your sister’s taste?”
“No, about movies.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Tara pressed a button on a remote and the TV came on with the news. Within ten minutes Dorian was sound asleep.
Fall Back
The piece of paper felt thick in her hand as Andrea pulled it off her pillow.
Clay Bauer, Jr
vs.
Clay Bauer, Snr.
Notice to appear for deposition.
Andrea wanted to crumple the paper in her hand. How stupid could those two blockheads be? Clay should have passed the goddamn bar if he wanted that job. And now he was suing Dad. A little bit of studying would go a long way in this world. She’d told Clay that too many times to remember. But instead, all he wanted was to use his law degree to piss off dad. Not like Dad was acting rationally either.
Andrea tossed the notice onto the nightstand and crawled into her bed. She remembered the fourth of July, when Clay and Dad had launched into a huge fight around the barbeque. She’d just managed to pull the tongs out of Dad’s hands, and rescue the rapidly crisping burgers. They should really grow up.
She thought back to ‘the teenage years’. Things weren’t always the same. Dad wanted things to happen for us. Like with that car.
“Kids, here’s the plan.”
“Uh, like Dad? We’re not kids anymore. We’re young adults. Get it?” Andrea pouted.
“You’re still my kids. That’s what matters.” Dad walked around and switched off the TV.
“What are you doing?” whined Clay. “I was watching that show.”
“I’ve got something better for you.”
“Come on Dad. I’m sick of your couch potato talk.”
“This isn’t about being a couch potato. It’s about getting you kids doing something creative.”
Clay got up, and began to inch towards the TV.
“This is serious. Clay?” Dad looked at him with a half smile. “Do you want a car?”
“What the… Hell yeah, I want a car.”
“It doesn’t seem like it. I should probably let you watch your TV.”
“No, of course not. So what’s up with the car?” Clay tried to put his hands on his hips, but it looked silly now.
“It’s a contest.” Dad sat down on the couch. “Whoever makes the best home video of the family gets a car. Simple, right? All based on our finest archival material.”
“Yeah,” Andrea smiled.
“It’s got to be at least five minutes long.” Dad tousled her hair.
“Stop that, Dad. That’s not cool,” she said, wriggling from him. Her mind locked onto where all the family videos were kept. Steal those, and she’d have Clay blocked out.
“Now you’ve got to share the material.”
“Sounds cool.” Andrea dashed from the room, getting to the video closet seconds before Clay. After a brief tussle, she only had half the tapes in her possession, and Clay had the rest.
“The car is just for the next two weekends by the way,” Dad called after them.
“Typical,” Clay muttered. “I’ll beat you sucka, though.”
“Don’t even try,” Andrea retorted.
They retreated to their rooms, each with a video camera in tow which they plugged into their laptops.
The projector in the den hummed as Andrea’s oeuvre quick-cut into its second and final minute. Dad’s head bobbed to the Garbage soundtrack. Andrea looked over at Clay, who had a dark look on his face. He’d forgotten to put in a soundtrack, not to mention that his offering had dragged quite a bit.
As the video ended, with a snippet of Clay falling on his face—nice touch, smiled Andrea—Dad stood up and stretched.
“Looks like we have a winner.”
Brother and sister looked at him.
“Andrea won this one.”
“What do you mean?” said Clay. “Her video wasn’t even long enough. You said minimum five minutes.”
“Well, son. Here’s the scoop. Sometimes you have to get beyond what is being asked for, and understand what’s really needed. Andrea’s had more—well—entertainment value. That’s why I chose it.”
He clapped both siblings on the shoulder.
“Have fun with the car, Andrea.”
Kevin Bacon
The door opened and Tara tumbled in.
“Hello,” she said cheerily. “How many hours did you sleep?”
“I don’t know. I woke at ten. Where were you?”
“Oh, didn’t I say on my note?” She pointed at a clipboard against the wall. Dorian shook his head. “Didn’t see it did you?” He shook again. “I went for a run, and then LSE and the gym. Should have called. I figured you were fine and had my number, so…”
“Yeah, no problem. Just curious. Don’t mind me at all. I take care of myself. Went out and got some food at Pret-A-Manger. I do have a question though.”
“Sure.” She tucked her short hair behind her ears.
“I saw you have wireless internet. But I need a code to get on.”
“Oh, of course.”
“I’m surprised you have it secured. Most non-techies never bother.”
She shrugged. “An ex-boyfriend set it up for me. Said it was better.”
“For sure.”
“Here’s the code.” She handed him a slip she’d pulled out of the kitchen drawer. “I’m taking a shower and we’re going out.”
“I don’t feel like it, exactly.”
“A good pint will do you good. Besides, it’s a British tradition. For Federica, although, we did have to convince her every time.”
Dorian logged onto the internet while Tara showered, quickly checking his emails. A few spam from his bank and a telephone company. A few class change messages. Nothing of significance. He looked though some of the server logs he was using to track contact attempts. No sign of ReeperG. No new images from his dorm room either, if you didn’t include his roommates face.
“I’m ready,” Tara said, from the front door.
“One sec. Just need to check one more thing.” He scanned for private messages on his secure IRC channel. Nothing. Weird. He could have disappeared and no one would have noticed. Well, actually, that’s exactly what had happened. He laughed as he shut down his laptop. “Ok. Ready too.”
He turned to Tara. Her face radiant, she wore a pleated black mini skirt, matching jacket and high heel sandals. “Holy shit. I didn’t realize I had to get dressed up.” He looked down at his jeans and faded t-shirt.
“You don’t,” Tara said. “I like to look good when I’m out.”
“Are you saying I don’t look good?”
“Of course not, darling. I was talking about myself.”
“You like to show off your legs, don’t you,” Dorian blurted. He could feel his face go hot and most probably bright red. He should think before he spoke. Wouldn’t that be great?
Tara blushed. “They say it’s a good quality I have.”
“Uh. Definitely.” His head dropped, the Milan apartment swimming in front of his eyes. “Hey, look, I’m not in the best of moods. It keeps hitting me in strange ways, you know?”
“No backing out. You need to let it out. A few pints will make this horrible thing feel a shade better.”
“I’m not sure that’s what I want.”
“Get up soldier. It’s an order.” She came over and squeezed his hand.
Heavily, Dorian got to his feet and allowed himself to be guided out of the apartment.
As soon as they sat down in a pub close by Tara’s place, she returned with two pints of beer. “Round one,” she announced.
“Round one?”
“I’ll explain later. For now, cheers.” She picked up her glass and knocked it against his.
“Saluti,” he replied, and took a sip. He looked around at the tatty reddish carpet and the padded but pew-like benches in their booth. Green shaded lamps cast a warm glow. To Dorian it looked like a stereotypical English pub.
Only a few minutes later, or so
it seemed to Dorian, both their glasses were close to empty. He could feel the alcohol fuzzing his brain, and that felt good.
“Round two,” Tara said, pointing at the beers.
“Ok. Isn’t round one enough?”
“We’re in Britain. So we go with British rules. So: it is now your duty to buy me a round. And if there were other people here, each one of us would have to buy a round. That’s how it works.”
“Fine.” Dorian stood up, feeling unsteady on his feet. He’d never really drunk much. He went to the bar and gathered two more beers. “I think these are Stella. The fellow at the bar said that was recommended.”
“You do good work, Dorian Casso.” Tara gulped the last of her old beer. “It’s important that the round is brought before the previous glass is empty.”
“I see.”
Dorian unwound a little bit. He leaned back in the booth.
“So, can you tell me now what is going on with you?” Tara locked her eyes with his.
“Do I have to?”
“Maybe a hint?”
“A hint. I can do that.” He licked his lips. What should he tell her? He didn’t know her well. Should he put himself, or worse, her, at risk by talking? Though, truthfully, he’d already entrusted himself to her simply by being here. And she was a good friend of his sister’s. He felt warm. He took a sip. He looked over at her closely, examining her eyes. What would she think?
“They are trying to kill me.”
Tara set down her pint with a bang, spilling beer. “What? That can’t be true.”
“I’m afraid it is.”
“Impossible. They is who? The same people who killed Federica and your parents. Can it be so?” She shook her head.
“Unfortunately.”
“How do you know?”
“Please let’s drop the subject.”
“That’s crazy. I’ve never heard anything like it, except for in some thriller movie like Enemy of the