Will I see you tomorrow? I asked my boyfriend as I snuggled in his arms.
Of course.
I miss you already.
I do, too.
Alexander leaned into me and gave me a long, luxurious good-night kiss. He graciously opened the back door of the Mercedes and helped me step in. As we drove off, Alexander stood in the driveway, the mammoth-sized manor house looming behind him like a medieval monster.
Jameson was kind enough to chauffeur me to Hipsterville`s Old Town Folk Music Center, but the short five-mile drive from the manor house to the hippie school of music seemed to take longer than the journey from Dullsville to Hipsterville. If I`d pushed the car myself, we`d have made it faster.
Now that Jameson and I had some quality time, I figured I`d make the most of it. I tried to pump the Creepy Man for info on Valentine and Jagger, but he was as evasive as Alexander.
That was so kind of you and Alexander to reunite Valentine with his family, I began when we drove past Gerald`s Gas Station.
It was the right thing to do, he said sweetly.
Did you see Jagger?
I waited on pins, needles, and piercing, bracing for his response.
No, I didn`t. I left that to Alexander.
So much for the facts on that conversation. I bet Ruby misses you, I said, referring to my former boss who was now dating Jameson.
Jameson`s bulgy eyes brightened in the rearview mirror and his pale face flushed bright red with the mention of her name.
Has she come for a visit? I pried.
Oh, no. We are hoping to return to the Mansion shortly.
Really, then why did you rent the manor house? You could have just stayed in a hotel.
I don`t stay anywhere that already has a housekeeper, Jameson joked.
I felt as if I were playing a game of tennis with my dad. With all my might, I lobbed the ball over the net only to have it returned so hard I didn`t have a chance to swing. Frustrated, I always had to take a moment to collect myself. Time for another serve.
Do you miss Romania? I asked.
Oh yes, it`s so beautiful there. But I am also quite happy here, in America. I`ve met some people that I am quite fond of, Miss Raven.
I knew he was politely referring to Ruby and me.
But I wanted more. What were Alexander`s and Jameson`s plans?
Do you think you`ll marry Ruby?
Uh...
If so, will you live in the manor house? Or in the Mansion?
I`m not planning...
Well, if you did.
I suppose...it would be up to...Why all of the questions, Miss Raven?
We were volleying steadily now, and it was time for me to end the match. I paused, then asked, I`m just wondering, what are you and Alexander doing here?
Jameson pulled the car to the curb in front of the Old Town Folk Music Center. I`d swung too hard, hitting the ball over the fence. The match ended, Jameson the obvious winner.
The rain had subsided and the streetlights and lampposts were dripping wet. Jameson climbed out of the Mercedes and kindly held the door open for me, like I was an A-list starlet arriving at a premiere. The only thing missing were the paparazzi. I waved good-bye and was heading for Old Town when I noticed something flashing at the end of the block--the flickering neon red sign of the Coffin Club. As Jameson puttered down the street, I paused. The sounds of banging drums pulsed out of the music center.
It was as if the blinking neon coffins were drawing me to them, like a vulture to a corpse. No one would be the wiser if I just popped my head in for a nonalcoholic bubbly Execution...or two.
Chapter 4 Return to the Coffin Club
I held my breath in wild anticipation of seeing the Coffin Club up close once again, but when I approached the underground club, I was shocked. More than a hundred young goths were anxiously awaiting admittance to the club--twice as long a line as I remembered it being last time. The procession of clubsters, dressed similarly to me (except sporting different-colored streaks, tattoos, piercings, and shoes), wrapped the block like a line at Disney World. I`d be lucky if I gained entrance before summer break was over. Frustrated, I began walking toward the end of the line. I was about halfway down the block when I noticed a guy with a cape and vinyl pants bent over, adjusting his monster boots. I snuck in the space before him and tried to appear inconspicuous. I avoided any trouble by standing with my back to him and gazed at the stars and then a few birds flying above the roof of the club. When the birds began to hover instead of fly off, I realized I`d spotted a cluster of bats. How wicked--bats at the Coffin Club!
I checked my watch. Aunt Libby`s class was going to end in less than an hour, and it appeared that I`d be spending the time waiting in this never-ending line.
I anxiously shifted back and forth. I peered out toward the club`s entrance to see if there was an obvious holdup, but there wasn`t anything more than a bouncer checking IDs. It was then I noticed a familiar couple standing at the head of the line. I leaned out, holding my place with one foot like a checkers player holds his place with his finger before making his next move. It was Primus and Poison, two clubsters I`d snuck in front of last time I`d visited the club.
Primus and Poison. How could I forget their names when all I`d ever known were names like Billy, Matt, or Becky?
I took a chance and stepped out of line, racing up to the macabre duo. Primus! Poison! It`s me, Raven!
The pair scrutinized me. It was clear they wanted to recognize me--after all, I did know their names. But I could tell by their gaze that they couldn`t place my face.
I met you a few months ago, here in line, I said, finagling my way into the crowded line beside them.
Oh yeah, Primus, a Marilyn Manson look-alike, said, finally remembering. How are you doing?
Poison looked at me with venom in her eyes.
I`m great! I said to Primus. It`s so cool to see you again. Then I turned to Poison. I love your corset! It`s beautiful!
Poison`s disposition changed. I just threw this together.
No way! You should be a model for Gothic Beauty.
One could hear the sudden sound of a motorcycle`s engine revving above the other street noises and the throbbing music bleeding out of the Coffin Club. A Harley-Davidson Night Rod shot up the street and screeched to a halt in an empty VIP space right in front of the club. The hot rod had a sleek and sexy design, black-walled tires with orange pinstripes. The rider took off his helmet, emblazoned with a white skull and crossbones, unleashing shoulder-length jagged purple hair with black undertones. Wearing dark Ray-Bans and dressed in stud-and-chain-riddled leather pants and jacket, the motorcycle rider confidently hopped off his Night Rod, nodded to the bouncer, and walked right into the club as if he owned it.
Who`s he? I wondered aloud. A celeb? I didn`t recognize him.
They all think they are movie stars here now, Primus said.