Scary Modsters... and Creepy Freaks: A Rock and Roll Fantasy (The Rock And Roll Fantasy Collection)

by Diane Rinella

  "Looks like I'm buying my own dinner. Are guys ever going to prove us wrong?" The crack in her voice reveals vulnerability despite her strong words. At my offer to leave she raises her chin and locks her arm in mine. We do the Lavern and Shirley bounce and chant as we head back to the table.

  Niles continues to be well mannered. He completely opens his napkin and sets it in his lap without the fold he used last time, yet still smoothing it down like before. Maybe he has some bizarre form of OCD. It's weird yet endearing.

  Waiiit … Didn't Miss Manners say at lunch you keep your napkin folded with the seam toward you while at dinner you open it fully? Niles isn't just polite; he's well-bred. Maybe that's how he was expensive to raise.

  Okay, this is kind of odd. I mean, I know I'm odd, so I'm not judging. However, the math in the equation that is Niles is a little weird. He's well-bred and was expensive to raise, yet it sounded like his Mom didn't exactly have money to spend on a fancy boarding school. He did go to law school, and that's not cheap. Still, where did all these manners come from? His family must be a trip. I so want to meet them!

  We all ogle over the menu. When the waitress arrives, Niles orders on my and his behalves. All eyes go to Tom who looks confused.

  Did Tom really forget that his date told him not two minutes ago what she would like? He keeps trying to talk to me about sports and things in which I truly have no interest. Instead he should concern himself with the beautiful woman across from him. Come on, Tom, you're an embarrassment to mankind.

  "What do you do for a living, Niles?" Tom asks.

  Did I misunderstand who my date is? Is Rosalyn a lesbian? We've never talked about this. "I work for Elliott, Asher, and Barton LLP. It's a law firm." Maybe Tom's just socially awkward. I can respect awkward, just not the rest of him.

  Tom chuckles directly at me. "Yeah, one of the biggest in Los Angeles. What are you, coffee boy?"

  He's got to be kidding. Tom gets an all-teeth grin and a deadpanned answer. "No, I'm a partner."

  Again Tom chuckles like he's humoring me, but his grin dives when he realizes I'm serious. "Really? You? You must be a lot older than you look."

  "I'm thirty-one. Does that matter?"

  Tom resumes not believing a word I'm saying. "A partner in a prestigious law firm who is only thirty-one years old? Yeah, like that happens. Doesn't that take at least a decade or two after like seven years of college?"

  I should probably tell him I was a Harvard man who was so bored out of his skull that he piled on classes. Graduating egregia cum laude loses its luster when you accomplish it because you had nothing better to do night after night than study. After a stint as a clerk for the Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court, I headed home to Los Angeles and landed my current job.

  Twice I saved my now partners' asses. First it was over the placement of a comma in what should have been standard fine print. That little faux pas equaled a multi-million dollar award for our client. Next the misfortune of one of the partners having a coronary attack threw me into a last-minute, second chair situation on a high-profile case. A nearly imperceptible mistake by the opposing counsel caught my eye, and I scored us a huge win on a case that we seemed destined to lose. My colleagues had no choice but to make me partner, else another firm would have swooped me up for significantly more money. Then the people whose butts I saved would be the ones under my scrutiny.

  So yeah, I could put Tom in his place. Truthfully, I'd rather watch him sweat. Grandma always told me if somebody laughs over your accomplishments, you just smile at their jealousy, so that's what I do.

  Tom chuckles uncomfortably. "Wow, you actually had me going."

  Rosalyn shifts a bit in her seat like she's debating if she should defend me. She's so sweet.

  "No." I place my business card before Tom. "I skated through law school because I'm an analytical thinker with excellent retention skills. Being a lawyer is easy for someone like me. It's people who have to shut off their emotions who have a hard time. You know what I mean, right? If you're emotionless it doesn't matter what happens, so you can spit stuff out without caring."

  I cringe while suppressing a laugh. Tom's been insulting, but Niles brings the sideshow to a whole new level. Jacqueline has kept to herself with the exception of smacking my arm under the table when Niles said he was a lawyer. I swear she screamed, "Why the hell didn't you tell me?" in my ear without uttering a peep. Now her teeth are grabbing her lip so she can't laugh.

  The last salad arrives, and Niles takes my starting as his cue to begin. Silence blankets the table. Niles nods toward Jacqueline and gives me an "Is she okay?" look of concern. He touches a finger to the corner of his eye as if dabbing away a tear. My head shake reply is subtle, and I return the tear gesture thus confirming that she hurts.

  With a glance at the breadbasket Niles snaps up his fork then stakes it into a roll. He stares at it like his brain has blanked out. "Hey, Rox, you remember that Charlie Chaplin film where he had the forks with the rolls at the end? Which one was that?"

  Tom shakes his head and snickers as if calling Niles an idiot. "That was Johnny Depp."

  "Kind of." Niles is unfazed by Tom's ignorance. "It came from a Chaplin film. I just can't remember which one."

  "Johnny Depp did it in Benny and Joon, and Chaplin did it in The Gold Rush, but Fatty Arbuckle did a similar bit first in The Rough House."

  "Ah! That's my girl." He winks. My insides get all gooey.

  Niles holds his hand out in request of my dinner fork. He stabs it into another roll while staring at Tom like he's wishing it were a knife in Tom's heart. He hands it to me with a flashed smile.

  Okay, that was a little scary, and very weird. "Dare I ask for some butter?"

  Jacqueline properly passes it to me, and Tom gives her a smart-ass grin. "Too bad. I wanted to see what Niles was gonna do next. I expected him to saw the roll open and then tell her to go long while he flicked her some butter. His aim probably sucks, and it would land on the wig of the old fart at the next table."

  Niles carries on as if Tom has failed to say a word. He picks up a piece of lettuce with his fingers and twists it so the dressing won't drip. All the while he stares like it's the most fascinating thing in the world. After he has Tom's attention he pops it into his mouth and resumes eating in normal-person fashion. Is he messing with Tom or is Niles being Niles?

  "So," he asks Tom, "you never told us what you do for a living."

  Tom looks like he was hoping to avoid this after Niles played his lawyer card. "I work for Citicorp." Tom's pride sounds forced.

  "Are you a teller?" Niles asks with seemingly genuine innocence. I almost choke due to his delivery. Ah, now I get it. I'm witnessing Niles the Legal Eagle. If he can be this intimidating at dinner, he must be fierce in court.

  "Hardly," Tom says. "I'm a Mortgage Loan Originator with a degree in finance."

  Niles relaxes back. His eyes take on the look of a little boy who's marveling with jealousy. "Wow, swanky title. You get to sit behind one of those big, bulletproof windows and hand out money. That's kind of cool."

  Again Tom dares to chuckle at Niles, "No, only tellers get to do that."

  "Bummer. I always wanted to sit behind one of those. It must be like working in a clear jail where you can mock people if they dare stand up to you. Bet it makes you sorry you're a loan officer and not a teller."

  Jacqueline low fives me under the table then grabs my hand and squeezes as if saying, "I love this guy." As for me … Oh God, I'm screwed.

  "Do you girls need to pick up anything on the way home, like say, for breakfast tomorrow?"

  Is Tom really serious? That is the lamest hint ever! Let's see; we had a terrible conversation at dinner, Jacqueline and I insisted we split the check four ways, and we politely called the night short by saying we needed to get to sleep early. How could he possibly think that was code for something else?

  When we reach our house, Jacqueline immediately sticks her key in the door. Sadly, Nil
es is the one who gets the hint. "Well, good night, ladies. Thank you for a wonderful evening." His kiss on my cheek is short and sweet. As much as I want more I'm really glad he has the class not to make a show in front of Tom, who needs no encouragement. "I always have a fantastic time with you. I'll call you in the morning."

  Tom looks at Jacqueline who is already past the threshold and clearly not inviting him in. He moves forward to kiss her anyway, but I step between them and follow Jacqueline inside. She locks the door with lightning speed as I throw myself, face first, onto the leather sofa and groan, "That was the most hysterical disaster ever!"

  "The worst!" Jacqueline dumps her purse and keys on the floor, then plops into the adjacent recliner and joins me in misery.

  "When are guys going to learn splitting the check is our way of making it clear that we don't owe them a thing and the spot between our legs is closed for business?"

  "I know, huh? If the date won't lead to anything more, I want to close things off politely, else I feel like a prostitute who's expected to have sex in exchange for the favor of buying me a meal. Once you start handing out sex for favors you'll be handing it over to every crossing guard in the county."

  "Jacqueline, am I crazy for liking Niles?"

  Her brow gets all scrunchy. "Are you kidding? Niles is incredible. You're a perfect match. And why didn't you tell me he's a lawyer?"

  "He's kind of a nutcase. He's also far from being my perfect match. And I didn't know about the lawyer part."

  "Why are you suddenly— Okay, Rox, we both know what this is really about. It's time to live again. And how did you not know he's a lawyer?"

  Damn. She's on to me. "My insecurities have nothing to do with Niles's weirdness. We've never talked about our jobs. We always have more interesting things to chat about."

  "No, but your insecurities have everything to do with your paranoia. Actually, let's work with this for a second." Jacqueline dashes to the kitchen and grabs a pad and pencil off of the counter. She flips aside the shopping list and plops back down on the chair. "We're going to make a list of reasons why Niles is absolutely perfect for you and a list of reasons why he's not."

  "Noooo," I groan. "You're turning into your mother again."

  "She only does this when she doesn't want to face the obvious. That description fits you beautifully right now. Therefore, yes, I am being exactly like my mother. Don't worry, I'll hate you appropriately for it later."

  "You know," I say, rolling over and facing the ceiling, "Niles was also raised by one parent. The other day he asked me what it was like to have a dad. It brought up a lot of pain, so I didn't want to talk about it. But it sounded like me asking what it was like to have a mom."

  Jacqueline scribbles on her notepad. "Sounds like a pro to me. What else have you to share?"

  "He was mostly raised by his grandparents. The situation reminds me of how much I love spending time with your grandfather."

  "Another pro."

  I crane my head to look at Jacqueline as she writes. "You know, this is kind of creepy. Not only do you look like your uncle the shrink, you're acting like him. In a strange way you two are freaks of nature like Niles and I."

  Jacqueline continues her scribbling. "How many times do we have to tell you—"

  "My uncle is a psychologist, not a shrink," we say in unison.

  "Yeah, but your mom and I love calling him a shrink because of how it irritates the hell out of him."

  "Okay, enough with your fascination about my uncle. Moving on."

  Oh, but those chiseled features and bedroom eyes that I would love to drown in … "I can't help it. The man is totally hot."

  "You do realize that sounds really weird considering how much my uncle and I look alike, sans his masculinity."

  "Hey, you know, I never really thought about that. Since guys constantly give us so much trouble why don't we just turn into lesbians?"

  Jacqueline stretches back and squiggles her butt deeper into the chair. "You've talked about this before. In fact, the last time I actually invited you to surprise me in the bedroom and you failed."

  No way! Is she serious? "You did? How'd I miss that?"

  Wait. Am I serious? Hmm …

  "I said I wouldn't mind a young Eddie Van Halen paying me a visit. You totally ignored me."

  "Look, just because I have a vibrator named Eddie Van Halen, circa nineteen eighty-five, that's no reason for me to have gotten that hint. You've got to be less subtle about these things if you want to sway me to cross over."

  "Fine, do you have a boyfriend named Justin Timberlake?"

  "Eew! No!" Now I have the willies. I mean, he's not bad but… Well, he's not exactly a bad boy. What good is having a vibrator that's not named after a bad boy?

  "Guess tonight's not our lucky night. Back to Niles."

  "Ooh, Niles." My voice sounds all dreamy. "He's really cute. I'm dying to know what's underneath those clothes. When I cuddled into his arm while walking back to the car tonight I noticed he has a nice build under there. Honestly though, it's been so long that I'm really more interested in knowing what's down below. Is that sick of me?"

  "Wait, you haven't even touched him enough to know what's under his shirt? I'm not liking the sound of this."

  "He's being a gentleman," I say with an air of dignity. "It's refreshing for once. Though it is freaking me out a little that he may not be interested in the way I hope he is."

  "Has he made any advances at all?"

  "No, but his eyes almost bugged out of his head when he saw my cleavage."

  "His eyes were on your boobs half the night."

  "Yeah, it was awesome!"

  "Okay, back to this list. While you were babbling I noted how you two love the same music and can shockingly tolerate each other when it comes to movies and books. I don't know if you've noticed this, but it's hard for you to find somebody who can respect your eccentricities—and by eccentricities I mean weirdness. Face it. Niles is your perfect match, and it's possible you are the one who is not willing to take this to the next level."

  Truthfully, my head accepted Niles as my perfect match the moment he made that "Cinderella Sunshine" reference and called me out on who I am. What scares me is I've been opening up to him. That means someday I will face what happened the last time I put trust in a man, back when—

  Peter materializes in the corner with his arms crossed. Crap. This man's timing really sucks. "You know, Jacqueline, I'm beginning to think you're completely right."

  "Admit it, Rox, you're hiding from reality."

  Yeah, and I might be imagining an alternate one.

  A Million Miles Away

  I'm barely able to kick the door to my office open without dropping the stack of folders in my arms. The top ones go sliding and force me to twist and catch them with my upper arm. With that motion, the bottom ones almost slip out from underneath. Oliver comes bounding up just in time to heckle me. "You should have grabbed a box."

  "Boy, the obvious never gets past you." The dock manager was supposed to be along with the rest of them and to assist me with the doors, but the only thing behind me is an empty hall. This is why nothing in this company ever gets done on time.

  I start to drop the files on my desk but notice a gorgeous bouquet is about to be crushed. My speedy rescue maneuver causes the top of the stack to knock over my Betty Boop vampire statuette and bump my coffee cup. My hand spares the cup from tipping over, but coffee still splatters onto two employee folders. Poor Hector Garcia and Ken Jackson.

  My hand races towards the card tucked into the bouquet.

  I can't stop thinking about you. Saturday feels like it's A Million Miles Away – Niles.

  "Who are the flowers from?" Oliver asks.

  "Niles." Niles! Niles! Niles! And he made a Plimsouls reference! He's awesome!

  Suddenly Oliver is accidentally shoved aside as the dock manager arrives with the rest of the files. "Here you go." They get dropped onto the first stack, and I manage to stop their sli
de towards my coffee cup to spare David Asher's pristine manila folder. The bouquet gets safely placed on my credenza between my Ringo Starr and H.R. Pufnstuf action figures.

  "Is there a list of who gets what?" I ask the manager before he can walk off.

  "Nope, that's why you have the files. They've got a pink Post-it if it's a three percent raise, a yellow one for a four percent, and I think there might be one blue one, which is five percent. Pretty self-explanatory."

  "Is that actually written anywhere?"

  "Nope, I just told you. Oh, and this batch doesn't take effect until next month, so you can shove them aside for now."

  Lovely. "Here." I hand him a note pad and a pen. "In writing, please."

  Oliver excuses himself, and I wish I could run away, too. File this in the stack of things I hate about this job.

  Money Money

  July 1967

  By rock star standards our country home was modest. However, compared to the cramped East End flat I grew up in the place was enormous. The grounds were just big enough for the dogs to run freely, as dogs should.

  As I lounged outside, basking in the cloud-obscured sun, Jane painted a landscape of our yard. It was a perfect replica until she added splashes of color to the lush green. "Why the flowers?" I asked.

  "I'm painting our future. I threw some seeds around last week. Soon we will have lovely wild flowers."

  "I suppose that next you'll pop in a few kiddies, too."

  "Not yet." She sighed while putting down her brush so she could curl next to me. "I can't quite see that part yet. So much lies ahead, yet I'm waiting to learn what the next phase will be." Jane tucked her head into my shoulder in what seemed like a deliberate attempt to keep our eyes from meeting. "We're not going to be here much longer, are we?"

  "What makes you say that?"