff glanced at Barry. “Anything else?”
Nodding, Barry patted the bronze frame of the time machine. “Technically, this thing’s stolen. When we didn’t turn it in on day one. So let’s keep our less-than-legal activities to a minimum.”
“Well, then.” Riff smiled. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”
“Let’s get some helmets.” Roger reiterated.
Barry smirked. “I don’t think that’s necessary…”
Melissa headed to the door. “Okay. Got it. Ear plugs and welding goggles. Peeky?”
I jumped up and followed her, not really sure why. She’d done plenty of interviews before. What was different about this one? As we left, I heard Riff whining. “I can’t believe you guys figured out it was a time machine and then tried it without me…”
“Trust me,” Barry said. “You didn’t want to be here.”
“I sure didn’t want to be where I was!”
Chapter Twelve
“Missy, I’m happy to tag along, but why me? What kind of interview is this?”
She stopped at her car. “It’s been a long day, Peeky. I don’t want to say anything stupid to this reporter.” She leaned onto the car roof, resting her head on her arm. “Will you just watch me? Nudge me under the table if I start to say something out of line?”
I straightened myself. “Of course.”
A thin smile crept across her lips. “Thanks.”
Melissa needed no advice on politics, though. She was sharp as a tack and had been a great asset in her dad’s mayoral campaign. We got into her car and I slipped my seat belt into the buckle. “Who’s the interview with?”
She started the car and pulled away from the curb. “Janice Peterson, a reporter from the Tampa Tribute. I’ve met her a few times at some of Dad’s business functions and at campaign stuff. She seems okay. But you never know with reporters.”
Melissa leaned over suddenly and blew into my face. “How’s my breath?”
“I don’t know! Is that important?”
“I don’t know. I’m nervous!”
“Well calm down. Good grief, what’s with you?” Then I chuckled. “Do I nudge you now? That was pretty stupid.”
After a short drive, Melissa made a call on her cell phone. I felt around in my pockets for mine. I didn’t have it. In my haste, I had left it at Barry’s apartment. Crap.
We were to meet the reporter for coffee at the university commons, a large open area in the center of campus. Melissa parked at the bookstore and we covered the short distance to the coffee shop.
It was easy to see which one was the reporter. A strikingly beautiful middle aged lady in a well-tailored business suit, surrounded by a sea of twenty-year-olds in tank tops and shorts.
“Ms. Peterson.” Melissa strolled in, flashing her million dollar smile.
The lady stood and extended her hand. Another million dollar smile. “Please, call me Janice.”
“Janice, this is my friend Tomàs. I’m his ride home. Is it okay if he joins us?”
“Of course. Tomàs, very nice to meet you.”
“And you, ma’am.”
She gestured for us to sit. “Can I get you two something?”
I held up my hands. “Please, allow me. You two need to chat. I shall serve as Melissa’s manservant this evening. What may I get you?”
“A mocha latte, please, Peeky.” Melissa reached into her purse. “With Splenda.”
“Let me get this.” The reporter handed me a $20 bill. “I’ll have the same, a latte. And please get yourself something – ‘Peeky’ is it? What an interesting name.”
“I’ll let Melissa explain it to you. Be right back.”
The cash register was right behind Janice, about three feet from our table. She pulled out a small notepad. “He’s charming. Boyfriend?”
“No, no. Peeky—Tomàs—is in my paleontology study group. He’s just a friend.”
“I see. I like the accent.”
“He’s from India. Tomàs Pequant. Peeky, for short.” Melissa winked at me.
“‘Pequant’ doesn’t sound Indian.”
“It’s French. His great-grandfather, I think.”
“How fascinating.” Janice smiled and leaned back, crossing her legs. “You have a lot of interesting people in your life, don’t you?”
Melissa smiled back. “I can think of a few.”
“Well, the one I’m interested in is running for mayor. Shall we talk about him?”
“Absolutely.” Melissa straightened in her chair.
“Do you help with his campaign much?”
“I try.”
Melissa had most of her political answers well-rehearsed. I’d seen her do this before: a big grin, a short, upbeat answer, and end with a statement about her dad being the best thing for Tampa. Tonight she seemed a little off. Slow to answer. Hesitant.
Her eyes returned to the reporter. “You’ve seen me at a campaign event here and there, but I’m pretty busy with school, you know?
“Paleontology.” Janice acknowledged, opening her notepad to a fresh page.
“That’s right. It keeps my schedule full.”
“I can imagine.”
“But I help out when I can. Weekends, mostly, doing miscellaneous things for the campaign.” I could see Melissa’s hand in her lap, folding and unfolding a napkin. Why was she so nervous?
Janice lifted her eyes to Melissa. “Like doing interviews for the family aspect of a campaign.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, I appreciate it.” Janice set her pen down. “Your dad and I have been friends for a long time.” There was a warmth in her voice, as if she was trying to put Melissa at ease.
“Yes, I’ve seen you at some office Christmas parties, I think.”
Janice nodded at Melissa and changed to a more inquisitive tone. “How did you decide to come to USF to study paleontology?”
I set the lattes in front of them and sat down, handing the reporter her change. Melissa absently toyed with the green plastic cover on the tall cardboard cup, slowly turning it as she spoke.
“When I was a little girl, we were on vacation at the beach making a sand castle
—my mom, dad, and me. I wanted to decorate the towers by putting little seashells on top of them. My mom pointed out that one of them wasn't a shell. It was a piece of coral.” Melissa glanced up at Janice, who was listening intently. So was I.
“She was a tax attorney, you know? At Dad’s firm. But she had a lot of interests.” A faint smile appeared on her lips as she stared at the latte. “Dad always said Mom had a million interests, and she was good at every one of them.
“Anyway, she looked around and plucked a little rock from the sand and said, ‘See, Missy? This is a fossilized camel’s tooth.’ I couldn’t believe it. A camel in Florida. I’d never heard of that before.”
Melissa’s eyes never left the coffee. “She and I spent the rest of the vacation combing through the sand. We found tiny whale bone fossils, shark’s teeth…. I was amazed. It was like the whole beach was a giant crazy jigsaw puzzle. My mom said that any little rock or grain of sand might have a million-year-old story to tell. That was it for me. I never looked at the ground the same way after that.”
Melissa paused for a moment. The smile faded from her lips.
“She died two weeks later.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “She was killed by a drunk driver while she was out jogging. Rocks and things… just kind of became a way for me to stay connected with her.”
Janice and I were silent. I had no idea what to say.
Finally, Janice broke the silence. “That’s a powerful story.” She spoke softly, leaning in and resting her folded arms on the table. “But, I meant how did you decide to come to USF? Your dad is pretty well off. Surely with his connections, you could have gone anywhere.”
“Oh.” Melissa studied her latte, her cheeks reddening. “I guess so. I had the grades, but Tampa’s home. I couldn’t bear to think of leaving…”
“Your father?”
Melissa raised her eyes. “That’s right.”
Janice nodded. “How old were you in that story? The one about the beach.”
“I was twelve.”
“That must have been tough for you.”
“It was. For both of us.” Melissa placed her hands back in her lap. “I lost my mom, and Dad lost the love of his life.”
“That’s when he threw himself into philanthropy.”
“That’s right.” Melissa stared down at her hands. “Ms. Peterson, please – don’t print any of that.”
It was a request, but the look on her face said she was pleading.
“Of course, dear.”
Melissa continued her downward gaze. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I told you all that just now.” She shifted in her seat and glanced out the window. “It’s probably very boring.”
I had never witnessed a political candidate’s family being interviewed like this before. These didn’t seem to be typical questions. Or answers.
Janice’s eyes never left Melissa’s face. “Not boring at all. I completely understand. I lost my mother at an early age too. Much younger than you were.”
Melissa blinked, her jaw dropping.
“My father tried to hide his pain by drinking a lot,” Janice continued. “So when I got older, I tried to drown my problems in alcohol. It cost me my marriage.”
She tapped her pen on the blank pad. “The way you and your dad dealt with it was much healthier.” Then she smiled. “And don’t worry. Part of my job is to help make stories interesting, but a political story doesn’t need so much deeply personal information.”
Melissa took a deep breath and sat back. “Thank you.”
Then she glanced at me. “You know, you could have kicked me under the table or something. That’s why you’re here.”
“Sorry. It’s my first time doing an interview. Shall I kick you now?”
“Let’s change subjects.” Janice picked up her coffee. “Tell me about your dad’s campaign. How do you think he’s doing?”
Melissa brightened. This was her area, the well rehearsed, pitch-perfect answer. “Well, Uncle Troy – that’s Troy Morgan, the campaign manager – says Dad’s doing great, he’s ten points up in the polls and everybody loves him. Unless there’s an October surprise, Dad should be our next mayor.”
“Do you call all of your dad’s partners ‘uncle’?”
“Not the women partners.” Melissa laughed.
“Aunts?” Janice smiled over the latte.
“That’s right.”
“One big happy family.”
“Just about.” Melissa sipped her coffee. “I probably ate a thousand carryout Chinese dinners at my dad’s desk with those people. More than I ate at our house, that’s for sure. Dad and I never ate at home. I’m not sure he’s ever turned on our stove.”
Janice shook her head and smiled. “How funny. Could there be an October surprise? Something that happens before the election to derail everything?”
Melissa tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t see how. Dad’s pretty thorough. His team has all the bases covered.”
“They’re a smart bunch. I’ve met a lot of them at various galas over the last few years.”
“Galas.” Melissa rolled her eyes. “I used to get dragged to a ton of those.”
“With your father?”
Melissa nodded. “Oh, yeah. He would never ask anybody like a date, and he hated going alone. In high school, I spent more Friday nights with him at charity functions than on real dates with boys.”
“Maybe that was his plan all along.” Janice raised her eyebrows and cocked her head.
“Maybe, but the events stopped when I went to college. There wasn’t time. Can’t say I miss it.” Melissa took another sip of her coffee. “When’s your article coming out?”
I shifted on my seat. It sounded to me like she wanted to end the interview.
“Probably Tuesday.” Janice closed her notepad. “After I add some background.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t much help. I’m kind of tired.”
“Exams?”
Melissa glanced at me. “We’re, uh, working on a special project at school.” Then she turned back to Janice. “I just don’t think I gave you much you could use for your story.”
“You were more than helpful.” Janice slipped the notepad into her bag. “I can write all about Michael Mills’ beautiful and charming daughter and how she holds down the fort while studying paleontology at our favorite up-and-coming university. How’s that?”
Melissa returned the smile. “That sounds great. You’re pretty charming yourself. I don’t usually let my guard down like that.”
That was true. Melissa usually played things very close to the vest. Some genuine affection seemed to have developed between these two.
“Well,” Janice stirred her coffee. “You were tired. Don’t worry. There are a lot of snakes that masquerade as reporters. I’m not one of them. You can ask around about me.”
“I did. Uncle Troy said you were okay.” Melissa’s tone was different. Friendly, but direct.
Janice laughed, seeming a little caught off guard. “He did, did he? Well, I’ve known your uncle Troy a long time. He’s a good guy.”
“He said you and Dad had gone out a few times.”
There it was. Now the strange interview made a lot more sense. I looked at Melissa in shock. Was I supposed to kick her now?
I swung my foot and hit the table leg.
Janice’s mouth hung open as she desperately appeared to search for words.
Chapter Thirteen
Roger bolted from the couch and ran a hand through his hair. “This is bullshit. What’s taking them so long?”
Peeky and Melissa had been gone for over an hour. Meanwhile, as Barry scrubbed the machine, it called to Roger, begging for another test.
He looked over at Riff. “Hey, did you want to be here for the first test? I feel bad that you missed it.”
Barry was not amused. He bunched up his cleaning cloth. “What’s up, Roger?”
“Nothing’s up. I’m just asking Riff here if he’d like to see a
test of the machine. After all, the rest of us got to…”
Riff sat up. “Fuck, yeah, I’d like to see a test.”
Barry stood, shoving the rag into his pocket. “Hold on, you two.”
“Hold on what, Barry? You’re not in charge.” Roger walked over to the machine. “We’re all part of this thing. Riff only missed out because he was in the hospital, and he was only in the hospital because he was the one who dug the time machine out of the side of the hill.”
“What’s your point?”
Roger stared at the machine. “The point is, he deserves to see a test.”
“Definitely!” Riff jumped up.
“Come on. You’re thinking about it, too. Aren’t you just a little curious?”
“Okay, I am.” Barry said. “But we damn near got concussions the first time. We have to be smart about how we move forward.”
Roger folded his arms. “Right. Findlay said it was a viewer, right? So whoever rides in it will get to see something spectacular but not really be there. Like watching a movie, I think you said.”
“Yeah. Something like that…”
Roger put his hand on the bronze metal frame. “So why don’t we fire it up and catch a flick?”
“How’s it work?” Riff asked.
Smiling, Roger turned his eyes to Riff. “I’ll show you.”
* * * * *
“Melissa, I-”
Melissa held up a hand. “It’s okay . . . Janice.” Melissa spoke in calm, measured tones, like a mix of relief and reassurance. “I love my dad. I want him to be happy. Uncle Troy said . . . you make Dad happy. That you’re good for him.”
Janice blinked a few times. Now her cheeks reddened. “I don’t know what to say – and that’s a rarity for somebody who works with words for a living.”
“Troy’s a good judge of character.” Melissa drew a breath. “He likes you, so I like you.” A smile spread across her lips. “I guess my dad does, too.”
Janice arranged her paper napkin on the table, giving a thin smile back. “I’m not so sure…”
“Well, just . . . hang in there. He’ll come around.”
I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants. The tables had definitely turned.
