Chapter 8
8.
The Long-Distance Mini-Boogie
“To get home, Disco Witches often go in the completely wrong direction.”
—Disco Witch Manifesto #26
Howie and Lenny were standing in the dining room at the end of the long, lemon-yellow, twirly kitchen telephone cord. While Howie held the receiver slightly away from his ear, Lenny leaned in close to hear the weak, rattling voice of their beloved friend and mentor, Max De Laguna.
“So you haven’t noticed anything?” Howie asked Max, who had finally returned Howie’s phone call from his bed at Saint Vincent’s Hospital. “No dreams at all? Not even some foggy images before waking?”
“Nada, mi amor,” Max whispered, the rattle in his chest lingering long after the words were over.
Howie desperately needed Max to decipher the many ill omens he had witnessed over the previous weeks, the most foreboding being that poor dead whale that had washed up on the beach, the strange flock of magpies flying from left to right over the bay, and the great horned owl that he had heard screeching her warning of death all around the Meat Rack. But Max, still seriously ill and stuck in Manhattan, had been struggling to see much of anything at all, be it natural or supernatural. In a long-shot experiment, Howie had arranged a party-line call the night before with Max and the other surviving members of their coven—Lenny, Dory, and Saint D’Norman—in order to perform what Howie was calling a long-distance, clarifying, in-bed boogie spell, something they had never attempted before.
It had also been Howie’s first attempt at designing a spell totally by himself. Typically, their entire repertoire of dance magic would first be formulated and tested by Max—or at least had him leading the construction and choreography. But with Max being unable, Howie had thought he’d give it a try on his own. It was the most basic design, set to “Dance, Dance, Dance (Yowsah, Yowsah, Yowsah)” by Chic. While focusing deeply on the ill omens Howie had reported, all five coven members had done an abbreviated hustle-like dance step in their separate spaces while remaining energetically connected via their telephones. Max performed his dance moves while lying down in his hospital bed since he was not well enough to stand. While “boogying,” they chanted the sacred questions together: Knuf annaw uoy OD? Em htiw Knuf annaw uoy OD? Then they’d all taken valerian root tea to sleep, with promises to report back in the morning. Thus, the next day’s follow-up call.
And the news was not good. “Absolutely nothing ?” The disappointment dripped from Howie’s voice.
Even over the phone, Howie could envision Max with his gigantic black eyes—even bigger since he had gotten ill—staring up at Howie with that kind but firm look that meant Howie had missed the mark. He knew Max had doubted Howie’s idea for any spell where the witches were not on the same dance floor, but he appreciated that his great mentor had humored him and given it a try.
“Nothing. You too, Howie?” Max asked, his voice weak, pronouncing Howie’s name like “Hooey” as he always had. “Did you have the clarity?”
“As foggy as June in San Francisco,” Howie said glumly.
“The others?” As soon as he spoke the words, Max started coughing violently, which made Howie and Lenny look at each other with worried eyes. Since learning he had the virus seven years ago, Max’s health had remained miraculously stable—until the previous year. Since then, it had been one opportunistic infection after another. “Que paso con Dory and Saint D’Norman? Did they see anything in their dreams?”
Howie sighed. “Worse. Saint D’Norman, who usually dreams every night, said it had been his first dreamless night in months. It seems my first solo attempt at designing a spell was one tremendous turd.”
“It could have been the connection,” Lenny hollered so Max would hear. “I heard AT&T was doing some work on the lines over in Babylon.”
Howie could practically hear the smile on Max’s face. Lenny had always made him laugh, even in the worst of times.
“You have the gift, mi coraz ó n,” Max said to Howie. “But as our Great Goddess Mother has shown us, there always needs to be el quorum de los cinco.” He gasped another deep, rattling breath. “A quorum of five, blessed with the gift and within ten paces of one another. The sacred energy cannot take the Belt Parkway for the holy connection. I have taught you this before, queridas.”
“Of course, Max,” Howie said. “I know the distance rule. I just had hoped the Great Goddess Mother might show some pity considering our diminished circumstances. I thought why not give it a shot, in case.”
He and Lenny waited for more of Max’s words of wisdom or for him to offer his usual positive spin on things or to simply say, “Let’s wait and see what the Great Goddess Mother will show us.” But instead, Max said nothing at all for close to a minute. All they could hear was their beloved high priest’s shallow breathing. Their brief conversation had exhausted him.
“Are you okay, Max?” Howie whispered.
“Si, mi coraz ó n,” Max finally said. “As you know, all I have taught you is in the manifesto and spell book. I will bring them out with me when I come. Promise me you will memorize them, mi amor. It’s time.” Again Max was overcome by violent coughing, and Howie imagined Max’s jolting lungs, his bleeding throat, his eyes pressed shut as he bore the pain.
When the coughing spell subsided, Howie said, “We should let you get some rest now, Max. But one more thing before you go. Our new boarder in the attic, the adorable young man we told you about—he’s not quite the right age to be the you-know-what, but occasionally, when I’m attempting a read on him, my large intestine starts bucking like Mae West during Fleet Week. And he was a little too interested in some of our vintage photos, which I’m pretty sure were taken when you-know-what was lurking, so we hid them in the crawl space.”
“S í , s í , s í ,” Max said in that way of his that let Howie know he was listening deeply.
“And his aura,” Howie continued. “Great goddess, it’s like one of those spinning-wheel splatter paintings of divinity, delusion, and despair. I know you’d need to see him in person to check the sacred rubric, but is there any way you could give us a hint as to any significant red flags—”
Max gasped and, using what seemed like his last breath, said a word that sounded like no but also could have been yes . Then, with great effort he pushed out the words. “Trust yourself. (cough) You have the power. (cough) Must look for the …” Max then fell into an even more violent coughing fit. This time, Heshy, Max’s boyfriend and caretaker (not a member of their fellowship, and in fact a doubter of their magic) got on the phone to let Howie and Lenny know that Max needed peace and quiet and not to call again until Heshy gave them the okay.
“But he was going to tell us something very important,” Howie pleaded into the phone. “Heshy, can you wait until he stops coughing and just ask him what is it we need to look for?”
Heshy muttered an obscenity before hanging up angrily.
Howie held the phone to his ear as the dial tone of disconnection whined. Once more he whispered into the deadened mouthpiece, “What do we need to look for, Max?”