Sidekick Returns (18 page)

‘What?'

I spun on my heel. ‘Gotta go!'

‘Wait!'

I didn't stop. I hoped Neighbour Girl's retrieval of her phone would give me ample head start.

I ran down the street and whipped around the corner. I made it two more turns before I had to slow down. I really needed to work on my cardio. Finally, I made it back to our apartment building, but before I opened the door, I glanced over my shoulder to make sure she hadn't caught up. Once I was sure I was in the clear, I ran up the stairs and bee-lined it for my apartment. I fiddled with the lock, then tumbled inside, kicking the door shut behind me. I collapsed onto my bed and buried my face into my pillow to muffle my excited screams while I kicked my feet against the mattress.

I had done it! I had actually done it! I stopped a crime all by myself! And I hadn't had the snot beaten out of me!

Suddenly, the bedposts underneath my feet collapsed, and the lower part of my cot hit the floor with a loud
thunk
!

My body slowly slid down the angled mattress until my toes hit the wall.

I smiled, and readjusted my pillow under my face.

Didn't matter. It was still good. All good.

***

I woke up curled in a little ball where the foot of my bed met the wall. My muscles seemed incapable of straightening my body out, so I rolled myself onto the floor before attempting to untangle my limbs. I then popped up with more energy than I had felt in weeks. Last night had been a sign. Sure, not the sign I had gone out for, but a sign nonetheless.

I was not useless! In fact, at times I may even be useful! This was a big step for me, very big.

It's not as though I had been doubting myself … who am I kidding? I had totally been doubting myself, along with everybody else I knew. But last night had proven that I really could help people. That I could make a difference. If only the world could see Bremy St. James now.

But I didn't have time to relive the greatness of last night. The big day was finally here.

Friday. This day was going to be a day of reckoning on many fronts. And like most every other day in my new life, this one was starting out with problems. Or rather, problem. A dress problem.

I noticed last night when I got home that Elvis was gone, but I couldn't be sure that Queenie had taken him. And even if she had, it didn't mean she would be able to do anything with that polyester monstrosity. And that would be a problem.

I knew the most direct option would be to go over, knock on Queenie's door, and find out the lay of the land, but it was really awkward asking someone how the favour they were doing for you was going. Then again, everybody already saw me as an entitled princess, so I might as well give the people want they want … or at least expect.

I hopped to my feet and shuffled into the hallway over to Queenie's door.

My hand froze midair when I heard something. It was kind of like a whirring or a clacking. Maybe even a little thumping.

‘In!' a voice shouted from the other side of the door.

I jumped. How had she known I was there?

I slowly opened the door to the apartment and peeked my head around. Queenie sat in front of an old-fashioned sewing machine, silhouetted by the glow of the window. Huh. When had she gotten a sewing machine? She didn't have a sewing machine last time I had been brave enough to break eye contact and peek around her into her room. It's not like she ever invited me in. And how had she managed to fit it into her apartment? It was like her place was bigger on the inside.
Focus, Bremy.

‘Um, Queenie?' I stammered. ‘I was wondering—'

Out of nowhere a long measuring stick swung into the air, crashing down on a little stool near where I was cowering.

‘You! Up!'

‘Oh,' I said, jumping onto the stool. ‘Okay.'

Queenie did not turn to face me. She stayed hunched over the machine, her foot pedalling against the heavy machinery clanking against the floor. I tried to catch a glimpse of the garment in her clutches, but I could only see a mound of pale gold.

After a few minutes, I cleared my throat and said, ‘How's it—'

‘Quiet!'

I snapped my mouth shut. I guess she had a right to be a little testy. I really hadn't given her much time to put this together.

A moment later, she stood, and fluffed the fabric out in front of her. Golden gossamer waves floated through the air. My breath caught in my throat as she swirled the wave in my direction. I reached a hand out to touch it, only to have it slapped out of the air. ‘No touching,' she said. ‘No telling where your hands have been.'

My eyes flitted up to Queenie's face, where they prompted fainted from fright. By now, I was pretty used to Queenie's get-ups. At least I thought I was. But I should have realised that Queenie was the type of person to always be upping the ante. Her thick black hair was bundled on top of her head with thick steel needles, and she was dressed in head-to-toe leather with thick metallic buckles at odd places and at odd angles. All that would have been okay—maybe even cute, in an Edward Scissorhands kind of way—but, sprouting out the top of the Edward Scissorhands suit was Pinhead's head. Queenie's face was marked out in quadrants, and at each corner, a steel pin jutted out.

I swallowed hard. ‘Queenie?'

Her eyes moved up to mine.

‘I don't know if you know this, but you have something,' I moved my finger in a swirl around her startling visage, ‘actually, a lot of somethings, sticking out of your face.'

‘I need to take some measurements.' I slowly put my hands up, eyes never leaving her face as she dumped the glorious fabric over my head.

I licked my lips. ‘As your fr—' Her eyes flashed to mine again cutting me off. ‘Neighbour … freighbour? I feel I should ask. Are you okay?'

‘Why wouldn't I be?' she asked, dropping to her knees to scoop up some of the chiffon rippling dream. How had Queenie turned polyester into chiffon? Not that I cared. I was just happy to be wearing it.

‘Well, you seem to me to be more of a sadist than a masochist, and yet you have a bunch of pins sticking out of your face.'

Queenie reached one hand up to her cheek, grasped a pin then quickly spun it around and made a jab for my thigh.

‘Wah!' I scuttled backwards off the stool.

‘Watch the dress!'

‘You were going to stab me with a pin!'

‘Yes.'

I stepped back up onto my pedestal. ‘I just thought that maybe this was your way of telling me you wanted to talk about Bar—'

Queenie held up the shiny pin once again. ‘Okay! No talking,' I said, shooting my hands up.

Guess she didn't want to talk about Bart after all. Well, that was fine. I could entertain myself—although I was dying to ask her about her giant albino-esque visitor from the other day. I bet Library Girl would talk to me if I asked her. Probably wouldn't stab me with pins either.

My eyes drifted around the apartment that had the exact same layout as mine, meaning it was a tiny rectangle. Queenie hadn't done much decorating aside from making everything black … although there was a clear garbage bag of … what the heck were those? Doll heads? I moved my gaze back down at the beautiful dress I was wearing. It seemed safer.

The dress had a simple bodice with an overlay of sheer chiffon that draped to the floor. Just underneath the bust, though, Queenie had created a band of brassy-toned beads, courtesy of Elvis, that gave shape to the flowing form.

‘Stop it,' Queenie said suddenly.

‘What?'

‘You're bouncing.'

‘Oh, sorry.' I hadn't even realised I was singing ‘I Feel Pretty' in my head.

Queenie rocked up to a standing position and planted her hands on her hips. ‘You've lost at least an inch around the waist.'

I sighed. ‘Yeah, I don't have a lot of money for luxuries like food.'

‘Take it off. I have to take it in.'

I did as I was bade, the entire time trying to build up enough courage to ask my next question. ‘Queenie, it will be ready for tonight, right?'

‘What time?'

‘I would probably need it by five? Maybe six?'

‘No. Eight earliest.'

‘Eight? No! Eight's too la—' Panic fluttered in my chest. ‘Well, maybe you could meet me there?'

Queenie narrowed her eyes.

‘You see, this isn't just about going out for a fancy night with the man of my dreams,' I said, with lots of pleading. ‘My father's going to be there, and, well, I could use your support.'
And maybe
, I thought, feeling pretty proud of my quick thinking once again,
I could get the two broken lovebirds in the same room so they could kiss and make up
. Oh! It would be just like an episode of that show
The Love Boat
Mrs Reese was always watching. ‘I'm sure you have something appropriate to wear.'

‘Fine.'

‘Cool.' I watched Queenie pick something up off her bed and walk over to the door. ‘I think it will be good for us to hang out. Really get to know each other, and bond like—'

Suddenly she opened the door and tossed what looked to be a candy bar out in the hallway. ‘Fetch.'

I scuttled outside and made a dive for the sweet chocolate-y goodness. ‘Oh, and Queenie?' I asked from my prone position.

She grunted.

‘Why do you have a giant bag of porcelain doll heads in your room?'

‘Do you really want the answer to that?' she asked darkly.

‘Maybe not.'

She slammed the door, but that was okay. I knew she loved me. You only feed the strays you want to keep.

***

I hung out in my apartment the rest of the day, trying to conserve the calories I had consumed from the candy bar. I heard Queenie leave in the afternoon, but I didn't try to stop her in the hall to ask where she was going. I needed to have faith at this point that everything would work out as it should.

By seven-thirty, I had done my hair and make-up as best I could with my meagre resources, and I was on my way.

Once I got to the block before the steps of the museum, I realised the logistical difficulties in meeting my team on-site. Glittery people were already beginning to congregate in front of the steps. How was I going to find Queenie or Bart without attracting the notice of all those people from my former life?

Just then I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I whirled around to see Bart … or at least a person I assumed was Bart. And here I had thought things had been going so well.

He used my confusion to speak first. ‘‘Sup.'

‘Bart!'

‘Hey, why aren't you dressed?'

‘Forget about how I'm dressed. What is going on with all this?' I asked, moving my hands all around the air in front of him. He was wearing a full-body black leotard, which showcased his love of fast food, a black cap, and his unshaven face was painted white, with a few black tears dotting his cheeks.

‘It's my costume.'

I closed my eyes, trying to calm the one eyelid that had begun twitching. ‘I'm sorry, your what now?'

‘You said it was a costume party,' he said. ‘I'm The Crime Mime.'

I inhaled deeply through my nose before answering, ‘I said masquerade.' I then sniffed the air again. ‘Have you been drinking? And Crime Mime?'

‘Masquerade. Costume,' he said. ‘Who cares? I don't like rich people anyway. And if you can be
The
Sidekick. I can be
The
Crime Mime.'

‘Seriously, Bart?'

‘What?'

‘I can't believe this,' I muttered, looking down at the pavement a moment before snapping my gaze back up to his. ‘I'm trying to thwart my father. I'm trying to find out what's going on with my mentor. I am
trying
to change the course of destiny, and you … you show up dressed like a sad clown.'

‘I thought my outfit reflects the respect this plan deserves. And yes, Bremy, it turns out that I am sad,' he said. ‘You're probably going to die today, and—'

‘Would you stop saying that already! Nobody's going to die.'

‘
And
,' he said, ignoring me. ‘Every time I close my eyes I see my black angel of pain floating over my bed ready to whip my—'

‘Stop!' I shouted, throwing my palm up into his face. ‘Okay, look. It was supposed to be a surprise, but Queenie's coming tonight, so you're going to need to pull yourself together.'

A light switched on in Bart's eyes. ‘She is?'

‘Wait,' I said, peering over his shoulder at the person getting out of the black Rolls limo slash hearse-like vehicle that had just pulled over to the curb. ‘I … I think that might be her.'

Bart whirled around just in time to see Queenie straighten up to her full height, which suddenly seemed about six inches taller. She was carrying a black garment bag, but I almost missed it with all the spectacular-ness she had going on. I had never seen Queenie look so normal and so exceptional at the same time … all while still managing to look like someone from the movies. But who? I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

Just then I noticed Bart was murmuring something over and over.

I leaned in closer. ‘Bart?'

‘I'm not okay. I'm not okay.' He looked at me with dazed eyes. ‘I told her about my Jessica Rabbit fantasy in confidence.'

‘Jessica Rabbit! That's it! Of course, she's all black where Jessica was red, and she's a little less
bunga bunga
and more
gulp
, but that's totally who she looks like.' I slapped Bart on the shoulder. He looked at me with murder in his eyes. ‘I mean, wow, she looks … I don't know … maybe a little tired?'

Bart swivelled his head back towards the crackling electricity that was Queenie.

She slinked her way forward, but then she stopped. What was she waiting f—
uh-oh
.

‘Aw hell no!' Sad mime suddenly turned angry. ‘Is that a man? Tell me that's not a man, Bremy! If she's on a date, so help me—'