Transformers Dark of the Moon (6 page)

That last one hurt. She hadn’t meant for it to; Carly didn’t have a vicious bone in her body. She was just trying to be helpful. Still, as she flounced out of the bedroom, no doubt on her way to accomplish her ninth chore this morning while he had yet to get out of bed, he yelled after her, “You’re killing me! I’m just your American boy toy!” The fact that she laughed carelessly at the characterization certainly didn’t help. “Do you know how demoralizing it is to have saved the world
—twice—
and be groveling for a job?”

“People don’t know you saved the world, Sam.”

That much was true. Yes, he’d received the medal, and yes, he’d had his photo op, but the exact nature of his involvement with the Autobots and Decepticons—and the way he had consistently found himself smack in the middle of their eternal pitched battle—had been kept strictly under wraps. During the photo op he’d simply been referred to as a “valued adviser” in the recent ugliness, and even the inscription on his medal was suitably vague.

Sam had been more than happy to go along with the government’s preference that his participation be kept under the radar. He wasn’t some glory hound seeking the limelight. He didn’t feel the need to get plaudits from crowds. Of all the things Sam had wanted to acquire in his lifetime, celebrity simply wasn’t one of them.

She was right. People didn’t know.

And if she’d just dropped it there, it wouldn’t have been an issue.

But instead Carly’s voice went on to say, “I mean,
I
do. I believe you.”

Whatever residual sleepiness Sam might have had instantly evaporated when he heard that. He bounded out of bed and went to the bedroom door. The floor was cold beneath his feet, but he didn’t care as he stood in the doorway and called to her, “Whoa! What does that mean?” He grabbed his bathrobe and tossed it on carelessly.

“What do you mean, what does that mean?” She was in the kitchen, cracking eggs, preparing breakfast. Carly was not a believer in grabbing a muffin at a local doughnut store and calling that a morning meal, which was typically Sam’s method of operation.

“I mean it makes it sound like you don’t believe me.”

“How does saying I believe you make it sound like I don’t?” She was using that same tone of both amusement and confusion that she was so adept at.

“It was just … the way you said it.” The more he spoke, the more ridiculous he sounded even to himself, but he couldn’t help the way he felt.

“I was just saying I wasn’t there, Sam. I’m sorry. It was a bad choice of words.”

He was willing to accept that, but still, he was on the defensive and couldn’t pull back from it. “The government
knows. They could have set me up with something.” He slumped against the door frame and, more to himself than her, muttered, “I should be working with the Autobots.”

“Well, they paid for your college,” she pointed out. The eggs could now be heard sizzling in the pan. “The president gave you the hero medal.”

With a sigh, he glanced across the cluttered apartment toward the medal, which was mounted on a plaque on the wall, along with a photograph of Sam shaking hands with the president. They were meticulously cleaned and the only framed objects on the wall that were hanging perfectly level. The amount of reverence he displayed for maintaining those objects was in stark contrast to the general dishevelment in the rest of the apartment.

“And as I recall,” she continued, “that wasn’t even the highlight of your day.”

He had to smile at that, sinking back onto the bed and recalling the bizarre circumstances under which he and Carly had met.

They hadn’t started dating immediately. She had a busy schedule and also traveled quite a bit, plus she was seeing somebody else. But he’d been persistent and the other guy hadn’t known what he had and was dumb enough to let her go, so eventually they’d gotten together. Or at least they’d gotten as close as Carly had allowed them to get.

Minutes later, when Carly came back to him, having eaten her freshly scrambled eggs and now in the process of putting on makeup, he was still sitting on the edge of the bed, caught up in the pleasant recollection of one of the truly great days of his life. She kicked the edge of the bed, startling him from his reverie. “Move on!” He looked up at her blankly, and she said, “Where’s your confidence, eh? Why I fell for you?” She finished putting
on her lipstick, capped the tube, and then affectionately ran her fingers through his messed-up hair. Automatically she started smoothing it down. “You’re amazing,” she said confidently, “and it’s just taking the world a while to catch up. Getting a job is hard for everyone.”

He reached up, squeezed her hand, and then stood and headed for the bathroom. “You going to shave?” she said. “I love watching you shave.”

“Yes, I’m going to shave, and what are you, five years old?”

She sighed wistfully. “I loved watching my daddy shave when I was five,” she said as she followed him into the bathroom.

“Great. Don’t remind me.”

“You have a problem with my daddy?”

“Nooo,” he said as he got the electric razor out of his cabinet. He shook it a few times out of habit to make sure it didn’t turn into something else. “It’s just that in one week, my parents are going to be here, on their road trip party bus world tour.” He looked bleakly into the mirror of the medicine cabinet. “I have to have a job by then, or my dad will spank me.”

“He can’t do that! That’s
my
job!”

She hoisted herself onto the sink and wrapped her legs around Sam. They were strong and muscular, and he felt as if he were melting. Her voice became silky, teasing. “
I’ll
give you a job. Tonight, romance me with a nice dinner. And then,” she said, starting to lean forward, “maybe I’ll give you your bonus—”

Carly brought her tongue forward to lick the inside of his ear …

 … and then she screamed.

Mood killer
, Sam thought as he grabbed at the side of his head, wondering if his eardrum had just been shattered.
Why the hell did she—?

He didn’t even have to complete the thought. He should have known, or at least suspected, the answer immediately.

He looked down and saw a ten-inch-tall blue alien robot staring up Carly’s skirt.

She aimed a kick at him but came up short as he darted backward. As the robot got out of the way, Sam shouted at him, “
Brains!
What are you
doing
?!”

“Just watchin’,” Brains said defensively, bobbing his head so that his wiry “hair” waved around like a field of wheat.

Sam lashed out with his foot and had more luck than Carly had, catching Brains squarely across his torso. The robot zipped backward, and Sam endeavored to recapture the mood with Carly. But it was the romantic equivalent of trying to shove the toothpaste back into the tube. Carly, visibly shuddering, walked out of the bathroom. Sam followed her. “Carly—”

She wasn’t listening. “I’m late, but the creepy one … yesterday, I found him in my underwear drawer.”

Sam didn’t want to be in the position of having to defend the little perverts, but still …

“They’re stuck here! They’re stranded. Someone’s gotta look out for them.”

She stopped and turned back to him, automatically smoothing her skirt and then reflexively looking down to make sure no one was taking in a show. “So,” she said ruefully, “not a normal boyfriend, then?”

“Thought that’s what you love about me.”

Carly tapped his nose with a finger. “We are not to the L word yet. Maybe a bit closer when you’re covering your half of the rent.” Then she kissed him on the cheek. “Bye, bye, baby.”

She headed out, and moments later her high heels were clacking down the stairs to the front door.

The moment she was gone, there was an insistent knock at the balcony door. Sam turned and strode over to it quickly, knowing what he was going to see before he opened it.

Sure enough, there was Wheelie, rolling back and forth impatiently next to Sam’s huge wet mastiff, Buster. Neither robot nor dog seemed particularly thrilled. Wheelie, however, was more vocal about it.

“It’s inhumane, is what it is!” Wheelie complained. “Make us live in a box, on the balcony, right next to the beast, like a common animal!” He slapped at Buster, who responded with an annoyed bark.

Sam was not brimming with sympathy at that moment. “Okay, you and your creepy sidekick cannot be in here without permission.”

Buster, apparently having no patience for conversation, bounded into the room. Wheelie grabbed on to his fur and rolled in behind him, as if he were water-skiing. He rode him a few feet and then released his hold, allowing momentum to glide him over to the television. He turned it on and immediately let out an aggravated squawk. “Who messed with the TiVo?
South Park
sucks! What’s this Kar-duh-SHEE-uhn crap?” he said, mangling the name “Kardashian.” Then with more interest he said,
“Star Trek,”
but he quickly followed it with a disappointed “I’ve seen that one.” Struck by a thought, he wheeled around to face Sam. “Here’s an episode I’d love to see. The
Enterprise
is cruising along, and suddenly it comes face-to-face with a Prime. And the
Enterprise
starts changing around, and the nacelles become cannons, and it says, ‘So you’ve found me! At last … we finish this!’ ’Cause it’s a Decepticon, get it?”

“Yeah, I get it. Look—”

“And the two of ’em start whomping on each other—”

“Will you listen to me!” Sam shouted, managing to get Wheelie’s attention. “I’m serious! I don’t need this relationship going the way of …” He stopped and then rephrased it. “You know how long it took me to get over Mikaela!”

Wheelie seemed put out at the mere mention of her. “The warrior goddess dumped you, she dumped us. Now we’re the only family you’ve got.”

Sam crouched down and pointed an angry finger at Wheelie. “No. We are
not
family.
You
are a political refugee. I am your …”

“Refuge-or?”

“Whatever. The point is, I’ve finally found someone who appreciates me for me. And I’m not going to let you screw that up.”

“ ’Cause you figure you can screw it up yourself?”

For an answer, Sam brought his fist down on top of Wheelie’s head and thumped it as hard as he could without damaging his hand.

Wheelie didn’t even seem to feel it. “Travesty’s what it is. They don’t even offer us a position?”

In spite of himself, Sam said, “Yeah. I was saying the same thing.”

“I tell you, we know how you feel. Wasted talent. Even Brains can see that.”

Sam glanced over at Brains. The little robot had a box of screws he’d pulled out from under the sink and was busy chewing on them and spitting out the heads.

Great. I have no job, my girlfriend probably thinks I’m a loser, my parents are going to give me no end of grief, and the only ones around who see things the way I do are a couple of metal midgets with a fetish for hardware and my girlfriend’s panties. Maybe
I’m
the one around here with a screw loose
.

He walked over to Brains and grabbed the box away
from him. Brains gave a protesting bleep. “Okay, stop with the screws,” he said, then stepped back to address both of them. “Look, you guys like it here? Just treat Carly with respect.”

Wheelie spun back and forth, which was his mocking version of a salute. Brains, who was preoccupied with watching MSNBC, spun his head around and muttered, “Buy, sell, buy, buy, sell, hold. Short.”

Exasperated, Sam headed for the shower and hoped that Brains wouldn’t start flushing the toilet the way he had the last time.

Sam, wearing the one and only suit he owned, strode out into the street while making what seemed the umpteenth adjustment to his necktie. He took a mental inventory of how the day had gone so far, couldn’t find a single positive, and wondered,
How could things possibly get worse?

From nowehere a horn started blasting from down the street that was so loud, it sounded like a lighthouse, complete with foghorn. Sam turned to find the origin of the hellacious noise and was horrified to see his parents, Ron and Judy Witwicky, navigating a gargantuan RV right down the middle of the street. Three parked cars lost their side-view mirrors as his father steered the beast with the skill of a blind man.

I have
got
to stop wondering about things getting worse
.

As the RV drew closer, Sam, out of habit, checked the front to see if it was carrying a Decepticon emblem. How strange had his life become that he was seeking out evidence that a vehicle was a disguised alien robot in order to make sense of it?

There was a large parking space available in the street, mostly because Ron felt that that whole business about
not parking next to fire hydrants was more of a guideline than an actual law. (“If there’s a fire, I’ll move it!” he frequently said.) Once he had maneuvered the behemoth into its illegal space, Ron clambered out the driver’s side while Judy hopped out of the passenger’s seat. She threw wide her arms as if she were a falcon about to take flight and cried out, “Oh, Ronald! Look at him! He looks just like a little man!” She clapped her hands together, ran to him, and started patting his face repeatedly, thus ensuring he would have curious red marks on his cheeks for his interviews. Then, for her finale, she shoved his cheeks together so that his lips wound up pressed forward like a goldfish’s.

Having inflicted enough damage on her hapless son, she turned around and surveyed the area. “Where’s Carly? Show me that beautiful girl. Where is she?”

Not here, thank God
. “She’s at work, Mom. She got a new job. What are you doing here …”
An entire freakin’ week early!

“Just speeding up the trip,” she said, as if the answer should have been obvious. “Wanted to see you. And”—she lowered her voice and chucked a thumb toward the RV—“I could not last another month in that thing. It’s a nightmare. Relived the entire Civil War.”

He wasn’t sure if by that she meant that they had attended a Civil War reenactment or she and Ronald had split the thing into North and South sections and then fought the entire time.