Chasing Romeo

by Sarah Ready

  She nods quickly, “Vercon.”

  The big guy looks at me and slowly shakes his head. His long hair falls over his left eye and he swipes it aside. “You have no idea, do you?”

  I hold up my hands. “I got nothing.”

  He puts on a long-suffering sage look, then swings up the counter divider and steps out. He waves his hand. “Follow.”

  He has a limp and swings his right leg to the side as he walks. We walk behind him as he throws comments over his shoulder every few steps. “Matt’s a furry,” he says.

  “Okay?” says Chloe.

  “A coyote. There’s all kinds of animals, but Matt feels most comfortable as a coyote.”

  “He’s a coyote?” I ask, trying for clarification.

  The guy stops and sends me a look like I’m a few crayons short of a box. “He’s a furry. They have meetings all over the U.S. He’ll be at this con for the next three days.”

  “But we need to see him,” says Chloe.

  The guy turns and continues walking toward the back of the store. It’s dim and musty. A few of the fluorescent lightbulbs are burned out. There are rows of shelves, deep with comic books covered in plastic sheets, models, and gaming stuff. The store is long and narrow and jam packed with merchandise. We come to a stop at the end of a narrow aisle.

  Chloe probably can’t see around him, but I can.

  “The only way you’ll see him,” says the big guy, “is as a furry.”

  He steps aside.

  Chloe gasps and then steps back. “Oh no,” she says.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Puppets. I hate puppets.”

  The big guy rolls his eyes. “Those aren’t puppets.”

  “I have to wear one of those to see Matt?” she asks.

  I’m getting concerned, she looks like she’s about to be sick.

  “Or wait three days until he comes back to work,” says the guy. “Your choice. They’re two hundred a pop.”

  Is this guy serious?

  There’s no way to tell. Chloe looks at me, gauging my reaction. Will I help her or won’t I? Will I do this or not? I step forward and grab the only fuzzy animal costume that looks big enough to fit me.

  “I’ve always felt most comfortable as…” I hold up the suit.

  The big guy snorts.

  Chloe starts to laugh and then that determined light fills her eyes.

  She’s back in the game.

  18

  Chloe

  * * *

  Matt Smith Number Five…

  * * *

  I’m trussed up in a full-body hot pink panda costume. It smells like Cheetos and jockstrap. Even though the head is open, it’s a hood sort of thing, I can still smell the old scratchy fur with every breath I take.

  It’s hotter than a sauna in this panda, and it’s itchy. Unfortunately, my hands are paws and it’s impossible to scratch myself. But I least I look cute. Right? Who wouldn’t look adorable as a pink panda bear with a fuzzy white belly and soft fur?

  “This is worse than the proctologist,” says Nick.

  I look over at him and grin. “You look great.”

  He narrows his eyes.

  “I’m dressed as a cock,” he says.

  “It’s a rooster.”

  It’s fuzzy white with a red comb, a tail, and yellow legs like big bird. He scowls at me from between a big yellow beak.

  “Don’t worry. You’re the cutest cock I’ve ever seen,” I say.

  He raises his eyebrows. “Let’s get this over with.”

  I’m still readjusting, trying to reconcile the fact that everything I’ve believed of Nick for the past ten years was wrong. He never set out to hurt me, he wasn’t responsible for the flagpoles, he didn’t know about the wedding, he’s always been…good.

  That’s almost scarier though than him being a jerk, because then, how do I stop myself from wanting him? Because I do. Except, I called Aunt Erma earlier, and she reassured me that I was on the right track with my hunt. So. Forward.

  We stride into the hotel ballroom where the Vegas furries are meeting. No one really notices as we come in. Not that I blame them. What’s two more fuzzy people in a crowd of a hundred? The ballroom is the usual boring hotel bland. Fluorescent lighting, beige wallpaper, dark red carpet. What makes this room different than the usual is the pile in the center of the room of about thirty people in animal costumes laying on top of each other. The guy at the comic shop mentioned this—it’s called a fur pile.

  “Which one of these guys do you think is Number Five?” asks Nick. He surveys the room.

  I look over the big group. I have no clue.

  A man and a woman in brown bear costumes nuzzle on a low couch nearby. Another group stands near a refreshments table.

  “Let’s go ask,” I say.

  Nick studies me. “You sure?”

  Is this like when he asked me in the prison? I study his face, but he doesn’t seem to have any deeper meaning to his words.

  “Can’t be worse than Colorado,” I say. At least everyone here seems friendly.

  We walk across the room to where a small group of furries stand by a table piled with carrot sticks, ranch dip, pita bread and hummus. There are a few two liters of Coke.

  The group is in a heated discussion about the future of furry conventions.

  I move in a little closer and wave a pink paw. “Hi there. I’m Chloe.”

  A freckled man with glasses wearing a raccoon suit stops talking. They all turn to stare.

  “You’re new,” says the raccoon man. He looks me up and down then says, “Nice.”

  Nick steps next to me and puts his hand on my arm.

  “Um. I’m looking for Matt Smith. Do you know if he’s here?”

  “He was in the pile,” says a girl dressed as a fox, “but he went for a smoke.” She shrugs then winks at Nick. “You want to go in with me?”

  “That’s alright,” he says. His face turns a shade darker.

  “Too bad,” she says, “I like your cock-stume.”

  He chokes a little and coughs. I pat his back. Music starts up from the DJ in the corner, it’s a sort of techno dance mix.

  “The dancing is starting. Wanna dance?” the fox asks.

  I elbow Nick in the ribs. I don’t think he feels it because his costume is thickly padded around the middle. He’s staring at foxy girl like he’s never seen anything like her in his life. I elbow him again.

  He snaps out of it. “Um, no. That’s alright.”

  “You sure? Foxes love to eat…chickens,” she says.

  “No means no,” I snap. I am not jealous of the foxy girl. Not at all.

  I pull Nick away from the group and back toward the door. “Let’s just wait here until he comes back,” I say. But Nick shakes his head.

  “We have to blend,” he says. He nods at the crowd. We’re starting to attract attention. Not because we’re dressed as a pink panda and a rooster, but because we’re standing at the entry like two creepy lurkers. Half of the people are still in the fur pile, but the other half are dancing. I don’t want to go in the pile…so.

  “Let’s dance.”

  I grab Nick’s hand and lead him to the center of the room. We start to bounce to the music and jump up and down to the techno beat. Soon, we get into it and I forget that I’m afraid of fuzzy puppet-like creatures and start to get into it.

  “You’re pretty good,” says Nick. “Not a bad dancer for a panda.”

  I punch him in the arm. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

  He smiles at my compliment and I bump my hips against him. After a few minutes my heart’s pounding and I’m sweating buckets. My hair is plastered to my head and sweat trickles between my breasts. I’m relieved when the song ends and a slow acoustic melody starts to play. It’s a slow dance. I glance around the room. Furries are pairing off into couples and swaying back and forth to the music.

  Nick holds out his hands with a questioning look on his face.

  “Okay,”
I say.

  It’s funny, I remember the same look on his face back in high school when he first asked me out. It said, please don’t hurt me. Boys are more vulnerable than girls know.

  I step toward him and put my paws on his shoulders. He wraps his hands around my waist. It feels a little like a junior high dance when we had to keep our bodies three feet apart. Except this time, instead of the rules keeping us apart, it’s our padded bellies. He pulls me closer, until our fur is pressed tight together. A hot pulse rolls through me and I close my eyes. We rock back and forth to the song, while a delicious warmth sings through my veins. It’s kind of strange dancing with Nick as a big, fuzzy animal rather than as himself. It’s like there’s not all the history and the humanness to keep us apart. I lean in and rest my head against his chest. His hands close over my back and linger at the base of my spine. We sway to the music, and suddenly, I don’t want this moment to ever end. I can hear his heart pounding through my hood. His hands dip a half inch lower and I move closer. I rub the velvety fur of his costume and relax into him even more.

  He tilts his head and runs his lips across my forehead. “Chloe,” he says.

  “Yes?” My eyes flutter open and I look up at him.

  “Do you think…”

  My heart beat picks up. “Yes?”

  He leans down and runs his lips over mine. He tastes of salt and fresh air and desire. I close my eyes and revel in the feel of him. The cool taste of his lips and the sharp puff of his exhale. The warmth of him as he opens his mouth and pulls on my bottom lip.

  I revel in it. But then, I remember, I’m not a pink panda, I’m a human, looking for my soul mate. And even if thinking of being with Nick sends an ache through me…he’s not mine.

  Finally, the music stops and Nick pulls away.

  “Do you think…” he says again, “that you might…”

  I have to stop him before he asks the question. I know where he’s going and I can’t.

  “I can’t,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

  He pulls his hand away from me and steps back. “Right. I forgot.” His lips twist into a deep scowl and he wipes the back of his mouth with his hand.

  I look down at the floor and blink back tears. Nick and I wouldn’t work. He’s not my soul mate, my Aunt Erma confirmed it just this morning. And that’s the only thing I need to know to make this decision. I look back up at him, wiping my face of all expression. “I’m looking for my soul mate, not…” I pause.

  He studies my face, then his expression becomes hard. “Someone like me.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I don’t know. You’re not my soul mate.”

  But whereas before I was ecstatic that he wasn’t, now it hurts that he’s not. I want him to be. I want him so much. But I’m too scared to say that out loud.

  “I’m sorry,” I say instead.

  “You want something to drink?” He nods toward the table.

  He’s letting me off the hook. We walk over to the table and I take a cup. The raccoon guy walks over. “Hey, your coyote is in the fur pile,” he says.

  I turn and look. Sure enough, a blonde guy dressed as a coyote is on the edge of the pile.

  “Alright. Thanks.” Nick motions toward the pile. “Let’s do this.”

  We stride over to the edge of the furries. When we get there I have to go down on all fours to get close to Matt. He’s on top of a polar bear and under a rabbit.

  “Matt Smith?” I ask.

  His eyes are closed and he rubs his hands over the polar bear’s fur. When I say his name his eyes open. When he sees my costume his face lights up.

  “I love bears,” he says.

  “I’m Chloe.”

  The girl in the bunny costume reaches out and runs her hand down my arm. I scoot back a bit.

  “Hey there, Chloe bear,” he says. “There’s plenty of room. Come on in.”

  “Did you go to summer camp in New York?” I ask.

  Matt’s distracted by the rabbit fur rubbing over his face. He strokes his fingers through the fabric and tugs on her long ears.

  “Matt? Did you? Because I really need to know.”

  The polar bear guy growls and rolls over to face me. “Hey, Miss Panda. I’m his bear. I don’t share with other bears.”

  I inch back, balance on my knees and hold up my paws. “No. It’s cool, I just…” I look at Matt. His face is buried in the bunny’s furry backside. I move back onto my hands and crawl closer to Matt. “Excuse me. Can I talk to you outside for a second?”

  His head cocks to the side, then he looks me up and down. “Yeah?”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “Awesome.”

  The polar bear growls again.

  “Mellow, Stan. I’ll be back in fifteen,” Matt says.

  Nick pulls me up from the floor.

  “We can go out the door there,” says Matt, pointing at an exit on the far wall. “I need a cigarette.”

  We leave the room and step out into the early evening. Even though it’s Vegas and a dry ninety degrees, the fresh air still feels wonderful. Matt unzips his suit and pulls out a pack of Marlboros and a lighter. “Want one?”

  “No, thanks.”

  He holds the pack out to Nick.

  “Nah.”

  We’re behind the hotel in the parking lot. Nick’s car is parked in the front row less than twenty feet away. Matt pulls in a long, long draw. He looks across the lot at Shelly.

  “Now that’s a nice ride,” he says. “Used to take joyrides in a lady like her.”

  I let him take another long draw as we all admire Shelly. She’s a little dusty from the trip, but still, I admit, she looks good. Nick was right, she hasn’t let us down. Not once.

  I ask my question again. I’m antsy and itchy and Nick’s kisses are making me uncomfortable and I just want to get this trip over with so the confusion can stop.

  “Did you go to summer camp in New York?”

  Matt turns to me. His coyote costume gives him a trickster sort of vibe. He even has a wily glint in his eyes. “If I say yes, will you skritch with me?”

  “Um.” I don’t know what skritch means, but I’m not sure I’ll like it. “No,” I say.

  “Then no. I didn’t.”

  I frown. “If I say yes, does that mean you did go to summer camp in New York?”

  “I really like that car,” Matt says.

  Nick steps forward. “She’s mine,” he says. He says it in such a menacing way that at first I think he’s talking about me. But neither of them are looking my way.

  “Ohhh man. That’s awesome. How’s she ride?”

  “Responsive. Smooth and tight.”

  “Yesss,” says Matt.

  I shake my head to clear it. They’re talking about Shelly. The car. Jeez.

  “Excuse me,” I say. “I really need to know if you’ve ever been to summer camp in New York.”

  Matt shrugs and takes another puff of his cigarette. “Don’t remember.”

  I sag against the brick wall of the hotel and close my eyes. Why? Why me?

  Nick growls. “How about I tell your polar bear friend that you skritched with four other bears out here unless you give us an answer,” he says.

  I push myself off the wall. Matt winces and throws down his cigarette. He steps on the still burning end with his paw.

  “Did you?” I ask.

  I can feel Nick watching me intently, but I keep my eyes on Matt. Finally, he shakes his head.

  “No. Never did,” he says.

  My shoulders sag.

  I don’t want to look at Nick and see the expression on his face. I can’t.

  “Okay, thanks,” I say.

  Matt shrugs and slinks away.

  I lean back against the brick wall and close my eyes. I’m…relieved.

  When I open my eyes again, Nick stares down at me and he looks furious.

  19

  Nick

  * * *

  “Why?” I ask.

  I clench my fists. I th
ought I could get through this without confronting her again, but I can’t let it go, and I don’t know how much more I can take. A guy with a cat fetish, a felon, a proctologist and a guy in a coyote costume…what do these guys have that I don’t except a certain name?

  “Why what?” Chloe asks. She swallows and I watch her throat bob. She should look awful dressed up as a panda, but instead she looks cute as hell and it only makes me want her more.

  “Why are you doing this?” I gesture around us, at the costumes, the hotel, at the world.

  “I already told you why,” she says. She crosses her arms.

  I pace in the space in front of her. “No. I don’t buy it. None of what you said makes sense.”

  “I’m not talking about it,” she says. She starts to walk away, farther from the door. I follow her, drawn to her. I have to figure this out. It’s not just blind romanticism that’s driving this.

  “None of what you said would make you chase a stranger across the country. You’ve been willing to fall in love with a prisoner, a psycho, a stranger in a coyote costume. It’s insane.”

  “It’s not,” she says. She lifts her chin in the air and glares. “It’s not.”

  “Bull.” I run a hand down my face. “It is. How can you be so smart but so stupid?”

  “I’m not. My aunt told me—”

  “It’s not real. None of it’s real.”

  She backs up and her chin shakes. I’ve hit a sore spot, but I can’t stop. “You’re deluded. You keep flitting around, all sunshine and sparkles, chipper and upbeat, thinking some messed up stranger is going to be your perfect fit.”

  “He will be,” she says. Her eyes have a desperate look.

  “He won’t.”

  “There’s one more,” she says. “And it’s him. My aunt said I’d find him on this trip. Tomorrow, I’ll find him and I’ll prove you wrong.”

  The thought terrifies me. I hadn’t realized how much until this moment. Her words hit me like a fist. I want to roar. Instead I say, “It won’t be him. Admit it.”

  “No,” she says.

  “Admit it. Soul mates aren’t real.”

  A tear falls from her eyes and she swipes at it with a pink paw. “I won’t,” she says. “I’ll never admit it.”