A Risky Proposition (35 page)

I blinked at her as the front desk answered and I told them to buzz Mickey up when he got here.  I nibbled my lip as I put down the phone. 

“Well, then he’ll tell his parents I’m a freak who lured him to my hotel room, locked myself in the bathroom with him, and proceeded to burn a dish of hair.  No doubt I’ll be fired, and quite possibly arrested.  But I’m not wrong.  Now help me find Jasper!”

I sprinted back toward the living room with Sunny following grudgingly in my wake.  Neither of them looked happy as I plucked him from the couch and deposited him into her arms.

“Can’t you just snip the hairs with scissors?” she asked in exasperation as Jasper flinched away from me and she had to adjust her grip on him for the umpteenth time. 

“Sorry guys—spell says ‘plucked’ not ‘snipped’.”  I retrieved the last two hairs and dropped them into a small dish with the rest as Sunny gladly released Jasper.  He darted behind the couch with a hiss and a highly accusatory meow.

“I’ll give you a whole can of tuna after this is over, buddy,” I called.  Sunny arched one dark brow at me and I fought a smile.  “And I’ll buy you dinner,” I promised.

“If he gets a whole can of tuna, I get sashimi tuna and sake at that posh new sushi place,” she informed me with pursed lips.

“Done.”  I grinned.

There was a knock at the door and I cursed.  “Be right there!” I called out.

“I’ll put more coffee on,” Sunny muttered in resignation as I dashed to the guest bathroom with my dish of cat hairs.  I grabbed the matches from their place by the scented candle on the sink and dropped them into the dish, which I hid on a shelf next to some towels.

Mickey was just reaching up to knock a second time when I pulled open the front door.

“Sorry—I was in the other room,” I apologized.  “Come on in.  If you need the restroom it’s down that hall, first door on the left.”

He nodded, but showed no sign of heading that way.  Oh, well.  I guessed it was too much to hope it would be that easy.  “Wow, nice crib!” he exclaimed as he followed me toward the living room.

“Thanks.  It’s only temporary, though.”  I didn’t want him blabbing to his parents that I was living less than five minutes away.  

Sunlight spilled through the sliding glass doors, making the space feel clean and bright.  The soft tones of a baroque flute rose from the TV speakers as I motioned for Mickey to have a seat on the tawny leather couch. 

I took a deep breath and tried to internalize the calm atmosphere.

“So how come you’re staying in a hotel?” Mickey asked.

I attempted to read his face, thinking he knew damn well how I’d come to live here, but his expression was innocent.

“It’s a long story,” I said, skirting the topic.  “Ah, here’s Sunny with coffee.”

“Hey Mickey, nice to see you again!” she said cheerfully.  “Thank you so much for taking the time to be one of my interviewees.  I really appreciate it.  I can’t wait to hear your perspective.”

“No problem,” mumbled Mickey, his face turning red. 

I had a moment of doubt at his shy reaction.  If I was wrong about this possession thing, I was about to embarrass myself badly.

Sunny curled her lip at me as she placed a bamboo tray on the coffee table and we settled onto the couches.  The tray held three over-sized mugs of coffee, a white ceramic pitcher for milk, and a dish of sugar.  Serving me coffee was payback, since she knew I hated it without the Starbucks syrup.  But I was too relieved that she was playing along to complain.  Maybe if I added enough sugar and milk it would be tolerable.

“Please help yourself, and we’ll get started,” Sunny offered.  She took hers black, while Mickey and I diluted ours.

“So Mickey, how old were you when you first became interested in the Goth scene?”  Sunny traded her mug for her laptop and watched Mickey with an inquisitive expression over the top of the screen.

Mickey fidgeted, drumming the heels of his sneakers into the carpet beneath his gangly, jean-clad legs.  “Um, I guess I was about fifteen.”

“Mmhm.”  Sunny managed to imbue the sound with fascination as her fingers clicked against the keyboard.  The silence stretched out until Mickey took a few nervous sips from his mug.  Sunny smiled faintly as she asked the next question.

“And what would you say it was, about becoming Goth, that drew you most—the look, the attitude, the way you felt you would be perceived by parents and/or peers?  Something else, perhaps?” she suggested.

“Uh, all of that, I guess.”

“Uh huh,” Sunny drawled.  I hid a smile as her fingers clicked into the silence again and Mickey self-consciously gulped more coffee.

“Could you be more specific?” she asked, just as the hush was becoming uncomfortable.  “What was it, exactly, about the look and the attitude that attracted you?  And how did you imagine you would be perceived, both by peers and adults, by adopting those attributes?  And what, if anything, else would you say influenced your decision to become Goth?”

Mickey looked overwhelmed.

“Sorry.”  Sunny grinned.  “Let’s take one thing at a time.  What was it that you liked most about the look?”

“Well, just that it was different,” Mickey said hesitantly, fingering the hem of his white polo shirt.  “I guess I was tired of looking like everyone else, you know?” 

“So you felt you needed an outlet to express your individualism,” Sunny suggested.

“Yeah.”  Mickey appeared heartened by her assessment.  “And I thought the black clothes and the piercings looked cool and kind of tough.”

“That’s good feedback, Mickey,” she encouraged.  “Let me just take some notes here.”  Sunny began typing away again as she gave Mickey time to drink more coffee. 

At this rate, his mug would soon be empty.

“So you said you perceived the look as being cool and tough,” she reiterated a moment later.  “Does that also describe the general attitude you associated with the Goths?”

“Yeah, I guess.  Goths tend to be above all the petty popularity stuff that most high-school kids care about.  They hang out with each other and don’t care what anyone else thinks about them.”  He sounded proud, but there was frustration beneath his bravado. 

Sunny pressed on.  “And once you decided to become Goth, did you find that you were easily adopted into that group, or was there a period where you felt like an outsider?”

Mickey shrugged.  “There’s only a few Goth kids at my school.  And I was already kind of friends with Derrick.”  He paused and fiddled with a string hanging from his jeans pocket.  “And I had a few classes with Kelly, so I used to talk to her sometimes.” 

His face flushed a blotchy red that traveled down his neck and disappeared beneath the crisp white collar of his shirt.  He tried to disguise it by taking a long, two-handed swallow of coffee. 

Sunny and I exchanged a knowing glance.  Kelly had obviously been a big part of Mickey’s decision to go Goth.  So much for my theory about him being gay.  Sunny cleared her throat and looked down to type.  When she looked up again, an interested smile was pasted on her face.

“Would you like some more coffee, Mickey?” I asked when he placed his empty mug on the glass tabletop.

He patted his stomach.  “Uh, no thanks.  I think I’ve had enough.”

“Yeah, me too,” I agreed.  “I need some water, though.”  I stood up.  “Sunny, Mickey?”

“Please.  Coffee always makes me thirsty,” Sunny chimed.

“I’ll get us all some,” I said quickly, not giving Mickey the chance to refuse.  A double-sized mug of Sunny’s extra strong rocket fuel and the biggest glass of water I could find, and Mickey would be running to the bathroom any minute now.  I hoped.

I kept one ear to the living room as I pulled down three of my tallest glasses from the top shelf of a cabinet.  I used them for beer and they were big enough to fit two whole bottles a piece. 

I could just make out Sunny’s voice as she said, “Mickey, thank you again for helping me out with my research—I really appreciate it.  Let’s see, you were saying that you already knew a couple of the Goth kids, so it wasn’t that difficult for you to become part of their group.  Did the other kids begin to view you differently when you became Goth?”

I strained to hear Mickey’s response as I filled the glasses from the dispenser.

“I guess a few of the jock assholes started making fun of me more, but they were jerks to begin with.”  He shrugged, his tone turning defensive.  “Besides, like I said, Goths don’t care what other people think of them.”  

“Mmhm.  And parents and other adults?  Did you feel that they viewed you differently?”

Mickey sniggered.  “My parents?  They hated it.  My dad’s favorite nickname for me went from ‘useless idiot’ to ‘useless zombie faggot’, and my mom just wailed about how I’d never date a cheerleader or join the football team.  Like I ever wanted to hang out with those jerks anyway, wasting all my time on after school practices,” he said with rancor.

I set the water glasses on the coffee table and resumed my place on the couch.  I schooled the sympathy from my face, doubting Mickey would appreciate it.

Sunny spent a good amount of time typing and Mickey finally picked up his water and downed a few gulps.  His expression remained sour.

“Some people look at Goths and automatically think they’re into vampires, satanic worship or the occult,” Sunny spoke into the silence. 

Her choice of topic made me nervous.  I didn’t want Mickey, or rather the death djinn that I was ninety-nine percent sure possessed him, becoming suspicious about what we were up to. 

I was suddenly and uncomfortably aware of Jasper’s unknown whereabouts.  I thought he was probably still nursing his grudge behind the couch—but what if he decided to come out?  And what if Mickey’s djinn knew about the white-tipped tail thing?  My plan would crumble and I probably wouldn’t have another chance to get this close to him.

But Sunny’s tone was all innocent detachment, and Mickey’s expression only turned more darkly inward.

“Kelly had this Ouija board we used to play around with.  It got kind of spooky,” he answered, his blue-grey eyes going dull and distant.

And then I saw it—that eerie flash of emerald green burning in their depths.  My entire body tensed as I tried to conceal the shock of fear that echoed through me.

“Spooky?” Sunny asked. 

I didn’t think she’d noticed the change in his eyes.  She did, however, begin to frown as the silence lengthened and she looked up to find his face contorting as if he was struggling to speak.

“Mickey?  Are you okay?  Why don’t you drink some water,” she suggested in concern.

Mickey made a strange gurgling noise as if he was choking.  Sunny put her laptop down and started to rise, looking at me in confusion, as if she couldn’t believe I was just sitting there doing nothing.  And then suddenly, Mickey reached for his water glass, took a few sips, and smiled at her as if nothing had happened.

Sunny slowly sank back into the couch cushions, retrieving her laptop as she continued to stare at Mickey.  “Are you alright?”

“Just a tickle in my throat,” he answered.

“Uh
huh
.”  Sunny sounded skeptical, but continued with the interview.  “So, you were saying the Ouija board got spooky?”

“Well, Kelly and Derrick tried to make like it was all spooky, but it was actually pretty dumb.  When I told them so, they got mad.”  Mickey rolled his eyes.  “I was done with the Goth scene anyway.  It was lame.  I wish I’d never gotten into it.”

Sunny raised her eyebrows at his abrupt change of attitude.

“What?” he asked her, his tone turning sarcastic.  “Didn’t you ever do something when you were a teenager that you wished you hadn’t?”

“Well, yeah,” she said slowly.  “When I look back at the pictures, I kinda wish I’d never worn my hair in that big, ridiculous poof in the eighty’s.” 

I chuckled in commiseration.

“But I guess it was in fashion back then and it would have looked even more ridiculous if I hadn’t gone along with it,” Sunny continued.  “I suppose I’m just surprised that you went so quickly from thinking the Goth scene was cool, to thinking it wasn’t.”

Mickey shrugged.  “Everyone makes mistakes.  What about you, Sydney?  Isn’t there anything you wish you’d never done when you were my age?”

“Hey!  This interview is supposed to be about you.  Let’s not drag up my sordid past,” I evaded with a joking smile.  Any doubts I’d had about Mickey being possessed died with his newest, less than subtle attempt to get me to make a wish.

Mickey didn’t look amused.  He let out an exaggerated yawn and said, “So are we done?  I’ve got someplace to be.”

Sunny glanced at me as she answered, “Well, I do have a few more questions.”

“Sorry.  I really have to jet.  Maybe next time.”  Mickey rose from the couch and headed for the door.

“Do you need to use the restroom before you leave?” I asked, trying to sound gracious instead of desperate.

“Nah,” Mickey answered.

My heart sank as he reached for the door knob.  “Catch ya’ later, ladies,” he said.

“Oh, wait!” Sunny called, jumping up from the couch.  “Before you go, there’s a case of expensive champagne in the laundry room, but we can’t get to the damned thing because it’s stuck tight between the wall and the washing machine.  You’re a strapping young man—could you just take a quick look and see if you can wedge it out for us?”