Mister Sandman didn’t bring me any dreams this time. He didn’t do much for me in the sleep department either. I spent two hours tossing and turning and sneezing and coughing before I gave up and got out of bed. I felt like a wet dishrag and I wasn’t sure if that was an improvement over my earlier status of noodle. The fever also seemed to be trying to make a comeback.
Feed a fever, starve a cold? Or was it the other way around? Either way, I was getting tired of juice and tea. I found a small pot, rinsed the dust out and dumped in the hot & sour soup from the night before. It didn’t take long to heat up, but it did give me enough time to check my email and my voice mail. Nothing. I said something unpleasant that would have gotten me a detention had there been a nun listening.
Chas Dupree’s hangout was local after all. I found the website while I ate, careful not to drip any of my breakfast on the keyboard. The full name of the place was Lucy’s Retired Surfers’ Restaurant and Bar. Ian MacKay as a surfer? I couldn’t picture that, but what did I really have to go on? The review I found listed it both as a “place to be seen” and ‘trendy.” Marie would definitely know the place. After I finished my soup, I called her.
“Lucy’s? Yeah, it’s over on Tchoupitoulas. They make a mango margarita that’s really nice.”
“Hmm. Soon as I feel better, I think we’re going there for happy hour,” I said. “Maybe sooner. Mangoes have Vitamin C, right?”
“If they don’t, it’s still fruit and fruit is good for you. You sound a little better. Not as stuffy as you were last night.”
“The fever’s down, I’m feeling restless, but still pretty lousy. Not much to do besides ask questions and not get any answers. Speaking of which . . .”
She cut me off. “Zo, I haven’t had time to check. If you’d just relax and concentrate on getting better, you’d . . .”
I didn’t let her finish. “I’d what? Stop worrying about Michael? Marie, I just found out some very disturbing things about Michael. Right now, I’m not sure if he’s in more danger from whoever jacked his car or from me for not telling me certain things.”
“Not telling you what? Is he married?”
“No.” Would that be better or worse? If I were Marie, it would be worse. Me, I wasn’t sure. “He spent some time in jail.”
“Jail?”
“Jail. Prison. Lockup. Hoosegow. The slammer. I’m in love with an ex-con.”
“Well, what was he in for?” Right to the point. One of the things I appreciated most about my best friend.
“Cocaine,” I said glumly. “Specifically possession with intent to sell.”
“Michael?”
“That was my reaction, too.”
“Zo, did it ever occur to you that he didn’t tell you because you’d react the way you’re acting now?”
I hated it when she was logical. That was usually my job. “Of course not.”
“Think about that, will you? And get some sleep. I’ll call you later, okay?”
Dismissed. She probably had a client waiting. I wished I had one of my own. One with a rare or out-of-print book that needed hunting down. I could use the distraction. Sometimes those searches had me glued to my computer during the final minutes while they were being auctioned off on eBay, Sotheby’s, or other online auction house. I went to the kitchen and got myself another bowl of soup. I wasn’t hungry, but it felt really good to chew something. My jaws itched in a really weird way. I took another bite of the soup and found myself staring at the bowl. It was just so interesting. The different shades of brown, the contrast between the broth and the bits of shiitake mushroom, the tofu, the little tiny flakes of red pepper floating to and fro.
I started giggling. Shiitake was such a funny word. I picked up another spoonful of soup and gazed deeply at the bamboo shoots. Fascinating, Captain. The giggles came back and I suddenly appeared to have two hands. No, three. I tried to eat the soup and missed completely, spilling it on my shirt.
“Damn it!” My voice sounded hollow in my ears. Way too loud, but far away at the same time. I’ve never had the flu affect me like this. I still wanted to chew on something, but I couldn’t trust my hand to get the soup to my mouth. Picking up the soup bowl was too scary an idea. I didn’t want to splatter it all over Michael’s nice clean floor.
Actually, the floor wasn’t that clean. There were lots of little bits of dust dancing on it. I tried to catch one and it ran away. Dust bunnies! Attack! I laughed again at my cleverness. Another one hopped by and wiggled its nose at me. I tried to pat it and got distracted by a shadow with tentacles. No, those weren’t tentacles; that was my hand. It had lots of shadows. How did I get on the floor?
I didn’t appear to be hurt, but everything seemed brighter. Corners of everything--the fridge, the chair, and the breakfast bar--were pointy and looked sharp enough to cut me. I went from laughing to crying with fear. This wasn’t funny. Anything in here could hurt me. I needed to defend myself. I used the kitchen stool as a ladder and climbed hand over hand until I was standing up. What was I looking for? A weapon. I seized my soupspoon and brandished it at unseen forces. I was ready for whatever came at me. That which does not kill me will be back later with reinforcements.
A loud chirp sounded somewhere to my left. Who let the crickets in here? No there weren’t crickets in the city of New Orleans. Just Times Square. His name was Chester. I laughed again and heard the chirp a second time. It sounded like a song. It was. The Clash, Rock the Casbah. That was my phone. Where was my phone? In the room with all the shiny things. It took forever to get there, but it just kept on ringing.
Success! I found the Talk button. “Hello?” I laughed.
“Zofia? Is that you?”
I didn’t recognize the voice. “I think so, but I’ve been sick and I’m really not feeling like myself.” I sneezed and felt the congestion move all over my head, following a trail that I’d seen illustrated once in a biology textbook. I was fascinated and grossed out at the same time. Could everyone see inside his or her own head? “Who are you?” I said to the phone. “Have you seen me?”
“This is Madeleine MacKay. You sent my cousin an email?”
“Cousin? I don’t have any cousins. I’m an orphan.” That made me sad. “Who’s this?”
“Are you all right Zo? This is Madeleine. I met you at my cousin’s funeral.”
“Funeral? But I’m not dead.” It was the funniest thing I’d ever heard of. “You know what, Madeleine? I keep going to funerals for people that aren’t dead.” Was I laughing or crying? I wasn’t sure. The screensaver on Michael’s computer looked like the opening credits from the Matrix. It was a pretty neon green.
“Zo, is this some kind of a joke?”
“Someone must have told a joke because I can’t stop laughing. This computer is really pretty. Nice bright green letters dancing around. I can’t quite tell what they say, but maybe if I watch really close. Wow. I almost forgot to blink.”
“Zo, do you take drugs?”
“Me?” I started laughing again. She sounded scared. I didn’t know why, I was having the time of my life. “I had some Nyquil last night. Then I had some juice and some soup. I’ve been sick.” I closed my eyes and saw a color wash that reminded me of the Pink Panther cartoons from the sixties. Whee! “You gave me a ride to Slidell.” Wow, a whole bunch of words that made sense when I put them together. There was a word for that. What was it?
“Where are you?” she asked. “Can you call somebody?”
I started to cry. “There’s nobody to call. My best friend just hung up on me and my boyfriend’s disappeared.”
“Zo, where are you?” Her voice was urgent now.
“Downtown, at my boyfriend’s.”
“What’s the address?”
“Um . . .” Address. I knew this. I concentrated. “246 Lafayette. It’s a co-op, #702.”
“Okay, Zo, listen to me.” Why did she sound so concerned. I was fine. “I think you’re tripping. Could someone have drugged you?”
“I’m not tripping. I just fell over once. Okay, twice. Oh, that kind of tripping. How would that happen? The cops were here. Marie was here. So was the Chinese delivery guy. I like watching the screen.”
“Zo, listen to me. Can you stay there, watching the screen until you hear a knock on the door?”
“I think I’m up to the challenge.” It was the funniest thing I’d ever said. “You’re going to come see me?”
“Yes, I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. Just watch the pretty screen. What’s your boyfriend’s name?”
“Michael Woo. He’s disappeared. Like Ian.”
“You can tell me all about it when I get there,” she said. I liked her voice, it was soothing, like cocoa butter lotion on a fresh sunburn. “Watch the pretty screen.”
“Okay,” I said brightly. “For how long?”
“Until I get there,” she said, and hung up the phone.
It was either the next minute or hours and hours later that I opened the door for Madeleine. Her chestnut hair was in a ponytail that swung back and forth and she was dressed in a lime-green t-shirt. A matching pair of racing stripes went down the sides of black leggings. I wanted a pair of sunglasses. “Hi!” I made a sober face, which I managed to hold for thirty seconds. After that, I burst out in snickers.
“Oh my God,” she said and walked into the condo. “How long have you been like this?”
“Like what?” I was fine. Everything was funny. And shiny. And sharp. Those sharp corners again. Where was my spoon?
She put a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Zofia, I think someone slipped you some LSD. Have you ever had it before?”
“Someone slipped me some Latter-Day Saints? Mormons are drugs?” I made her laugh. That made me proud. Gene would like Madeleine, I decided. Then I got sad again. I missed my brother so much.
Madeleine led me to the couch. I commenced petting it; it was so soft. Like Michael’s hair. “Nice couch,” I said.
“Yes, it’s a nice couch,” she replied and handed me a bottle of water. “You need to drink this.” When I couldn’t open it, she did it for me. I drank obediently. She was nicer than the nuns.
“Zo, have you ever dropped acid before?”
I shook my head and my brain tumbled around wetly. “Remind me not to do that again, that made me dizzy.”
“What about eaten mushrooms?”
“There were shiitakes in the soup.” I giggled again. Shiitake. Shiitake. It was such a funny word.
She sighed in a way that reminded me of my mother. I sat up straight—mom had hated it when I slouched. Of course Mom had only been five-five in her stocking feet and didn’t tower over everyone when she was ten. Makes you self-conscious, that does.
“No, not shiitakes. The kind that make you see things. Drink your water.”
“Okay,” I drank. “No magic mushrooms, no acid, I don’t even smoke cigarettes anymore.” I chewed on the neck of the bottle. “You think I’m tripping?” I stumbled over the last word. It was kind of complicated.
“Do you always chew on things?” She asked reasonably.
“No. Usually I’m drinking coffee and working in my bookstore. I miss my bookstore. Can we go there? You’ll have to drive. I keep seeing shadows. And I don’t have a car anyway.” I petted the sofa again. If I paid really close attention to my nose and the leather I could smell Michael. .
Madeleine handed me a small brown plastic bottle with a bronze label. The printing on it danced around, but eventually I made it sit still and figured it out. “Be complex. Am I complex? Do I need to be?”
“The acid is going to leech vitamins out of your body,” she said. “You have to drink water because sometimes strychnine is found in LSD and you need to flush it out of your system. The vitamins will help you recover a little faster. Have you had any cramps?”
I tried to focus on my abdomen. If I concentrated, I thought I could see inside of it. Or knew what it looked like. “No, no cramps. Does that mean I got good stuff?” I knew she was serious, but it was so hard not to laugh.
She sighed. “It means you got really good stuff.”
“Like the stuff Ian used to get you when you were in school?” Ian. Where was he?
“I was never into tripping, I just like to smoke a joint once in a while, but I’ve had to watch people come down from bad trips. Or good trips. If you don’t know what you’re in for, the whole experience is a little scary.” I nodded agreement and looked around for my faithful spoon. “Where did you say your boyfriend was?”
“I don’t know,” I said sadly. “He went to work yesterday, went out for an errand and never came back. The cops think he got carjacked. I think it’s something else. He used to work with your cousin, you know.”
“Yeah, I did, in California. I met your boyfriend at the funeral, you know. I didn’t make the connection until you told me his name.”
So he was there. Was that good or bad? I didn’t know. It hurt to think; yet I knew everything. Except where Ian MacKay was. I really wanted to talk to him.
“Madeleine,” It took all my concentration to get the thought out. “Your cousin’s not dead. I saw him on Monday night.”
She shook her head. “You couldn’t have. He was killed on Sunday night. A mugger shot him for his wallet. Holly was supposed to meet him, and she saw the whole thing.”
“Holly! That’s the bitch’s name!” Madeleine looked amused. “I knew it was something red. Red like holly berries. Have a holly jolly Christmas . . . “ I started singing. Was I drunk? That was only time I sang, really.
“Take a vitamin, Zofia, please?” She nudged the bottle gently.
I opened the shiny brown bottle, but had a lot of trouble with the foil seal. It kept jumping out of my hand. I finally put a fingernail through it and gulped down a couple of tablets with my water.
I turned back to Madeleine. “What were you saying?”
“You said that Ian was alive, but I’m telling you that’s not possible.”
“Yes it is! I saw him on Monday night at a bar. It was just for a second, but it was him. And I think he sent me a message on craigslist. I can show you!”
She looked doubtful. Considering the source of the new information she was processing, who could blame her? “Sure,”
I led her to the computer room and didn’t fall once. The Matrix was still playing and I watched the green letters skitter all over the screen.
“Maybe you better let me drive,” she said.
“Drive? Where we going?” I haven’t been outside for a while. It might be fun.
“I mean, I think I better do the typing.”
“Okay. Craigs-list-dot-com.” Her fingers fluttered over the keyboard and I got dizzy watching. The now-familiar blue of the site appeared on the screen amid another flurry of sniggers. Everything was so funny, but I couldn’t figure out why, so I chewed on the bottle.
With minimal help from yours truly, who was finding the water bottle utterly absorbing, Madeleine found the site and the response that said, “The King is dead. Long live the king.” The post for Gate Crasher was missing, though.
“I left it right there.” I left wet fingerprints on the monitor.
“Are you sure you have the right day?”
“I’m sure. I think I’m sure.” I giggled. “But we can check yesterday or today. Or the day before. What day is it? I forget.”
She patted my shoulder. “That’s okay, that happens to people when they’re sick, even if they aren’t flying on LSD. It’s Friday.”
The scroll made me dizzy so I let her navigate. “What was the name you think was for you, Gate Crasher?”
“Yes, but that’s not really accurate. Your aunt insisted.” Such a Southern thing, insisting. Nobody ever insisted in Chicago.
“Maryam liked you. Aunt Joyce spoils that girl to make up for what Charlotte does--using her as a pawn for one thing.”
“I don’t think I’m up to playing chess.” Gene always beat me anyway.
She ignored that and pointed at the monitor. “Look at this, does this make any sense to you?” I looked at the screen, following her finger as it underlined the words, “Gate Crasher--our mutual friend is okay. Or so I hear from Ivy.”
I started singing “The Holly and the Ivy.” Madeleine asked me to stop.