Starstruck

by S E Anderson

  “How much has she had?” he asked the bartender, keeping a steady hand on my shoulder.

  “Three shots of this Polish stuff,” the woman replied. She stared at me. “Do you know this guy?”

  “It's Zaaaaander. Zandy Zander Zand Zanderton.”

  “I'm a friend,” Zander said, shoving the glasses away from my twitching fingers. “I'll get her home.”

  The bartender gave him a heavy look.

  “Oh, her phone,” he leaned over to pick it up, awkwardly, as he was still keeping me perched on the stool. “I'll call her friend Marcy.”

  The bartender nodded coolly. I was having trouble seeing what was going on around me; my blinking became sporadic. Zander scrolled through the phone, searching for numbers. I leaned on his hand supporting me, happy for the arm.

  It was hairy, and it was fun to play with. He didn't seem to mind.

  “Marcy?” Zander said, readjusting his arm to hold me up better. “Yeah, it's Zander. I found Sally. She's in a rough state. I'm going to drive her home. No, I'll be fine; I'll be there in five. Wait, hold on, I'll put you on speaker.”

  “Sally?” Marcy's voice rang through the phone. “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything's sunshine and daisies,” I replied, but with a thickness in my throat. I sounded like a talking gravel grinder.

  “You sure?”

  “Life is hunky-dory,” I slurred. “Or it will be after I give this alien some grief. Come dance with me!”

  “I'm coming over,” Marcy said. “I’ll be at your place in ten minutes, okay?”

  “I said I don't—”

  He hung up, and, with a nod of approval from the bartender, helped me off the stool and onto my feet. My legs flopped forward like a game of QWOP, every subsequent step as awkward as my first.

  The storm was still raging outside, and I slipped as I tried to walk. Zander helped me into my car, talking all the way in a reassuring voice, but I could barely make out the words. I was more impressed by the family of little green men across the street. They stood on the lawn in front of their saucer, and I waved back at them, smiling.

  He drove us back home and parked in the driveway. My mind cleared slowly; parts of it were beginning to respond while others were shutting down completely. Zander opened the passenger door, reaching forward to help me out, but I held up a hand.

  “I've got this,” I asserted, keeping my finger pointed at the sky. “Just tell me where the lava is.”

  “There's no lava, Sally.” He let me hold his arm for balance as I slipped off the seat and onto solid ground. “Only rain and puddles.”

  “How can I trust you if you can't see it?”

  He said nothing and led me toward the door instead. I pushed against the doorknob, shouted at the immovable door, and pushed again. Then I remembered I needed keys. I reached into my purse, grabbed them, and struggled to fit them in the lock.

  “Keys go in doors,” Zander pointed out. “Gum doesn't tend to be that effective.”

  “Sure it does,” I insisted. “It worked before.”

  The stairs were the next hurdle. I grabbed the banister and pulled myself up, one step at a time like I was climbing a wall. It took three times longer than usual, but I reached the top, proud and apparently clear-minded. I pummeled my fists on the door, pounding hard enough that the sound echoed through the hallway. It flew open, and my fists landed on Zander, who had somehow opened the apartment from the inside.

  “You all right there?” he asked as he moved my fists away from his chest.

  “No, I am not all right,” I snapped, glaring at him.

  He nodded his head and slowly walked to the kitchen, so I would not be spooked. But I was beyond getting spooked. Even as he filled the glass with water from the sink, he maintained eye contact. I glared at him with a fury hot enough to ignite a thousand stars.

  “Drink,” he said, extending the glass. I swatted it away, but he caught it before it spilled.

  “I'm not taking anything from you,” I growled as he helped me to the sofa. “Ever since you jumped in front of my car, my life has been absurd beyond belief. And not the good kind of absurd—the kind that nearly gets me killed. I have been abducted, almost killed, thrown out of a spaceship, and now my relationship is crumbling. And it's your fault. You ruined my life.”

  It was obvious my words impacted him. His mouth opened and closed, as if he couldn’t find the words to express himself. He handed me the water again. This time I drank it, shoving the empty glass back to him. Only then did he speak.

  “I’m sorry. I never meant to come into your life and impose myself on your routine. I can leave anytime you want me to. Just say the word, and I'll go.”

  “But you can't, can you?” I snapped. “Because if you leave, who's going to stop the planet from being destroyed? You've thrown me into your world. You can't expect to walk out of mine.”

  “Then what do you want?” Zander replied, his voice escalating. “I'm a teleporter, not a telepath.”

  “And the pretentiousness.” I laughed. “What with your ‘Look at me, I know the answers to the universe,’ and your ‘Come over here. I'm thinking deeper thoughts than you can even conceive.’”

  “Well, I'm sorry if I wanted an intelligent conversation on this planet of ape—”

  The buzzer shrilled. I snapped my head back to Zander, glaring. “I want you,” I growled, “to flibble the flots.”

  “To do what now?”

  “To flibble. “The Flots.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Flots.”

  Marcy burst into the room, ripping off her coat and tossing it on the sofa in one stride, her face stern and worried. Before I could react, Marcy grabbed me around the waist, and squeezed me for a long time before she let go.

  “What on earth happened to you?” she asked.

  “I went for a drink.”

  “You don't drink anymore,” Marcy pointed out.

  “And you,” I chuckled, “don't usually have two noses. I guess we both went for something new today.”

  “I found her like this,” Zander piped up as he shut the door behind her. “Well, more out for the count than … this. I don't know what happened since we left the car. Does she have a drinking problem?”

  “I don't have a problem,” I hissed. “Well, not a drinking problem. I have a problem with you, though.”

  “With me?” Marcy asked.

  “Not you,” I snapped. “I like you. You're cute and nice and thoughtful and all that shit which makes you awesome. No, my biff is with you, Zander.”

  “You mean beef,” Marcy suggested. “Biff’s the bully from Back to the Future.”

  “You just don't know when to stop, do you?” I glared at him. He stepped forward but kept a safe distance from me. “Maybe it's an alien thing, but you are such a hypocrite.” I lowered my voice to match Zander’s. “Oh. Sally, we must be careful. Can't let anyone know I'm here. Why don't I invite other aliens into the house for a tea party? Let's all have biscuits and cake and wait for your boyfriend to walk in on us.” I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, Zander, really sounds like you're staying safe.”

  “Alien?” Marcy asked.

  “Illegal.” Zander hung his head in convincing mock shame. “I have a few—uh— paper troubles. I cleared that up, Sally, don't worry. None of this will happen again.”

  “None of this?” I snapped. “So, you mean I'm finally free of men falling through ceilings and walls blowing up? Of middle-of-the-night tractor beams and falling into the wrong park in the wrong state? Oh, bless my soul, it's all over now. I feel free. And all because Mr. Zander the Alien told me so, and this time, he’s assured me he really means it.”

  I stopped, finally breathless. I bent over to calm my racing heart but found myself searching for the closest trashcan instead.

  “What is she talking about?” Marcy muttered.

  “She's delirious,” Zander replied under his breath. “She doesn't know what she's saying. Associating past annoyanc
es with current ones, connecting me to the event at the Casa because she's frustrated with both.”

  “Oh?” Marcy gave me an awkward look. “What do you do in this kind of situation?”

  “I have no idea.” He shuddered. “I don't usually deal with hysterical women; drunk—she's drunk if I'm reading this right?—and hysterical ones, even less.”

  “You have a sister, though, don't you? The one who left you here? What do you do when she loses it?”

  “She doesn't lose it.” Zander shook his head. “But when she gets angry like this, I usually give her a sword and let her at me.”

  “Does it work?”

  “Always.”

  “Do you have a sword?”

  “That's not Sally's type.” He shook his head. “That much I do know. Plus, I'd be too scared to be on the receiving end. I think she needs you, honestly.”

  “I think she just needs to sleep,” Marcy said. “Look, her eyes are closing. If she's really got a problem with you, you can talk it over tomorrow when she's lucid.”

  “Good plan,” Zander replied. “I've got this. You go home, and I'll call you in the morning with a full report. Don't worry about Sally, seriously; the only thing she'll have to deal with in the morning is a hangover.”

  “You sure?” Marcy asked. “I'll stay a little longer, though. Until we're sure she's asleep.”

  “Positive,” Zander replied. “I need to figure out how to flibble flots, and I don't have much time.”

  Marcy was right, and I nodded off as the wave of fury wore off. I felt myself being lifted into the air in arms I recognized as Zander's. He carried me to my bed, placing me gently on top of the covers. Someone else, Marcy most likely, pried off my shoes, placing them in the closet with the rest of them.

  “You're so good with her,” Zander said.

  “I've been her support, you know, since John's death.”

  “John?” Zander enquired.

  He doesn’t need another reason to pity me right now, the rational part of my brain screamed, but I couldn’t open my mouth to speak.

  “Her brother.” Marcy sat down on the bed beside me and stroked my hair. I leaned into her touch, not listening to her words. “Absolutely horrible. The family was on vacation and stopped at one of those scenic overlooks for a photo. You know, the ones where you stand and contemplate the meaning of life, get a picture, and leave? Well, a car swerved around the bend and slammed John through the fence and off the cliff. It punched Sally in the gut. But she never cried; at least, not in front of me. You know that dark look people get when their heart breaks?”

  “The one where their face drains?” Zander said. “Where any expression is plastered on top. Where you float through …”

  “She suffered a sort of depression after the accident. And then one day, she just … disappeared. Everyone was looking for her, fearing an attempt on her own life. They searched everywhere, and I mean everywhere. But then, as suddenly as she left, she came back three days later with that fake smile we've been living with for almost two years.”

  Zander said nothing. I mean, I probably wouldn't have said anything either in his place. There wasn't much to be said.

  “But in any case, Zander, she's been healing—since she met you. She's been getting more confident. I think she's getting better. I think—you might have saved her.”

  “No, no, I have nothing to do with it,” he insisted, and I could feel him smile as he stared at me. “She’s been getting better since she started doing the saving herself.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Shaking It Off Might Not Be so Easy

  The next morning, a ray of sunlight forced me to wake. I groaned and reached out to slap the heat away, my head pounding like there was a drum circle in there. Every muscle hurt. Every sound scorched my ears. There was something going on in the living room producing a loud and shrill noise, with clapping involved. A song was playing. I hummed a few bars, wondering what it was, my mind unable to place it. With a groan, I fell back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The words I had said, the things I had shouted …

  But I also felt lighter somehow. Everything was finally off my chest, laid on the table for all to see. It was liberating. At the same time, I felt guilt burning through me as I recalled what I had said.

  I shuddered. Marcy had witnessed everything. She would think I was crazy now. And Zander … he hadn't raised his voice once. Alien calmness, perhaps? No, probably not. Maybe he was used to that kind of outburst. In any case, I hoped he was as forgiving as he was calm.

  Time to face the hangman.

  I rose to my feet and shuffled across the floor to the hallway. The noise in the living room hit me like a brick wall, my mind reeling from the barrage of sound.

  I was shocked to see it wasn't an entire orchestra playing accompanied by a dozen jet planes. There was only my TV, playing a rerun of an old episode of Friends. Zander stood in front of the screen watching it quietly. Well, stood was a broad term, seeing as how he was balancing on one hand, the rest of his body held up as if gravity were pulling his limbs toward the ceiling. As the laugh track ran, he repeated the joke, internalizing it as he absorbed the actors before him.

  “You sleep all right?” he asked, turning his head to smile as he noticed me enter. I smiled back awkwardly, clenching my eyelids shut. The world was too bright this morning. “Hold on, I found the Internet again. I think we can safely assume you were drunk last night. Well, from the symptoms, I figured that's how Earth humans look … when they're drunk. Lucky for you, I've been around drunks a few times. Well, more than a few. A couple. Well, more than a couple. Well, that's not the point. The point is—” He somehow managed to turn what looked like a cartwheel—though I could only make out fuzzy shapes as I squinted, so he could have just fallen over for all I knew—and landed on his feet. He strode to the kitchen, grabbed a glass of purplish-brown muck from the fridge, and extended it to me. “The point is, I know how to cure it. A simple blend, but I had to substitute some of the ingredients for things I could find in your fridge. Drink up.”

  Nothing could have made me feel any worse than I did at that moment, so with a deep breath, I took the glass and weighed it in my hands. Admiring the bubbling mixture within, I tilted my head back and drank it.

  It tasted terrible, but it was as if someone had taken the rave out of my head.

  “Better?”

  “Much better,” I replied. “Though my mouth tastes worse.”

  “I can only do so much with my mystical alien ways,” he said, taking the glass and rinsing it in the sink.

  “Oh,” my heart sank. Oh, crap. The memory was incredibly embarrassing. “Zander, I am so—”

  “No need to apologize.” Zander held up a hand to stop me. “No feelings hurt, though I'm willing to talk if you are.”

  “About which aspect of last night's rant in particular?” I slid onto one of the stools at the island, watching him. He washed the dishes as if it was the most casual thing in the world.

  “For starters, I need to apologize now you're sober enough for it to sink in,” he said, “for bringing an alien into the apartment. It was an emergency, but it won’t happen again. I swear it.”

  “Thanks,” I replied.

  “In good news, I now have parents,” Zander grinned. “Dru helps the unground illegal alien network get settled here. I have people willing to vouch for having raised me. Hear that? I have parents now. How charming!”

  He seemed incredibly excited at this, and for the first time, I wondered where the rest of his family was. Were there parents waiting for him back home? Aunts and uncles and embarrassing family reunions?

  I nodded slowly. “Impressive.”

  “The real reason I had him over was to figure out more about the Killians,” he said. “He's mobilizing his people to help us. I've gotten the possible landing sites down to about eight hundred possibilities, but these people will help me cut it to half that, and then some. A few have been here since before the ship wa
s meant to have landed.”

  “What, they're over three-thousand years old?”

  “And then some.” He grinned. “But anyway, I've been saving up for some time, and they'll be able to help me, so if you want me to leave …”

  My heart sank. Ugh, I couldn't believe I had told him to go. As much as I denied it when Matt was around, I liked Zander as a person.

  “You don't need to go,” I said finally. “And I'm the one who needs to apologize, and, no, don't stop me again. I'm sorry, okay? I said some things last night I'd rather take back. You haven’t ruined my life, and you're no burden. In fact, you're one of the nicest people I've ever met. It's an honor to have you as a friend. I hope last night didn't change that.”

  Zander smiled. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

  “And the things I said to you in front of Marcy …” I shuddered. “Anyway, we'll be late for work. Thanks again for saving me from that hangover.”

  “Anytime,” he replied, and while it looked like he had some questions for me, he said absolutely nothing.

  * * *

  You know how sometimes when you feel bad, you feel like the weather mirrors your feelings? Pathetic fallacy and all that? That's what today was. It was gloomy and overcast like it could burst and rain at any second.

  And I was fuming. Fuming and pretty sad.

  I wanted to sneak to my desk as quietly as possible: I knew that once I was there, no one would bother me and I could wait the day out. But the second I set foot in the lobby, Sophie waved me over. “You look awful,” she blurted out.

  “Well, thanks for that, Sophie. Nice to see you too.”

  “Oh, I didn't mean it like that,” she backpeddled. “I just mean—are you ok?”

  “Just dandy.”

  “Hey, do you know if Zander is seeing anyone?” she asked, running a hand through her hair. Holy crap, was she attracted to him? Well, a lot of people were, but come on.

  “Not currently, no. Though I don't think he's looking.”

  “Bad breakup?”

  “You could say that. But, hey, I need to go. Do you have any messages for Grisham?”