by james
“I realize that we’ve just met,” he said, “but if you want to talk about what’s wrong, I’d be more than happy to listen.”
Mouth 1, Brain 0.
“You must be pretty desperate for tips around this place,” Melody remarked.
“No, no, I just like to think of Dual Streams as a full-service dining establishment. We help you work through your problems and offer a delicious selection of affordably priced entrees.”
All right, now he was getting out of hand. It was time to go. He pushed back his chair. “I apologize. I shouldn’t be out here bothering the customers. I hope you enjoy your meal, and please let me know if everything isn’t to your complete satisfaction.”
Melody gestured for him to sit back down. “No, really, I’d like to talk, but don’t you have…you know, restaurant-running things to be doing?”
“Sort of, but nah.”
“You don’t have to give the dishwashers their hourly poke with the cattle prod or anything?”
“My brother handles the behind-the-scenes sadism. So, what’s bothering you?”
“My boyfriend moved out on me yesterday.”
Cool. No, not cool! What’s the matter with you? That’s tragic! Don’t think about hitting on the customers! Bad café owner! Bad!
“What a creep,” he said. “Let me guess, he fed you some line about needing his space, right?”
“No, he left me because I ignored him for the two months that we lived together.”
“Oh. Guess that makes him less of a creep then.”
“I didn’t even see it coming. I was so obsessed with my writing that I took him completely for granted except when I wanted…uh, attention.”
“I know what you’re saying,” said Tim. “If I hadn’t neglected my ex-wife, maybe I’d still be married and I wouldn’t have a dizzy spell whenever I see a bulldozer.”
“I feel so stupid.”
“We suck.”
“Yes, we certainly do.” Melody took a sip of her water. “Here’s a question. What was the craziest, most outrageous thing you ever did for your wife?”
“Don’t tell anyone,” said Tim, lowering his voice and leaning forward confidentially, “but one time I let her have the remote control for an entire
commercial break.”
“No, I’m serious.”
Tim closed his eyes and thought for a moment.
A long moment.
A disconcertingly long moment.
“Well, before we were married, I did serenade her once.”
“Outside her bedroom window?” asked Melody.
“No, no, God, no, not where anybody else could see. In her kitchen,
actually.”
“What did you sing?”
“Ummm…’Does Your Chewing Gum Lose its Flavor on the Bedpost Overnight?’ It was pretty lame. I guess that doesn’t count. Let me think of something else.”
“Probably the wildest thing I ever did for Alex was name a character after him in one of my books. The character got an ice pick through the forehead, but it was meant to be funny.”
“I did something else…I’m sure of it…”
“How did you propose to her?”
“In a swimming pool.”
“Any special reason?”
“No,” Tim admitted. “We just happened to be swimming at the time. I didn’t even get down on one knee, or I would have, you know, drowned. My original plan was to put the engagement ring in a glass of champagne, but I had these horrible visions of having to perform the Heimlich Maneuver on her afterward.”
Melody smiled. She had a beautiful smile, which brought out a tiny wrinkle on the left side of her mouth that was so adorable Tim wanted to poke it with his finger and giggle. He restrained himself.
A girl who looked about eighteen or nineteen walked up to the microphone with a guitar.
“Here’s a little song I wrote last night,” she announced. “It’s called ‘To Champion, My Faithful Gerbil, I’m Sorry I Let the Couch Fall on You’.”
Tim rolled his eyes. “You know, the food, service, and atmosphere here are overrated anyway. How would you like me to cancel your order and take you someplace nicer?”
“I’d like that a lot.”
CHAPTER FOUR
This was really weird.
Melody didn’t believe in love at first sight, and it wasn’t applicable here. But love within the first five to six minutes following initial eye contact, well, that was entirely possible. She’d never felt this comfortable around a man so quickly. Usually each new relationship began with a couple of weeks of paranoia. Even with Alex she’d been nervous at first, wondering if he turned off the lights before they had sex just so he wouldn’t have to look at her.
And now here she was, sitting in the passenger seat of Tim’s car, a man she’d just met, headed for an unknown destination, and yet her stomach wasn’t twisting itself into complicated balloon animal shapes. She was completely at ease. She wasn’t planning the wedding yet (though she’d always wanted glowing red eyes on the miniature bride and groom that rested on top of the cake), but Melody sensed definite possibilities here. Call it chemistry. Call it fate. Call it toxins in the air. Whatever it was, she’d never felt anything like it before, not even the time in college she’d inhaled nine helium balloons in a row.
If Mr. Tim Neffster didn’t turn out to be an incredible jerk or a serial killer or a puppy-kicker, she wasn’t going to screw this up.
“We’re almost there,” Tim told her. “One of the best selections in town, a casual atmosphere, and a chance to see the Amazing Boll Weevil Boy for fifty cents.”
A moment later, the bright lights of the carnival came into view.
As they walked along the sawdust and chewing gum covered path, Tim reflected upon how much he’d loved carnivals as a kid. Even as an adult he got a giddy sensation the moment he paid his admission and walked through the gate.
Carnivals were also romantic. He could walk around with Melody, buy her some cotton candy, and maybe even win her a stuffed monkey that went “Eee! Eee! Eee!” when she squeezed it. He’d have to avoid caramel apples, since he was unable to eat one without coating the entire lower half of his face, and he’d probably avoid comments like “Hey, why don’t you let this guy guess your weight?” but aside from that, the carnival was the perfect place to bring her.
He was going to be romantic, damn it! He was going to put stars in her eyes. He was going to get her to walk around with an IQ-deficient grin on her face if it killed him. He was going to be Super Lover Man, Reaper of Romance!
Melody took Tim’s hand as they approached the House of FEAR!!! “Oooh, I love haunted houses! We have to go in.”
“Is it safe to go in one of these with a horror writer?”
“I doubt it.”
“Cool.”
The side of the House of FEAR!!! was decorated with an enormous picture of what looked like Dracula with smeared makeup and crossed eyes. They walked up to the booth, where a teenage girl in zombie makeup sat reading a fashion magazine.
Tim took out his wallet. “Two, please.”
“Are you free from heart conditions?” asked the girl without looking up.
“Absolutely.”
“Are you free from claustrophobia, epilepsy, pregnancy, or any other condition that might be aggravated by this attraction?”
“I believe so.”
“Are you aware that there are no refunds?”
“Sure.”
“That’ll be six bucks.”
Tim paid the girl, and they got into the small car. “These are always fun,”
Melody remarked as they slowly whirred through the darkened doorway.
They rounded a corner and found themselves moving down a dimly lit corridor. Badly drawn cardboard cutouts of skeletons, witches, and mummies hung from strings on the ceiling. The walls were decorated with phrases like “Boo!” and “Oh no!” and “Help me!”
Melody pushed one of the witches out of her fac
e. “Well, I’m glad I let you pay for this.”
A werewolf howled. After a couple of seconds the recording began to skip. Ahead of them, one of the strings broke, dropping an unevenly cut mummy to the floor.
That could be a book. Beware the Falling Mummy. People in a sleepy New England town are in shock when mummies start falling from the sky, wreaking
havoc wherever they land…
Melody gave herself a mental slap.
They rounded the next corner and went down another corridor, this one decorated with a degree of lameness identical to the first. A guy in a Frankenstein mask lumbered toward them, arms outstretched. He walked up to the car.
“Y’think I could bum a cigarette off you?”
“Oh, sure.” Melody pulled one of her four emergency packs out of her purse. “Here, take two. I’ve quit.”
The whirr died and the car stopped. Tim and Melody looked expectantly at Frankenstein.
“Happens every once in a while. I’ll give you a push.”
Frankenstein walked up behind them and shoved at the car until it began moving on its own. They rounded another corner and moved through total darkness…for about two seconds, until the car stopped.
“Uh, Frankenstein, we need you again,” Tim called out.
“Gimme a minute, dude. I’m going on break.”
Melody smiled to herself. Here she was, stuck in complete darkness with a man she barely knew but who was like a Happy Sweater for her mind. She wondered what Tim was thinking right now. She hoped he wasn’t just trying to figure out a way to get his hand(s) down her pants.
Not that she would have minded having his hand(s) there, but she wanted there to be more on his mind at the moment.
She would give anything for him not to turn out to be a jerk. World peace, food for the hungry, a best-selling novel…okay, maybe not the novel. Okay, definitely not the novel. Maybe not world peace, either, since that was important. And food for the hungry should probably come before Tim not being a jerk, too, just because it was the morally decent way to prioritize her hopes. But she’d rather Tim not be a jerk than have a sweet little boy get the Captain Hocker action figure (with super spitting action) he always wanted for Christmas, and she didn’t care if that made her a bad person.
Damn damn damn damn damn damn damn.
Here it was, the perfect opportunity for something sweet and romantic. What could be nicer than having their first kiss in a stalled car in a haunted house? But the timing was all screwed up. Tim couldn’t just lean over and plant one on her lips; she might beat the living shit out of him and yell for carnival security. And it wasn’t like he could ask her permission without sounding like a doofus (“Say, Melody, just out of curiosity, would you be inclined to beat the living shit out of me and yell for carnival security if I were to kiss you right now?”).
But what would she think if he didn’t seize this perfect opportunity? Considering their pasts, she might think he was so caught up in his own selfish
little world that the idea of kissing her didn’t even occur to him.
No, that was stupid.
And just why was he sitting here like a frightened prepubescent debating whether or not to do the Ol’ Yawn And Stretch And, Well, As Long As The Ol’ Arm Is In The General Vicinity Already, Might As Well Put It Around The Ol’ Shoulder? He’d been married and he’d dated a halfway decent number of women, so why was he sweating over a stint in the dark with Melody?
Because he didn’t want to mess this up. There was a massive attraction here, and he was almost positive that it was mutual. He’d seen it in her eyes. A spark was there. She hadn’t eaten yet, so it couldn’t be food poisoning.
“Break’s over.” The glow of Frankenstein’s cigarette was visible as he walked around the corner. Actually, if you wanted to get technical, he was dressed as Frankenstein’s Monster, not Frankenstein, but Tim hadn’t wanted to seem like Mr. Anal by saying earlier, “Uh, Frankenstein’s Monster, we need you again.”
But maybe Melody, being a horror aficionado as well, thought he was some ignorant twit for calling the guy Frankenstein when he should have known darn well that Frankenstein was actually Victor Frankenstein, the scientist.
And if she was thinking that, did he really want to be involved with somebody who got all bent out of shape over stuff like that?
Sometimes Tim wished his brain had an “off” switch.
“Here you go,” said Frankenstein’s Monster as he gave them a shove. The car moved forward, tires squealing, rounded another corner, and then emerged from the haunted house. Melody took Tim’s hand and they exited the dark realm of unending fright.
“Thank you, enjoy the rest of your evening, come back soon,” said the zombie girl, still engrossed in her magazine.
“How about we get something to eat?” asked Tim, as they returned to the sawdust path. “Which carnival food group are you in the mood for, grease or sugar?”
“Let’s start with grease.”
They walked over to a booth that promised “The Best Pizza in Town!” but was probably exaggerating. Melody touched Tim’s shoulder. “I want to thank you for taking me out tonight. I probably would have flipped out completely if you hadn’t showed up to calm me down.”
“My pleasure. Any time you’re close to flipping out in the future, you know who to call.”
“I do want you to know that I’m really not like this all the time. I mean, the way I was earlier—you know, the whole boo-hoo-my-life-sucks-I’m-a-bad-person thing. I’ve been like that before, I’ll admit, but it was a long time ago and not part of some regulated schedule of unstable behavior. Do you understand
what I’m saying?”
“Yes. You were having a bad night.”
“Bad night. Exactly. But I’m mostly better now, thanks to you. I just wanted
to say that.”
There was a long pause.
“I’m glad you feel better,” said Tim.
“I’m glad I do, too.”
The woman at the pizza booth handed them their slices of pizza goo on
paper plates. They thanked her and continued walking past another booth where for fifty cents they could see a really big hog. “What next?” asked Melody. “What else? The Ferris wheel.”
They were about halfway up in the air, moving a little bit at a time as more riders boarded. Tim took Melody’s hand as they stared out at the lights of the carnival. It was absolutely beautiful.
“You know, I had my first kiss at the top of a Ferris wheel,” he said.
“Did you really?”
“Yeah.” Tim considered what he’d said. It had seemed like a perfectly
innocent comment, but now with a few seconds of reflection it seemed like a setup for “Yo! Wanna smooch? C’mon, let’s pucker up and suck face! C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!”
“Tell me about it.”
“I was ten. She was forty-seven and hot.”
“No, really.”
“Her name was Amber Taylor. I had this incredible crush on her. So I was
with a group of my friends at a carnival, kind of like this one except with better pizza, and through some kind of superhuman strength I worked up the courage to ask her to ride the Ferris wheel with me.”
Melody rocked the seat. “You brave knight, you.” “Anyway, we were stopped at the top, and my heart was beating like this—” Tim tapped the safety bar a few times in rapid succession “—and I knew that this could be my only chance to kiss her. She looked at me. I looked at her. I was so nervous that I practically dove at her. She turned her head at the last second and I ended up with a mouthful of her beautiful long blonde hair. Which I started to choke on. When the Ferris wheel started to move again, the sudden drop combined with my anxiety combined with the hair choking me caused me to…”
he mimed throwing up, “…make the whole moment all the less romantic.” “And she let you kiss her after that?” Melody was incredulous. “No. She hit me a few times and told me to go to hell, though.”
“Well, as a professional writer, I can tell you that a legitimate first kiss story
requires actual lip contact. Now let me hear the story of your real first kiss.”
They were just about at the top. Tim squeezed Melody’s hand. “Okay, that would be Janet Pierson. Sixth grade. On the tire swing at recess. She told all her friends I slobbered too much.”
“Did you?”
“Probably. I thought that was standard procedure.” They went over the top and began the downward arc. “Your turn.”
“Oh, jeez… I’m not even sure. All through elementary school I’d spend most of my recesses chasing boys with my friend Samantha. She’d catch them and pin them down while I’d plaster their faces with kisses. I think she went on to become a professional Dominatrix. It wasn’t until high school that writing took
over my life.”
“So what got you into writing?”
“My tenth grade English teacher, Mrs. Heisen.”
“She encouraged you?”
“No, she hated me. One assignment was to write a five-page short story about anything we wanted. So I wrote about a haunted house with skeletons and werewolves and vampire bats and everything else horrific you can think of. I poured my heart into that story. And when she returned the papers, I got a Cminus! Not just a C, that wench gave me a C-minus!” Melody glanced down at her lap. “I’m sorry, am I hurting your hand?”
“No, no, that’s okay. Bones heal. Let it all out.”
“Anyway, I turned in four or five more stories, and she gave me lousy grades on all of them, saying that my work was poorly written and uninteresting. So I decided that I was going to become a writer just to piss off Mrs. Heisen. I know that isn’t the best reason to make a career choice, but that’s the way I felt.”