15. Spooky Season #3
When Audre returns to the Egg, the party is hitting its end-of-the-night crescendo.
The DJ plays “Where Have You Been” by Rihanna, then “Stay the Night” by Zedd.
The kids are all on the dance floor jumping up and down, scream-singing at the top of their lungs.
Audre picks out John and Jackie Kennedy, Princess Leia and the stormtrooper, Andy Warhol and Edie Sedgwick.
It’s amazing no one has tried to sneak out (if they did, they would face Mr. James in the werewolf costume he wears every Halloween).
Then, just as Audre expects the lights to come up—it’s two minutes to eleven—the DJ plays the 5th Dimension’s “(Last Night) I Didn’t Get to Sleep at All.”
Coop extends a hand. “Time for our dance?”
Audre nods, and lets him lead her onto the dance floor.
Later, after everyone has been ushered out of the Egg and back to the dorms, Coop asks Audre if he can walk her home.
“I came with Cordelia,” Audre says. “I should really wait…” But when she looks around, there’s no sign of Cordelia. The only people left are members of Chef Haz’s staff, clearing the empty platters. “Okay, yes please.”
Outside, a half-moon shines and the air is cold and crisp, scented with autumn leaves.
Coop reaches for Audre’s hand. Is she going to allow this? Yes, but only because they’re still in costumes. It isn’t real, it’s Halloween.
When they reach the front door of the Residence, Audre turns to Coop.
“This is me.” She considers asking Coop in for a drink, she has the rest of that bottle of pinot, but she can’t quite take that step.
Not yet. Before this flirtation or friendship or whatever this is goes any further, she has to talk to Jesse.
But what if Jesse tells her no? Isn’t this a case where it’s better to beg forgiveness than ask permission… ?
All thoughts of Jesse Eastman are interrupted when Coop removes his Malcolm X glasses, bends down, and kisses her.
The kiss is soft, exploratory. Is there chemistry? Yes, instantly, it’s electric.
Coop kisses Audre again, his lips part, he touches his tongue to hers, and Audre places her hands on the sides of his face.
She’s too old for a make-out session, and Coop is way too old, except somehow they’re not.
The sweet rush that Audre experiences is exactly the same as the first time she kissed her crush, Jared Perry, outside the roller rink when she was fourteen years old.
Only it’s deeper, richer, and she knows now to savor it.
Back to the scene of the crime, Rhode thinks as his Uber pulls up in front of the Alibi. He’s hoping that lightning strikes twice and he’ll have another night like he did a few weeks before. There’s no guarantee S will be here, but then again, where else would she go?
When Rhode pulls open the door and enters the bar, he realizes he’s made a sartorial mistake.
He guessed that, of every establishment in America, the Alibi would be the most likely to ignore Halloween.
In the Alibi-verse, the only holiday that seems to be celebrated is Christmas (and that only by the string of colored lights that eternally sag over the bar).
For this reason, Rhode didn’t bother with any kind of costume; he’s arrived in jeans, a black sweater over a black T-shirt, and a black vest over the black sweater.
But the other patrons of the bar are dressed up. The ornery bartender, Jefferson, is costumed as an old-timey barkeep in suspenders and armband, and on his head is a bushy red clown wig. In the right corner, Rhode sees a cowboy, a sexy devil, and two gentlemen dressed as Bert and Ernie.
The jukebox is playing the Eagles’ “Witchy Woman,” which can’t be an accident.
Rhode turns to survey the left side of the bar and spies a woman sitting by herself, dressed as Morticia from the Addams Family—long black wig, long Bride of Frankenstein dress, blood-red lips. She’s drinking a glass of white wine.
Bingo, Rhode thinks.
He approaches the bar with some swagger, his confidence bolstered by his good luck.
“Hey there,” Rhode says, taking the stool next to S.
She studies him over the rim of her wineglass. “Hey?”
Does she not recognize him? Rhode looks at the woman more closely—past the goth makeup—to be sure he’s not mistaken.
It’s her: those deep brown eyes, the beautifully crooked nose, the same diamond studs and gold bracelets. Tonight, she has long, jet-black fingernails.
“S, right? I’m Rhode.”
She regards his outfit. “I don’t get it. What are you dressed as?”
“A lawyer from out of town?” He winks at her. “Your costume is clever. Because you live in the Addams Family house.”
She rears back. “You know where I live?”
Rhode tries to get Jefferson’s attention, he desperately needs a drink, but Jefferson is down talking to the Sesame Street crowd. Someone dressed as Big Bird has just come out of the men’s room.
Rhode leans in. “S, it’s me, Rhode? I met you here a few weeks ago, and we went to your house. You showed me your She-Shed.”
S whips her arm out, smacking the back of her hand against Rhode’s chest. She starts cackling. “I know who you are, dummy.”
Ouch? Rhode rubs his chest. “I’m back in town tonight.”
“Yes, I see that.” S’s voice is dismissive, and Rhode fears this might not be the sure thing he wants it to be.
His mind starts to reel: Did he do something wrong last time?
Was his… performance subpar? In the weeks since he’s seen her, has she gotten involved with someone else? She’s here alone, so probably not?
At that moment, Jefferson materializes. “It’s you again.”
Rhode can’t help grinning. Jefferson remembers him! It’s a small validation, but it feels like Rhode is on his way to becoming an Alibi regular. He nearly reaches a hand across the bar, but he won’t push his luck. “Yes, I’d like a Johnnie Walker on the rocks, please.”
“In a to-go cup, please, Jeff,” S says. “We’re leaving.”
We are? Rhode thinks.
“You know I’m not allowed to let the drinks walk,” Jefferson says.
“Please?” S says. “For me?”
Jefferson sighs, then pours the whiskey into a clear plastic cup. S slaps a hundred-dollar bill on the bar and says, “Happy Halloween, Jeff.”
“Whatever,” Jefferson says.
S takes Rhode by the hand, but first Rhode throws back the entire whiskey—woo!—and leaves the cup on the bar so Jefferson doesn’t get in trouble. Does Jefferson notice this considerate act? No—he’s now at the other end of the bar mixing a margarita for a woman dressed as Kermit the Frog.
“Let’s go,” S says.
At least this time, Rhode knows what to expect. They stroll down the block and around the corner to where S’s house looms dark against the midnight blue sky. Jack-o’-lanterns leer from either side of the front steps, and the porch is draped with swaths of fake cobwebs.
“Is your daughter home?” Rhode asks.
“How do you know about my daughter?” It sounds like S is accusing him of something.
“The last time we were together, you mentioned—”
“She’s out,” S says.
Rhode wonders if this means they’ll go into the main house.
But no… S leads Rhode around the side again, past the stacked flagstones and pyramids of gravel, over two-by-fours lying about like pickup sticks, past the giant hole for the pool, which now holds standing water and smells like an open grave.
Rhode wrinkles his nose. “We’ve had a lot of rain recently.”