Chapter 101

We were followed ... just one car.

A glance in the rear view mirror and Mr. Deputy asked, “Who is following us?”

“Chaperones. You are my First date.

“Just so they know ... what is your name?”

“Steven Decatur Arnold,” he said. He hesitated. “They?”

“Yes,” I said. “Right now, it doesn’t matter what you think ... but, You hear my cat ... that makes you special. My whole family could hear my Bengal cat, Murray. Surprise, Auntie Mom, probably hears Raul ... he hasn’t told me ... yet.”

He swerved ... just a little.

“Keep your eyes on the road, buster.”

We made the turn from 969 on to 973 and on up the road. (It doesn’t matter if the road goes up-hill or down-hill. I’m from Michigan ... North is up and south is down.)

Mr. Arnold pulled in to the pallet BBQ. The place was packed. Cars parked everywhere. Half the crowd were my friends ... the other half were acquaintances ... students from the lessons ... and half were regulars ... folks from the area. Some of the throng were already dressed for the movie. It made for a colorful crowd ... black ... with accents.

College students were wearing corsets, stiletto heels, fishnet stockings, suspenders and red lipstick ... and that was the men. Some ... people who had been to the show before ... were carrying or wearing rubber gloves, party hats, glow sticks, playing cards, a newspaper...

Steven said...”Oh god, We’re going to Rocky ... not since high school!”

My phone rang ... well ... vibrated in my jeans back pocket. Not very many people know my number ... I answered it.

“Hello?”

I couldn’t hear a damn thing ... the crowd was too noisy.

I walked away...

“Miss Flintkote?”

“Yes?”

“Your party has a reserved table up front.”

I looked towards the kitchen. The cook waved ... I waved back.

“On my way.” I started putting feet to my words.

Steven grabbed my arm. “Where do you think you’re going.”

“Thataway.”

“You’ll never get through.”

“Reserved table.”

“What?”

“I was here yesterday ... this is a great place to go on my first date.”

“Huh?”

I started to wend my way through the crowd. Someone greeted me ... Angie ... I think.

“Angie?”

“You remembered!”

“Consider yourself blessed,” I said. “Not many people are noteworthy enough for me to remember a name.” Which was true. The family curse was memory ... we don’t forget anything.

Angie was dressed as Magenta ... her accent was perfect.

Steven said, “Magenta!”

“Who are you?”

“Tyche’s date.”

“Oh ... we’re supposed to protect you from her.” She held her two fingers in a christian cross.

And I said, “Hey!”