Authors: Mark J. Ferrari
It was a perfect night for Halloween. Taubolt’s antique skyline and hillside graveyard cut dark silhouettes against the clear, brittle wash of twilight. Jack-o’-lanterns glowed on nearly every porch and fence post, as Laura and Joby drove into town. The few pedestrians on Taubolt’s quiet streets seemed to drift like phantoms, though this was likely due to viewing them through cheesecloth.
Joby had put together an elaborate “headless man” ensemble. His real head was concealed inside a tux jacket on a cheesecloth fronted shirt stretched over a wire frame. Its collar was stuffed with red crepe paper, as was the
hideous pull-over mask he carried under one arm as his severed head. The costume left him less than ideal vision, of course, and very limited mobility, so Laura was driving.
She had dressed up as a Renaissance maid in white petticoats under a long green velvet dress she’d made herself. Its low-cut bodice covered a puff-sleeved peasant blouse pulled down to bare her shoulders. A wreath of dried roses crowned her long auburn hair.
“Listen to this,” Joby said, squinting through his cheesecloth portal at a copy of
The Lighthouse,
Taubolt’s weekly paper, which he’d brought along to peruse during the long ride from Laura’s house. “It’s a letter to the editor. See if you can guess who from.
“ ‘Dear Editor,’ ” he read. “ ‘As we approach Halloween, I feel compelled to join numerous other concerned residents in imploring the parents of this quiet community to remind their children that prowling, vandalism, and other so-called Halloween traditions are not only dangerous, but illegal. Please, in the interest of safety, keep your children at home this year. If we all work together, we can enjoy this colorful holiday without fear of regrets the morning after.’ ”
“Oh my God,” Laura groaned.
“ ‘Sincerely, Agnes Hamilton,’ ” Joby said, smirking.
“Is she
nuts
?” Laura exclaimed.
“Might as well have painted a bull’s-eye on her front porch,” Joby concurred, “with a big neon sign:
INSERT EGGS HERE
.”
“She’ll act so victimized, too,” Laura sighed, shaking her head as they pulled into a parking space just down from the Crow’s Nest. “Oh,
look
!” Laura gasped, jamming the car into park, and killing the engine. “That’s Ben!”
Joby turned his false torso until he could see Ben walking toward them, grinning rakishly in a costume to put any prince to shame. The stiff lace collar of his white linen shirt emerged from a black leather doublet with puffed sleeves slashed to reveal sapphire satin linings. A silver rapier sheathed in black leather hung at his hip. His black leather trousers were tucked into knee-high, cuffed black boots. A black velvet cape, swept back over one shoulder, embroidered in silver, and lined in more sapphire satin, was fastened by a silver broach engraved with Celtic knot work.
As Laura stepped from the car, Ben swept his cape back with one arm, in a formal bow. “Sir Benjamin at your service, lovely lady. May I say, you are a vision tonight?”
“You are too kind, milord,” she replied, dropping a quick curtsy. “I can’t believe we match!” she said, straightening to give him an excited hug.
Joby’s attention was so fastened on Ben’s costume that he banged the top of his false torso on the doorjamb trying to get out of the car, and fell back into his seat. After a more careful exit, he joined them at the curb, and said from within his cheesecloth cage, “Let me guess, Ben. You were in a wedding once, and never get to wear it anymore.”
“Close.” Ben grinned. “I got it at a Renaissance fair, years ago.” He looked down at himself sheepishly. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“A little puerile,” Joby joked, “next to the understated maturity of mine.”
“You do look gruesome!” Ben said. “How you gonna eat and drink through that?”
Joby hadn’t thought of this. “Through a straw, I guess.”
“Party animal!” Ben grinned. “Can you dance in it?”
“Okay, so it’s got a few design flaws,” Joby said irritably. “We don’t all have professional tailors, Ben.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” Joby said, glad they couldn’t see his beet-red face. “I just . . . lost my head for a minute.” Laura groaned, but Ben was good enough to laugh.
Ben led the way upstairs through the old water tower that was the restaurant’s entrance, while Laura hung back, helping Joby negotiate the rough wooden steps. “I knew I should have come as a cowboy,” he murmured, wondering why on earth he’d chosen a costume that left him half-blind with no peripheral vision.
At the top, Ben pulled the door open and they were drowned in deafening music, laughter, and shouted conversation. Joby’s lack of peripheral vision became an even greater challenge as they sought a table in the bar amidst the crowd of giant butterflies, ghosts, clowns, fairies, witches, ghouls, and super-heroes. The place was a furnace, and Joby quickly discovered yet another of his costume’s drawbacks. He was glad he’d worn nothing heavier than a black T-shirt underneath.
When the waitress came, Laura ordered coffee, Joby asked for grapefruit juice with a straw, ignoring the waitress’s amused expression, and Ben ordered Glenlivet, up. At first, the party swirled indifferently around them, but soon, Joby and Laura’s friends began to come around to
ooh
and
ah
their costumes. Ben’s, of course, got all the top awards, as he was introduced to anyone and everyone in Taubolt. When Bridget and her husband came by, she dressed in green balloons as a giant bunch of grapes, and Drew decked
out as a “cereal killer,” wearing a robe festooned with empty cornflake boxes decorated with bloody bullet holes or stabbed with rubber knives and cleavers, she became the fourth person to ask Joby if he weren’t awfully hot in there.
“You know, you’re right,” Joby said, surrendering at last. “I’m hot, and blind, and claustrophobic in this dumb thing.” He pulled his arms from the jacket sleeves, lifted the fake torso off his shoulders, and emerged feeling rumpled, sweaty and drably out of uniform in his sodden black T-shirt. “Decapitation isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” he growled comically, setting his empty shell on the floor. “Now I can order a burger.”
“It was kind of neat though, talking to a stuffed shirt,” Bridget pouted.
“Breathing’s even neater.” Joby shrugged. “Next year, I’m a cowboy, for sure.”
“Well, this isn’t too well ventilated either,” Drew said, turning to his wife and plucking at his robe. “How about we get some air out on the deck?”
They made their farewells and left, but, having taught school for three years, Joby knew half the families in Taubolt, and soon had a steady stream of visitors, whom Ben, and even Laura, hardly knew. This receiving line went on and on, until, eventually, during a lengthy conversation about scholarships between Joby and Bellindi’s parents, Ben and Laura finally excused themselves to go dance. Some time later, when Joby had finally run dry of visitors, he sat sipping his third grapefruit juice, and wondering when, if ever, Ben and Laura would return.
Finally, he got up and went to the restaurant’s dining room, which had been cleared for dancing, where he leaned against the doorjamb, buffeted by the music, and watched Ben and Laura utterly lost in all the fun they were having. They made a lovely couple, and Ben’s costume alone would have justified the attention they were getting from people all around the dance floor. Joby saw himself reflected in the darkened windows beyond them, looking plain, he thought, and rather thin in his black pants and T-shirt. His hair was sticking up ridiculously from having pulled his costume off. He reached up to rake it back into place, wondering why no one had said anything all this time, and he suddenly felt tired—and utterly out of sync with the celebration around him. With a last glance at Ben and Laura, he went back to get his ill-conceived costume in the bar, then headed for the door carrying his empty torso under one arm.
As he started down the stairs, however, Laura’s voice called out behind him, “Joby, where are you going?”
Oh,
he thought,
I’ve been noticed.
“I’m just a little tired,” he said without turning. “I told Gladys I’d help her with some things around the inn tomorrow. I think I’d better get some sleep.” He turned to smile at her. “It’s just three blocks. I can walk.”
Ben came through the door to stand beside her.
“You weren’t even going to say good-bye?” Laura asked incredulously.
“You two were dancing, and . . . I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“For God’s sake, Joby,” Laura said wearily. “I can’t believe this.”
“Hey! It looked like you were having fun!” he sputtered, acutely embarrassed. “I just didn’t want—”
“Save it!” she snapped. “I wouldn’t dream of compromising your pity party.” She whirled around and went angrily back inside, leaving Ben there in his elegant costume, staring down at Joby with a glum look that fanned Joby’s shame into anger.
“Congrats,
Sir Benjamin,
” he sneered, “looks like clothes
do
make the man.” He turned his back, and continued down the stairs.
“What’s she supposed to do, Joby?” Ben demanded, starting down the stairs after him. “Throw herself at you? You want to dance, ask her to dance! For God’s sake, she’s wanted you for twenty years now! When are you gonna make your damn move?”
Joby could hardly see straight for the fury and shame he felt. He hurried down the stairs, just wanting to be anywhere away. At the bottom of the stairs, he crossed the street and stalked out onto the starlit headlands, tossing his ridiculous costume into the grass. When he realized Ben was still following him, he turned and yelled, “Go back and dance!” then stumbled in the dark over the uneven path.
“You’re acting like a twelve-year-old!” Ben yelled back. “I didn’t proposition her, I just danced with her!” He’d caught up to Joby now. “If you wanna know the truth, I’m sick of watching you sit around endlessly sorting through your ridiculous insecurities while Laura just hangs out to dry. If you want her, take her, or—”
“Or what, Ben? . . .
You’ll
take her?”
Anger chased a startled look across Ben’s face in the dim light. “Maybe I will,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to sound as if the idea surprised him. “God knows you’ve had
your
fifty million chances.”
“My best old friend,”
Joby heard himself growl, as something inside him uncoiled with a snarl, propelling him forward to shove Ben hard.
“What the—
Joby
!” Ben yelped, stumbling onto his back in the grass.
A second later, Joby was on top of him, his fist plunging toward Ben’s face as some saner part of him wailed in dismay, helpless to contain the fury that possessed him. One punch was all he got before Ben threw him off, and rolled to his feet.
“Wanna fight, huh?” Ben rasped, reaching down to hoist Joby off the ground and hurl him into a patch of blackberry vines beside the path. As Joby struggled to his feet, hardly noticing the thorns that gouged his arms and hands, Ben unfastened the broach at his shoulder and let his entangling cape fall away. Then he waded in toward Joby, silhouetted against the stars like an angry bear. Joby leapt back onto the path, and backed away, but Ben lunged forward, throwing a punch to Joby’s stomach. Joby bent back, softening the blow, but lost his balance and fell again. As Ben threw himself on top of him, Joby kicked out with one leg, catching Ben in the chest, so that he fell to one side, allowing Joby to roll away.
“Son of a bitch,” Ben grunted, rubbing his chest. Then he scrambled after Joby and grabbed his arm. Joby tried to pull away, but couldn’t and turned to throw another punch with his free hand, but missed. For a time, they writhed together on the gravel path. Then Ben wrenched Joby’s arm around and rolled them over so that Joby was pinned beneath him, facedown in the grass. Yanking the one arm back and up as if to break it off, Ben brought his other hand down on the back of Joby’s head, apparently intent on grinding his face into the ground.
Joby cried out in pain.
Suddenly, the pressure on his head was gone. Ben let go of his arm, but remained astride his back, breathing raggedly. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Joby?” To his astonishment, Joby realized that Ben was crying. “I wanted to be everything you were once, you know that?” Ben said, clearly struggling to control his emotions. “Then . . . you just came apart. . . . What the hell happened, Joby? I tried to be there for you, but it was like you were buried in glass.” He took a long shuddering breath, and was silent for a while, then stood up and stepped away. “What the hell are you hitting me for?”
Joby rolled over, cradling his aching arm, and lay on his back. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I never have.”
Ben said nothing, just sat roughly in the grass, staring up at the stars.
“Do you love her, Ben?”
“Maybe you can’t figure out what’s wrong with you because there
is
nothing wrong, under all that fear,” Ben said, ignoring his question. “When you’re good, you’re great, Joby. The greatest person I ever met. Why can’t you just relax and enjoy that?”
“Ben, do you love her?”
Ben turned to stare at him. “Yes.”
It should have hurt him, should have rekindled his fury, but it wasn’t even a surprise. Long before Ben had come back into their lives, Joby had known he was going to lose her, because, underneath the “whole new Joby” he’d plastered over himself since coming here, he could still find nothing bright enough to give her. Ben had always possessed brightness to spare. He and Laura were perfect for each other. They always had been. It was kismet. He was tired of fighting.