Starstruck

by S E Anderson

  “Where's the car?” Zander asked as he trotted down the stairs of the police station.

  “The parking lot behind the building,” I said. It was cold out, cold enough for me to be more than glad for my coat. Zander appeared comfortable in a t-shirt and jeans, damp hair or not.

  “I haven't gotten all the sand out of it yet,” I said, getting in the driver's seat. “Sorry. Well, no, I’m not sorry, actually. What's wrong with you?”

  “Most places don't have restrictions about swimming. I didn't—”

  “I'm not talking about the skinny-dipping in a public park,” I snapped. “I'm talking about Saturday. Now, sit down.”

  “What about Saturday?”

  “You left me.” I tore off into the night, completely forgetting there were cops watching. “You told me my life was in danger and that you were an alien, and then you just disappeared. Are you kidding me?”

  “I said it was over,” he said and furrowed his brows, “and I meant it. You didn't need me hanging around. You got all the answers you needed.”

  “Not all of them,” I scoffed. “I wasn't done.”

  “I was.”

  We drove in silence, but his frown turned into a smile. I avoided his gaze.

  “Which reminds me, I was trying to find you earlier. It seems you overpaid for the reparations. By a few thousand dollars, to tell the truth.”

  Zander smiled. “I'm glad it covered it.”

  “I need to give you—”

  “Keep it.” He looked cheerful, even in this cold and after being in jail for an hour or so. “It was a gift. I'm not going to take it back.”

  “Zander, that's an awful lot of money. A boatload. A shit ton.”

  “Those aren't recognized units of measurement.” He grinned. “And, in any case, it's no use to me. I hope I won’t be here long. I'm just glad I had some Earth currency on hand; it's hard to tell with some of the coins I have.”

  “That currency hadn't been in use for centuries.”

  “Still, right planet and all.” He stuffed a hand into his pocket, pulling out a handful of oddly shaped, glimmering things before putting them back and patting the denim. They were probably worth a lot of money off-world.

  He didn’t seem aware of the fact that the ones he had given me were replicas.

  “You could use it, though,” I urged. “They found you bathing in a pond, for goodness sake. In a park. Why didn't you go to a hotel or something?”

  “I don't like hotels. Too many people seeing me come and go. Security cameras in the lobby and so on. Plus, living in the woods is comfortable. Especially here. Nothing wants to eat you. It's soft and predictable. Smells better than most hotels, too.”

  “What did you do for food?”

  “Squirrels are good. And pigeon as long as you know how to cook them.”

  “Eww.” I shuddered. I had seen what pigeons ate and knew what they did all day. Eating them was on the bottom of my to-do list. “Those are the jeans from Saturday, aren't they?”

  “Yes.” Zander didn't seem in the least bit phased about the damage. He seemed almost proud, running a hand down the length of the denim. “Incredible material. Oh, come on, Sally, don't look so disgusted. They're just pants. Get over it.”

  “They're still wet.”

  “Hey, I'm trying to fit in.” He chuckled, giving me a playful grin. “I'd rather not be wearing them in the first place, but I think your cops might want to talk to me again if I get rid of them now.”

  “True.”

  We drove the rest of the way to my apartment in silence. The gray face of my building stared down at us with a heavy gloom. I parked and got out. Zander led me to the door, presenting it with a flourish and a low bow. I returned the gesture with a curtsey.

  “Good night, then,” he said, somewhat cheerfully, “and thanks for bailing me out. Thanks again, if I've already thanked you.”

  “Ah, no problem there,” I replied. He nodded, smiled, then turned around and walked in the direction of the park.

  “Wait,” I shouted after him. “Where are you going?”

  Zander turned around, a little confused. “I'm going back to the woods. I won't bathe in any ponds again, I promise.”

  “I meant what I said at the station,” I told him. “I can't have you staying in the woods like that.”

  “The woods are fine. Nice and … woodsy.”

  “Zander,” I snapped. “Let me ask you one question. Just one. All right?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why are you staying in this park if there's another closer to where I hit you?” I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Wouldn't your sister be more likely to find you there?”

  “Well, um,” he said, “I wanted to make sure nothing else happened to you. Not something I can do from the other park …”

  “Kind of creepy,” I pointed out.

  “Exactly what I was trying to avoid,” he stated with a shrug, “which was why I didn't tell you, which makes it sound even creepier. Yes, I know. But is there any other way to secretly keep an eye on the woman who ran you over because you think her life may still be in danger because of you?”

  “You could remove the secretly part and just ask,” I said. “And while the whole thing is kind of weird, it's kind of you. But wouldn't it be more efficient if you were staying in the same place as me?”

  “I guess so.”

  “I've got an extra room,” I offered. “I've been meaning to find a new roomie, but I haven't had any luck yet. It's got a shower and a washer and dryer, so you won't have to worry about taking baths in a pond anymore. And best of all? Food. Real food. No more squirrels.”

  “You saw me implode a spaceship,” he stated, “right in front of you. That doesn't bother you?”

  “Actually, I was too focused on not driving into a tree to watch your heroics, but you said it's over, right? You said they wouldn’t bother us again?”

  “They won’t, but others … I need to stick around to make sure.”

  “Perfect,” I replied, “and are you planning on offing anybody else?”

  “No.”

  “Then let me do this for you. No funny business, just a place to stay until you get on your feet.”

  “Sounds lovely.” To my relief, his smile returned. “I'd be honored. But you realize Blayde may not get here for a while.” He looked towards the sky, as if she was going to fall from there at any second, and I thought I heard him mutter, “a long while.”

  “Nothing permanent,” I asserted. “By the point I'm ready to move out, I think you'll be well enough settled to get along on this planet alone. It's the least I can do.”

  “My fault,” he said sourly.

  “I hit you with the car in the first place.”

  “We should stop this blame game.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Both of us have a part to play,” he said, “and I'm pretty sure we agreed we're even.”

  “Yup,” I shrugged. “So, we've both got to work it out.”

  “I'm going to have to get a job, aren't I?” he said suddenly, sighing heavily. “That's going to be wonderful.”

  “Hey, don't worry,” I said. “I'll help you find one. The whole Earth experience. Wait, have you got any work experience?”

  “Nothing that would be applicable here.” He took a step closer to the house then paused.

  “Well, what are you good at?”

  “Travel.” He grinned as if it were some kind of joke, but I guess I didn't get it. The grin faded.

  “I guess you never held a job for very long,” I said.

  “Depends on what you mean by 'long,' but no. No career or anything. Not that kind of person.”

  “Ambitions?”

  “Only secret ones.”

  “Do you do anything other than travel around the universe?”

  “I tend to get people in trouble then get them out of it. I'm assuming my special set of skills, if you will, doesn't really get me anywhere on this planet.”

&n
bsp; “Law enforcement?”

  “Yeah, better keep my face away from them. You never know who could recognize me.”

  “Alien cops?”

  “You don't wanna know.” Zander shook his head. “In any case, I need a boring office job of some kind. Keep my face hidden in the crowd.”

  “You seriously want to be an office drone?”

  “Does it involve actual drones?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Then that's the best place for me.” He sighed heavily. “Look, I could pop over to a university and talk universal theories with people. You don't travel for this long and not pick up a few things—thoughts, questions, ideas—but your planet isn't ready, and I don't know if I'd be able to have an intelligent conversation. So, for now, put me somewhere boring and let me blend in. It's better than throwing your planet into chaos.”

  “You could probably mess with the heads of some of the local students, or researchers,” I offered. “Many of them are studying physics, and I'm pretty sure the school offers courses in cosmology and astrophysics.”

  “Sounds like a blast.” He grinned. “In any case, rule number one, maintain a low profile. I'll become an accountant.”

  “Zander, the alien accountant,” I scoffed. “Absolutely lovely.”

  “It beats mersation.” He chuckled as I let him into the building. I had no idea what he meant, but let it slide. There would be time for questions when my mind wasn't so freaking exhausted. “Is this socially acceptable?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I wouldn't want you to get into any trouble with society by living with a man,” he said, a note of humor in his voice.

  “This is the twenty-first century. I think it's fine,” I told him. “But if you're worried, we can pretend you're my cousin or something. No alarm bells there. How does that sound?”

  “You're too kind. Are you sure about this?”

  “Positive. Now, come on, it's cold out here, and I've got to set up your room. You coming?”

  “Yes,” he said without hesitation. “But I am warning you, I don't know much about Earth culture.”

  “I'll help you,” I promised. “Oh, and speaking of which, tomorrow you'll need to get yourself some actual clothes. Those look ragged, and there's a huge stain on that pant leg. Is that … blood?”

  “Squirrel,” he said. “But I can see why that could freak someone out.”

  I opened the door, but he held it for me to enter, smiling. He kept smiling until I wished him goodnight.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Close Encounters of the Coffee Kind

  Sleeping in was heavenly.

  Having not yet bought a new alarm clock, I allowed myself to fall into a more natural sleep pattern. In just a week, I found myself waking up around ten or eleven, much later than expected. And it was amazing.

  But this morning, I woke up to noise; cabinets opening and closing, feet shuffling on the tiled floor. All right, so now I was wide awake, keenly aware of the fact this was not normal.

  I made my way into the hallway. The noise was coming from the kitchen, I was sure of that now. The smell of coffee was overwhelming.

  I pressed against the wall and leaned over the threshold, peeking into the kitchen. Zander had his back to me, but to my horror, he wore the flowery dressing gown my mother had given me for Christmas, and he was … cooking.

  I had almost forgotten the events of the night before, believing them to be so surreal that they must have been a dream. But there he was, flesh and bone, quietly cooking in my kitchen in my pink, silk dressing gown.

  I let out a sigh of relief. It could be worse.

  “The next time you try sneaking up on someone, don't hold your arm out straight like that. It ruins the fact you're trying to hide,” he said, turning back to the food.

  “I wasn’t sneaking, but how …?” I asked, balancing the bat against the wall. Wordlessly, he pointed at the stovetop, his finger reflecting in the polished chrome.

  “I couldn't remember what Terrans eat for breakfast,” he said, changing the subject, “so I cooked what I ate last time I came for a visit.” He held up a frying pan with an omelet in it. “You want one?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  He finished the one he was working on, flipping it in a way I had only ever seen done in films. He grabbed the plate next to him. He had been expecting me.

  “Thanks,” I said as he slid it on the table in front of me. It smelled heavenly. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure,” he replied, pulling open the oven door and retrieving a plate stacked with imperfectly formed omelets. He sat down at the table facing me and tore into the top one, downing it in seconds.

  “Why are you wearing my dressing gown?”

  He looked down at himself then back at me, obviously confused. “What's wrong with it?” His eyes were wide. Too wide. There was something a little off about him this morning, like he was in a daze. “I mean, it's a bit tight, but I thought that was the fit.”

  “It's a dressing gown,” I replied, but he continued to look confused. “One, you can't wear that out of the house. Two, you’re stretching it, and most importantly, number three, fuchsia is really not your color. The mall has some gorgeous ivory silk ones that would do wonders for your complexion though.”

  “It was the only thing that was even close to my size,” he sputtered. “I took your advice and threw the jeans in the wash, but the stains are stuck. And I inferred from last night's stay at the police station, that Earth has a few policies on modesty; I needed to wear something.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I could have found you something a bit better than my gown. You're stretching it,” I insisted, my heart sinking. “Seriously, you need more clothes. One pair of jeans won't cut it. So, any plans for the day?”

  “I didn't really think about it,” he said after he finished his mouthful. “Not yet, anyway. I made you some coffee.”

  He pushed a mug in my direction. The room smelled much too strongly of coffee for just one cup, the scent more pungent than the lingering smell of fried eggs. When I turned my head, my eyes fell on the countertop, or the place where it was meant to be. Mug upon mug were lined up, covering the surface until none of it could be seen. I could hardly believe I owned so many mugs.

  As I thought about it, I was sure I didn't. I didn't recognize at least half of them.

  “Zander, are you all right?” I asked. His dazed look put me on edge.

  “I really like your coffee,” he said, taking a huge bite of his last omelet.

  “What?”

  “Earth makes the best stuff to drink,” he continued. “I hope you don't mind, but I used your computer this morning. That Internet’s the best thing to come from Earth, trust me. Oh, my stars, the cat videos. The worship has gotten way out of control. Anyway, I was trying to learn as much as I could about current events, trying to understand the appeal of the current coffee craze, and realized I wanted some.” He paused, looking at the countertop. My worry grew tenfold. “You humans need a reality check. Do you honestly drug yourselves with this?” He pointed at a pack of coffee grounds, which I didn't recognize as belonging to me either. “It's just not right; not right at all. And gah, so bitter. And then, then I had to try some other blends, so I tracked some more down, and—”

  “Wait, slow down. How many cups of coffee have you had?”

  “Uh … fifteen? Twenty?” He ran his tongue over his lips. “Does it matter?”

  “Yes, it matters.” I jumped to my feet. “You're right, too much is not good for you. You're full of caffeine. Can your metabolism even take it?”

  “It's taken worse,” he replied, making eye contact and staring into my eyes. “Oh, Sally, Sally, Sally. Sally, Sally, Sally … I'll be—”

  And with that, he toppled off the chair, his head hitting the tiled floor with a resounding crack.

  Oh, crap.

  I ran to his side, feeling my chair topple. I reached for his pulse, feeling nothing. Did h
e even have a pulse in the first place? I checked his mouth for breath. The man wasn't breathing; he was snoring—snoring very, very loudly.

  Great. Freakin' alien can't handle his coffee.

  I grabbed his arm and dragged him to the living room. He was heavy, but I couldn't leave him sleeping on the kitchen floor with his legs half stuck in a chair. With a lot of effort and a great deal of difficulty, I managed to hoist him onto the couch, but he was too long so he slept with his head pressed against one armrest and with legs dangling over the other. He almost looked peaceful, if a little uncomfortable. His dangling hand twitched as it hung in the air.

  Was there a handbook that could tell me what to do next? While there were thousands of books that taught parenting, I was sure there wasn't a self-help book about alien roommates. If there were, it was probably about abductees, not subletters.

  I didn't know if I was supposed to be annoyed or scared. He was only asleep, after all, but he had also drunk what looked like a lethal dose of caffeine, certainly enough to kill someone like me.

  Well, he was from another planet. Maybe he could handle it better.

  Maybe.

  Hopefully.

  “Blayde …” he muttered from the couch.

  “She's not here right now, sorry,” I replied, sitting on the coffee table. “It's just me.”

  “Blayde …” Zander repeated, throwing his arm out and hitting my knee. I shoved it away, but he threw it back, mumbling incoherently. “You're nice,” he muttered, the only words that made any sense out of the babble.

  “Thanks.”

  “No, I mean it,” he continued, his words coming out garbled. “You're really nice.”

  “And you need some rest. You've OD’d on coffee. I didn't even think that was possible.”

  “Everything's possible in an impossible chicken …” he said, eyes still shut and his voice oddly deep, like it was coming from the bottom of a well. “You're cool, Sally. Really cool.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, getting to my feet. He threw his arm out once more, and finding nothing, moaned quietly in annoyance, letting his hand dangle mid-air.