"How was that?" he asked. "Did we get that?"
"It looked hot."
"I said ‘mothersucker.’ Too much?"
"We’ll have to run it by Standards and Practices."
"It just popped out."
They looked in silence at the dummy, and the stake.
"Well, that’s not the heart," said Alan. "What would that be?"
"The appendix," Cheryl answered. "I have a scar there. Oh — Mike called from San Diego, wants you to call him back."
"Ooh!" Alan rushed for the phone. "He has something? Never mind, he’ll tell me." He dialed and rocked on his heels while the line rang.
"Alan," Mike answered.
"Mike! Mikey Michael! Michael P. Pfefferneuse! I don’t know your last name, Mike."
"It’s Storch."
"Mike Storch! Big Mike Storch! Tell me you have a lead. God, we need a lead."
In lieu of hiring a private detective agency Alan had left Mike and a few other staffers to keep canvasing San Diego after the hunt lost its momentum. They had a police sketch of the main vampire based on a description the girl Carrie Lawson had given, and at least one intern was wandering the Gaslamp Quarter, showing it around. Another was calling hospitals and begging for information about anyone complaining of bite marks. It was vitally important for Alan to show his producers that they could do things on the cheap at the moment, so everyone was doing jobs they hadn’t signed on for.
"I do have something," said Mike, "a very little something."
"Tell me. Tell me."
"All right. I talked to this convention center security guard today who had a run-in with a kid, a teenage kid, who had very severe polymorphous light eruption."
"Uh-huh, uh-huh," said Alan. "What?"
"A really bad skin reaction to sunlight. Kid had to hide under a poncho. It was so bad they let him and his friend in early, so he wouldn’t have to wait in line. Which is good for us, because they were the only two to pass under the CCTV cameras in the lobby at that particular time."
"And you got a look at the security tapes?" Alan was grinning and drumming on the snack table with his free hand.
"I got a look at the security tapes. And I gotta admit, the shorter of the two kids could definitely be our guy from Panda TV."
"Yes!"
"But here’s the thing: If it is him, then the sketch we have from party girl is bullshit. I think she was very generous with her description. He probably gets better looking every time she tells the story."
"Bloody hell."
"I’m having the sketch artist do a new portrait based on the security tapes, and I’ll start sending it around. But, Alan, we’re running out of money here."
"Wait," said Alan. "Why don’t we just put the security footage on next week’s show? Or online? But then, of course, someone else would find him before we do…"
"Also? It would be slander. We don’t know for certain the kid on the security tape has done anything wrong — the panda room was too dark for a positive match and the Red Cross people won’t return our calls."
"Stupid, bloody, pompous Red Cross."
"But, Alan, did you hear me? We need more money."
"You’re breaking up, Mike. I’m passing through a tunnel."
"I know you’re not driving, Alan."
18
The sweet cloud of togetherness
DOUG’S DATE with Sejal had, somehow, become a group thing.
"How did this happen?" Doug asked Jay after lunch. "This is unacceptable."
"You asked Sejal what movie she wanted to see," said Jay, "really loud. You know you did — you wanted everyone to hear."
"I did not say it ‘really loud.’ I said it loud ’cause it’s loud out there."
"Actually"—Jay sniffed—"I remember it being quiet and uncomfortable because you’d just told everyone about that time I threw up horseback riding."
"What, are you mad about that? It was funny."
They were nearly to the door of English class when Victor and another guy rumbled by.
"Hey, Victor," Doug said, quietly. Victor didn’t respond.
"Dude," said Victor’s friend as they walked away. "Did Poncho Villa just talk to you?"
"C’mon," Doug said to Jay. They went inside.
"Are you and Victor friends now?" asked Jay.
"I don’t know. I don’t care if we are or not, he could at least say hi when someone says hi to him."
They took their seats, wrote an in-class essay on The Metamorphosis, then broke into groups to plan their oral reports.
"It’s understandable that maybe Cat would come along," Doug said to Jay. "They live together. And maybe Sejal wants a chaperone on our first date — I don’t know how Indians do things."
"I’m Indian," said Kyle, their third partner. "I don’t need a chaperone on a date."
Doug rounded on him. "Sejal’s Indian Indian, Kyle. You were born in Scranton."
"We’re supposed to be talking about ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.’"
"Just…fft…go make an outline or something and give us two minutes, okay?"
"Asshole," Kyle said, and moved to an empty desk.
"What really pisses me off," Doug told Jay, "is that Adam’s inviting himself along. How did that happen?"
"I think he maybe likes Sophie," said Jay. "I think he’s going because she’s going."
"That figures. She’s his type — not as smart as him and at least two years younger. I don’t even remember how she got invited."
"Sejal invited her. After she invited Ophelia and Ophelia said no. Look, maybe I can distract them all and get you some time alone. Or we can figure out some plan to get you sitting together."
"How are you going to do that if you’re not there?"
Jay’s forehead tightened. "Cat invited me."
"Cat can’t invite you on my date! My date! And I thought you didn’t even like hanging out with this crowd."
Jay shrugged. "I don’t mind so much."
"Also, I don’t think this is your kind of movie."
"If you don’t want me there, fine. Just say so."
"No, no, you can go if you want. What difference does it make now that half the Masque & Dagger club is going."
"I won’t go."
"No, go."
They sat in silence for a moment.
"Maybe," said Doug, "maybe you could even help distract everyone else a little. Keep them busy. Create a diversion."
"Yeah, that went superwell last time," said Jay.
They both smiled, lips drawn tight to restrain laughter that chuffed out through their noses.
"No needles this time," said Doug, and they laughed some more.
"I hear laughing," said Mr. Majors, "so I know you’re not talking about T. S. Eliot."
The Rocky Horror Picture Show was a cult and cultural institution. It was a decades-old campy sci-fi horror rock-and-roll comedy musical that was almost certain to be playing at midnight, somewhere in the world, on every day of the year. Even Christmas. Especially Christmas.
"I think it’s gonna be really weird," Doug told Jay in the car. "I’ve heard things. I should have researched it more online."
"Which house is Cat’s again?" asked Jay.
"On the left, with the basketball hoop."
Jay pulled into the driveway.
"Should I honk? Or are you going to go up?"
"I should go up, right? I’ll go up."
Doug went up, his guts slithering. It was exciting having something real to do on a Friday night, and it gave him a feeling of almost limitless expectations. He rang the doorbell. It was like anything could happen. It was like this door could open onto the whole rest of his life. And a moment later the door did open on a round, curly-haired woman in a fuzzy yellow sweater set, like a big baby chick. Like a really obese baby chick.