Skye Blue Page 3

  Ah.

  When I glanced up, the cat had once again closed the gap between us. It was now on the landing directly above the one I was sitting on, leaning over the edge and peering at me intently. I mentioned this to my chat buddy, typing awkwardly as I kept my eyes on the cat. When I glanced down at the screen, I saw that he’d written: It’s probably wise to keep your eyes on that cat. It could be a Doctor Who weeping angels-type situation. Don’t blink.

  When I looked up, the cat was now perched on the railing of my little landing. It really had stealth mode down to a science. I kept my eyes on the animal as I typed: It’s right here. I could reach out and touch it. I’m sorry to say I don’t get the reference, though I appreciate the geekiness that comment implies. What’s a weeping angel?

  A few moments later, a link popped up. I clicked it, watched the short TV show excerpt (turns out they’re terrifying creatures that come to life only when you’re not looking at them), then wrote: I’m profoundly traumatized. If I never sleep again in my entire life, it’s totally your fault.

  His reply: You’re welcome.

  I grinned at that, then looked at the cat again. It was still sitting there. I stretched my hand toward it, stopping a couple inches from its nose. It just blinked at me, seemingly unimpressed by my attempt at friendship. I turned my attention back to the screen and wrote: You probably have better things to do than listen to me ramble on about stray cats. I should say goodbye and let you get on with your night.

  Even if I had plans, I’d rather be doing this, he wrote.

  Okay, I liked this guy. I started to tell him that, but without warning the cat jumped onto the keyboard. When I yelped in surprise, it retreated to the windowsill and went back to staring at me. That last message was from the cat. It suddenly became interactive, I told him. The cat had typed ‘sfjgsienbjcrgdvkns’ and somehow managed to send it. That was probably cat code for ‘give me some damn tuna.’

  Probably. What does it look like?

  I assessed the cat, then replied: It’s small and kind of skinny. It has big green eyes, its fur is somewhere between long and short, and it’s a weird color.

  Chartreuse? Periwinkle? Ochre?

  I smiled again. Those are some excellent guesses, but no. It’s kind of platinum blond. I didn’t know cats came in blond.

  It might be a dye job. Check its roots.

  Nah, that’d be mean. If he wants people to think he’s blond, we should let him have his fun. The cat leapt inside through the open window. I wrote: He just moved into my bedroom. That’s probably bad, right?

  Probably.

  Hang on, I’m going in. I followed the cat through the window and sat cross-legged on my bed, watching as he explored my cluttered little space. The bedroom door was closed, so he ran out of new territory pretty quickly. He found an empty spot in the corner to my right and settled in, tucking his legs underneath him. He’s made himself at home, I told BoxerBoy. I think I should charge him rent.

  Yes, you really should.

  He looks perfectly at ease. I think he’s an experienced squatter.

  Is it a he?

  How would I know? I’m not about to peek under his skirt to find out. I just assigned him a gender randomly.

  A few moments passed and then he typed: I’m sorry to say I need to go. I really enjoyed chatting with you and I hope we can do it again sometime.

  Same here. Take care. When he logged off, I felt a little disappointed. I’d been having fun with that conversation. It was no wonder though that he’d finally gotten tired of my aimless rambling, and of course that was what had happened. It was almost one a.m. As if he suddenly had something he needed to do at this hour.

  “It’s just you and me, blondie,” I told the cat. “And you’d better get used to that, because as I just demonstrated, I can’t hold a man’s attention for longer than fifteen minutes.”

  The cat just stared at me.

  I closed the laptop and slipped it under my bed, then went over to the window and slid it partly shut, leaving a six-inch gap at the bottom. As I crammed a dowel in the window so it couldn’t be opened from the outside, I told the cat, “I’m leaving you an escape route for when you get sick of me, too. Thanks for visiting.”

  *****

  The next morning, the cat was gone. In its place in the corner was a little runny pile of upchuck. Awesome. I scooped it up with a big wad of tissue and held it in front of me with two fingers as I headed to the bathroom, then flushed it down the toilet.

  On the bright side, any day that started with cat barf really had nowhere to go but up.

  When I left the bathroom, I noticed that River’s bedroom door was still shut. He never did that unless he was really mad. I’d have to think of some way to smooth things over with him, even though he’d surely been bluffing about the whole moving out thing.

  Chapter Two

  He totally hadn’t been bluffing.

  “Come on River,” I cajoled. “You don’t really want to move out.” He was lugging two big boxes toward the front door and having a hard time of it, since there was so much stuff in his way.

  “I told you I was doing this if you brought even one more thing home.”

  “You told me I couldn’t bring home any more pieces of metal for my sculptures, and that’s not what this is.” I ran my hands along the top of the red and white neon sign I’d just bought, which was leaning against the back of the couch right inside the front door.

  River shot me a look from around edge of the boxes. “It’s big, it’s metal, and it obviously came from a junkyard.”

  “Yeah, but still. I bought this because I’m in love with it, not because I plan to use it in my artwork. So it’s different.”

  “That’s always why you bring things home, because you fall in love with them and decide you can’t live without them. How much did you pay for that piece of crap?”

  “Two hundred dollars, but—”

  “Two hundred! Does it even work?”

  “No, but—”

  “But you just had to have it. Never mind that you can’t afford it, and never mind that there’s no more room in this apartment, and never mind that I told you only two days ago that I was out of here if you brought anything else home!”

  “I really didn’t think this counted.”

  “Of course it counts!” River was starting to sound slightly hysterical, so he took a deep breath and lowered his voice before adding, “Skye, I love you, you know that. But I’ve realized recently that I’m an enabler. I let you get away with acting like a kid. I pay rent for both of us. I indulge your whims. Hell, I even give you money to waste on still more useless crap. But you need to get it together, brother. It’s time. It’s past time. And as long as I keep letting you get away with this shit, things are never going to change.”

  “An enabler? Have you been watching Oprah reruns? What’s that even supposed to mean?”

  “It means that you’ll never grow up as long as I keep taking up the slack for you: paying your rent, looking the other way while you waste all your money on junk, letting you keep trashing our apartment—”

  “I’m not trashing our apartment!”

  He pointed at the sign as best he could without letting go of the boxes. “That’s trash, and this is our apartment.”

  “Wait a minute, I just brought this home half an hour ago. How do you have packed boxes already? And where are you going?”

  “My friend Conrad needs a roommate, so I’m moving in with him.”

  “You mean Puffy the Attack Cat’s owner? You’d rather move in with the world’s worst cat instead of staying with your own brother?”

  “No comment.”

  “I still don’t see how you packed and made arrangements so quickly.” All of a sudden, the answer dawned on me and I narrowed my eyes at him. “You fully expected me to fail, so you went ahead and made plans before today.”

  “Yeah, but Skye—”

  That stung, more than a little. I cut him off with, “Awesome. Thanks, River.”

  “But I—”

  “Save it. If all I am to you is just some childish burden, then go ahead and go.” I would have marched away, but the sign was blocking my retreat. I stood it up on end, then squeezed past it before climbing gracelessly over the sofa. I then decided the sign should come with me, so I climbed back onto the couch, pushing stuff aside with my feet, and heaved the sign up over my head. As I balanced it precariously, I picked my way toward my bedroom while trying the stifle a grunt. The thing wasn’t light.

  As I failed to make a dramatic exit, River said, “I’m sorry this is hurting your feelings, Skye, I really am. But in the long run, you’ll see I’m doing you a favor.” When I didn’t say anything, he added, “The rent’s already paid for September, so you’ll have plenty of time to look for a roommate and a job.”

  “I have a job.”

  “Working part-time for me as a cater-waiter barely counts.”

  “And if I can’t find a roommate or a job? Then what?”

  “Then sell some of your crap to make rent. You can’t be the only person in the world willing to pay money for broken, rusty shit. Plus, the more junk you get rid of, the more likely you are to find a roommate, since not a lot of people are going to be willing to live on the set of Mad Max.”

  When I finally got to my room, I pushed the door shut with my foot and laid the sign across the lower half of my bed. There wasn’t really anyplace else to put it. I sat cross-legged beside it and ran my fingers over the neon letters that spelled out ‘Welcome to the Buena Vista.’

  I’d fallen in love with the sign months ago when I’d spotted it at my favorite junkyard in the East Bay, and had been waiting until I had enough money to go back and get it. But this morning I’d gotten a call from th
e owner of the junkyard, who told me someone wanted to buy it. He’d promised me first dibs, so he said I could have it as long as I came and got it today. I had to pawn some of my stuff to afford it. The next problem would be figuring out how to get that stuff back.

  I couldn’t even explain why I needed this so badly, or what it was about certain old objects that just called to me. Never mind that I really couldn’t afford it, had no practical use for it, and didn’t even know where to put it. From the first moment I saw it, I just knew this was mine. We belonged together. Little did I know it would cause these repercussions with River, though.

  I wanted to talk to someone about what was happening, so I fished my phone out of my pocket, then sighed in frustration. I’d forgotten that the last of my prepaid minutes had been used up that morning. That was a bummer, especially because I now had just a couple bucks to my name and couldn’t afford to buy more air time.

  I reached for my laptop and logged on to my neighbor’s Wi-Fi. It was midmorning on a Monday, so I didn’t really expect anyone to be online. As predicted, the chat program I used was so empty that a little virtual tumbleweed should be blowing through my friends list. I then decided to see if Zandra was on our dating site, even though I was pretty sure she’d be at work.

  Just a few moments after I logged on to Luv2SF, a chat message popped up from BoxerBoy. It said: Hey. I was hoping you’d be on.

  I grinned at that and wrote: Really?

  Yes, really. How’s our cat?

  My smile got a little wider. MIA. I think he’s two-timing me. Little tramp probably gives his affection to anyone that offers him a warm lap.

  That’s always the way. So, how have you been?

  Actually, this day pretty much sucks ass, and it’s not even noon yet.

  What’s wrong?

  You don’t really want to hear my complaints, I told him.

  Sure I do. If you can’t vent to random strangers on cheesy dating sites, who can you vent to?

  I considered that for a moment, then wrote: Okay, you asked for it. I propped myself up with my pillows and typed: My brother is moving out of our apartment as we speak. He’s pissed off at me. I get why, though I never imagined he’d really do this.

  I see.

  After another pause, I wrote: A small part of me is almost glad this is happening, because we’ve been getting on each other’s nerves lately. But it’s also breaking my heart.

  I’m sorry.

  Thanks. I’m also in a bit of a panic, because it’s going to be hard to make rent now. I need to go out and get a job ASAP. I was working part-time for my brother, but I don’t know if that’s still happening. It doesn’t pay enough to cover rent anyway.

  What kind of work experience do you have?

  I shifted position before answering: Let’s just call my experience eclectic. Most recently, I’ve been a cater-waiter and a go-go dancer.

  I’d expected that to earn me a ‘LOL’ but BoxerBoy replied: Do you know that club called Thrust in the Castro? They’re having open auditions for go-go boys tonight at six.

  During my brief tenure at a far sleazier establishment, I’d heard some of my fellow dancers raving about that place. I was a decent dancer, but Thrust was pretty major league and probably wanted people with a lot more experience. I wrote: They’d never hire me. The pizza place on the corner has a help wanted sign in the window, that’s more my speed. I’m going to go and apply there in a few minutes.

  Just then, a little white mouse stuffed itself out of a gap in the corner of my new sign and blinked his beady black eyes at me. I gasped and leapt up, pressing myself against the wall. Holy hell! How was I going to get that thing out of my bed without actually touching it?

  A moment later, I was startled all over again. The weird, blond-haired cat from the other night leapt up onto the bed and pinned the mouse with one paw, then shot me a slightly evil look that seemed to say, “Want me to kill this for you?” The window was still open a few inches, but I hadn’t seen him come in.

  I looked around frantically, then grabbed a mostly empty glass from my nightstand. The cat stepped back as I inverted the tumbler and slammed it down over the mouse. It had contained maybe half an inch of fruit punch diluted with melted ice, which doused the little rodent. The mouse shook itself like a dog, its fur puffing out and sticking up in wet, now-pink spikes, then went back to staring at me, this time through the glass.

  I kept an eye on it as I sat back down, pressing the glass firmly against the mattress. I’d been using my computer as a shield throughout all of that, and I returned it to my lap and looked at the screen. BoxerBoy had sent a few messages, along the lines of still there? Did I lose you? I quickly explained the mouse situation, typing with one hand since I wasn’t about to let go of the glass. Now that got a ‘LOL.’

  River knocked on my door and swung it open far enough to stick his head in. “Conrad’s waiting downstairs, I got all my stuff loaded in his Honda. I’m leaving that secondhand bed and desk, maybe your new roommate can use it once you find someone.”

  “Great. Whatever.”

  “Look Skye, I know we’re both kind of pissed right now, but this is for the best. You’ll see.” He noticed the mouse-under-glass then and didn’t say anything about it, as if he fully expected to come into my room and find me playing with pink, puffy rodents. “I’ll call you soon.” He pulled the door shut behind him.

  I frowned at the back of the door, then wrote: My brother just left, very unceremoniously. I should deal with the mouse, then go look for a job. I’ll talk to you later, okay?

  Okay. I’ll be on tonight after about nine if you feel like chatting.

  After we said goodbye and disconnected, I closed the laptop and balanced it carefully on top of the glass to keep it pinned down. The cat was sitting close by, watching the mouse with a little too much interest. I told him, “Don’t knock that over. I’ll be right back.”

  When I got up and went into the living room, the cat followed me, weaving among the maze of old metal paraphernalia. I dug around a bit and unearthed a gilded metal birdcage that was shaped like the Taj Mahal. It was a bit lopsided and dented, but still seemed functional. After a brief stop-off in the kitchen for a box of cereal, I returned to the bedroom and put the cage on the bed, open door facing up, then plucked out the bag of cereal and flattened the cardboard box. I slid this under the glass after I removed my laptop, then raised my mouse containment unit above the door to the cage and dropped the little invader inside it. Immediately, I slammed the door shut, as if it might come shooting out of there like a bottle rocket.

  “This is only temporary,” I told the mouse as I slowly righted the cage. It trotted along until it was standing on the bottom, then stopped and stared at me. “I’ll take you to the park and set you free when I have time. But right now, I need to go find a job.” I shook some cereal into the cage, more than I’d intended. “Don’t eat all of that, you’ll be sick. Save some for later.”

  As I left the apartment, I told the cat, “If you’re planning to stick around, don’t harass the rodent. See you later.”

  Well, that was quick. I’d been living alone for maybe ten minutes and was already turning into the male equivalent of a crazy cat lady. I had to stop talking to critters like they could understand me.

  *****

  Over the next few hours, I filled out applications at shops and restaurants all over the city before meeting Christian in the Castro for a mental break. I’d called him from a payphone to say hi and tell him about River, and he’d insisted on treating me to a drink. We were now seated in a sidewalk cafe, checking out all the cute boys walking by. I so totally loved San Francisco’s gay neighborhood.

  I watched my best friend as he stretched out his long legs, took a sip of beer from the bottle in his hand, then pretty much totally eye-fucked a gorgeous African American hottie with huge biceps as the guy strolled past our table. “Well damn,” I said. “I feel like I should light a cigarette after being so close to that, and I don’t even smoke.”

  Christian raised an eyebrow at me. “What are you talking about?”

  “That ocular intercourse you just engaged in with a complete stranger. I’m pretty sure he’s pregnant now. But in case he isn’t, do you want to chase after him and bend him over that Smartcar parked at the curb? You know, just to make sure.”