Lunar City

by Samantha Cross

  “Certainly doesn’t make you a bird lady.”

  “It makes me a lady who likes cats,” I argued and then made a nasty face in her direction. “And don’t call him a rodent. You sound like Grandma when you say that.”

  Priscilla put out the cigarette in the ash tray. “How is the old bat doing?”

  “Enjoying life in the lap of luxury. Now that she’s going to be living near a beach, she says she wants to buy a speedboat and go treasure hunting in Lake Superior.”

  “She already has the dough, why would she need treasure, too?”

  “Because my parents have her on these pills that give her all this energy, and now she thinks she’s Lewis and Clark.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind.”

  Priscilla shrugged nonchalantly, not at all interested in me giving her a history lesson.

  “You know, now that the old lady is rolling in cash, you think she’d slice me off a bit of that pie?”

  “Why are you speaking like a 1930’s gangster?”

  Priscilla rolled her eyes. “You can joke because your grandma actually went out and got rich. My grandma just went out and died.”

  I cringed. I’m sure Grandma Devereux would be proud of her little Priscilla now, seated lazily with her legs parted masculinely, reeking of smoke and complaining her death interfered with her granddaughter being an heiress.

  “My grandma being rich hasn’t changed a thing,” I said.

  “Oh, please, she’s a grandmother—they sneeze out money, so you gotta figure she’ll be throwing the cash your way any day now.”

  “She said she’d help me out with my darkroom, but it’s still early.”

  “What is that, some kind of emo thing?”

  I stared at her blank faced. A darkroom was an emo thing now? She was one to talk, sitting there in her black coat, blank pants, black hair, blood red lipstick, black nail polish, and thick black makeup smeared around her eyes like she were a bandit or a raccoon.

  “No, it’s for photography,” I explained. Who the heck didn’t know what a darkroom was? Sometimes I think Priscilla knew more than she let on and just enjoyed teasing me.

  I had to admit, even if it was annoying at times, hearing her poke at me was a nice release from the tension I was feeling twenty minutes before she arrived. I still couldn’t stop thinking about the man at the door, no matter how hard I tried.

  “You sure you don’t know anything about this guy?” I asked.

  Priscilla shrugged. “I don’t know. After that summer, I had a lot of people coming by my house and asking me things. I had to leave town just to get it to stop.”

  “Any of them look like Lance Henriksen?”

  “Who?”

  “Aliens. Terminator. Oh, come on, you like explosions.”

  “I don’t remember, okay? Why are you so worried about it? Of course people are going to ask you questions. For Christ’s sakes, werewolves attacked a town and you killed one.”

  I felt actual physical pain over her last words. It was something I tried not to dwell on, but no matter how hard I tried it still gutted me. Owen begging for his life to end didn’t make the memory of me pulling the trigger any easier.

  “The only reason this is weirding you out is because you were out of town by the time all the real questions started popping up,” Priscilla continued.

  “That’s not the only reason. Whoever these people are, are tracking down Max and Dana and just so happen to know that I was in town, and my exact room number. This guy is watching me and could very well be watching you. Tell me that doesn’t put you a little on edge.”

  “Your grandma just won a million dollars. Her name is in the news, probably along with yours, meaning everyone is keeping an eye on her. That’s probably why this guy knew you were in town. All it takes is a little calling around to find out what hotel you’re staying in, and voilà he knows where you are.”

  “But they knew about Max and Dana.”

  “Before we continue, who the hell is this Dana bitch? She a member of Molly’s blonde brigade?”

  “She was, yeah. The more important thing is what she shares in common with Max—they were both bitten, meaning they’re both something that was once considered implausible and now is probably a huge interest to scientists or the government or… I don’t know, Area 51.”

  Priscilla cocked an eyebrow at me. “Area 51?”

  “Before you continue with that look like you think I’m crazy, hear me out. How many stories have we heard about spacecraft landing and little green corpses being found, and how all these eyewitnesses mysteriously died, disappeared or retracted their story? What if they’re trying to do the same thing here? I mean, you saw those vans last summer. You saw how that whole town was cleaned up without a trace. Those weren’t police officers.”

  “Well, yeah…” Priscilla said with uncertainty, suddenly squirming in her seat.

  “What if they’re trying to hunt down Max and Dana because they want to take them away and experiment on them?”

  “Why would they wait all this time?”

  “Maybe they haven’t been waiting, and that they just haven’t been able to find them.”

  She went silent for a moment, as if registering what I said, and then shook it off like my words were a bug on her shoulder. “Okay, can we knock it off with the conspiracy theories? You’re going to get premature wrinkles. Plus, I am just too damn sober for this conversation right now.”

  “I’m worried, Priscilla,” I admitted. “I feel like I should do something.”

  “And what exactly is that?”

  I threw my hands up in the air in defeat. “I don’t know. I could warn them.”

  “How? You don’t even know where they are.”

  “You’re the queen of gossip. Don’t you know where Max went?”

  “I didn’t even know Max had moved out of town till you called me on the phone.” She looked to be on the verge of speaking, but abruptly stopped herself. Her eyes stilled as her head tilted ever so slightly to the left. “I think I do have a way you can get into contact with Dana. She may have gotten a new one, but I have a cellphone number.”

  I was not expecting that at all. “How do you have Dana’s number?”

  “From the date auction. Molly kept everyone’s information that was a part of the date auction in a folder she carried around, so, before the cover-up-police arrived on the scene, I snatched it up.”

  “What would you do that for?”

  “Henry left behind some of his belongings at the store and I wanted to send them back to his parents, so I had to get his number and call them and ask for their address.”

  “You did all that?”

  “It’s not a big deal,” she replied, sounding almost embarrassed, like she didn’t want me to catch her doing a good thing, or knowing that she actually cared. I knew she and Henry went at it like cats and dogs, but I liked to imagine that deep down she had a soft spot for the guy. I know I did.

  “Do you have the number on you?”

  “I think I put it in my phone,” she answered, “But if she really is on the lam then she probably changed it several times over.”

  “It’s a cell, though, which means she may have kept it.”

  Priscilla lifted this humongous black lace purse with a short strap off the floor and plopped it onto the table. It had a silver skull sewn into the side with two threads of black beads dangling in the front. It was a sweet ass purse, I’m not going to lie. She dug through it, pulling out one large and one small hairbrush, lipstick, powder compacts, empty packets of gum, and a tube of translucent foundation before she retrieved her cellphone. It, too, had a silver skull on it.

  “All right, let’s see…” she mumbled quietly and then began flipping through the contacts on her phone. I waited for a moment, my foot tapping against the carpet impatiently as she swiped her finger down the glass of the phone, taking what felt like an eternity.

  “What is taking so long?” I complained. �
��Her name starts with D, so she should be right at the top of your list.”

  “I have a lot of contacts, all right? Mostly because of the D,” she said sneakily and then grinned.

  What did that even mean…? Wait, was that a dick joke?

  Bang, bang, bang.

  There was a knock at the door so loud that I twirled toward it and nearly fell over. My heart pitter-pattered vigorously, fearing the man I spoke of had a change of heart and was going to take me away for questioning. Questions about what, I don’t know.

  “What if it’s him?” I said to Priscilla, voicing my fears so that maybe she would talk me down from them. “What if he’s pissed off at me for shutting the door in his face, and that he’s really a psycho that seeks out lonely girls in hotel rooms and peels their faces off to make his own skin mask. I don’t want another dude wearing my face.”

  She gave me that you’re-dumber-than-rocks stare that only Priscilla had perfected and said, “Just answer the stupid door.”

  I growled like a toddler, and then I heard the person on the other side of the door shouting. “Cora, Cora, open the door-a!”

  Realization hit me fast and hard like a Bruce Lee punch to the face. I knew exactly who that was. How wonderful that she had brought back the rhyme.

  “Screw me sideways with a chainsaw,” I groaned.

  Priscilla’s black smudged eyes widened toward me. “Who is it?”

  “Quick, kill the lights!” I ordered and then began running around the room like a chicken with its head cut off.

  Priscilla remained lifeless in her seat. “Huh?”

  “Pretend I’m not here.”

  Melanie pounded on the door five more times and yelled, “I know you’re here! I saw your stupid banana car in the parking lot! Great choice, by the way.” Even a wall between us couldn’t stop her from making fun of me.

  I needed Melanie gone and gone quick. It was one thing to put up with her for the sake of Grandma, but it was another thing entirely for her to come to my hotel room and give me crap.

  I cleared my throat, and with the worst Spanish accent imaginable said, “Señora Cora is gone. Uh…el housekeeper.”

  “What?”

  “No hablo Inglés.”

  “I don’t speak French, ma’am!”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, I can’t handle another second of this,” Priscilla griped, tearing out of her chair and racing to the front door. “It’s like a bad Stooges skit, and that’s saying something.”

  She ripped open the door and there was Melanie, blonde hair tousled, pink frilly top hanging off the shoulder, one hand leaned against the frame of the doorway while the other held a large bottle of rum. She was drunk off her ass and appeared to be missing a shoe.

  “I have arrived,” she announced and then belched.

  Priscilla looked to me instantly. “Who the hell is this chick?”

  “My cousin Melanie, who appears to be tipsy.”

  Melanie got two inches from my face and spoke with a heavy breath, “I’m not tipsy!”

  I coughed. The smell of liquor was so strong I swear I had a buzz going just from inhaling her odor. “Oh, excuse me, my cousin who appears to be drunk,” I corrected myself.

  “Where’s the party?” Melanie yelled and then dove at my bed and fell onto the mattress face first. She sunk like a log and Biggie went running into the bathroom like the fear of God had been put into him.

  “Melanie, what are you doing here?”

  She flipped over onto her back and laid leisurely on the mattress like she were posing nude for a painter. “Looking for you,” she responded with a wobbly know-it-all headshake, like me asking her why she was in my room smelling like our drunk Uncle Godfrey was so ridiculous. “I was driving around looking for something to do and thought, hey, Cora is in town.”

  “Wait, you were driving? How are you not dead right now?”

  “Hold up,” Priscilla interrupted. “This is your cousin?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  I could tell Melanie was offended and wanted to jump off that bed and get in my face, but she was too intoxicated and ended up rolling off the mattress instead. “I take offense to that,” she growled as she got to her knees and tried to pull herself upright.

  “Please don’t spill liquor on the floor. I’m already violating so many rules with my cat and Puff the Magic Dragon over here,” I gestured to Priscilla who rolled her eyes. “What are you really doing here, Melanie?”

  After a few minutes of struggle, Melanie got to her feet and approached me. “I came to hang out with you,” she said, her eyes practically spinning from all the liquor.

  “But you hate me.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “No one. I have eyeballs.”

  Priscilla groaned loudly. “Just throw her out if you don’t want her here.”

  Melanie’s attention immediately went to Priscilla. “Who is this? Wait…” Melanie’s voice lowered and her eyes darted back between the two of us in front of her. “Is this, like, your partner?”

  “I’m not a lawyer,” I responded.

  “I think she’s calling you a dyke,” Priscilla explained.

  It was very typical of Melanie to assume two women couldn’t hang out on a Friday night without sleeping with each other.

  “Seriously, kick her out,” Priscilla said again.

  “And let her drive around drunk?”

  “See, this is where you and I differ. Someone I don’t like crashing their car into a tree is not a crisis in my eyes.”

  I scoffed. Sometimes Priscilla could be a little too cynical for my taste, and it didn’t help me figure out what to do. “I’ll just let her crash here, I guess,” I said to Priscilla, hoping the words coming out of my mouth would somehow make me feel better about the decision. It didn’t. Melanie and I sleeping in the same room was just asking for trouble.

  “Why are you talking about putting me to sleep?” Melanie exclaimed. “The night’s not over. Why don’t you guys come with me? There’s a bar right across the street, we can all go grab some drinks and maybe pick up some guys.”

  “I’m broke as shit,” Priscilla whined.

  “Drinks are on me,” Melanie declared.

  That definitely perked Priscilla up. “Well, a few drinks wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Traitor,” I said and sneered at Priscilla.

  “I have a shit job, a shit apartment, and a shitty sex life. If you were in my shoes, you wouldn’t turn away free drinks, either.”

  “Come on, Cora, don’t be such a loser,” Melanie teased.

  There she went, returning to the same old tactics she did a thousand times over when we were kids, which was to bully me with insults until I gave in to her demands. Well, that was little girl Cora, and unfortunately for her, I had grown, matured, and knew when not to take someone’s crap anymore.

  That wasn’t going to fly anymore.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “I hate bars,” I complained, spinning my cellphone on the grubby looking table surface that was covered in potato chip crumbs and beer spillage from Melanie and Priscilla. I was too distracted to enjoy my own drink, thinking how badly I wanted to return to the hotel and give Dana a call. How was I so easily suckered into coming out when I so desperately didn’t want to?

  “I’m here for one reason and one reason alone,” Priscilla said and then sipped the beer out of her mug using a long red straw. Her reason was apparent.

  “I thought you’d be scoping out the guys,” I noted, and then had to laugh at myself. The bar was mostly inhabited by older biker guys, playing pool and cackling at the bar with their equally as old buddies. We three girls stood out like a sore thumb, especially Priscilla in her queen of darkness attire and fancy beer sipping straw. The more I thought about it, the more ridiculous it looked.

  “Who drinks their beer like that with a straw?”

  She ignored my last question. “I don’t date guys from my area. I don’t need the baggage. Last one I told
to get lost ended up having the same doctor as me and we sat in the waiting room together for an hour. If I’m from out of town, getting lost is much easier.”

  “Looks like Melanie isn’t too worried about that,” I said, and turned my attention to my cousin, seated at the bar with the only two young guys in the entire place. One was putting his hand on the back of her chair and the other was suavely leaning his elbows against the counter of the bar facing her in conversation, hands clasped together, eyes beaming over her beauty.

  It took Melanie a whopping five minutes before she completely abandoned Priscilla and me for the first single guy in the bar. Excuse me, make that the first two single guys at the bar. They were average looking at best, but it didn’t matter. She was drunk, lonely, and there was penis in the area.

  “That girl has a hollow leg, I swear. How is she able to still drink?”

  Priscilla turned around in her seat to look at Melanie. “I thought the whole point of a bar was to be a place to get drunk, not be drunk before you even get there.”

  “My cousin has always been a go-getter, what can I say?”

  She flipped back around to face me and smirked. “On one hand I wonder how you two are related, and on the other, it makes complete sense to me. She’s obviously over the top, which is something you both share.”

  “What?” I asked, and my voice went up about five octaves. “How am I over the top?”

  “You’re a ten-sugars-in-the-coffee kind of over the top.”

  “At least I’m not a ten-shots-of-vodka-in-the-coffee kind of over the top,” I said bitterly, and my eyes drifted back to Melanie. Still drunk, still laughing too loudly, still throwing herself at random guys.

  “I’m digging the new critical outlook you have, Cora. Melanie must be a real bitch.”

  “It’s not just that. She always has this way of ruining my plans, no matter what they are. The only things she never took from me were boys, and that’s only because I’m younger than her and she said young guys smelled weird, which I will give her, since the boys in my class did have a distinct odor.”

  “What is she stopping you from now? It’s not like we’re doing anything.”

  “Calling Dana.”