By the time Reed stepped out of Packing Room Two, he’d almost forgotten the whole incident. Much to his joy, today had been the long-awaited payday. His mind filled with images of everything he wanted to get as he tucked his first check into his back pocket. He reached the bus before his roommates and was waiting when they trudged up through the cold dusk.
Reagan spoke before Reed had a chance. “Hey,” he called, “we’ve all got some dough now! How ’bout another trip into town?”
“Exactly what I was about to say!” Reed replied, rocking on his toes cheerfully. “I can finally get a real coat!”
After supper, the three set out along the dim sidewalks. This time, Reagan steered them toward a different part of the city away from the Boulevard. “More stuff like you’ll want,” he explained. “Shopping malls and department stores—it’s the practical side of things.”
The night was cold, but it wasn’t as bone-chilling as nights past. They ambled along for a while, keeping up an idle conversation and occasionally pushing each other into telephone poles for the fun of it. Not five minutes into their walk, Reed felt a strange uneasiness creeping up his spine. He glanced over his shoulder. There was nothing but thick pools of shadow broken by the occasional street light. He shivered. Quit being ridiculous. But a few moments later, the feeling returned, settling in his stomach. Again he looked back; again he saw nothing. It happened several more times, and Reed was becoming disgusted with himself when suddenly—
CRASH!
A clanging din exploded out of an alleyway just behind them. Reagan yelled and spun around, dropping into a fetal position with his head wrapped in his arms. Riley dove behind Reed and nearly knocked him over as they scrambled to face the racket. With a yowl, a matted, tawny cat shot out of the darkness. It streaked between Reed’s legs, hurtled the curb, and disappeared on the other side of the street, tail flicking wildly. The boys stared after it for a moment, their steaming breath coming in short spurts. Silence settled back over the street. Reed gulped and relaxed the doubled fists he held in front of his face.
Reagan unwrapped his arms from around his head and laughed shakily. “Ha! Just a cat! That’s all. I guess all this money makes us a little jumpy… right, fellas?”
Riley and Reed quickly agreed, but Reagan still made them swear not to tell a soul about the embarrassing incident.
They reached their destination without further excitement. This part of the city was mostly shopping centers and department stores, but it was fairly empty for a Friday night. It didn’t take Reed long to figure out that, in addition to his other abilities, Reagan was an expert on style. It was no surprise, and once this was established, Reagan took over as Reed’s personal stylist. He skimmed through the store, gathering an armful of clothes that he piled into a fitting room and insisting, despite protests, that Reed try them on.
“At least just for laughs,” he said, shoving Reed into the tiny room and throwing a few more shirts in after him.
He had other motives. As soon as Reed emerged, Reagan pounced and, popping open the top few shirt buttons, rolling the sleeves just so, and flicking Reed’s hair behind his ears, he stepped back, saying. “There! What do you think, Riley? Is that the hottest roommate you’ve ever seen or what? We’ll have girls by the dozens.”
Reed colored as he eyed his reflection in the fitting room mirror. He had been told before that he was good looking—blue eyes, black hair, strong masculine jawline and firm chin—but it was different this time. The pale blue Henley with its tight fit around his upper body was not something he would have chosen for himself, but he liked it. Other people had called him handsome before, but hearing it from Reagan gave the word a whole new meaning. He turned a little in front of the mirror, tilting his face at every angle. “You’re just saying that. The girls are too busy with you to notice me anyway!”
“There’s plenty to go around,” Reagan chuckled, folding his arms and leaning against the doorway. “But when you wear that with those Lucky Brand jeans I’ve got in there, I just might have to fight for a few.”
Riley said nothing but looked Reed up and down from under arched brows.
With Reed’s wardrobe settled, the three were ready for something a little more frivolous. They returned to the Boulevard.
Several times during the evening, even amid the street bustle, Reed found himself looking over his shoulder. The uneasiness from earlier was back again, not as strong but definitely present. He tried to relax, but he couldn’t shake the feeling. He finally gave up and did his best to enjoy the activity around him anyway.
They stayed at a café, meeting friends and taking in an astounding number of calories until the curfew bell sounded. As they strolled back toward the Hill, Reagan, a collection of bags slung over his shoulder, yawned. “Ah, I love paydays!”
“Mmm…” said Reed, fighting off drowsiness and a sugar high at the same time. He looked back over his shoulder.
Reagan caught the movement. “You’ve been doing that all night. What’s up?”
“Mmm…” said Reed again.
“I know,” said Reagan, “he can’t speak. The cat’s got his tongue.”
“Hey! You jumped just as much as I did. And who squealed like a little girl?”
“That was not a squeal; that was a… masculine exclamation of surprise. Anyway, the cat’s gone. You can stop looking for it now.”
Reed did not answer.