Beautiful Boys (10 page)

When we get to the bottom of the stairs there’s a door. I can hear the music jamming louder now, making the door shudder but it isn’t Angel Juan’s song anymore. It still has a psychedelic sound though. Cake opens the door.

Here’s this room with walls paneled in gold paint, mirrors and white velvet, white marble floors with red veins running through and huge red neon candles everywhere and all these kids sitting really still like statues. They are of all different races but they look
kind of the same, I’m not sure why. They’re all in white. All their eyes are really big and their cheeks are sunken and the girls look like boys and the boys look like girls. Then I realize they
are
statues like the mannequin of Angel Juan upstairs in the diner, which seems so far away now. One of these mannequins is sitting on a big overstuffed red velvet thing shaped like a mushroom and he’s holding a long neon pipe. Real smoke is coming out of the pipe and filling the room and I wonder if the smoke is why I’m feeling drowsy. It smells like Cake. There’re these other mannequins sitting at a long table. On one end is this guy with a really big droopy red velvet top hat that covers his eyes and at the other end there’s this girl with white hair and buck teeth and in the middle of the table there’s this huge teacup about the size of a baby bed which is what it is I guess because there’s a baby mannequin sitting in it. Then there’s a dark-skinned boy curled up on the floor and grinning so big and hard it looks like it hurts him even if he is a mannequin, which he is. The whole thing is too much for me and I think how I can get out of here when Cake comes up and puts his gloved hand on my shoulder.

“This is Cake’s
real
shakin’ palace,” he says. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

I don’t say anything.

“Are you a runaway?”

I shake my head. It’s hard to talk.

He smiles, pressing his lips together and nodding like—
right
. “I see kids on the streets like you. It’s a crime the way they live. I feed them upstairs and then we come down here to play. They’re like my family.” He takes off his white coat. He is wearing a white double-breasted suit. “Will you dance with me?”

Before I know it I’m letting him twirl me around. I feel like one of those ballerinas on music boxes going around and around like I can’t stop. My baseball cap flies off and my hair snakes out. I want to stop but Cake is still twirling me. Finally I fall against his white suit. I have a flash of dancing with Angel Juan at my birthday party once a long time ago. Feeling so safe inside those arms. Nothing could hurt.

“Don’t be afraid, little lamb,” Cake whispers. Lamb. Angel Juan used to call me that. “You’re home now. Cake will take good care of you.”

When I wake up I’m lying in the softest bed hung with white silk. I might be dead. Everything is so soft and quiet. The whole room is covered in white silk.

I feel sore and muffled from my cold, which is a full-on flu by now. I try not to think about who put me in this bed. Then I remember Cake and the mannequin kids. I’ve got to get out of here.

That’s when I hear the whistling. I have never loved that goofster song so much in my whole life. Whatever it means. “R-A-G-G M-O-P-P Rag Mop doodely-doo.”

Charlie B., Chuck Bat, the Bat Man. The glowy glow is hovering like a hummingbird. I get up and reach for a huge heavy silver hand mirror by the bed.

And there he is looking at me and waving his hands around all frantic.

“What is it, Charlie?” I ask. “Are you okay?”

He’s not okay. I mean even for a ghost. His eyes aren’t just sad. They’re like tormented. I think he wants to tell me something.

“Do you want to tell me something?”

He points at me, puts his finger to his lips, points to the door. Then he turns slowly in the mirror so his back is to me. Stuck to his back are the wings I bought on the street! He looks at me over his shoulder.

“Angel?” I mouth.

Charlie turns back around and points to his heart. Then he clasps his hands together. I think about the brother grip.

“Angel Juan.”

Charlie puts his finger to his lips again. I look toward the door. When I look back there’s an ugster monster in the mirror. It takes me a second to get that it’s Charlie wearing the rubber monster mask from the trunk. He takes it off and looks at me with those crazed eyes again.

Charlie’s face in the mirror starts to blur. Then he flies out of the mirror like a comet. Out the door. I follow him.

We go down a maze of red-veined white marble hallways that seem like they don’t lead anywhere. We pass mannequins half dressed in silk flowers and vines, sitting on garden swings that swing back and forth from the ceiling. Blonde boy mannequins on
skateboards balanced on marble ramps. A glittery girl with blonde cotton-candy hair and a wand like Glinda’s from
The Wizard of Oz
. A huge fish tank with mermaid mannequin children and tropical fish. A tall angel with a very young glowy face riding on a statue of a fish with plastic kids kneeling all around him. And somewhere, behind one of these doors we pass—my grandpa’s ghost and me trying to be that quiet—is Cake sleeping with his pale eyes open. I hope Cake is sleeping. And maybe behind one of the doors ahead is Angel Juan.

I’m out of breath. I lean against the icy-veined marble wall and it makes my bones ache. I feel like I’m in a tomb. I wipe my forehead. My whole body is pounding with fever-fear.

Charlie’s light is doing the nerve-jig so I keep following him through the maze and into a room made of mirrors. And there in the mirror, jiggling like a puppet made of light, like the plastic charm-bracelet skeletons, like a life-sized Day of the Dead doll, is Charlie. He waves his hands all excited, his face scrunched with worry, and I figure out he wants me to press on one of the mirror panels and it opens. Out of
the mirror he turns into a light again and we go down a staircase. At the bottom is a metal chamber room. It’s so small and crowded with naked mannequins that I feel like I can’t breathe, like the mannequins are hogging up all the air. A mannequin falls against me, hitting me with its jointed plastic arm and I look at its face and I see that it is Angel Juan. He’s bald but it’s him. I try not to scream but I jump back and bump into another mannequin and that one is Angel Juan too. I start slamming around and they’re all falling on me and every single one has Angel’s face. This is a room full of Angel Juans. What does this Cake want? What is happening here?

Then I notice the Charlie glow lighting up a corner of the room.

I touch the silvery angel that sleeps in the hollow part of my neck.

A boy is slumped against a wall with the mannequins all around him and a guitar with the Virgin Mary in a wreath of roses painted on it leaning against his chest. His hair is long and falling in his face and he looks like he hasn’t eaten much in a while but even though he’s changed a lot I know right
away who he is. And it’s like I understand stuff all of a sudden.

I run over and fall down next to him and put my arms around him and he looks up like his head is almost too heavy to lift and his jaw drops but he doesn’t say anything. He almost looks as blind as those mannequins himself. But his heart is beating and he’s not made of plastic and I have my arms around him. He is in my arms.

Charlie-light starts doing his nervous dance like he wants us to hurry.

I try to get Angel Juan to stand up but it’s like he’s too weak or something—he just slumps down again, his fingers catching in my sweater and bringing me down with him. I try to think of what to do but every time I see the plastic mannequin faces staring at me and the plastic smiles made from my boyfriend’s lips and teeth I just go blank. I just keep thinking over and over again, What is Cake trying to do? How could this be? How can anything I do save us from this kind of a ghoulie demon-thing?

And then we hear something that sounds like glass shattering. For a second I think of how I smashed that mirror in Charlie Bat’s apartment and how stupid that was and that I’ll be lucky if I’m around long enough to get seven years of any kind of luck at all. And then before any of us can move, the Cake demon comes storming into the room, pushing over the mannequins. He has blood on his hand. Maybe he cut himself on the mirror he broke in the mirror room. The blood is so red against his white hand and dripping onto his white silk robe. It almost seems like he wouldn’t have red blood because he is so white. Like he’d have white icing coming out of him or something. But it’s blood. I just stare at it. Then I see that he’s holding something wrapped in a sheet and his blood is getting all over that too.

“What are you doing down here?” he says in his very soft voice. “Who said you could come down here?” He is King Clutch Warthog.

“I was just kickin’.”

“Well, it’s all right,” Cake says. “I have something for you anyway.”

He starts to unwrap the thing he’s carrying. I see that it’s another mannequin and it’s smaller than the Angel Juan mannequins. I see the back of its head and it reminds me of the time when I shaved off all my hair with my dad’s razor. Then I realize that the reason I’m thinking that is because this mannequin’s head looks exactly like the shape of my head without any hair. Cake spins the mannequin around and there’s me, Witch Baby—it’s my face with the pointed chin and the tilty eyes. I hold on tight to Angel Juan’s hand.

“When?” I say.

“I made her while you were sleeping. You’ve been sleeping for a few days. I’m going to put you inside of her.”

“Why?” I say.

“Do you know about mummies? It’s a little like that. I give you a place to sleep. All the children that I find. It’s like you are immortal.” Cake strokes the cheek of one of the Angel Juan mannequins. “Usually I just make one. But he is so beautiful. I just keep wanting to make more of him. Now I guess I’ll have to put you both away for good.” He looks at us with his pale-crystal eyes.

He comes toward me and puts out his hand—the one that’s not bleeding. I want to go to him. I feel drowsy. I wish I had the globe lamp Weetzie gave me to ward off evil.

But:

Believe in your
own
magic, Weetzie said. Maybe my own magic gave me Charlie Bat.

Look stuff right in the eye, Vixanne Wigg said. Look at your own darkness. Maybe Cake is that. Maybe Cake is me. The part that wants to keep Angel Juan locked in my life.

All the ghosts and demons are just you, Charlie said.

Look stuff right in the eye.

But I can’t look in Cake’s eyes. I’ll be under his spell. So I take my camera and look at him through that.

My own magic. Maybe magic is just love. Maybe genies are what love would be if love walked and talked and lived in a lamp. The wishes might not come true the way you think they will, not everything will be perfect, but love will come because it always does, because why else would it exist and it will make
everything hurt a little less. You just have to believe in yourself. Look your demons right in the eye. Set your Angel Juans free to do the same thing themselves.

I snap a picture of creepster Cake with the last shot in my camera. There is a flash like lightning.

My wishes are: my beloved Angel Juan is free, Charlie Bat finds peace, Cake becomes who he really is. These are my wishes.

Cake starts to shake. He is a white blur. Then he gets very still.

Angel Juan’s limp fingers wake up in my hand. “Niña Bruja,” he says. I look at him. We are both crying like babies. I feel my fever break into clean sweat. Angel Juan takes my hand and presses it to his lips. We put our arms around each other in our brother grip. And we watch Cake seal up inside himself, becoming a bleached plastic mannequin man without a breath or a heartbeat. He’s not any different from before really. This is who he really is.

We can leave.

Charlie’s light leads us out of the chamber, down the halls. Angel Juan doesn’t ask about the light that looks like it’s coming from an invisible flashlight. He
leans against me, holding my hand.