by Daniel Price
[pr_demon] Seriously. I’ll take it. I’ll cash it. I promise.
[mrvl_girl] Good. It’s been hanging over me for nine days now.
[pr_demon] Are you okay?
The question earned me a few moments of radio silence.
[mrvl_girl] What makes you ask? You can’t even see me.
[pr_demon] Subtext, baby. Subtext.
[mrvl_girl] Oh, you’re good.
[pr_demon] I’m good.
[mrvl_girl] DAMN good.
[pr_demon] Damn right. So what’s the problem? Can you talk about it? Or is it the Subject We Dare Not Speak?
[mrvl_girl] No. It’s not maternal. It’s marital.
[pr_demon] Oh.
[mrvl_girl] But I won’t get into that either.
[pr_demon] Right. Fair enough. You want me to piss off then?
[mrvl_girl] No. I want you to talk to me all night. Again.
This time I was the one who paused, apparently long enough to cause concern.
[mrvl_girl] Look, in case you’re worried, I don’t see this as an escalating thing. Our relationship is purely textual.
[pr_demon] I know. We just seem to be having an awful lot of text.
[mrvl_girl] Okay. You tell me your problem with that and I’ll tell you mine.
[pr_demon] I don’t want to become an issue in your family.
[mrvl_girl] You mean marital or maternal?
[pr_demon] I don’t know. You tell me.
[mrvl_girl] Well, I can rule out the former. In order for you to become a marital issue, we’d have to screw. Outdoors. Right on top of his azaleas. And his cat.
[pr_demon] Wow. It sure takes a lot to upset Neil.
[mrvl_girl] No it doesn’t. Now should we talk about the maternal issue?
[pr_demon] Yes, because I’m not quite sure what it is.
[mrvl_girl] I just feel like we’re somehow cheating on Madison.
[pr_demon] I’ve felt that a little too. It’s silly, though.
[mrvl_girl] Not in her head.
[pr_demon] Why? What do you think is going on in her head?
[mrvl_girl] I’m guessing pictures of you.
[pr_demon] Oh come on.
[mrvl_girl] It’s true.
[pr_demon] How do you know?
[mrvl_girl] Because I can read minds. Didn’t I tell you?
[pr_demon] I think you’re misreading this one.
[mrvl_girl] I think you’re just being humble.
[pr_demon] No. I mean it. If she’s in love with anything, it’s the work.
[mrvl_girl] How do YOU know?
[pr_demon] Because I can read subtext. Didn’t you notice?
I didn’t like the direction this was heading. I didn’t think it was fair of Jean to push her daughter out on a limb like this. More important, I didn’t think she was right.
[pr_demon] I’m serious. I would know.
[mrvl_girl] Yeah. I think you would too.
[pr_demon] So then what’s the issue?
[mrvl_girl] I guess the issue is what you would do with that knowledge.
[pr_demon] Ahhhh. I was wondering when we’d finally get to this.
[mrvl_girl] It’s my biggest fear.
[pr_demon] Hey, I don’t blame you for having it. I just wish there was something I can say to ease your mind.
[mrvl_girl] It’s not that I think you’re twisted or evil or anything...
[pr_demon] Praise indeed.
[mrvl_girl] It’s just that you’re human. She’s pretty. And she would do anything you wanted. Anything. You’d just have to ask.
[pr_demon] Uh...
[mrvl_girl] And the worst part is, I’d never know. You'd totally get away with it.
[pr_demon] You enjoy torturing yourself like this?
[mrvl_girl] A little. But only when I’m in a pissy mood.
[pr_demon] Yeah, well stop it. You’re weirding me out.
[mrvl_girl] Fine. What’s your biggest fear?
[pr_demon] You mean about you?
[mrvl_girl] No. In general.
[pr_demon] Mediocrity.
[mrvl_girl] Wait. Back up. You have a fear about me?
[pr_demon] Currently, yes. But it’s a nutty one.
[mrvl_girl] What, that I’m a psycho-killer?
[pr_demon] No.
[mrvl_girl] A vampire? An alien? A Lutheran?
[pr_demon] No, that you’re Madison.
The cursor blinked for a good twenty seconds. Poor thing. If she could see my face, my own sardonic smirk, she’d know I wasn’t very committed to this particular nightmare. It was just one of a million bleak angles that crossed my field of vision, one of many droll predictions being whispered among the viewers in my inner cineplex. There was always a twist. There was always a wild third-act surprise, especially when a promising thing looked a little too promising. It was just Hollywood dharma.
Admittedly, I had gotten an early start on my suspicion. Last Sunday, in Jean’s first e-mail to me, I had noticed a non-motherly use of the word “cool.” That was enough to trigger an opening round of What If... ? What if Madison was posing as Jean? What if she had co-opted her mother’s account? What if she had set up a server function to redirect all incoming messages from me before Jean could ever read them? It’s much easier than it sounds, especially for someone as sharp as Madison. Ultimately the real Jean would try to contact me, but what if her daughter was sly enough to set up a two-way deception? What if Jean was hearing from “me” all along, and hearing that everything was fine?
It was exactly the kind of stunt I could see a bright but unstable teenage girl devising, until she was inevitably caught. As the week progressed, small observations kept fueling the uncertainty. The fact that I only heard from Jean at night, when Madison was home. The fact that Madison kept yawning after Jean and I had our first late-night exchange. The fact that she delivered the classic X-Men comic herself, then demanded I thank her mother by e-mail. That was certainly a chin-scratcher.
Like Jean, I often tortured myself with dark, exotic notions, but this one never kept me up at night. It certainly didn’t stop my relationships from evolving. And the more I got to know them both, the quieter my theories became.
But then Jean had to shake the whole damn tree, just moments ago, with her bizarrely suggestive rant about what her little girl would do if only I asked. Her grim supposition instantly resurrected mine, only now that I knew those two, now that I cherished my rapport with both mother and daughter, the thought was downright terrifying. It was enough to make me queasy.
[mrvl_girl] Wow, Scott. I’m not sure how to take that.
[pr_demon] Try it with a grain of salt.
[mrvl_girl] No. Still doesn’t wash. Either you think she’s amazingly mature for her age or I’m amazingly immature for mine.
[pr_demon] I didn’t say I believed it. I just said it was a fear.
[mrvl_girl] So then for the record, you do not believe, assume, or hope that you are electronically flirting with a 13-year-old girl.
[pr_demon] I thought we weren’t flirting.
[mrvl_girl] Oh wake up. We’re flirting like mad. We’re just not escalating.
[pr_demon] Maybe I should read more carefully.
[mrvl_girl] Maybe you should answer me.
[pr_demon] NO. I DO NOT BELIEVE, ASSUME, OR HOPE THAT I AM ELECTRONICALLY FLIRTING WITH A 13-YEAR-OLD GIRL.
[mrvl_girl] And if it turns out you are?
[pr_demon] Is that a confession?
[mrvl_girl] It’s a query.
[pr_demon] Okay. To answer your query: I’d be upset and angry.
[mrvl_girl] How upset and how angry?
[pr_demon] Upset enough to kick you out of my life and angry enough not to miss you. Is that a satisfactory answer?
She took a few long beats to process my words.
[mrvl_girl] You know what? It is. Wow.
[pr_demon] Good.
[mrvl_girl] I really, really believe you, Scott.
[pr_demon] Glad to hear it.
/> [mrvl_girl] Yeah. Wow. You just killed my biggest fear. You don’t know how happy that makes me. I mean it. I’m crying a little.
[pr_demon] I swear, woman, you get stranger by the minute.
[mrvl_girl] Would you like me to kill your biggest fear? Or are you willing to take on faith that I am not my own teenage daughter?
[pr_demon] I don’t think you’re Madison!!
[mrvl_girl] Yes, but there’s still that tiny seed of doubt in your mind. I can see it. I can kill it.
[pr_demon] You can prove you’re not Madison.
[mrvl_girl] I can prove it in four words. No, make it five.
[pr_demon] Five words, huh?
[mrvl_girl] I’m giving you a choice: proof or faith. What will it be?
[pr_demon] I don’t know. I’m tempted to say “proof,” but it feels like the wrong answer.
[mrvl_girl] This isn’t a quiz show, Scott. I’m only asking for your benefit.
[pr_demon] Yeah but I can’t imagine anyone choosing faith over proof.
[mrvl_girl] Neither could I. But I just mustered up some faith in you and it feels REALLY good. Care to try some?
[pr_demon] No. I’ll take the proof.
[mrvl_girl] You sure now?
[pr_demon] I’m sure.
[mrvl_girl] You want the proof then.
[pr_demon] If it’s not too much trouble.
[mrvl_girl] It’s not. But I’d be remiss in not giving you one last chance to back out.
[pr_demon] I’m not backing out! Will you give me the damn proof already?!
[mrvl_girl] Okay! I’ll be right over!
She disconnected. The lower half of my screen went blank. For a minute I sat there, staring at my laptop like an idiot, wondering why she couldn’t just deliver her proof through the computer. Then I reread her last five words. Damn. I guess she did. Whatever made me think I was dealing with an adolescent? This woman was far too smart to be a child in disguise. This woman was smarter than me.
________________
For the eighth time in seven days, Marvel Girl pulled up in front of my building. She left the lights on and the motor running. She didn’t get out. I watched her through the window. Why was she just sitting there?
Soon my old but trusty cell phone emitted a short series of beeps. I pulled it off the kitchen counter. I had a new text message.
You coming or what?
I had no idea what she had in store for me, but I liked the way she spared me the thorny issue of inviting her in. By no means did I want her in my duplex. I didn’t want her by my stairs. I didn’t want her any where near the concept of escalation. Apparently the feeling was mutual. That was all I needed to know before putting my night in her hands.
After clutching my wallet and keys, I took a somber look at my other cellular—the Bat-Phone, that red, clunky, overembellished rigamajig that had come to symbolize my secret relationship with Harmony. I’d been carrying it around all week like a ten-pound sack of flour. For God’s sake, it was Saturday night. The news flow was just a trickle, and Harmony was rich in friends. Wouldn’t it be nice to leave the phone behind for once? To leave her behind?
No. With my luck, Harmony would need me the minute I became inaccessible. I was already two steps in the doghouse with her. I couldn’t afford any more mistakes. I took her with me.
As I approached the SUV, I could see the inscrutable Mrs. Spelling smiling at me through her window. I hadn’t laid eyes on her since last Saturday, back when she was little more than a bad driver, a worried mother and, naturally, a Deaf Woman. Now that I had at least eighty more colorful terms to describe her, she looked completely different to me. She was still forcibly cute in that Katie Comic/chipmunk sort of way, but there was a deep intricacy to her face that I had definitely missed before. It made her almost impenetrable. She was what Katie Couric might look like in a weird and cathartic mood. She was the world’s most complicated chipmunk.
At the moment, her face was dedicated to making fun of me. Feigning confusion, she lowered her window and flashed me her handheld.
Madison said I had to rush over here. Any idea what this is about?
“Read my lips: you’re not funny.”
She grinned and jerked her thumb at the passenger seat. Get in.
“And where are you taking me, exactly?”
She didn’t catch that. Another thing I’d learned from her this past week: lipreading was hard. The human mouth was nowhere near as versatile as the human throat. Many word sounds were doubled, tripled, quadrupled in a single phoneme. Even veteran readers like Jean still routinely missed or misread at least twenty-five percent of everything said. Try....sing or mass-reeding......twenty-five....cent of everything ridden. Not fun, is it?
So when she motioned again, I shut up and followed. As I closed the door, Jean turned on the interior light. She was wearing a sleeveless white blouse, turquoise capri pants, and old white sneakers. Her short black hair was held back by a plastic green hairband. She was dressed more for a day of spring cleaning than a night on the town. Okay, so she wasn’t exactly a fashion template, but there was something wonderful about the way she existed in her own continuum, far beyond the reach of Marie Claire and Laura Ashley. None of her insecurities, none of her neuroses were media fueled. She was her very own mess.
And she was still one fine-looking mess. Nature may have stolen one of her senses but it left her a number of gifts: perfect skin, a seductive jawline, and what I could only assume was a divine metabolism. She had an incredibly nice body for a woman who sat at her computer all day.
She studied me for a moment, then scribbled into her handheld.
It’s nice to see you.
“Thank you. You, too.”
You ready?
“Where are we going?”
Just trust me. You’re in for a real experience.
She locked the doors and turned off the light. Before pulling away, she closed her eyes and crossed herself. Whether she was really praying or just messing with my head, I didn’t know. She didn’t clue me in. But as always, I had my suspicions.
________________
There’s an electronic device known as an Emergency Response Indicator that picks up the noise from police, fire, and ambulance sirens and signals it to deaf drivers through a series of blinking red lights. It even indicates the proximity of the emergency vehicle. I got to see it in action on the way to our mystery destination. What a magnificent age we lived in. There was clearly no better time to be deaf.
At half past ten we arrived at the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica, only two blocks south of Harmony’s hotel.
With covert glee, she held my arm and led me through the bustling crowd of pedestrians and street performers. She took me down an alley, between two restaurants, then up an unobtrusive stairwell. There, on the second floor, across from a Greek optometrist’s office, was the entrance to Club Silence.
She adjusted my collar at the door, then retrieved her handheld from her purse.
You are now leaving Earth, she wrote, and entering my world.