that spider is permanent.â
Then Fenella dozed off in the elevator, slumped against the wall with her hat tipped down to her nose rings. She snored.
She slept for nineteen hours. By then it was Saturday evening. Mom was getting nervous. For one thing, she was going out that night. Behind a door, I heard her and Heather.
âItâs not a date,â Mom was saying. âStop calling it a date. Itâs dinner and the theater with Mr. Ogleby, Jr. Itâs business. Heâs head of the accounting department, and heâs welcoming me into the firm. Heâs just showing me professional courtesy. Should I wear my drop earrings, or are they too much?â
âItâs a date,â Heather said when she caught me listening outside the door. âMomâs dating again. We better get Fenella on her feet or Mom wonât leave. Sheâll cancel Mr. Ogleby, Jr., and stay home with us. Sheâll want to pop popcorn and rerun Honey, I Shrunk the Kids.â
We cracked the door of Dadâs den. The sofa folds out into a bed. There was a large lump in the middle of it. Fenellaâs hat was on Dadâs desk, covering most of it.
âHey, Fenella,â Heather said. The lump moved. âItâs like a whole different day. In fact, itâs night again. Get up.â
Fenella seemed to be on her hands and knees now, shaking her head. âCrikey,â she said, or something like that.
Mom was dressed in her best and beginning to pace when Fenella came into the living room. She filled up the whole door. Sheâd taken off some of her black layers and left on the rest. We hadnât caught a good look at her with her hat off before. Hair sprang up like a stiff mop all around her head, and it was between maroon and purple. On her right cheekbone was a small human skull with a dagger through its eye socket. So the spider wasnât permanent.
âOh,â Mom said. âFeeling rested?â
âFeelinâ like I just been jumped by a bunch of skin-heads,â Fenella said. âFeelinâ like I was just kicked in theââ
The buzzer rang, and it was Mr. Ogleby, Jr. Mom had to go. âMaybe I should call when we get to the theater,â she said at the door. She didnât feel any too good about leaving us.
âItâs cool, Mom,â Heather said. âWeâll 0 Pear Fenella. Sheâll be fine.â Then Heather gave me a look which she usually doesnât do.
After that we showed Fenella the kitchen. She stood in front of the refrigerator, making a few selections.
âDo you want to do some gourmet cooking?â Heather inquired, testing her.
âSome wot?â Fenella said. âYou got Big Macs in this country yet?â
It wouldnât have surprised me if Fenella had wanted to call it a day and go back to bed. She didnât move fast even in her thinking. And Iâll tell you this. She never did figure out what our names were. We followed as she roamed around the apartment, ending up at the living room windows. âOy,â she said or something like that. âItâs night.â
âI tried to tell you,â Heather said.
âSo letâs go,â Fenella said, beginning to stir.
Heather blinked. Weâre talking New York here, so we donât go out at night a lot. On the other hand, Heather began to see some possibilities. Anyway, maybe Fenella would be protection enough.
âLike where?â Heather said carefully.
âLike outta here is flippinâ where,â Fenella said. âClubs and such.â
âClubs?â Heather had heard of them, but didnât know where they were.
âClubs, raves, venues,â Fenella said. She was waking up now. âI got some addresses. Downtown.â
To us, downtown is anywhere south of Saks, and we donât go there. A strange, eager look came over Heatherâs face. âI donât think Josh can get in,â she said, still carefully.
Jody Lynn Nye, Mike Brotherton