Chapter 16
Sixteen
-GRAYSON-
“Party!”
There’s a cocktail in my hand. It’s a Cosmopolitan. I’m standing next to Penelope and Milo who are both holding Espresso Martinis. And we are positioned just inside the entrance of a unique nightclub.
This is a serious ‘what the fuck’ moment.
“Party. Party. Party.”
The voice is coming from the woman in the tight-fitting white dress on stage. She’s also wearing a large string of pearls. A pianist accompanies her as she sings. Jazz is her genre. But this music is not contemporary. It’s a style from a bygone era. As is this club.
“She’s very Noel Coward,” I say, in my effort to freefall. I’m aware Milo and Penelope have no idea who Noel Coward is by the way they’re staring at me. “Listen. It’s a song called ‘He’s So Unusual’. Like Noel—"
“Why am I here, Grayson?” Milo asks, displeased. “You should text me next time you want to whisk me away to some club. What if I’m wanking?”
“I brought you here,” Penelope tells him.
“Why?”
“Because you boys need to talk.”
I’m still getting my bearings, annoyed at Penelope’s ploy to avoid my question. And now that Milo is here, I can’t mention the zombie mum thing. If I do, and we find out Amelia has risen from the dead, my chances to win back Milo are as good as Penelope becoming a teetotaller.
I take in what’s around me. Right now, that’s all I want to do.
There’s a long bench decorated in colourful tiles against the wall to our left. These tiles match the mosaic behind, together forming a single image of a large moon in its waxing crescent stage. Its two points are elongated. Above it, small lights twinkle to represent stars.
Five men in suits wander to the bench and take a seat.
The only one with a beard pulls out a small bag of white powder.
I assume it’s cocaine. He offers it to the others with no hesitation, like this is all normal and no one is breaking the law.
Lines are meticulously divvied on the edge of the bench, then snorted through a rolled-up bank note.
Another of these men slides a cigarette into the long-stemmed holder. He blows a steady stream of smoke into the air.
I turn my attention back to my tight-lipped cottage witch and the man whose mother could be developing a taste for human flesh. In between them I see a man in a shiny blue suit, coming our way.
“Hello Piers,” Penelope says. “Do you remember Grayson?”
“Of course I do.” Piers gives a smile of recognition.
But I can’t recall who this man is until I repeat his name as I shake his hand. It’s no wonder I didn’t recognise him. I’ve only seen his silhouette at a distance, on a hill.
Milo introduces himself.
“I know who you are,” Piers tells him.
“How do you know?”
Piers turns his gaze to both Penelope and me, as if he expects us to answer.
“Lend Milo your wand, Grayson,” Penelope says.
I’m on her wavelength and hand it over, encouraging Milo to wave it.
“What’s going to happen?” he asks. “Will I fall on my face like Mum?”
“My, my,” says Piers. “What will that achieve?”
“Just sayin’.”
“You’ve got to learn to let things go,” Penelope insists. And now I’m even more sure Amelia is a zombie. “Sip your martini. It will help.”
Piers places his hand firmly on Milo’s shoulder. “Go on, wave that wand.”
He does as he’s told. A sparkling silver stream of stars flows into the crowd, but it seems only us four can see it. Little silver trinkets, like the ones I experienced when I first entered the magic realm, float in the stream. Except Milo’s are all shaped like mobile phones.
“Okay. I know who you are.” Piers smiles, before fading away like a ghost.
“What just happened?” Milo glares at my wand. “Did I do that?”
“Piers just checked you in to the magic realm,” I explain.
“He had to make sure you left all your bad juju behind,” Penelope adds. “You’re allowed to stay in this realm now. And while you’re here, you and Grayson will resolve your issues.”
Milo shrugs. “Why can’t we do that at home?”
“A change of environment is as handy as talking to strangers, when it comes to problem-solving.” Penelope’s never looked this stern.
Milo smiles at her, but not at me. I’m still in the doghouse.
I study the nightclub once again. Decorative glass bottles fill the shelves on the back wall of the bar. The two barmen are busy serving. Haze fills the area as more patrons smoke, but the tobacco odour is surprisingly refreshing rather than irritating.
Men dance together, slowly, holding each other, gazing romantically at one another. All are dressed in dark suits, some in pinstripes, many with vests. And all with either a cap or a chic hat.
I count the women. I don’t make it past one as there’s only the singer, the frizzy-haired vocalist in a dress and pearls.
“That’s Des,” says Penelope. “Des Tooley.”
“The Noel Coward-style songstress has a boy’s name.” I’m impressed.
“Who’s Noel Coward?” Penelope asks.
I’m enjoying this camp 1920s aesthetic too much to give Penelope a queer history lesson, but at the same time, I also miss the fantasy elements of our first visit to this realm.
“Where’s the surrealism?” I ask.
Penelope playfully shrugs off my query.
“Do Grayson and I really need to talk?” Milo asks while perving at the crowd.
“Do I have to repeat myself a thousand times?” Penelope has a serial killer glare. “Yes.”
“I’m really not in the mood,” Milo replies, still checking out the talent.
“Are you worried about Summer?” I ask.
“She’s probably planning a huge comeback,” Penelope offers.
The pong of cat piss is apparent, and she too must smell her own lie. It’s proof she knows what’s happened to Summer, but she’s not responding to my quizzical stare.
“And you can’t make a comeback if you haven’t been away,” she continues.
“But she’d tell me.” Milo sighs. “She wouldn’t just disappear without letting me know what her plans are.”
A man in a flat chequered cap and a smile with teeth too perfect to be real strolls to Penelope. A pale tie is tucked behind his buttoned waistcoat, all neat under his jacket. Nothing is out of place on this fashionable chap.
“What are you doing in a gay club?” she asks him.
“Experimenting.” He shares a wicked grin.
“Lads, this is Sam, my first husband.”
I’m thrilled to meet him. He’s a piece of Penelope’s past, a history which she’s glossed over until now. And frankly, it seems strange someone as young as Penelope has been divorced three times.
Milo and I shake his hand and introduce ourselves.
Sam smirks. “Are these husbands four and five, Penelope? Or are you playing with polyamory, testing two men at once before making a choice?” He checks us out. “Mind you, it’s not a bad way to pass the time.”
Penelope grins. “I see you’ve come out of the closet.”
Sam presses his hand against his chest. “Guilty as charged.” He points to a spare table far from the stage. “How about we make a night of it, fellas? Cocktails. Dancing. Gossip.”
Penelope points to the same table. “Grayson, Milo, go and talk. We’ll stay here.”
“But Winkle Pops, I want to know your friends.” Sam shares a comic frown.
“Winkle Pops?” Milo’s eyes widen. “And you’ve just come out of the closet?”
“What was Sam’s lovey-dovey name?” I ask Penelope.
“Should I tell them, or will you?” She eyes Sam.
“She called me Twinkle Toes. Because I like to dance.”
“And that’s the only reason?” I’m smirking. I can’t help it.
Sam winks, then blows us boys a kiss.
“Catch up with us later,” Penelope tells Milo and me. “But please settle your differences first.”
I nod. Milo glances down at the t-shirt and jeans he is wearing, clearly expressing he feels out of place. I’m still in my work shirt. Totally wrong for this bar. But Penelope is in a pink and white houndstooth dress. Mid-century style meets art deco club.
“Would you prefer suits, gentlemen?” Penelope asks.
“When in Rome,” I say. “Besides, it will make a better selfie, won’t it, Milo?”
“Usually, I don’t mind standing out. But yeah, let’s suit up.”
“You can do this,” Penelope assures me. “Wave your wand and take in the fashion.”
I extend my wand, but as I wave it, I spot a group of guys in fancy dress. Suddenly, Milo is in a top hat, a tutu, and ballet slippers, and I’m squeezed snugly inside a flapper dress. There’s even a black beaded handbag dangling from my arm.
Milo giggles. It’s a great sound. He is letting his defences down.
“Should I try again?” I ask.
“Nah,” he replies.
“Definitely not,” Sam says, ogling Milo’s uncovered upper half.
Penelope points impatiently at that table again. “Now go and talk.”
I pop my wand into the bag and notice my phone inside. Then I clip it shut before we make our way through the smoky haze. Des is crooning and a trio of men, all with combed Brylcreemed hair, stand in front of the stage and sing along.
Milo places his martini on the table before he sits, while I pop the bag down. I encourage the clinking of glasses, so Milo raises his drink, confirming once more the ice is breaking.
“When was the last time you saw Summer?” I ask, keeping my voice low so others can enjoy the performance.
“Three days ago.”
“And that’s enough to make you worried?”
“No. But she hasn’t posted today. That’s enough to make me worried.”
“Maybe she’s sick.”
“Then we’d all know on her Insta.”
I see his point and feel it’s time to change the subject. “Thank you for what you did when I transported us from the hospital.”
“Grayson, why don’t you just say, thank you for the head job?”
His question makes me feel foolish. I’ve been alone for so long I’m being coy, unaware of the protocol in this situation. My last affair began with sex. A hookup on an app. And it was hot until the guy disappeared with my belongings.
“Thank you for the head job.” There. I sounded trampy, just as Milo wanted. This socialising thing isn’t too complicated. “Next time, I’ll suck you off.”
Milo snicker is above the average volume for that kind of laugh. It hits me like a punch to the gut.