The Complete Zagzagel Diaries (10 page)

Chloe beamed at my statement, obviously proud of her achievement.

Tugging a purple T-shirt she’d rummaged for me from the chest of drawers over my head, I asked, “And your mother?”

Smile gone, she turned toward the only source of light in the room: a sheer-paneled window. “Twelve years ago,” she said. “In the end, drugs not the sex did her in—shared a dirty needle.” With a shrug, she turned and disappeared into the closet. “Here!” She chucked a pair of jeans my way. “My last boyfriend left these here when he took off. They look like they’ll fit.”

“I’m thinking of trying donuts.” I dragged one pant leg up and over my knee and was working on the other when my stomach rumbled again. Not like I’d never eaten, but it’d happened so rarely and only out of curiosity that it amounted to simply a nibble here, a taste there. “You know, the chocolate ones, with those colored sprinkles…or…or how about one of those heat-up burritos sold in plastic wrappers, maybe?” Those were two things I’d noticed you humans eating with frequency. Both had to be delicious, because you seldom do anything you don’t enjoy. With no clue how long I would be in this form, I was prepared to take full advantage of what little time I might have here.

With a look of annoyance, she returned to me. “I don’t know why you’re blocking. He did what you asked.”

“Still smoke?”

“You’ve lost all sense of propriety,” she said, but returned with a pack of Marlboro reds and an ashtray. She handed me a cigarette. “As a physician, I have to advise you against taking this up.”

“Just give it to me.”

“I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever see you again, but a promise is a promise, and He did promise to bring you back.” She flicked the lighter my way. “I came home from work one day and there you were, on my couch…”

Bring me back…?
I lowered the cigarette, my gaze fixated on the lighter’s flame. “He’s not letting me come back home”—I met Chloe’s gaze—“is He?”

Exasperation scored her features as she took the unlit cigarette from my trembling hand, shoved it into the box, and reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my left ear. “He went easy on you, really. I thought you’d be a lot happier.”

Funny. I’d always thought I’d be a lot happier down here, too…

“I’m going to change real quick, and then we’ll go,” she said, disappearing into the hall.

I wanted to ask,
“Go where?”
but found myself unable to speak. Here I was, in one of my former charge’s homes…nursed along, attended to…ordered around…the world as I’d known it, both yours and mine, turned upside-down—my stomach on fire—no skills, no means to survive here, and no shoes. Something about relying on others grated on me. If only I’d been able to plan for this, do it my way. I sighed. Maybe that was my problem. Reluctant, I looked to the ceiling.
I wouldn’t blame you for not listening, but I could use a hand here. I think I’m…
I rubbed my eyes dry.
I’m scared.

Chloe whipped around the corner, into the room, startling me from my thoughts. A pair of sandals were thrust my way. “I forgot all about shoes. Sorry, Zag.”

A sound, something between a laugh and a cry, escaped me as I took the shoes from her hand.
Yeah.
I felt my shoulders sag.
Some answer.

Her grip was firm on my upper arms, and she gave me a shake that definitely caught my attention.

“What?”

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“You know what,” she said, her gaze locked with mine. “This is not the time to jump to conclusions. Pull your head out of your ass and do what you need to do to survive long enough to find the answers!”

What if I didn’t like the answers?
I wanted to ask her but held it inside. A pissed-off Chloe was downright scary.

“Still as impatient as ever.” She shook her head in a motherly fashion…well, from what I could recall of children and their mothers—I’d never had one. With a sigh, she released me and instructed me to don my shoes. “I’m taking you out for something to eat. You’re hungry.”

I should’ve felt better now that she’d spelled it out to me in that slow, sarcastic drawl, but I felt only like the stupidest fool in the world for not understanding that “going out” meant “going out to eat,” especially since she was fully aware of my plight. She led me through the house and out the door. We piled into her car, after five minutes of me trying to maneuver the concepts of door handles and hinges. I’d never
had
to use them, so I’d never paid much attention.

Chloe remained silent as she wove in and out of traffic. We crossed miles of highway, and still she did little to ease the tension. Did I really want her to? I doubted it, but something inside me hoped she’d at least try.

Something about the part of town she’d taken us into multiplied the already present anxiety by four. She slowed after taking a right, and even more as we neared a stretch of homes that felt familiar but looked like nothing from my past. “Right over there.” She pointed to an overgrown, vacant lot. “That’s where you saved my life.”

She said nothing further, for which I was thankful. The scored-into-my-brain image of Chloe at fourteen, in my arms, draped across my lap…broken beyond human repair was enough with which to contend at that moment.

Five blocks later, she pulled onto a graveled lot, parked the car. The seedy, out of the way joint looked like a typical back alley bar, and if she hadn’t popped open her door and the heavenly aroma of deep-fried cuisine not drifted into the tiny space between us, I would’ve questioned if this place actually served food. “Wow…” I couldn’t find much else to say. My stomach had rolled over at first whiff and was begging to be scratched. Despite the grill and frill’s shady appearance, I smiled.

Chloe wasn’t smiling.

Part of me told me to say something—anything. This wasn’t the Chloe I remembered, so full of life, undaunted by doubts or fears. Another part of me, a place I could tell housed my own fears, including that of the unknown, which had been dogging me since I opened my eyes, convinced me I was better off in the dark.

“I’m okay, Zag,” she said, patting my arm as we stepped inside.

The haze of cigarette smoke and residual stage smog assaulted me as she led us to the far side of the bar. Regardless of her words or her calm demeanor, I knew she wasn’t being honest with me. “Two specials,” she said, holding up just as many fingers, as the bartender moved our way. Chloe looked at me; a searching gaze I could feel more than see brought my attention from taking in the stage lights immediately to her.

“What?”

“Beer good?”

“I don’t know, is it?” Wasn’t trying to be funny. I’d never tasted beer. Wine, even a couple different liquors, but never beer.

“Two Mich Lights. Hold the mugs.”

French fries, catfish, and deep-fried pickles, but no donuts ended up adorning my plate or hers. She’d yet to speak further than those few words upon entering. I hadn’t found the will to muster the nerve to pry. Something wasn’t right. This wasn’t about food or nursing me back to health…
deep-fried pickles are amazing.
Beer wasn’t too bad either, and after my third plate of the all-you-can-eat nightly special, I was contemplating how much more I could hold of both when the sound system blasted a two-second-long shrill noise.

I’d never heard shorter fanfare than the five-beat drumroll. Beer in hand, I turned toward the short stage behind me in time to catch the emcee take the mic from the stand and introduce,
“…the lovely Jade!”

“Zag.”

“Yeah?”

I held my beer to my lips one second, and the next, Chloe had snatched it from me and set it firmly on the bar. She met my questioning gaze. “We need to talk.”

“But the show’s—”

By the way she forced my attention back to her with a grab to my chin, I knew she meant business.

“You two finished?” The bartender interrupted our stare down.

I could’ve used another helping of catfish, but I wasn’t about to risk the scene promised me by the look in her eyes if I had done so. With a wave of my hand, he carried away our plates.

Chloe took my hands in hers. “You do realize that from the time I was five, I had the biggest crush on you….”

I stared at her moving lips, listening to her confession, and knew in the back of my mind that somewhere in my past I indeed had known how she felt. Of course, I’d never entertained the idea for a number of reasons and circumstances. For one, I simply had never been keyed that way. Music began to filter through her words, and I found myself pulled back to the stage. Fishnet stockings drew me, and with a flip and a swish of the entertainer’s lavender boa, Chloe’s words faded into background noise. From behind the mic, painted lips faded into amber eyes, which held me enthralled.

My mind returned to me, and I caught my breath, only as Jade exited the stage. I stood, intent on following, realizing then that Chloe had paid for our food and drinks and had taken my hand in hers. “C’mon. Let’s get this over with.”

She dragged me through the crowd, alongside the short platform, and behind and to a stop outside an unpainted door. Her knuckle-rap echoed along an eerily quiet and dark back hall. “What’s going—?”

She released my hand with a flourish, whipped around, and cut me off with an “
I’m not taking any more of this shit”
glare. “I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain.” She looked away as quickly as her rabid-self had turned on me.

“Bargain? What are you—?”

“I have to go now.”

With those words, she walked away, leaving me to the creaking of an opening door. Torn. That’s what I felt.
Stay? Go?

“It’s your dime.” Jade’s voice startled me from my agony.

Wig gone, heels and stockings removed, there she—no,
he
stood in the entrance to a dressing room no larger than a closet. I realized then that fake eyelashes adorned those seductive eyes, and relief washed over me: Big Papa had only messed with my wings.

“I knew there was something I liked about her,” Jade said in a voice that did not match her made up face. “Well, don’t just stand there. Go get her, before she leaves. Bring her back.”

As if on feet I no longer recognized as my own, I raced past the stage, out into the crowd. “Chloe! Wait!”

She turned, the remnants of heartbreak on her face.

“Stop.” I caught up to her, took her hand, and in spite of the hard glares and a number of catcalls, I led her back to Jade’s room, as instructed.

Chloe remained speechless, as Jade pointed to a stool, but shivered at the command from Jade’s lips, “I want you to stay,” he said before turning to me. “Well, all this way and I don’t get a hug?”

Hypnotic lure vanquished with the facade, the more aggressively Jade advanced, the faster I retreated toward the door. “Do I know you?”

He halted, anger evident in his jaw as he turned around. “Why me?!” With a shout to rile the Heavens, he returned to his vanity and plopped down on his short stool.

Seated crossed-legged, Jade picked up a makeup pad, doused it with liquid from a tiny, white bottle, and wiped vigorously over half his face. He stopped, met my gaze in the mirror. I swallowed, feeling my eyes widen, my heartbeat race, and I forced myself to look to Chloe for just a moment.
This can’t be.
I would not believe it—I could not live through losing him again. “No…no. This isn’t—”

Chloe stood, lunged for and grabbed me before I made it out the door. “It’s real, Zag. He’s real. Jagniel’s really here.”

Fixated back on my long lost love, I registered Chloe prying what I was sure was my white-knuckled grip from the doorjamb.

“I was trying to tell you…I didn’t know how,” Chloe said. “Papa promised to bring me back and bring you back to me on the condition, I brought you to Jagniel.”

Wait.
I looked at Chloe. “You mean I didn’t break His rules? I didn’t—”

“You just started the ball rolling, Zag. It would’ve happened either way.”

“You did this?” I had to ask her.

Chloe pointed to Jagniel. He chuckled as I whipped my attention back to him.

“I did this,” he said, and met me halfway across the room in a full embrace. “I like her,” he whispered, as he kissed my cheek. “I want her to stay.”

“Jagniel…” I couldn’t say much else amongst the tears, but one glance at Chloe’s shy smile told me it was pointless to argue. If Jag was the same now as he was way back when, there’d be no changing his mind anyway, and I knew it.

“I thought you’d be happier to see me,” he said.

He handed me a fistful of tissue, and I cleared my head only to pick up on a vaguely familiar scent. I stepped closer, honing in on the offensive odor like a hound. First sniffing Jag’s hand, his arm…up to his neck. Once again, he wrapped his arms around me, held me tight. “I missed you so much,” he whispered, at the same time I recognized the scent as his lilac perfume.

Inwardly, I groaned, recalling my disdain for the scent, but over Jag’s shoulder, I eyed the Heavens, refusing to let him go.
Thank you, Papa.

* * *

I guess some would say my impatience brought me to this end, though I’m inclined to argue it was my stubbornness, my failure to acquiesce to the norm. My name is Zagzagel.