Invisible Boy Read Free

until he’d stepped onto the landing’s chipped and gritty tiny-hexagonal-tile floor.
    “Madeline,” he said, “I think I just got mugged in your vestibule.”
    “Um, Mike? How could you not
know
?”
    He smiled up at the ceiling fixture. “This guy at work had some great acid. So it’s, like, entirely possible that I just hallucinated
     the whole thing?”
    “Do you still have your wallet?” I asked.
    He patted his jacket pockets, then checked his jeans, fore and aft.
    “It’s gone,” he said, grinning even wider. “What a relief!”
    “Dude, your pupils are like Frisbees,” I said.
    He pointed at my red plastic cup. “Hey, is that a beer?”
    “Last time I checked.”
    “Would you share some with me?”
    “If you come in, you can have one of your very own.”
    He patted me on the shoulder. “I’m
so
glad I know you.”
    I took his hand and led him gently inside.
    Sue stood in the kitchen doorway, and the music was even louder.
    I leaned toward her, yelling “Mike’s tripping and he just got mugged and I think he needs help finding the keg” about a foot
     away from her ear.
    “I’ll take care of it,” she yelled back.
    “Keep him away from the Jell-O,” I said, just as the living-room speakers boomed out A Tribe Called Quest chanting “Mr. Dinkins
     will you please be my May-or?”
    Sue gave me a thumbs-up and propelled Mike toward the living room.
    The buzzer went off again and I didn’t bother trying to identify the persons at the other end of the intercom before pushing
     the button to let them in.
    If it was the muggers, we could all jump them and get Mike’s wallet back, worst case.
    Luckily, it was instead my college pal Sophia and a friend she’d called about bringing along for the evening.
    Scarlet-lipped Sophia leaned forward to hug me hello, her mass of dark curls tickling my cheek.
    “This is Cate Ludlam!” she yelled near my ear. “The one I told you about! Your cousin!”
    I dragged them both into the kitchen. Cate introduced herself again, holding out her hand to shake. She was a little older
     and a touch shorter than me, with straight brown hair and eyes that made me think of Edith Piaf.
    “Sophia thinks we might be related,” I exclaimed over some newly blasting B-52s song.
    Cate shrugged her shoulders and smiled, pointing to one ear. The B-52s chanted, “
What’s
that on your
head
? A
wig
!”
    I closed the kitchen door. We could still feel the thump of the bassline, but at least the overall decibel-age had dropped
     from “skin-blistering” to a mere “painfully loud.”
    “That’s
so
much better,” I said, pulling a fresh tray of Jell-O shots from the freezer and offering them around.
    I said
L’chaim
and we each tossed one back.
    “What were you asking just now?” asked Cate.
    “Whether the two of you might be cousins,” said Sophia, passing Cate a second little paper cup before taking one herself.
    “One of my middle names is Ludlam,” I explained. “After my great-grandmother.”
    Cate tossed back her second shot. “We’re
all
related. Only three brothers came over from England with that surname.”
    “But there’s Lud
lam
and Lud
lum
. What kind are you?” I asked.
    “L-A-M,” said Cate. “One brother went to New Jersey and changed the spelling—we call his branch Spawn of Obadiah. Long Island
     ones kept the ‘A.’”
    “Same as you, Maddie?” asked Sophia.
    “Everyone in my family cemetery spells it with ‘A,’” I said. “We probably burned the ‘U’ people as heretics, unless they were
     willing to convert—then refused to bury them anyway.”
    “Where’s your cemetery?” Cate asked.
    “On Centre Island, in the middle of Oyster Bay.”
    “I’ve heard of that one,” she said.
    “I’d be happy to give you a tour.”
    “I’d
love
it,” she said. “And I’d be happy to show you mine.”
    “You’ve got one too? Awesome,” I said.
    “In Queens,” said Cate. “It’s called Prospect—the original burial