Slick

by Daniel Price

  ________________

  On my way downstairs, I got another bird’s-eye view of Madison’s work. Once again, her news clippings were littered with orange words: pinprick stabs at Hunta that were tiny enough to preserve the illusion of objectivity. The supportive green words, by contrast, were as rare as four-leaf clovers. But there was encouragement to be found in the pink. The mentions of Annabelle Shane were a mere fraction of what they were yesterday. There would be even less tomorrow. By next week the Melrose demon would be all but vanquished. I wasn’t just a publicist anymore. I was an exorcist. And my elaborate ritual was working.

  Madison looked up from her notepad. “Oh. I was just leaving you a message.”

  “I’m here.”

  “So’s my mom.”

  “I saw.”

  “Do you need me to stay late tomorrow? I can.”

  “I don’t think there’s a need.”

  She lowered her voice, as if her mother were somehow listening. “Or I could come early. I mean, my afternoon classes are a joke.”

  I squeezed her shoulder. “As I much as I appreciate your willingness to sacrifice both school and family...”

  She sneered at me. “Shut up. Look, I know how big this is. I just want to help.”

  “You are,” I said earnestly. “You’re an amazing help. In fact, I’ve been meaning to give you something.”

  I retrieved a small, dusty key ring from the counter and tossed it to her. “The smaller one’s for the apartment. The other one’s for the building, although you always seem to get past that door.”

  From the look on Madison’s face, you’d think I was on my knees, proposing. “Oh, wow. Scott.”

  “It’s no big deal. I just don’t want you waiting in the hallway anymore.”

  “So then if you’re not here tomorrow—”

  “Knock. If I don’t answer, come in. Log on to my laptop. Start printing articles. Easy, right?”

  “Wow. I really appreciate this.”

  “Listen, those keys only exist on weekday afternoons. You understand me? I don’t want to come home on a Saturday night to find you here, hiding out from your family.”

  “You won’t!”

  “This isn’t your new airport.”

  She clenched her hands together, drowning me in the kind of life-or-death intensity that makes adults so scared of teenagers.

  “Scott, I swear to God I won’t abuse your trust. You are—” She cut herself off, waving her open hands. “Whatever. I’ll do anything you say.”

  Outside, Jean remained in her SUV, patient and silent. It really wasn’t fair, was it? She had carried Madison for nine months and thirteen years. She made every sacrifice. And yet I was the one with all the power and influence over her precious little girl. I had more power than I knew what to do with. A lesser woman would have hated me for it. A lesser man would have given her a reason.

  ________________

  So I couldn’t help but notice, Jean typed, my daughter’s two new keys.

  Yeah, that was me, I typed back, less assuredly. Did I screw up?

  We were done with e-mail word games. We were even done with e-mail. On Thursday night Jean had introduced me to EyeTalk, a freeware messaging application that allowed Internet users to communicate one-on-one in real time. Just minutes after registering myself with a username and password, I had Jean at my virtual doorstep. It wasn’t long before she brought up the key thing.

  [mrvl_girl] You didn’t screw up at all. I’m just glad to see things going well on both ends.

  [pr_demon] What do you mean both ends?

  [mrvl_girl] I mean I knew _she_ was happy with the arrangement...

  [pr_demon] So am I. I told you everything was fine.

  [mrvl_girl] Well of course you’d say that to me. I’m her mother.

  [pr_demon] Ah. I get it now.

  [mrvl_girl] Right. Keys don’t lie. Unless they’re somehow misengraved.

  [pr_demon] She’s a great kid.

  [mrvl_girl] I always thought so.

  [pr_demon] She definitely has your smarts.

  [mrvl_girl] No. Her father’s the one who passed down the brains. I gave her volatility.

  [pr_demon] But she’s been doing okay recently, right?

  [mrvl_girl] Yeah. For the most part.

  [pr_demon] What do you mean?

  Now that we were linked up live, I could see her pause. Her cursor blinked steadily for a few awkward moments.

  [mrvl_girl] You know what? This is the exact reason why she doesn’t want me talking to you. She has a point too. After all, I’m her mom. You’re her boss.

  [pr_demon] True.

  [mrvl_girl] And she takes her job VERY seriously.

  [pr_demon] I noticed.

  [mrvl_girl] Nobody wants their mom dishing dirt to their boss.

  [pr_demon] Forget I asked.

  [mrvl_girl] Forget I hinted.

  [pr_demon] Forgotten.

  [mrvl_girl] Shit.

  [pr_demon] What?

  [mrvl_girl] Now I’m afraid that in the absence of information, you’ll assume the worst about what I was going to say.

  [pr_demon] *blinks stupidly*

  [mrvl_girl] She really is a great kid.

  [pr_demon] I know!

  [mrvl_girl] A lot less trouble than I was at her age.

  [pr_demon] You were a problem child?

  [mrvl_girl] I used to cut my arms and legs with razors.

  [pr_demon] Eeuu.

  [mrvl_girl] Yeah. I was the youngest in a mob of blue-blooded Virginia Catholics. They were all dumb as posts. I was just deaf as one. I might as well have turned Iranian.

  [pr_demon] Nobody else in your family was deaf?

  [mrvl_girl] Nobody else in my life was deaf.

  [pr_demon] Yeesh.

  [mrvl_girl] Yeah. My folks didn’t know what to do with me. They took me to otologists, audiologists, speech pathologists, child psychologists.

  [pr_demon] Speech pathologists? As in talking?

  [mrvl_girl] There was indeed a time when I, under strict duress, attempted to squeeze words out through my throat. It was about as easy as farting a sonnet. Gave it up real fast, I did.

  [pr_demon] Your family never learned sign language?

  [mrvl_girl] No. Neither did I. Not until I was 16. Not until the Great Professor came along.

  [pr_demon] You met your husband when you were 16?

  [mrvl_girl] Yeah. One of the frustrated psychologists called him in to help me. He worked with me every night.

  [pr_demon] That was nice of him.

  [mrvl_girl] Sure. He opened my mind. My heart. My legs.

  [pr_demon] At 16?!

  [mrvl_girl] Well, I wasn’t exactly passive in the process.

  [pr_demon] Yeah but you were 16!

  [mrvl_girl] You told me you once shacked up with an older woman.

  [pr_demon] Not until I was 21.

  [mrvl_girl] Well, I was a mature 16. And as much as I loathe the man now, he was my saving grace at the time. If it wasn’t for him, I would have killed myself.

  [pr_demon] Wow.

  [mrvl_girl] But instead I ran off with him to Gallaudet and never looked back. Best move of my life. By 21, I was a completely different person. I was married. I was signing like a pro. I had friends. I had pride. And to top it all, I had Madison. My sweet little angel. I carried her through the Gallaudet revolution.

  [pr_demon] The who to the what now?

  [mrvl_girl] The “Deaf President Now!” protest. March 1988. It was the biggest Deaf uprising in history.

  [pr_demon] It’s not ringing a bell.

  [mrvl_girl] It was a school for the Deaf but it never had a Deaf president. So we fought. We won. It was historic. For us, anyway.

  [pr_demon] Wow. My ignorance is staggering.

  [mrvl_girl] You’re not that bad.

  [pr_demon] Really? I feel like ever since I met you, I’ve made every mistake in the book.

  [mrvl_girl] What book?

  [pr_demon] I don’
t know. Is there a book to help me become less ignorant about deaf issues?

  [mrvl_girl] Like what? “The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Dummies”?

  [pr_demon] Oof! Ouch! See, now if _I_ made that joke...

  [mrvl_girl] You’d be in a lot of trouble, mister.

  [pr_demon] I’ve been fighting the urge to ask you stupid questions.

  [mrvl_girl] Oh, just ask them. Everyone else does.

  [pr_demon] How’d you lose your hearing?

  [mrvl_girl] Explosion at a chemical plant. It left me deaf but it heightened my other senses to a superhuman degree.

  [pr_demon] I don’t think so.

  [mrvl_girl] Fine. Spinal meningitis. I got it when I was two.

  [pr_demon] So you’re 100% deaf.

  [mrvl_girl] 90% in the left ear. 95% in the right. I still get certain frequencies a little. I can hear the TV when it’s on. It gives off a faint, high-pitched squeal.

  [pr_demon] That’s just the truth being tortured.

  [mrvl_girl] Jesus. Did I just give you my whole life story?

  [pr_demon] Only the first few chapters.

  [mrvl_girl] Okay. So what’s your origin?

  [pr_demon] My origin?

  [mrvl_girl] Yeah. How’d you get to be you?

  [pr_demon] I was bitten by a radioactive asshole.

  [mrvl_girl] You’re not an asshole.

  [pr_demon] No, but I have the proportionate strength and speed of one.

  [mrvl_girl] . o 0 (This man is not very forthcoming.)

  [pr_demon] Actually, I have no idea how I got to be me. I’ve lived a life virtually free of

  My red phone rang. I figured it was either Maxina or Harmony. Unfortunately, both of them trumped Jean on my priority scale.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, baby.”

  “Harmony! What’s the poop? What’s the scoop? What’s the rumpus?”

  She laughed. “Damn. What’s with you?”

  “I was just about to call you.”

  [mrvl_girl] You’ve lived a life virtually free of...?

  [pr_demon] I’ve got to go.

  [mrvl_girl] Already?!

  [pr_demon] Work beckons.

  [mrvl_girl] Oh come on. I’m enjoying this.

  [pr_demon] So am I, but work beckons.

  “Are you typing something?”

  “Just finishing up a correspondence,” I said. “Talk to me. How you feeling?”

  “Full. I ordered up a huge dinner.”

  “Yeah? What’d you get?”

  “Chicken-fried steak. Black-eyed peas. Country green beans.”

  “Mmm. Southern.”

  [mrvl_girl] Mr. Singer, you are leaving me unsatisfied.

  [pr_demon] You’re not the first.

  [mrvl_girl] And you won’t even stay to snuggle.

  [pr_demon] Bye.

  [mrvl_girl] Wait! What did you live a life virtually free of?!

  [pr_demon] Adversity. See ya.

  I signed off, closed the laptop, and then stretched out on the couch.

  “So. Your new boyfriends still in the room?”

  Harmony laughed. “Shut up. It ain’t like that and you know it.”

  Before he left the Miramar this morning, Alonso had stationed a private security crew outside her suite. Harmony was quick to establish an open-door policy with her new muscle. The first watch, Anthony and Chuck, spent all day in her room: playing Nintendo, watching movies, and generally talking up a storm. By mid-afternoon they were unburdening their deepest woes. Anthony was having serious communication problems with his long-term squeeze, and Chuck was so busy working off his debt load that he didn’t have the time or energy to meet people.

  Harmony, of course, played the veteran hostess—listening, empathizing, doing whatever it took to make them feel good (within reason). In this case, distraction was her reward. It wasn’t easy to think about the outside world, especially when the outside world was thinking about her. What better way to escape than into the hearts and minds of others? If only everyone handled their stress as constructively as she did.

  “I’m glad they around,” she added. “I never had this much space to myself before.”

  “I’m sure those guys fill up space.”

  “Actually, none of them are all that big. Not like Hunta’s guy.”

  “Yeah. He’s a house.”

  “How’s he doing, anyway?”

  “Big Bank?”

  “You know who I’m talking about.”

  My smile tapered off. “Let’s just say Jeremy’s in good spirits. And substances.”

  “Yeah. I’d probably fry my brains too if I was in his shoes. Poor guy.”

  “Sweetheart, I guarantee that everyone will be kissing his ass next week.”

  “Yeah? And what about me?”

  “You can kiss his ass if you want.”

  “You know what I’m talking about!” She laughed. “Man, you are acting strange tonight.”

  “I know. I’m in a nutty mood.”

  “It’s been a nutty day.”

  “Have you been watching TV at all?”

  “I keep trying,” she said, “and I keep turning it off. It’s just too much for me. Either they trash Hunta, which makes me feel bad, or they talk about all the shit from my past, which makes me feel worse. And still none of it seem real to me.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s all going to slow down to a more comfortable speed.”

  “That ain’t what Maxina told me.”

  Of course not. I wasn’t the least bit surprised that Maxina had called. She was doing with Harmony what she’d done with Alonso: poking, prodding, sniffing for an ulterior agenda. I didn’t plant one. I didn’t have one. So then why did I feel so edgy? Why did it feel like a Wal-Mart just opened up across the street from my general store?

  “When did you talk to her?” I asked.

  “This afternoon. She said it’s only gonna get crazier from here. Today it’s just the media reacting. Tomorrow it’s both the media and the public.”

  “That’s not exactly...I mean, yes. She’s right. But she was talking about the uproar against rap itself. Not the situation with you and Hunta.”

  “No, she said specifically the situation with me and Hunta.”

  Goddamn it, Maxina. We’re in the same rubber raft and you’re throwing darts.

  “Listen, Harmony, Maxina is...She’s an amazing woman. A very accomplished woman. But this kind of operation is outside her field of expertise. That’s why she called me in.”

  “I know.”

  “She’s just a little anxious, that’s all. Not for you. Not for Hunta. She knows you’ll both be okay. She’s just worried about the long-term effects on the music industry.”

  “She said all that.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, like word for word.”

  “Oh.”

  She giggled. “That’s it. You ain’t Scott! Put Scott on!”

  “I’m here,” I said through a feeble smile. “It’s me.”

  “What’s going on in that big bad brain of yours?”

  In other words, talk to me. Distract me. Let me in. My big bad brain told me to proceed very carefully. I didn’t want to flood her with my own neuroses. I was her anchor. I had to look sturdy, for her sake and mine. Yet at the same time, there was Maxina, setting up shop on Harmony Drive. I had to offer up something.

  “If it wasn’t such a white question,” I quipped, “you’d probably ask me about my big dream.”

  She chuckled. “Okay. Pretend I’m white. What’s your big dream?”