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"Greeting Cards"Written By: Kaeru Shisho Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Gundam Wing
or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Yaoi, funeral practices, AU, fluff Pairings: 1+4, 1x2x1, 3+H, 5xH, 3x4, 6x9 Summary: Each chapter is based on Heero’s
greeting cards and Duo's mortuary. "Greeting Cards " Chapter 15 -- Note Cards, Part 2 Nova City was spread out in a high elevation valley between the mountains of L3. Hiking, skiing, climbing, and fishing were popular sports, which drew thousands of visitors into the numerous inns and lodges throughout the year. Nova City University added its own community of students and staff. Combined, the populations of the city of Sanc and Nova City of the L3 region made up half of the head-count of the entire city-state of Sanc. Sanc housed the courthouse and administrative buildings for the area and was further distinguished by being home to both the elegant opera house and the most varied assortment of art galleries in all the land. Nova City, on the other hand, had the most bars, gambling establishments, and lax laws controlling them. Sanc was the Justice and Culture Capital, whereas Nova City was known as Fun City or Vice Central, depending on your age and taste. Other than that, the two cities were a lot alike; each had a large university, several community colleges, restaurants, theaters, and busy communities. What I was taking Trowa to experience was Vice Central-- well, a mild version that I could tolerate, knowing his attraction to clubs and pool halls; at least, I knew he played pool often because Heero and Duo talked it with him, often meeting him and Wufei to play. "I can keep driving around the university area, but I'm getting hungry. If I can find a place to park, can we eat at the Italian place here, or do you have other plans?" We'd skipped lunch while driving and I had skipped breakfast on principle alone. "No, this is fine," I told him. "Nice place to walk around while it's light enough to see. Try up a block and to the right." Trowa took a deep breath of air and let it out, smiling. "This place is chill. Fresh mountain air... I'll bet the water comes from natural springs." I couldn't help but look on with a bemused smile. I hadn't seen Trowa this animated in a long time, ever, when he thought about it. "If you think this place is something, wait until you get a taste of the nightlife." Trowa gave me this quizzical look. "You go clubbing much in Sanc?" "A little. With school chums. Not every outing ended like that one with Duo." Trowa stifled a chuckle. "He's a character, all right." After a brief walking tour of the shopping district nearest where they parked, Trowa and I headed to the Italian eatery he'd pointed out. We settled into a booth and glanced at the menus. "This is a popular restaurant. Look at the crowd coming in." "It seems familiar. When I drove past, I knew I'd been here before." "Hey, that's good, Trowa. Maybe the food will spark your memory." He smiled and closed his menu. "It already has." "Really? That's neat! You liked it here, didn't you?" "Oh, yeah. Great place. I remember coming home to the circus that first summer after living all year at the dorms in Sanc. I ate here a lot." He shrugged as a way to minimize the importance of the breakthrough. "I don't recall the circus or much of school yet." "But that's something." We placed our orders, and then sipped at our water a bit. We people-watched and nibbled on bread sticks until our salads arrived. I felt him watching me, so I looked up to meet Trowa's hooded greenish eyes. "Remember something else?" I remember seeing you in school. I can't recall which year. I would have given anything at the time to be sitting here with you." "Is that true? You remember me?" It was his turn to get all flustered. Because he kept his hair trimmed short in back I could see his ears turn red. "I had a fixation on you, but luckily you didn't notice or you would have had those security men that followed you around beat the hell out of me." "Oh! The Maguanacs, you mean. They were so embarrassing. I got rid of them when I began graduate school. They still work for the business, but back then hovering guards made getting to know people so difficult." Trowa's meal came and then mine and we gave up talking for awhile. Again, Trowa broke the silence. "So, you going to work the family business when you get done with school?" Trowa ripped off a hunk of bread, and swabbed up the last of his spaghetti sauce while I thought over my answer. "I don't know, actually. I'm more interested in hotel management than having my fingers in everyone else's pie." "You father doesn't know you want to go your own way?" "Didn't know. He passed a few years back." "I'm sorry," he touched his temple lightly, "I must have known that at one time." "It's okay. Now. If he were alive today, though, I don't think I'd even consider disappointing him. He represented...everything grand to me. My sisters, too, but dad especially. But..." I checked my watch, and grabbed the check. "My treat. Now shall we find our motel and check in? Or we can drop in on my sister and can change clothes there." "One of your 29 sisters?" "Yes, Urula. She has an apartment close by. Just to warn you, she was the only one who backed me up when I announced to my family that I was gay last year. She's a bit of a maverick herself." "Sounds like someone I'd like." "I think so." "But can we meet her later, maybe tomorrow?" Ah, my introverted, bashful Trowa... "Sure. Give me the keys; I'll drive us to the motel." (o) I geared up myself, preparing for the worst, and it was a good thing. Quatre's idea of a motel room was a suite in the grand hotel, actually, THE GRAND HOTEL. The lobby was gold with mirrors and thick rugs that absorbed every sound. I sat at the side, letting Quatre do his thing with the desk clerks and luggage jockeys, and practically disappeared into the woodwork. The wainscoting matched my hair, the upholstery my Quatre's-eyes blue shirt and gray jeans. "Trowa? Where did you go? Checking out the dinner menu? You needn't have bothered. We won't be eating here!" Quatre filled in with his own answers where needed, saving me the effort. As he led the way to the elevator, I could admire his slim hips, well-tailored pants clinging just right, falling just right. In many ways I couldn't have chosen a better mate than Quatre. Charming, smart as a whip, brilliant future, sexy as hell, born leader. He was bright and shiny where I was brown and muted-- nearly mute as well. The question was what was it he saw in me? I had no damned answer, but I had a reason for trying. As a gay man about town, he was a standout newbie; he needed watching. I was excellent at watching. Quatre's so high maintenance he needs someone who'll adore and indulge him, but at the same time, who'll slap him down when he gets too above himself. I hadn't garnered the courage to put him in his place, yet. I guess he hasn't driven me to it. And I wasn't certain I could bear to make him unhappy, but there was always a first time and then I might prove myself worthy of Master Winner. The minute the door to our room swung open, Quatre tensed. Gone was Mr. Worldly Self-confidence; who entered with me was my irresistibly inexperienced boyfriend trying his best to rule the roost. I found him amusing. "What we need to do is to change clothes before going out." As he said this, he deliberately avoided looking at the gigantic bed dead center in the room. "What a nice view!" I am sure he had no idea how adorable and attractive he was at the moment. He was nervous and excited. So was I. He wasn't sure how to get from friend to lover, and nor was I, but I had some ideas and experiences to tap—at least I felt I did. And I know he didn't know how attractive his innocence was, because if he did he would have found someone better than me to take it. To the left was a sitting room with velvet-clad chairs and settee balanced by floor to ceiling windows framed in yards of gold silk and providing us with a bird's-eye view of the restaurants, theaters, clubs, and boutiques of upscale Nova. Not my cup of tea, but probably Quatre's. I wouldn't mind "putting on the Ritz" if it made him happy. To the right was an enormous tub and a door to, I hoped, the rest of the bathroom. Now that was new to me. "Never slept in a room with the bathtub for company, unless I was sleeping in the bathtub itself." Quatre laughed. He thought I was making a joke. That's okay, though. "I brought special clubbing clothes for us both." He whirled about looking for a place to put his luggage to open it, and there was that great big yawning bed begging for company. In the closet by the door was a luggage rack. I dragged it out into the open and set it up for him. "I'm okay, really. You don't have to..." "Thank you! Oh, sure, you're okay, but we're gonna make you better than that. Blow everyone's mind out. Your pants will do fine-- I mean, faded black jeans go with everything, just pull them down lower." "No can do." I had to clarify for him, "No underwear." I could see the heat rising to his face. I guess I should have felt guilty for putting into that situation, but I didn't. Now he had me pretending the bed no longer existed. Fuck! How were we going to get on that together? I was afraid to even kiss him he was so jumpy. Maybe playing dress up and going out ASAP was the best plan-- his plan, naturally. "Oh, well just leave them," he said. He stole a glance at my crotch, I swear he did and then he looked up, eyes gleaming. I was still sitting in the camouflage chair and crossed my legs automatically. He must have come to some crazy conclusion that I was exactly what he wanted to get his hands on, somehow, anyhow, and now he knew just how to do it. He just zeroed in on me. It was a scary, scary expression, I must say. Like he was possessed or something, or it would have been super hot. He hopped over to the open suitcase and removed a shirt and vest. "Try them on, and then I'll see what we can do with your face. I have some eyeliner here in the travel kit... someplace." "My face...?" I passed a fearful glance his way. I couldn't help it. "Please put a stop to those plans." He had me shaking in my shoes, er, sandals. You had to see his eyes to understand. He nabbed me by the hand, yanked me out of my hidey-hole chair, and pushed me in the direction of the bathroom. "I want to highlight your features, not cover them up." I dragged my feet to the bathroom where he set out the clothes, smiled at me in a way that he thought was reassuring but I thought was five degrees off true. I dutifully removed my shirt under his keen-eyed supervision and flexed my pecs, which are in fine shape. His sigh sounded a little thready. I turned to look at him, but in an eye blink he was already rummaging for makeup in a stylish, brown-leather, toiletry bag. "Not much, you hear me?" I said. His "mmmm" didn't sound like "Okay". It was suspiciously patronizing especially when I got a good look at the wacko shit he was lining up on the counter. "Light on the liner and sparkles. Got that?" I repeated. I got more of that "mmm" crap as a response, so I just gave up and put on the shirt, unbuttoned and the vest. "Sparkles?" His voice sparkled. Why had I mentioned those? "I don't like that showy stuff. Aren't I eye-catching enough?" "Of course you are." What a relief! "—for most of the time, but this is clubbing extraordinaire and we need a little more...pizzazz." "And you get to make those decisions?" I asked. What a moronic thing for me to ask. Obviously he did. "Someone has to. It will be fun." Okay, so I had to put my foot down somehow, on something, or Quatre was going to think I was a washout. So, while he was arranging his kaleidoscope of beauty items, I examined myself in the mirror. More flexing of the shoulders, arms. Our eyes met and I rolled mine and he giggled. The shirt was tight-fitting and translucent gold, while the vest was white leather with a long fringed hem. "Something's wrong," I said with all the decisiveness I could muster. And I have to say that it felt pretty good to be firm. "You are absolutely right!" He took off the vest and hung it from the doorknob. In the process his hands slid over my shoulders and down my arms. I wondered if he felt me tremble. "Much better," he commented. Was I? I looked again and discovered that the shirt was missing the top few buttons. Sigh. Nothing like flaunting blatant sexuality to the masses. I agreed about the vest, though. Why had he ever thought that fright had fit my personality? I'd never know. "Better without that." "You won't need that vest. And you don't need those buttons either; you'll have the shirt off in no time anyway. It gets hot in the clubs and the Cavern is...well, you'll see." His eyes looked a bit round. Mine probably did too, as my imagination took a trip down lust lane. "Sit." He kicked the lid of the toilet seat so it slammed shut. I sat gingerly on the edge and waited as Quatre rolled up a wad of towels, jammed them all between the wall and my head, then pushed on my chin. "Lean back." With my head resting comfortably in obeisance, I silently prayed that Quatre loved me and wouldn't paint me to look like a clown. I visualized myself as a clown in a foolish-looking costume, but I looked younger and someone was throwing knives at my face. Highly decorated knives with etched designs. To my surprise Quatre's weight landed on my lap and my memory flash ended. "Hey." "Hey," he repeated back to me with those beautiful blue eyes blinking inches from mine. His lips were so close. And pink. And moving. "Sit still and close your eyes again," he commanded. "I'll do the left one first, but you must hold real still or else it smears and then I'd have to start all over." I closed my eyes more out of shame than in the spirit of cooperation. "Quatre? What have I gotten myself into? The day had been going so well, and now you are applying eyeliner to me." And, I noted that he was planted on my lap and had a hand on my mostly bare chest. His thighs firm and... Damn, he leaned closer to reach something on the counter and our crotches were in contact. Oh that was too much. "I was thinking of some lip gloss. You don't need the blush, do you?" he asked. I knew my cheeks were the color of burgundy wine by now, and didn't answer. "I never thought I'd be doing this." Wiggle like that again and you'll get another surprise. Oh, man, was I getting hard. "Uuuh." "Oh, am I too heavy? Should I get off?" Get...off?! Fuck. If he hadn't had a little pokey stick near my eye I would have loved to have shown him "getting off". "No! No, you're fine." A day earlier, I would have punched anyone who would have told me I would be wearing make up in public. Real guys did not wear makeup unless they were actors. Which made me think of the play coming up which led directly to Zechs, who I really didn't want to think about when my boyfriend was on my lap doing my "make up." I wondered what his royal asshole would say if he saw me now? He would have a fit. A ghost of a smile hovered over my lips as I imagined Zechs walking in on us and having conniptions. How worth it would that be? "Oh, what the hell, Quatre, do sparkles and whatever." "Good boy," he cooed. He patted my cheek and moved slightly to paint my other eye. "So, what bugs you, Trowa?" I had to think fast and one of Duo's silly conversations came to mind, so I used his line. "When I listen to the radio and the talk-dude doesn't tell you who sang that song-- that sucks." "Yeah, and ever notice how a station comes in brilliantly when you're standing near the radio, but buzzes, drifts, and spits every time you move away?" he asked. "Yeah." "Or how about when you rub on hand cream, and then can't turn the bathroom doorknob to get out?" he asked. "I just hate that." I had never used hand cream, but I had gotten into cooking oil. "Or opening a bottle with greasy hands." Quatre laughed. "Oh yeah! Pickles and olive oil." "Su-ure," I agreed, although now I was thinking of my cock, his hands, oil... Same idea though. "You ever bite down on a piece of foil candy wrapper and have it make electrical contact with your filling? Now that sucks." Oh, Jesus! I swear he said that on purpose. I did not need another sexual image knocking around in my head. There was no way he could miss my erection. He was practically sitting on it. My eyes followed Quatre's arm as he reached over the counter for a bottle of glossy, sparkly gel. I bit my lip rather than moan as our clothed erections rolled over each other. And then I felt a new stimulus. Quatre ran a finger over my lower lip, leaving it wet and warm. "Done." He bounded off my lap. I turned my head and sat upright. My lips were glossy-looking, my eyes outlined in kohl. I had sparkle freckles. "Now you're ready to do Nova City." "I don't know about the city, but I'm about ready to do—" I stopped myself before I said "you". Quatre blinked. "You look really good, exotic." "Thanks. I have to credit my makeup artist, though." As glib and articulate as it seemed I'd suddenly become, I wasn't. I followed him out into the gigantic-bed room, where he could dig through his suitcase again. "You were a wonderful patient." He paused, black leather belts or something dangling from one hand, and looked up at me. "No, that's not right. You were a very patient... client, customer?" "Subject," I supplied, as in subjected to his charming attentions. "Oh, that's better, yes. Well, I have to get undressed... and then dressed." Oh. Was I supposed to watch, or not? Leave the room? I wasn't quick enough to pretend indifference and look out the window or go fix my hair. I gawked as he tore off his pants, revealing these tiny black bikini briefs for a microsecond before his shirt dropped to conceal the view. He shook out some leather and metal contraption I wasn't too interested in. His back was to me as he removed the shirt and... all that pearly white skin and those tiny black briefs, so tight... legs... nice slim and trim... And then the leather tunic ruined the view. At least it was short. Damned short. "Damn, you look--" I just gaped a moment, then sputtered out, "Quatre... I... ah... never saw you that way before." He was utterly delighted that he'd reduced me to a blathering fool. "Just wait to you see me all finished!" He popped like a cork out of a bottle and raced into the bathroom. "I won't take a minute!" he called out. I looked for a place to sit and wait him out. If he was anything like Hilde, I would have to find a way to kill some time. I should have packed a book. Instead, I just stared at the bed, visualizing Quatre lying on it in every position imaginable. This helped drive my mating instincts off the charts. I was breaking out in a sweat when Quatre's voice rang out. "What do you think?" Quatre had slicked his blond hair off his face with gel, which showed off his dramatically kohl-lined eyes. His exposed chest glowed with bronzing cream beneath heavy bands of a black leather harness studded with blunt (thankfully) metal points and rivets. What caught me off guard most, though, was the above-knee length black leather kilt. I thought of gladiators whirling axes in the lion pit. Fuck! That's hot as Hell, I screamed in my head. "Cool, fucking cool..." I caught the drool with the back of my hand. "What you have here is the height of Nova City clubbing gear," he said, laying a heavy emphasis on the rhyme pattern. "The tunic was going to be too warm so I went with plan b." Where had he been storing "plan b", I wondered? Was there a "plan c"? "Oh." I said, shocked. "You ever wear that before?" "No. I bought it just for this occasion." Quatre shuttled me toward the door. "So, I have our bar hopping all planned out. You'll have a blast, I know. This all wasn't so bad, was it?" "No, it's... I can't believe how hot you look in that." I wanted to touch him, all over. I used caution and fingered the leather bands which lay across his chest. "You, too!" Quatre said. And if he'd stepped one micron closer, I would have grabbed hold and never let him out the door. (o) And we both laughed as we picked our way around the neglected garbage cans on our way to high adventure. "So, what's on your agenda?" I couldn't pretend I wasn't up for this. Quatre couldn't either. His eyes were dancing already. "That Cavern place I heard you mention?" "Not to start with. I hope to jar your memories by taking you to lots of places. The Cavern is an exclusive club. Has the best bands, deejay, and atmosphere. So, here's what I figure: we go there last." "Like the dessert." "Yeah, definitely the 'whipped cream and cherry on top' place. I think I know your taste in music pretty well." Trowa shrugged. "Like you, I like it all." "Even hip hop?" "Ahhhh, not that one so much. Why? Is that all there is around here?" Quatre looked relieved. "Not at all. No, that'll work out fine. I'll take you to a few interesting but on-the-edge kind of clubs that my sister recommended. Right around the corner is our first stop." "It seems strange. I grew up here and you're giving me the tour." "Someday, we'll come back and you'll show me around the places you spent time." And I believed him. He made me think I would regain my mind and be complete. He especially looked amazing in that leather kilt. That was absolutely all I could wrap my mind around at the moment. What Quatre chose first was the least odd of all the spots his sister and her friends frequented. The Miami Nice club had a tropical theme, which meant that the walls were decorated with garish neon lights in the shapes of parrots and palm trees, and the folks at the bars held tall drinks sporting colorful umbrellas or slices of fruit. "Remember," Quatre warned me. "You got a long night ahead of you. Take it slow on the drinks or you'll pass out before the fun starts." "Quatre, I've been drinking for quite a while. I know my limits, but thanks." I wasn't that much of a drinker. I didn't know where he got the idea that I was, but the way he admonished me told me more about how he cared than about what a control freak he might be. "How old are you?" he asked. "Probably as old as you. Graduated high school at 18, four years college, two years working as a lab assistant at the hospital, few months at Duo's place brings me to 24." "You're older, but not by much. I graduated prep school at 17, four years college, two of graduate school, bringing me to 23, but my birthday's coming soon so we're about the same age." "Okay, but in L4 drinking is prohibited, right? Sanc it's 21, but in L3 the drinking age is 15 and in the circus, well, it was safer to drink beer and wine than the water, for the most part." "Oh." Quatre looked down at his hands subdued a moment. "Oh! That was a new memory for you, wasn't it?" It was. I smiled and we shared yet another small achievement together. "So, let's get started," he said. Quatre wandered over to a table as I picked up a menu from the bar and followed. A few girls giggled as I passed by, which reminded me of how shiny and glowing I was, literally, from the beauty products applied to my skin and hair. I may have been under the delusion that the dark clubs would be cover enough, but I was wrong. The sparkle dust in my hair caught the light and sparkled like tinsel. I slunk into a chair at Quatre's table, well out of sight of most of the other customers, and read the menu. I thought the mixed drink names were odd. "Shark Bite, Lava Flow, Blue Banana? Those are their drinks? That last one sounds vulgar." "It is. Stay away from the mixed drinks. I'll do the ordering," Quatre told me. When I looked up at him he was glowering at the girls in a very Heero-esque manner. Okay, I was willing to take orders from him most anytime. And then I found something far more compelling than even Quatre's exposed limbs exuding animal magnetism inches from my reach. It was on the menu. "Gator bites? Is this for real? Quatre! Do they really serve alligator here?" I guess my unusual excitement frightened him. Afraid that I might start to jump up and down like a ten-year old, I guess, Quatre whirled around and held me to the chair—by my legs, his hands on my legs dangerously close to that 'no touch or else' zone. My body had no sense of shame and begged for attention in a strong silent sort of way. "Yes real alligator and you can try them. Would you like an order?" "Yeah. With a side of Quatre, please?" And then I sucked in my breath. I'd said that aloud wholly unintentionally. "Um, sorry." Quatre smiled and sat back. "Why? You were just being cute and enthusiastic. I'm not terribly good at all this. Don't worry about it," he said, and then ordered gator-kabobs and two beers from our young male server while I mulled over being considered 'cute' by a blond dolled up in a gladiator costume. There was no band, but there was nonstop music and few dark forms quivering in time to it on the dance floor. "The deejay's named Mojo," Quatre told me, and sent a salute his way. I craned his neck to get a look at the guy. "He looks more like a Bill sort of guy. 'Mojo' is probably a pseudonym." "No doubt," Quatre agreed. "He was a psych major in one of my undergraduate classes in Sanc, last I knew." Mojo ambled over and pulled up a chair. He sat in it backwards and draped his arms over the back. His waist-length blonde dreadlocks hung like dirty ropes over his arms. "Hey, Kitty-cat." I noticed Quatre wince at the nickname. It didn't match his macho look tonight, I had to say. "Howya doin? Looks like ya got yerself a friend?" He looked me over like I was goods for sale. "Been okay, you're looking good. Mojo. This is my friend, Trowa." Quatre gave us both a bemused smile. I nodded and frowned. "Yo." I was unused to being scrutinized by anyone like Mojo. "You sticking 'round tonight?" Mojo might have asking Quatre, but his eyes were holding steady on me. "No. We're making the rounds. Showing my friend the highlights." The deejay looked disappointed. "Too bad. Come by later, maybe. You moving here?" I shook his head, dashing Mojo's hopes for some kind of future liaison. "No, just seeing the sites." "That's right. Are you graduating this time around?" Quatre asked. "Maybe, depends. Money's good with this job, but the hours don't always work with the classes. I might have to drop classes or quit work to graduate. Another year's not so bad, either. Hey, come back so we can talk more. I'd like to get to know you, Trowa. Song's over, gotta go back to the box. Later!" "Bye." Quatre sipped at his drink and listened to the music while I sampled the kabobs. "How do you like it?" "How do I like what? This place, the music, Mojo, or the food?" I asked. "Start with the alligator." "The meat's like chicken. Mojo-- if I never see him again I'll survive fine. The music's okay, but loud, and this place is not really me, I guess." Our server limped over as if having to wait tables was more than he could bear and asked if we wanted anything more. Quatre answered for us. "No thanks. We're about to go. Just the bill, please." "'Ere's your check, mate," the kid said glibly, and then waited for Quatre to pay. "Here, and if you drop the fake accent you can keep the change," I said and dropped a few bills onto the table. "Sure thing!" Quatre finished off his beer. "Cool. Let's move on then." As we reached the door the server shouted in parting, "Ciao, baby!" The next club we visited was a smokier, busier place, still with a tropical flavor, but more 'organic' with overhead fans, wicker bar stools, and coconut beverage cups. We were feeling the light buzz from the first beer and he walked close to me, his leather kilt snapping my leg. "We're here to try the snacks. Head for the bar," Quatre directed me. I put on my bemused smile and scanned the drinks others were sipping. One couple was sharing a drink that mostly ice and arguing over who "drank it all!" A livid, smoky drink in a tall, tapered glass was just too vile-looking to be appealing, I thought, although a two-tone green concoction also caught my eye. But when I pointed it out to Quatre, he shook his head. "'Midori sucker,' I call it. Melon liquor and tequila that can make you go blind. I'll get you something green, if that's what you like." "That's what I like," I said in time with the music. The music bounced from reggae to rocksteady to ska. Currently, Feel So Good was playing, which I recognized, but not the particular recording. A large tumbler of green carbonated drink with ice was placed in front of me. "What's this?" "Just try it." "Lime and melon? I thought you said this could kill me?" "Maybe I want you dead, ever think of that?" Quatre gave me a very unsettling stare. I must have looked alarmed, because Quatre immediately shot back, "Oh, dear! I was just joking with you. This is non-alcoholic and might upset your stomach, but it won't kill you." "You are getting goofy," I told him. The blood rushed to his cheeks. "I like the change, though. It's good to get out and loosen up, right? And this is good, thanks." "You're welcome." Hold Me Tight played next. We watched a few young people undulating with the rhythm on the dance floor. "So, why haven't we been carded?" "Because they are lax. They should with all the college students around." "The Cavern always does," I said without thinking. That's how my funky memory worked. Try to remember and all I'd get back would be blank. When I wasn't expecting it, 'bang!' something would get retrieved like I was normal again. "They won't even let you past the door without ID." "S-so you remember that?" "Huh, guess so. Funny the stuff that flashes back." I downed my third pinch of crunchy finger food. "These are odd. Good, but strange. What am I eating?" I asked. "Deep fried bugs," Quatre answered. He hid his smile behind a bottle of sparkling water. I thought I showed considerable poise when I did not spit out my mouthful. "It's a bug bar. One of a kind. Jamaican rum drinks are good here. At one time they had a band on Friday and Saturday nights, but not any more. Probably too small a place. They don't have enough room for all the customers good bands can draw, and the bad bands drive customers away. You like art?" I hesitated to answer. Would a positive response mean we'd be visiting galleries or eating artistically painted bugs? "Maybe. Why?" "Come on, I know a cool place." I chased after my energetic friend wondering what was next all the while watching the loose flaps on his kilt flip up.
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