Mayne Attraction: In The Spotlight (9 page)

The line to the women’s room was winding out
the door by now—another movie had let out. Someone who had observed
me enter, but who wasn’t paying close attention, might assume that
I had been held up by the crowd, or that the six-dollar chilidog I
had purchased from the concession stand on my way in this afternoon
was now making me pay again on its way out.

Samantha and I proceeded to the sinks. She
was gushing. I was astounded. Sam and some other scary looking
person were standing there looking back at us. No wonder I never
wore makeup! It was like having an out of body experience. I was
tall and dark and...weird!

“Sam, you’re a genius. A true artist.”

I had to admit it.

“See? It feels awesome, doesn’t it?” she
replied.

It really did. I didn’t even need to be
embarrassed because no one knew it was me. It was totally
liberating. I needed to tone down the happiness because it was at
odds with the style.

“Are you ready, gorgeous?” she asked.

“Who me? Uh, yeah, you bet!” I replied,
partly jazzed and partly horrified.

We exited the Ladies’ Room and made our way
across the lobby to a bench where the others of our species were
gathered. They each exhibited an amusing yet predictable amount of
surprise and curiosity as we approached. Sam was triumphant as she
announced, “Ladies, I’d like you to meet Kit, my cousin from Great
Britain.”

The effect of this news was comical to watch
as it sunk in. For these girls, the UK was like the holy land of
culture and fashion. This revelation of my origin seemed to clear
away the logical question I’m sure they had been preparing to ask,
namely “Where did you come from?” and replaced it with “Is there a
magical wormhole that links Tinseltown and London in the bathroom,
and which stall is that…exactly?”

They wanted to know important things like
which concerts I had been to at Wembley Stadium and whether I ever
saw anybody famous at Heathrow. As if my life in London was spent
exclusively hanging around at the airport or waiting for outdoor
concerts to begin.

In my best BBC World Service accent I
explained that most recently I’d spied the lead singer of Future
Sellouts in the British Airways section of Terminal One and that
the Worthy Faux concert was absolutely to die for. They had no idea
what I was talking about, but it sounded appropriately cool, and
they nodded with enthusiasm.

When they asked if Kit was short for
anything, Sam retorted “Kitten” and her tone added the “Duh” as
punctuation.

While they interviewed me I was
surreptitiously surveying the crowd for my mark, or marks. I
imagined he might take the form of a sinister looking man in a deep
olive suit, complete with black shades and an earpiece, sentinel
style ala Agent Smith from The Matrix. But as I scanned the room I
was disappointed to see no one looking perturbed. About ten minutes
passed and finally, there it was: the look of agitated concern
accompanied by quick movements that had no place here on this lazy
afternoon at the movies.

He wore a Dallas Cowboys ball cap and
jersey, faded jeans and high top sneakers. Without staring I
couldn’t tell if he was American Indian or just Indian; but he
wasn’t Latino, I was sure of that, even if his Texas affiliation
might suggest otherwise. He was about five ten, with a muscular but
more or less medium build, and had black, sort of curly, medium
length hair and tan skin, but surprisingly light, bloncket (bluish
gray) colored eyes. Eyes that were wide with anxiety and
despair—maybe even panic.

I felt a sickening wave of remorse. He was
absolutely beautiful and he was looking for me—worried that
something terrible had happened when his back was turned—and
stressed out that the bad guys that someone obviously thought were
after me had somehow succeeded in abducting me from right under his
nose. As his eyes methodically searched the room, I averted mine
just before they made their way to our corner. I was certain that
if our eyes locked the game would be over, with me being removed
from the scene by my ear—the side without the studs.

Then, to my absolute horror, he began moving
forward in a straight line for us! Now a wave of nausea was
cresting over me. He approached Sam and asked, “Excuse me. I’m
looking for the little blonde haired girl that just came out of the
theater. I thought I saw you talking to her on the way to the
restroom.”

He spoke with perfect diction and no
discernable accent. Now I didn’t think he was Indian, either. I
just couldn’t tell. Perhaps he was from a previously unknown tribe
of fabulously handsome people—it sure looked that way to me.

It took Sam slightly longer to respond than
it should have. She must have been deliberating whether the truth
or a lie would go over better. She opted for both.

“Do you mean Ellery? Long blonde hair, about
three feet tall?”

The girls all laughed.

“I know her from school. I said ‘Hi’ to her
after the movie, but we didn’t come together. She’s probably gone
by now.”

Good answer.

“Do you want me to give her a message, when
I see her?”

Even better.

He thought for a second and then said, “Just
tell her that Ash was asking about her,” he paused, looked around
again then added, “I guess I’ll catch up to her later. Thanks.”

He turned on his heal and swiftly walked
away.

Then I had an inspiration. ‘Kit’ said to Sam
in a tone he was sure to hear, “Do you think it could have been
this Ellery who was retching in the last stall?”

It worked. His course veered immediately
back toward the restrooms. That meant he hadn’t recognized me after
all. Relief. Then more inspiration.

“Perhaps we should go and check on her, see
if she needs a hand?” I suggested.

I was anxious to get back to the incarnation
of myself that would set his mind at ease. I couldn’t bear the
thought of driving away with Sam now, letting him suffer through
thinking the worst, only to realize later that he’d been
punked.

Sam’s simple reply, emulating my accent, was
“Indeed.”

We excused ourselves and were on our way
back to the restroom. Ash hesitated by the exit. He was talking on
his phone now. It didn’t look like a pleasant conversation. We
strode purposefully past him through the Ladies’ Room entrance and
past ten people standing in line. Once inside we stalled briefly,
and then I said, somewhat loudly, “Pardon me there, are you quite
all right?”

After the stall’s bewildered occupant
vacated, I stepped inside. Then, at my suggestion, Sam doubled back
to where Ash was standing and informed him that it was Ellery all
right, and that we would see to her. Meanwhile I had begun removing
my disguise. Next I set to work on my face using several special
makeup removing cloths that I had purchased with this in mind. Sam
slipped her crazy big purse under the door and I shoved everything
back in. Then I said in a loud voice for listening ears, “I’ll
catch up later, love. I need to clean off my boots. No
worries.”

Before I exited the stall, I handed out the
bag and she put her arm around my waist to ‘assist’ me out of the
facility. I was disappointed when I realized he was no longer in
sight. He was still watching, I knew, but I wasn’t going to get to
see the relief erase the anxiety from his unbelievably handsome
face, and I was unhappy about that. Those negative emotions playing
over my own face probably added to the illusion of my illness. I
took deep breaths and bent slightly forward with my arm wrapped in
front of my stomach as Sam guided me to her car. She helped me into
the passenger’s seat and then got in on the driver’s side. Her face
was alight with mischief and pleasure.

She smiled hugely and said “Capital!” She
was still being British with me and asked, “So now Love, let’s hear
all about this Ash fellow, shall we?”

I was back to being me.

“I’ve never met him before,” I admitted,
though considering his extreme handsomeness, I was already thinking
about how to remedy that situation.

As we pulled out of the Tinseltown lot, I
kept stealing glances in the side mirror, trying to look for a
trailing car. There was too much traffic to be sure, though. I gave
up and let my mind wander over what had just happened, focusing
especially on the face of the most appealing thug imaginable. There
was no way he was a thug, I corrected myself. He didn’t look mad
when I disappeared—he looked scared. He was scared for me, about
what had happened to me, and that had been instantly endearing. All
my plans of perpetration instantly vaporized.

Sam let me mull over my reflections in peace
for several minutes, but she wasn’t done with the subject just
yet.

“So, he was really cute, El. Are you sure
you don’t know him from anywhere?”

I was a little hurt. I had never lied to her
before, and what I just said was true.

“I wonder what he wanted,” I asked, more to
myself than to get a response.

“Probably to ask you out, Blondie,” she said
with a pleased sounding giggle.

She had a wicked grin shining across her
face as she glanced over to catch my reaction.

“So you think he’s a pedophile?”

That burned on the way out. I wished I could
retract it. It was a mean thing to say about him, even if it was
just a self-deprecating joke.

She laughed out loud though, and said, “Hey,
you’re eighteen now. You better get used to it gorgeous. There’s
going to be a line of boys waiting for you.”

Whatever. There was no point arguing about
it.

“But seriously, he didn’t seem like a boy to
me. He looked a little older. Well, maybe not looked older, but
seemed older, you know?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too. And I
agree; he was totally handsome. Maybe he was in my grandpa’s class
at U of L. One time I visited campus to hear Grandpa give a
lecture. Maybe he remembered me from there.”

I was trying to flesh out a reason for Ash’s
interest in me for Sam’s sake. It was plausible. At the funeral
quite a few Chemistry students, exclusively male, had paid their
respects, some even trying to hit on me in the process with
‘sympathy’ hugs, most of which I’d been able to dodge.

“Or maybe he’s just a stalker…a totally
handsome stalker.”

She laughed at herself, but she had no idea
how right she was.

Chapter 10
–
Emperor

One day a new student hit the scene. This
wasn’t an exaggeration, because his presence had a physical effect
on everyone in his path, like a rock hitting the water. It was as
if there was some force field radiating around him. It was easy to
understand. The wide berth everyone afforded him was born from
instinctive self-preservation. The news quickly spread about him.
His name was Trevor. He was eighteen. He moved here from
California. But no one needed a report to see the obvious. He was
dangerous and frightening. He was tall and dark and menacing
looking. If my Sam was the Prime Chancellor of the Goths here, then
Trevor was the new Emperor, and all remnants of the old republic
had been swept away.

Sam had informed me of my status as her best
friend several weeks back. Though I was thrilled, my returning the
favor by granting her that same status in my life was greatly
diminished by the fact that she was also the only friend I had. She
laughed at me when I expressed these regrets and assured me that my
situation only made things more solid between us.

BFF (best friends forever) status came with
privileges. I was now eating lunch with the G3 (Goth Gal Group) on
a daily basis, so this afforded me an uncomfortably close encounter
with our new classmate. He was naturally drawn to this female
contingent of kindred spirits, like a foreigner might be drawn to
people speaking his native tongue. Approaching our table in a wake
of silence and awe, he asked if he could sit with us. His words and
manner seemed strangely gentlemanlike, and totally at odds with his
appearance.

Rachel, Corey and Splash instantly assumed
the role of contestants again, this time in a struggle for Trevor’s
attentions. Samantha held back. It was as if she already knew the
future, and that she understood there wasn’t cause to exert any
effort. It was also as if she realized that there was no need to
offend her friends by prematurely stepping on their hopes and
dreams.

Trevor was very affable and solicitous with
his three new acquaintances, or worshipers, to be more precise. He
nodded pleasantly when Corey introduced Sam and me, but he didn’t
engage Sam or even look her way any further on that occasion.
Still, I suspected that he already had some sense of the future as
well.

I relinquished my position next to Sam
(physically and socially) when I realized Trevor was going to be in
our English class. There was only one other open seat and it was
behind her. So, beating them both to class, I headed in and sat
down in that lonely rear seat like that’s where I had been sitting
all along.

Feeling a little sad about my upcoming
supplanting—that I was voluntarily facilitating—I cheered myself
with the knowledge that the view was going to be spectacular. They
didn’t disappoint. She was ultra-cool, not that into him,
apparently. Oh, there was a little small talk when possible, but
she was all about paying attention in class. He was all about
paying attention to her. He stared at her for inappropriately long
segments of time. It reminded me of a scene from a popular vampire
story. Yeah, I could see Trevor as a character like that. Everybody
already treated him like he was something...other.

I already knew that Samantha was something
wonderfully other. I was so glad I had gotten over my stupid
prejudices and my ridiculous insecurities and reached out for her
friendship. It was the hardest I’d ever made myself work for
anything, and it had been the best reward of my life. She was such
an awesome paradox: looking like one thing and being another thing
altogether. Appearing very negative but being the most positive
influence imaginable. With her help I had broken out of the prison
of my shyness and depression. She was my savior. Although I wanted
to keep her friendship all to myself, she had helped me to such an
extent that I really didn’t need that anymore.