by S. L. Stacy
“Hamlet,” Lou says, swiping a white rag across the bar.
“There is something seriously wrong with her.” I slam my purse down on the counter. “Did her parents keep her locked up in a small, dark room as a child?”
“Well…sort of.”
“Oh. That’s kind of sad, actually.”
“It doesn’t excuse her behavior.” Lou drums his fingers on the area he just cleaned. “You can sense her.”
“I guess so,” I realize. “Most of the time.”
“Not many people can. Except for me.” The sunglasses study me like he’s looking at me under a microscope. Then he shrugs, throwing the towel over his shoulder. “What can I get you, Psyche?”
I raise my eyebrows. “I know you?”
“You did, once.” He smiles warmly.
“I’m sorry, I…don’t remember.” I call up the memories that have come back to me so far. He’s not in any of them. “Anyway, it’s Siobhan, now.”
“That’s pretty. So, what can I get you…Siobhan?”
“A cosmopolitan,” I say, glancing at the drink menu. I give a start as two slender arms fling themselves around me from behind, yanking me into a tight hug.
“It’s so good to see you!” Anna squeals.
“Yeah, because it’s been awhile,” I laugh, worming out of the embrace and turning to face her. “Wow. You’re so…pink.”
“You know you love it!” She twirls around, and the skirt of her bubble gum pink dress fans out. Jimmy skulks behind his sister, watching us with one eyebrow raised. “Let’s take that table,” she suggests, pointing toward an empty booth. She takes off for it without waiting for us. I catch Jimmy’s eye and give him what I hope is a reprimanding look.
“Don’t look at me,” he says. “I think she caught some of your sorority cooties.”
“We don’t have cooties,” I scoff.
“Of course you do. They’re puffy, pink and glittery. Hey, boss,” he says to Lou. Lou gives him a brief nod and then sets my drink down on the counter.
“Thanks,” I tell Lou, handing him some cash. “It was nice to meet you. Again.”
After he takes the money, he tenderly holds my hand in his for a moment, like an uncle might his niece’s. “It’s nice to see you.”
“You know Lou?” Jimmy asks as we walk over to the table Anna has claimed.
“Apparently, he’s another friend from the good ol’ days on Olympus.” I pause, giving Jimmy time to freak out. When he doesn’t, I say, “You knew he was Olympian.”
“I knew he wasn’t human.”
I slide into the booth next to Anna, and Jimmy next to me. A server walks up to us and takes our orders. We’re closer to the music now. Peter perches on the piano bench, fingers flowing over the keys. He’s wearing black pants, a white shirt and a purple vest. A matching purple sequined fedora falls over his eyes as he leans over to croon something into the microphone.
“You look hot,” Jimmy tells me, perusing my blue strapless dress. His eyes reach my face, round with panic. “I mean….it’s just, you look—”
“It’s okay. Thanks.” We look at each other for a moment. That moment turns into a minute. Neither one of us breaks the stare until a hand inserts itself between us, waving back and forth.
“Hel-lo,” Anna says, taking her hand back. “I’m leaving if you two are just going to sit here making eyes at each other all night.”
“Aw shucks, sis. You caught us. Please don’t tell Ma!”
“Shut up.”
“I’ve got one more song for you tonight.” We look up at the sound of Peter’s voice in the microphone. “And to help me sing it, I’m going to call down a very good friend. Anna.” With his British accent, he sounds like he’s saying Ann-er. “Oh, Anna, where are you?” Anna sheepishly raises her hand, cheeks turning as pink as her dress. “Come on. Don’t be shy.”
Anna gets up and runs toward the piano. A few people clap and whistle as she positions herself behind the microphone.
“How about ‘Oh! You Pretty Things?’” Peter asks her. Anna nods. Peter punches a few jaunty chords on the piano, then Anna starts to sing.
The simple, upbeat tune doesn’t let Anna show off her range, but she hits each note crisply, her tone rich and clear. Occasionally Peter jumps in as backup singer, their voices swirling together like sugar and cinnamon. Their colorful attire and the catchy melody are at odds with the lyrics, which seem to describe the dawn of a new age brought about by invading aliens and rebellious teens. I find myself tapping my foot to the beat and trying to hum along.
“Anna sounds incredible,” I say in Jimmy’s ear. He stares blankly ahead, looking at but not really registering the performance. “Jimmy.” I snap my fingers in front of his glassy eyes. Not even a flinch. That’s when I look around the rest of the bar.
Peter and Anna are too engulfed in the song to notice that the entire room has turned into an audience of lifeless, attentive dolls. No one mouths the lyrics or claps in time. No one moves at all, except for me as I scan the room, a chill pricking the back of my neck.
And Lou, I realize, looking behind the bar. He’s stopped in the middle of drying out a mug, looking out over the room of hypnotized patrons. Except for a few wrinkles in his forehead, it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking.
Peter ends the song with a dramatic flurry of keystrokes. “Thank you!” Anna shouts, seeming to brace herself for the ensuing applause. Peter beams at the crowd. As their eyes take in the sea of mesmerized faces, their smiles slowly fade. Anna’s knuckles turn white as she clutches the microphone stand. The microphone picks up the small choking sound she makes in her throat.
One by one, heads shake as the patrons emerge from their daze. They break out into cheers and applause, some even hopping to their feet. Anna’s smile returns, wavering slightly at the corners.
“Thanks for coming out tonight, loves!” Peter calls out. “Peace!” Removing his hat, he takes a deep, dramatic bow. He and Anna make their way to our table.
“That was great!” I exclaim a little too shrilly.
“Uh, thanks.” Anna shoots a wary glance at the surrounding tables.
“Good stuff,” Jimmy adds, blinking like he just woke up.
“Hello, my lovely friends,” Peter says, putting the fedora on Anna’s head and an arm around the back of the booth. “I hope you enjoyed the show!”
“It was great,” I repeat. “Love the hat!”
“Thanks! Except I probably have hat hair now.” He takes his fingers and vigorously ruffles his blonde hair. “By the way, really sorry about the pictures.”
“Pictures? What pictures?” Jimmy wonders.
“Someone posted a bunch of unflattering pictures of their formal to Thurston’s gossip site,” says Anna.
I sigh. “I guess everyone and their mother has seen them by now. And it wasn’t ‘someone,’ it was the Alpha Rhos.”
Our server comes back with our food. “A watermelon martini, please,” Peter says, stealing one of Anna’s fries while she claws through the contents of her gold sequined bag. She unscrews the cap of the amber-colored bottle of ambrosia and squeezes two drops into her vodka tonic. She stirs it up and takes a generous sip.
“What?” she snaps when she sees me staring at her.
“It’s just…nothing,” I insist, taking a bite of my burger. The first time I was exposed to ambrosia was the night Jimmy, Anna and I found Jasper in the woods. It awakened some of my Olympian heritage. Then, Jasper spiked my drinks with ambrosia twice: the champagne at the Willow Park Hotel and the milk at his place. I added the final dose I needed to complete the transition to my coffee a few days ago. So it took…four doses, and one of them was through the skin.
Anna was with Eric on Olympus for several months, plus she just took a dose yesterday morning. I glance at the drink in her hand, then the pink dress and the giddy smile plastered on her face. There’s no way she still needs more ambrosia. She has to be transitioned by now.
The waiter re
turns with Peter’s drink. He pushes it toward Anna. “Two, please,” he tells her, and she adds two drops of ambrosia to his glass. She holds up the bottle and looks at her brother.
“What the hell.” Jimmy accepts it from her. “So, what are you guys going to do?” he asks me. “About the photos. Oh, here—” He tries to pass the bottle off to me.
“I’m good,” I insist. Jimmy shrugs and gives it back to Anna. “The house is split. Some of us want to take action. The rest—including Victoria—want to take the high road, a.k.a. do nothing.”
“Leave some laxative spiked cupcakes on their doorstep.” Peter says it as though it’s the most obvious course of action. “Or—send them an email with a link to ‘naked photos of Adam Levine’ that’s really a computer virus.”
“No one’s that stupid,” Anna says.
“Oh, right, of course not.” Peter clears his throat into his hand.
“You could sneak into their house and steal all of their craft supplies,” Jimmy says.
I bring a hand to my chest and gasp. “Good God, we’re not monsters!”
The rest of dinner is filled with light-hearted banter and easy laughter. It’s almost ten when our server distributes the receipts and clears our plates away. I open my purse and take out my wallet. Jimmy snatches my receipt from the table before I can get to it.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say as he takes out his credit card. “Friends pay separate.”
“Friends can treat each other,” he says. “Besides, I make more money than you.”
“That’s not hard to do, seeing as I make no money.”
“I didn’t realize you were treating, dear brother,” Anna says, thrusting her receipt at him. Jimmy gives a resigned chuckle and adds it to the bill holder.
As I toss my wallet back in my purse, I notice the wrinkled flyer for Max’s art exhibit. “You guys should go to this fall art show thing with me.” I smooth out the paper and show it to them. “I’m going to check out my friend’s exhibit.” I leave out the part about not wanting to go by myself because of Max.
Anna squints at the flyer. “Isn’t Max your creepy ex-boyfriend?” I nod reluctantly. “Lucky for you, we’re already going.” She jerks her thumb in Peter’s direction.
“My exhibit will be there, too. It’s called”—Peter sweeps his hand through the air as though he can see the title written in neon lights—“Desolation.”
“That sounds depressing,” I say.
“It’s an exploration of the beauty in darkness and death and—”
“And isolation, and sorrow,” Anna finishes for him. “He won’t stop talking about,” she adds to me. “I’ve heard it like a million times.”
“But she hasn’t!”
“I’m taking off, so if anyone needs a ride, speak now. Siobhan?”
“Unless you have to go back to campus anyway, don’t worry about it,” I tell her. “I can just take the bus.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.” She slings her bag over her shoulder and elbows Peter in his side. “Let’s go.”
Peter shimmies out of the booth. “Cheers then.” He points at me. “Don’t forget about those laxative cupcakes.”
I grimace. “I couldn’t even if I tried. You’re not going with them?” I ask Jimmy as they walk away.
“Nope. Gotta work for a few hours.”
The server gives Jimmy his card back. Jimmy scrawls a tip on the receipt and signs it. We sit in silence, each of us looking around the restaurant at nothing in particular. Now that Peter and Anna are gone, I realize how close I’m sitting to him. Our legs are almost touching. A warmth spreads through my abdomen and up my neck and cheeks. I casually shift over a few inches.
“I guess I’d better get going.” I shrug on my jacket. “Thanks for dinner.”
“No problem.” He starts scooting toward the other end of the booth. “I’ll walk you out.”
Outside, a chill lances the air, but my skin still feels hot. The streetlamps send hazy yellow circles of light onto the pavement. Groups of girls in tight dresses and six-inch heels stumble over the sidewalk, and couples stroll hand-in-hand through the park across the street. Jimmy’s square jaw is stiff as he frowns at something on the ground.
“Well, goodnight.” I hold open my arms.
The corner of his mouth twitches upward, and he mimics the gesture. “You love me this much?”
“I’m just giving you a hug.” Stepping forward, I gingerly put my arms around his shoulders. I pat his back lightly and start to pull away. The firm grasp of Jimmy’s hands on my hips stops me.
“That wasn’t a hug.” He eases me further into his arms until our bodies fit snugly against each other’s.
My heart beats wildly in my chest. “Friends do not hug like this.”
Jimmy moves one of his hands to my chin so that he can tilt it up. “Friends don’t kiss like this, either.” His lips crash down on mine, his tongue slipping into my mouth. I accept it without hesitation, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing myself as close to him as possible. He groans deep in his throat, his fingers digging into my waist.
“Siobhan,” he gasps between kisses. “I’ve wanted to do this all night.” I clutch his back and kiss him harder. Every inch of my body aches for attention, every nerve singing. Jimmy plants a kiss on my cheek, then my jaw. I open my eyes to watch his mouth roam further down my neck. I run my fingers through his hair.
Through his dark, slightly wavy hair.
I freeze up, those once tingling nerve endings becoming rigid.
His lips pause on my neck. Two dark blue eyes look up at me. “What’s wrong?”
I stagger backwards, covering my mouth with my hands.
“Siobhan?” The eyes narrow at me, and they’re Jimmy’s soulful hazel ones once again. “What’s wrong? Did I do something—”
“No.” I gnaw at the tips of my fingernails. “It’s not you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then what…?” He falters as he realizes something and gives a low, ironic chuckle. “It’s him. It’s always him.”
“I’m sorry. I…I don’t even want to think about him, it’s hard to explain—”
“He’s not even here!” Jimmy shouts, face lifted toward the inky black sky. “He comes between us even when he’s in another goddamn universe!”
“What are we doing, anyway?” I yell, making the guy walking past us jump and his dog bark. “We’re supposed to be friends! Friends don’t make out at night in the middle of the sidewalk!”
“I guess I was wrong, then. I can’t be your friend!” Jimmy turns and stalks back toward The End.
“Jimmy. Jim!” I scream. Jimmy pushes through the door without another glance at me. Balling my hands at my sides, I tense up my face until my chin trembles, trying to squeeze out a tear—just one tear. I give up ten seconds later, relaxing the muscles in my cheeks. I turn and start walking briskly toward the bus stop.
“Siobhan,” says a low, uncertain voice behind me.
I spin back around. “Jimmy, I—” The words catch in my throat.
Jasper stands a few feet away from me, hands buried in the pockets of a black trench coat.
Chapter 8
“No,” I moan, shaking my head back and forth so quickly a wave of dizziness washes over me. “No. You’re not real.”
“Siobhan.” My hallucination steps forward in sync with each step I take back. In the dark, his blue eyes, usually so piercing, are cloudy and impenetrable. He reaches for me. “It’s me.”
“You’re supposed to be gone.” My quivering voice, the way it goes up at the end like a question, betrays my doubt. I force myself to keep marching backwards, restraining the part of me that wants to run into his arms and give in to the dream.
He’s faster than me and closes the remaining few feet between us in two swift strides. His fingers extend again as if to cup my cheek. I shrink away from them. I know that if he touches me, he will feel warm and solid and alive, and I will be truly lost.
&
nbsp; “Go away,” I plead, squeezing my eyes shut as I brace myself for contact. When nothing happens, I open one eye, then the other.
He’s gone.
I look frantically up and down the street, studying the brick faces of the bars, restaurants and stores lining either side of it. The strolling couples and groups of drunk college students are gone, and so is Jasper. I’m alone on the sidewalk.
“You. Are. No. Fun.”
Apate steps out of the shadows of an alley between two stores. “Most people would have been strapped into a straightjacket by now. But not little miss ‘Nooooo. You’re not real,’” she shrieks mockingly.
“You did this?” I double over, clutching my stomach like I have to keep my guts from spilling out. “It was you all this time.”
“I think I almost had you there.” She prowls a few steps closer to me. “Maybe if I had just held the illusion for a little while—”
“What’s wrong with you people! How could you do that to someone? Tell me! Tell me why!”
Shrugging, Apate makes a clicking sound with her tongue. “I was bored.”
“You…were…bored.” Rage rips through me like a fire tearing from my gut up through my esophagus.
“I thought it would be funny. And you have to admit, it kinda was.” Apate scrunches up her face in another imitation of me. “‘No. No, Jasper. Go away. You’re supposed to be—’”
“Stay the hell away from me!” A bus rolls up to the curb, and I walk toward it without taking my eyes off of her. “Stay away from me, or so help me, I will rip out your fucking tongue with my bare hands so I never have to hear your annoying voice again!”
Apate tosses back her head, filling the night with her maniacal laughter. “Blondie’s finally getting some gumption! I like it!”
The bus door wheezes open, and I stagger through it, flashing the driver my student ID before collapsing into the closest empty seat. The other seats are occupied by the typical crowd that boards the bus after ten p.m.: exhausted-looking medical students wearing green or blue scrubs, the occasional single mom clutching her toddler to her protectively, and the, for lack of a more sensitive word, “crazy” people bobbing their heads, wringing their hands and mumbling to themselves. I blend in with them nicely tonight as I stare out the window, my deep violet eyes reflected back to me, glazed over like a zombie’s. My mind is a complete blank as I watch dark trees, bushes and houses roll past the window.