“I’m not judging,” he said, “But your reaction before you left, talking to yourself, this tape project just after you got home, the damage you did to your bathroom-”
“One mirror,” I said
“One mirror,” he agreed.
We let the silence hang in the air for long moments.
“I’d like to think I can roll with the punches,” Joel said, in response to my silence. “And you know the others can too. When Natty had trouble-”
“I know,” I said.
“We adapted.”
“I know,” I said, again. “I hear you. I’m thankful, but it’s mostly stress, and it’s me dealing the way I have to deal.”
“You’re not going to put paint on those hardwood floors, are you?”
“No paint,” I promised. “Not if I can help it.”
“Okay,” he said. “Lemme call up the others. You want me to tell them to show for a specific time? Have you eaten? Should I bid them to bring snacks, drink, foodstuff?”
“I ate, but I could eat a live horse right now,” I said. Against my better judgment, I added, “They can show whenever, bring whatever’s easy to bring. Just let them know I might have to run.”
“Run?”
“Appointment, could happen at any time. Five minutes from now, or a week, I don’t know.”
He nodded, then extended a hand, keys in the palm.
“Thanks Joel,” I said, as I grabbed my bike keys. “You saved my life, giving up your car like that.”
“You shaved a year off mine,” he answered. “Showing up like you did. Freaking out when the lights died. Take care of yourself, eh?”
“Eh,” I said. “I’m trying.”
Joel left, and I took ten minutes to rinse off, get myself shaved and get presentable, changing clothes so I wouldn’t smell of sweat. I stowed the diabolism book in a drawer of clothes, then set to getting dressed in the clothes the lawyer had brought. Fresh outfit, minus the sweat and bits of Glamour. Nicer than anything I owned, but it suited my style.
Eerie.
I pulled the locket from the pocket of my jeans and, after a moment’s debate, wound it around my hand as I had before. Positioning it so the locket itself was bound in place, the thin chain uncomfortable.
I stuffed June Cleaver’s handle down my pants leg, so the side of the blade pressed against my hipbone, the blade itself pointing forward, and pulled my shirt down around her so it was covered. Leonard-in-a-bottle found a spot on top of the fridge, out of easy reach. But if I wanted him, I could hop up and grab.
I found blue-tack, and I found the bucket of mirror-shards, and I began setting them up, sticking the larger pieces to walls at Rose’s eye-level.
“Who’s Natty?”
I kept my voice lower, this time. “Was a friend of the group for a while. Split off when she dated and broke up with certain people, found another group of friends. See her from time to time, no problems.”
“Were you one of the ones she dated?”
“No,” I said. “I haven’t dated or done much of anything since high school.”
“Since before you ran away.”
I nodded. “She started hearing voices. Joel’s not-so-subtly telling me that if I’m in the same boat, well, precedent says they can deal.”
“Oh.”
“Which is cool,” I said. “Might be easier to let them think I’ve lost it, so long as I can assure Joel that the rent will keep getting paid.”
“I’m sorry, that you’d have to do that.”
I shrugged. I put up another piece of mirror. “How’s that?”
“It’s okay,” she said. “Not great, but okay. Is this wise? Inviting people?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “No clue at all. But I’m drained, and if I’m supposed to recover personal power, reaffirm my identity and refuel myself where I was drained, well, getting my bike keys back made me feel a hundred times better than any night’s sleep I’ve had this past week. Maybe seeing my friends will help.”
“I can get behind it, if that’s your reasoning,” she said. “Since I’m obviously not socializing, I can sit and read.”
“Sure,” I said. “Please do. But if you happen to want to look up from a book, and if you maybe want a bit of a clue about who I am and where I come from… at least now you can peek.”
“Alright,” she said. “That’s… really nice of you. But maybe we should get the defenses up.”
I looked at the unfinished border of tape. I was tired enough I wasn’t connecting dots. Doing too many jobs, leaving each one unfinished. Getting ready, preparing things for Rose, the defenses, trying to get my story straight in my head, and talking to Rose. It seemed so natural while I was doing it, but I was fucking up.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Rose asked.
“Blake!” The cry was followed by a squeal, or a ‘squee’, as the slang went.
Amanda. My least favorite member of the group of my favorite people. Which wasn’t to say I disliked her. Only that she didn’t ‘get’ boundaries and I liked my boundaries.
I’d left the door open, and both Amanda and ‘Goosh’ had let themselves in. Goosh was busy restraining Amanda with one arm around Amanda’s shoulders, so Amanda wouldn’t throw her arms around me in a violent, sudden hug. If she did, it wouldn’t be the first time. And if she did it with enough force that her head cracked into my ear, that wouldn’t be the first time either.
Goosh was a little taller than me, which put her above average height for a full-grown male, her blond hair cut short, cut badly, and tousled, her lipstick a little too red for her complexion. She was also a perfect counterpoint to Amanda, in personality and frame. Amanda, petite, was like the little dog that absolutely adored everyone and everything, her enthusiasm bubbling over to infectious degrees. Goosh was more like the mama bear.
Where Amanda would crumple at the slightest criticism, Goosh would tear heads off.
“You’re a millionaire!” Amanda said.
“Ah, you read the news. No, I’m not.”
“Almost-millionaire!” Amanda squealed.
“Not even,” I said. “I would be if I could sell the house, but I can’t.”
“Soon? Eventually?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Hi Goosh, sorry about the show setup.”
“It’s okay. I one hundred percent understand,” Goosh said. “Joel told us about your cousin, my condolences.”
“Oh yeah,” Amanda said. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
I nodded. “Thanks. Your show went up without a hitch?”
“Small job. I wound up hiring the Sisters. Every time, I tell myself it won’t be so bad. Every time, they convince me otherwise.”
I nodded. I’d had to work with the Sisters several times on bigger projects. Stage setups for a play, a framework for an full-room art installation… they meant well, but they were people who couldn’t take criticism, and who acted like they sought out reasons to be offended. Worse, they played off each other. Get one a little upset, she’d turn to her sister, who would build up that negative emotion until it reached a critical point.
Friend or enemy, you walked on eggshells around them, and you dealt with a minimum of one nervous breakdown or tantrum per project. But they were one of the only resources we had on hand.