Fright Night For Real

“Let’s keep her out of this…” Eddie said, and at the moment Charley felt it was a very understandable demand. He isn’t a stereotypical pun enough to keep repeating the “what-did-you-say-about-my-momma?!” line, which is more fitting for a guy like Mark. Still, he is a decent person, or, at least, he really wishes to be, and the subject of anyone’s mother is taboo. Eddie asked — demanded — to keep Mrs. Lee out of this, whatever this is, but when Charley runs into her in a supermarket he can’t help but approach. Partly because he’s still feeling guilty about the whole situation with Ed. Evil Ed can surely be a dick of dicks but it doesn’t mean he deserves a nervous breakdown or whatever happened to him. There is also that small part of his mind — still pretty small but growing by an hour, it seems — that is cautiously poking the idea that he, Charley Brewster, might have something to do with that breakdown. Not because he refused to believe in vampires but because… well, because if Eddie is gay, and he is — was — Eddie’s friend and Eddie seemed to be very upset and angry with him for choosing another group of people to hang out with… maybe it is slightly possible that Eddie… he interrupts this new voice in his head abruptly, the voice of unwanted sense of responsibility, guilt and confusion, because, firstly, he doesn’t have time to think about that, and, secondly, he should probably talk to Amy. Girls are better at the emotional stuff, right? But this stream of consciousness pouring through him in a few moments is just a part of why Charley decides to approach Mrs. Lee. The main reason is that… she looks unwell. Mrs. Lee has always been nice to him. She used to make the best oatmeal cookies in the world for their sleepovers at Eddie’s place. Mrs. Lee used to encourage their interests in whatever shit they were interested in at some particular period of their musketeer era. Once she helped them to make an Ouija board to try and communicate with spirits on Halloween. And when Adam told him that Mrs. Lee was actually his first wet dream, Charley wasn’t surprised. Mrs. Lee was smart, witty, and intelligent, and she always looked neat. “Hey, Mrs. Lee. How are you doing?” he asks and immediately realizes he doesn’t need a reply. She startles and looks at him as if she doesn’t recognize him, and for a moment there’s such an unfamiliar hostility in her eyes that Charley has an urge to rethink what he did wrong. Then her eyes soften, and she smiles a tired smile. “Oh, hello, Charley… I’m a bit… under the weather today… Maybe I’m falling ill… don’t come closer, dear, I wouldn’t want you to catch anything I might have.” “Sorry to hear that,” Charley really is sorry. Not only for the things she said but for the things she didn’t do as well. It suddenly occurs to him that whatever is going on with Ed involves his mother as well. He wonders briefly whether Ed had the talk with his parents. “How’s Eddie?” “He is doing his best,” Mrs. Lee looks tired. Her big glasses can’t hide those deep shadows under the eyes that imply a lack of sleep. “He is a very brave boy.” Charley doesn’t know how to reply to that, and instead, he looks in her cart. There are several packs of big garbage bags, six pairs of thick gardening gloves, several pruning shears, and a couple of hedge shears. Mrs. Lee notices his gaze and smiles. “You never have anything you need when you need it… I’m redecorating our garden.” “Seems like you need to lie down, Mrs. Lee. If you are… you know… falling ill.” “I will, don’t worry about me, Charley… Rick will do the whole thing. He always brags about how strong he is… time to prove it, mister. Those roses won’t disappear on their own…” “Are you getting rid of the rose bushes?” Charley is amazed. Mrs. Lee took personal pride in her garden. She would repeat over and over to anyone who’d listen that it was almost impossible to grow decent-looking roses these days with all the climate change and everything, and for Charley, those rose bushes in Eddie’s garden were kind of a given. “I am afraid so… it’s time to go for them. I will plant something else… orchids… irises… swordlilies… the choice is infinite, Charley… I have to go, dear.” “Do you need any help with the bags?” “No, but thank you for offering, dear.” Charley watches her go, and suddenly he feels really sorry for those rose bushes. They were nice.

***

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Jerry raises his thick black eyebrow, and though there is no smile yet on the lips, his eyes are smiling. “To my bike… here, I hope you’ll like this one. Mom said it was some special batch,” Charley gives the sixpack of ciders to Jerry. The man takes it and checks the label. “Thanks, Jerry. I took Amy for the ride yesterday, and that was amazing…” “I just really hope she doesn’t get pregnant and I won’t be partially responsible for that, you know.” “Dude!” Charley blushes and hates that. “Nothing like that!” “It’s mister Dude to you,” Jerry grins and puts the six-pack next to his chair. “Could I tempt you with one?” “Nah, thanks. You savor them yourself.” “Oh, I will.” Something falls in the house. Jerry sighs. “Do you… have a cat?” “No. I have a bad habit of leaving things on edge until they fall,” the man casts a glance into his dark kitchen, and Charley who is standing on the back porch involuntarily takes a step back. He suddenly doesn’t want to get invited into Jerry’s house for a drink or for anything, and he is ashamed to feel that way. He likes Jerry Dandridge, Jerry is pretty cool with the booze he’s willing to share and the money he gives for helping around. He’s a writer who looks like a stripper, he drives a big car with big wheels. He is the dreamy neighbor his mom giggles with her friends about… It’s just his house Charley doesn’t like. The house does not feel safe. Maybe it’s haunted. “How’s your book coming?” “Oh, not great. I lack inspiration.” “Sorry to hear that.” “Yeah.” “Will you let me read it when you’re done?” suddenly asks Charley and he is surprised with himself. He isn’t into reading, after all. Jerry seems to be surprised as well. “You don’t even know the genre I’m working in, the style… the topic.” “Are you writing porn or something?” Charley smiles at his own wit. “What if I am?” The man is definitely teasing him now. “Will you still want to read?” “Well… you have a lot of hot girlfriends. So if the book is as hot as them, I wouldn’t mind.” Jerry laughs, and that is a very beautiful sound. “Keep your breaches on, cowboy, that’s all I’m asking for… When I am done with the book, I will give you a signed copy, I promise.” “From Jerry Dandridge, writer, apple-lover, bike-repairer.” “That’s a deal.” “I have to run.” “You do that.” “See you, Jerry!” “See you around, Charley,” says Jerry Dandridge and watches Charley leave.

***

“I love it,” Jerry says, and he is sincere, Eddie can tell that. “It’s White Roses by Van Gogh. A reproduction, of course… guess the real one costs a shitload of money.” “You guess correctly,” Jerry’s eyes are fixed on the picture Eddie has seen about 5 million times already whenever the occasion was important enough to eat in the dining room. Now the occasion is even more important, it’s called “Jerry-fucking-Dandridge is in my dining room”. Eddie still thinks how horny it made him to say those words to Jerry — Please, come in. It wasn’t the pun or wordplay, or, at least, it was not entirely the wordplay that made him feel so horny. It was the power he felt for a tiny moment, the power over Jerry fucking Dandridge. The power to grant him an invitation… or to deny it. Not that it would have changed anything. Now Jerry is in his dining room and looking at some old picture, not even the real one, and it’s a picture in itself. Like a dream within a dream. It feels unreal and too good to be true. “But you are mistaken, Eddie. This one is called “Roses”, not “White Roses”. They were never supposed to be white.” “They look pretty white to me,” says Eddie, enjoying immensely the fact that he can talk back, at least, a little bit. Jerry smiles, and that is almost as good as his laughter. Almost as good as his lips, and his teeth, and his mouth. “The color has faded,” the man says and shrugs so elegantly that Eddie has to remind himself to breathe. He doesn’t need to anymore, but Jerry said that it’s better to keep on breathing for as long as possible, and Eddie listened. He is all ears these days. “Originally they were painted pink to create a complementary contrast with the green.” “Why do you like this painting so much?” “They are beautiful as all his flowers are. They are a celebration of life. And rebirth.” Eddie grins at that. His rebirth is over. He is as beautiful as a flower. The constant clicking of the shears in the background seems a fitting melody enough to come closer. Eddie puts his hands around Jerry’s waist and looks at his face. “What do you want to do next, Master?” Jerry smiles and touches his lower lip with a thumb. Eddie loves that. He loves everything. “I want to talk to your father.”