Chapter Seven

Beetlejuice finally staggered home close to eleven pm. He felt it was a new personal achievement: managing to stomach his family in such a dosage for so long.
He'd gotten a peculiar vibe from them; they seemed to know something about he and Lydia's relationship that he didn't, but he'd mostly managed to ignore it.
At the thought of Lydia, he wondered if she was awake still. And for that matter, he wondered if she even wanted to see him. The least he could do was try.

Once safely back inside the Roadhouse, he made his way up to his room, shut the door, and walked over to the mirror.
He knocked it softly before looking, knowing the sound would echo through to the other side. Upon giving Lydia that warning, at least, he pressed his face to the glass.
Within an instant, he was instead sitting in her mirror, more or less as far enough on her side as he could get without being summoned.

Lydia was sat on her bed, still in her dress, cross-legged. She was reading something, he couldn't make out what.
Her eyes were pink and swollen from tears she must have shed, and Beetlejuice felt a stab of guilt. For whatever reason, he'd made her cry.

"Lyds?"

She flinched at the sound of his voice. Putting the book down, she managed to find the strength to look up.
Again, Beetlejuice felt that same stab. He pressed his hands flat to the glass. "Babes, what's up?" A few of the lighter items in her room floated to the ceiling, including the armchair and the items of her contest project.

Lydia didn't seem to even notice. "… If you don't know then it's not worth explaining," She didn't sound mad, only drained.

The furnishings floated back down.

Beetlejuice had been worrying about what mood she might be in, but now that she wasn't yelling he felt all the more concerned. Somehow, the softer voice was worse.
He spoke slowly, trying to figure her out."Is it… because I… talked to that ghoul?"
This did prompt some anger, to his relief.
"Yes!"
Back on familiar territory, he turned his palms upwards and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, what's your problem? It's never bothered you before,"

He didn't know it, but this touched a raw nerve. Lydia grabbed a pillow and flung it at the mirror. He ducked it, half-expecting it to sail through to his side. "Eeee!"
"And how would you know?" She demanded.

He straightened back up again, one eye closed, the other open and alert for any signs of a second pillow. When he saw it was all clear, he opened them both but watched her cautiously still. "Okay, okay, I don't know!" He surrendered, before his voice softened. "Come on, tell me what the problem is, Lyds,"

Lydia paused. She opened her mouth to do just that but then looked away.
"Just– forget it, Beej," She said quietly. A red rash crept up to the top of her cheek and stayed there. Shame, taking the form of a blush.

Beetlejuice tried to cheer her up the only way he knew how. He turned his skin a deep sapphire colour. "Don't look so blue, babes,"
He was relieved to see the corners of her lips perk up.
"I don't like seeing you so… down," He admitted whilst returning to (ab)normal.

Lydia remained unmoving now, her eyes fixed on the cover of the book she'd put down, becoming distant.
Beetlejuice was afraid of her withdrawing into herself, creating a barrier between them.
He wanted to fix this. He'd never wanted to hurt her.
It quite soon dawned on him what was needed. After a moment of deliberating, he swallowed his pride. "Look. I'm…. sorry,"

Lydia's head snapped up at the apology. She couldn't be sure she'd heard it at first. "What?"

He carried on, looking uncomfortable. "Y'know… for talking to that ghoul. It didn't mean anything, I was drunk."

Recalling the glasses she'd tried to wrangle off of him, Lydia rolled her eyes. "You're telling me,"
She glanced at him. Her eyes were forgiving.
Beetlejuice felt a weight shrug off of his shoulders. He took the plunge, raising an eyebrow. "Can I ask you somethin'?"
This caught her off guard. Lydia straightened. "Um… yes?"

What he had wanted to ask was why it had bothered her, but instead he resorted to that one question he'd wanted to ask before the SOMFN event, the one question that had been bothering him since this afternoon.
He steeled himself. He wasn't actually sure he wanted to know the answer.
"… Why didn't you tell me you had a… y'know… a boyfriend?"

Lydia blinked, taking a moment to process what it was he was asking her. She looked positively bewildered. "What?"
"Hey, I didn't eavesdrop or anything," He said defensively. "I came to see if you were ready to go, and overheard you telling yer folks at dinner. It may not be any of my business but–"

Such potent relief washed over Lydia that it rendered Beetlejuice's speech temporarily mute.

He overheard that? She inwardly gasped as things began to fall into place. She found it impossible to hide a smile.
That was why he was so upset!

Before long, Lydia started laughing.

Beetlejuice trailed off. He stalled, looking hurt. "Jeesh, Lyds…"

"No—no—Beej… ahahah! …. I don't- I don't have a boyfriend," Lydia said around her laughter, clutching her stomach. Her joy lessened the swollen look to her eyes and brought a healthy radiance back to her cheeks.
She could hope again. That was something.

Beetlejuice looked confused. "Wh–?"

"My parents were getting suspicious about me not being in my room when I was on the other side with you." Lydia explained once she'd calmed down enough. "They wanted to believe I had a boyfriend, so I just... went along with it,"

Beetlejuice's pupils dilated as he registered this information. He narrowed his eyes briefly, waiting for the 'just kidding', waiting for her to dash his – what, hopes? – when he realised she was telling the truth. After all, what reason would she have to lie?
Without his being aware, he was grinning. "You mean…?"

The sight of his relief prompted an opportunity Lydia equally couldn't afford to miss. After being so broken up earlier only to find that this was all a big misunderstanding, she had to set things straight.
She narrowed her eyes at him, smiling slyly. "… Were you… jealous?"

Beetlejuice looked like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
His face flushed as he averted his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck distractedly. "Me? No. No, no, I was just, er… concerned."
His blush was more tell-tale than he would have liked to believe.

After a moment he cleared his throat, and chanced another look at her before continuing. "Anyway, I'm surprised Chucky and Delia swallowed that story," He said, leaning back against the frame of the mirror.

Lydia's eyes darkened as she folded her arms. She was suddenly feeling quite contrary. "Why? Is it so surprising to hear I could have a boyfriend?"

"Whut?"
Beetlejuice was digging himself a proverbial grave. He shook his head fervently. "No, I didn't mean–! Look, I meant: they haven't met the guy. Who'd you tell 'em you were with anyways?"

"Oh, they believed it." Lydia smirked. She leant back, toying with strands of her long, dark hair. Now half-sat, half-led on the top of her bed, she propped herself up with her hands behind her. Then, remembering why it was her parents had believed her story so easily, her expression changed to one of anxiety. She wasn't sure what he'd make of this.

"Well… as far as they're concerned I've been sneaking out to spend time with…" She paused delicately. "… with Mr. Beetleman's son,"

"Who–?" Beetlejuice stopped as soon as the words left him. He stared at her. His mouth slammed shut. After a moment, he did a double-take.

Suddenly he felt very old.

"I—I- I'm not old enough to have a son," He gagged.
Lydia couldn't help but laugh. "No?"
"No!" Beetlejuice objected, horrified. He began speaking in a flustered and fast manner. "And even if I was, which I'm not, I am not old enough to have a kid your age,"

'Your age'? Lydia thought.
She pounced. "'My age'?"
"Right," Beetlejuice's shoulders were rising and falling quickly – he was panting as though venting his panic. After all, he'd just taken a partial step outside of himself and seen, for the first time, his and Lydia's friendship the way others must have done.
'You're as old as you feel', so they say. Yeah, and Beetlejuice had always felt like a kid, and acted like one too.
But- he was in his thirties, though age didn't mean much when you were dead, being immortal and all that. But still, what had he been doing? All those years gone by, Lydia had only been a child. When they'd first met… he would have been old enough to be her father. If he'd ever, y'know, made it to that milestone.
He felt unclean. He felt wrong. And not in the good, usual ways either.
Something else was bugging him too, something Uncle Victor had said (accused him of) earlier. For the death of him he couldn't remember.

He tried to calm himself. It didn't matter what other people thought, peoples' opinions didn't bother him. Sure, he was a creep, but he wasn't a creep and Lydia had always been comfortable with him because of that. Her indirectly pointing out she'd be dating someone the same age as she wasn't a personal attack nor was it an expression of doubt about their friendship. And besides, he wasn't old enough to be her father now.
Nineteen. She's nineteen, remember?

Lydia still didn't let the subject drop. She was sliding casually to the edge of the bed. "Am I pretty grown up then?" She asked in a velvety voice. "You know, for a 'kid'?"
Beetlejuice swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat. A bead of sweat coursed its way down his temple.
"What I mean is, you're not a kid," He said quickly. As soon as he did so, he felt instantly better, as though saying so could smooth over the cracks.

Lydia looked truly surprised. Subconsciously, she placed a hand on her heart and smiled broadly.
"… Thank you," She breathed, almost in awe.
Beetlejuice looked puzzled. "For what?"
"For… saying I'm not a kid."

He blinked.

Oh. Right. Di-Did I just say that?

Before he could put his foot in it, Lydia intertwined the fingers of both hands and twiddled with her thumbs absently. She sighed, but kept smiling. "Today has just been one big misunderstanding."
Beetlejuice relaxed so much that he slumped inside the mirror. He let out a breath.
If that statement didn't mean he was forgiven, then he didn't know what it meant. "You can say that again,"

Lydia stood up, brushing herself down. "Are you still mad at me for running off and ditching you at the party, or do you think you can bear with me on that side for a while?"
Beetlejuice hadn't been angry with her for even a second, and his face sure showed it. "Hey, just, say the B-words, babes," He replied eagerly, reaching out a hand.
Lydia pressed her fingers to the glass, tip-to-tip with his. As she called his name, her fingers sank through the glass, entwining with his.


"Babes! Look at this!"
Beetlejuice broke off into fits of laughter, his legs propped up on the table beside the TV that was mounted on it.
That Darn Werewolf! was on, and running its last season.

Lydia came dashing out of the kitchen. "What did I miss?" She gasped, clambering next to him on the sofa whilst clutching her bowl of popcorn, beginning to snack on it compulsively. She leant into Beetlejuice, a warm, cosy feeling sweeping over her. It was particularly strong in light of her earlier epiphany.
This was nice. Sat here at who-knew-what-hour, lying together and watching their favourite show, she forgot the afternoon drama and let her mind empty.

He draped an arm around her and placed a hand on her shoulder, something he did now instinctively without even thinking about it. Lydia wanted to tell him how much she liked that he did, but stopped herself. If she told him, he might become more aware that he did it and might stop.

Even after so many seasons, Beej still didn't know the names of the characters, which in itself made the experience more amusing. He gestured to the protagonist on screen vaguely. "He… He 'fetched'! Ahahaha!"
Lydia grinned. "Werewolf jokes. You know we love 'em,"
"Right with ya, babes," Beetlejuice plunged the hand that had been around her shoulder into the popcorn bowl and pulled a handful out. His companion playfully objected and elbowed him in the ribs.
Taken aback, he dropped his pilfered share. "Oof! Hey!"

Lydia tipped her head to look at him, eyes glittering teasingly. "You didn't say 'please',"
"Are you kidding?" Beetlejuice cried dubiously. "Lyds, this is me we're talking about,"
"Well, all ri-ight…" She sing-songed back. "Say 'aah',"

Laughing, Lydia plucked a single popcorn from the bowl, before swinging around and pressing it to his lips. Then, realising what she'd done, she stopped and stared.
Beetlejuice had made to accept it without a thought, but he too had stopped. He was now looking back at her, mouth still primed to take the snack.
For an agonising moment they were simply staring at one another, eye-to-eye, so close they were breathing the same pocket of air. Then the scene was resumed, and they both reddened hotly as she popped the popcorn into his mouth.

A howl from the TV set made them jump and turn back to what they had been watching.

Lydia's heart was thumping madly as she settled back down next to him. She tried to keep her gaze off of him, threw it around the room at anything that could distract her. It was then that she noticed something over by the door.
She sat up.
"Beej, someone posted something under your door,"

"Whuh?"

She went over to pick it up.
"And judging by the state of it, you've been walking all over it," Nevertheless the condition of it was not that bad considering it was the Roadhouse it had been posted into; she didn't need to hold it out at arm's reach, for starters.
Turning the paper over, noting the NTV letterhead, her eyebrows knotted together as she read the official looking print.

- BEETLEJUICE. LYDIA
PLEASE COME TO MY OFFICE AT NTV HQ TOMORROW, MIDDAY. I HAVE A PROPOSITION I WOULD LIKE TO DISCUSS WITH YOU BOTH, AND HAVE AN ASSORTMENT OF PEOPLE I WOULD LIKE YOU TO MEET.
I AM OFFERING YOU FAME AND FORTUNE; DO THINK ABOUT THIS BEFORE TURNING ME DOWN.
THERE IS ALWAYS A PLACE FOR YOU BOTH HERE AT THE NETWORK.
- MONITOR, HEAD OF PROGRAMMING

"What is it, babes?" Beetlejuice called from the sofa, stealing a wealth of popcorn in her absence. He muted the TV volume in his curiosity.

Lydia lowered the slip of paper, indecision written clearly across her face. "It's from Mr Monitor. He wants to see us tomorrow," She held the typewritten letter up for him to see. "Listen to this – 'I'm offering you fame and fortune', he certainly knows how to grab your attention,"

Beetlejuice leapt off of the sofa. "Fame and fortune?"
"Like I said," She held out the paper in his direction.
The ghost extended an arm halfway across the room in order to grab it and yanked it back towards him excitedly. "Ohboy, ohboy, ohyboy…"

"We talked about this, B.J."
"Yeah. Uh huh. Whatever you say, Lyds," He wasn't listening. He gripped the paper tightly, reading it through again and again.
"Beej,"
"We're gonna be ri-ich!"
"Beetlejuice,"

His head snapped up. "Whaaat?"

Lydia was tapping her foot irritably on the floor, seemingly a word away from reprimanding him.

He held up the letter. "Listen. Lyds. You seem to be convincin' yourself that fame and money is a bad thing."

Isn't it? She thought with a sigh. After a moment, she breathed out and gave up. If you couldn't beat 'em, join 'em.
She straightened out her dress fastidiously. "… Should we?"

"Yes," Beetlejuice replied with conviction. He dropped the paper to the floor. "Think about it, babes."
"We don't need the money…."
"Hey! Speak for yourself! I know that I'd like ol' Crumby never to ask me for another months' rent again,"
Lydia narrowed her eyes at him. "Yeah, right, and you're telling me you don't charge Ginger and Jacques enough that it doesn't cover your lease?"
Beetlejuice avoided this accusation tactfully. He glanced down at himself. "Or I could get a new suit,"
"You wouldn't wear it even if you did,"
"Touché,"

Lydia sat down on the edge of the coffee table, resting her elbow on her knee and propping up her head. In a way, she was still trying to find an excuse. "What would I want with Neitherworld money?"
"It couldn't hurt to have it,"
"That's true…"
Stood behind her, he stooped to her seated level, grinning like a school boy as he peered over her shoulder at her. "I'm grindin' ya down, aren't I?"

Lydia smiled despite herself. Finally she turned to face him.
"Okay, we can go to this meeting, but I'm not promising anything else, you hear me?"
Satisfied, Beetlejuice reclined mid-air happily. He turned the volume back up on the TV set. "Loud an' clear, Lyds. Loud an' clear,"


The morning after, in glorious sunshine, a lime green convertible pulled into the Deetz's driveway.
The vehicle was expected.

Delia, who had been watering the flower arrangement she kept in the bay window, peered out nosily, attempting to scrutinise the individual who had just pulled up.

The car she recognised as belonging to Beetleman, but at the same time it looked different, or as though it were pretending to be something it weren't. Maybe her memory was playing tricks on her but she could've sworn the car used to be a Beetle coupe. Now it seemed to be a corvette.
It was the same car, wasn't it? It had the same skull hood ornament. It's- well, the only way Delia could describe it was 'face', was unchanged. The front of it almost looked… alive.
The license plate read 'D00M1E'.

Delia could only make out the back of the driver's head. He had blond hair, cropped short at the nape. He was getting out of the car.
Before she could catch a real glimpse of him she heard Lydia coming down the stairs. Delia whipped around.

Lydia was wearing one of her dress designs that she was submitting to the contest. Though Delia normally disapproved of her step-daughter's gothic inclination, she couldn't deny that the dress itself was beautiful. It clung to her top half like a second skin, but belled out at the hips. It was black and white, Victorian looking, with capped sleeves. The dress looked incredibly English, Delia would never have guessed that the booming Victorian-esque fashion trend originated in Japan. It looked as though it were in two parts – a dress layered over a white, collared blouse – but it wasn't, the 'blouse' was attached. A black ribbon was tied beneath the collar, below which two black buttons sat vertically. The skirt-half had an asymmetrical, ruched hem that appeared to be gathered and pinned up on the left side, displaying a false ruched petticoat beneath.
It should have made Lydia look like a porcelain doll. It didn't. Her make-up was mostly natural, yet smoky and sultry.

Delia placed her hands on her hips. "Now, Lydia… don't get me wrong, you look beautiful, dear, but that's hardly what I would have chosen for a date,"
The doorbell rang. Delia jumped a little.
She went to get the door but Lydia got there first.

Stood on the doorstep was a pale, thin young man that appeared to be a few years or so older than Lydia, but not as many as was the case in reality. His eyes, which were green, were surrounded by bruised, dark rings. Lack of sleep, Delia assumed, something his father, judging by the looks of him, seemed to suffer from too.
He had short hair with a grown out fringe that he'd combed and slicked into a side parting. He was wearing a white shirt and black-and-white stripe tie, with a black cardigan slung over one arm. On his legs – matching trousers and boots.

At the sight of Lydia he smiled widely, but didn't show his teeth. He waved. "Hey, Lydia,"
She had to suppress a gasp and a laugh.

Lydia had half-expected Beetlejuice to arrive looking as he had at his Prom, but not like this. Not like he'd put real effort into it. It was almost as though he wanted to look like a… like a 'nice young man'. The only time she'd seen his hair like this was once before when a corrective employee of the Bureau of Sweetness and Prissiness had gone on a power trip.

"Hey to you too, B. J.." She half-laughed back. That they didn't have to act much made things easier.

Delia stepped in front of Lydia. Her lips were pursed but she tried to remain polite. "You must be Mr Beetleman's son,"
'B. J.' looked at her, faking a naïve expression, eyebrows high. He smiled politely, still only with his lips. "Oh, yes, ma'am." He said.
Lydia slapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from sniggering.

Delia inspected the boy suspiciously. She hadn't known quite what to expect, but this certainly wasn't it. She couldn't help the accusing tone. "He's never mentioned you before,"
"I– only just moved into the neighbourhood." B. J. explained with but the smallest hesitation.
Lydia was starting to worry that if he kept smiling like that his face would freeze that way.

Delia filled in the gaps of the story, as she was often quite happy to do without realising. Yes, that adequately explained how this young man seemed to have a politer, trustworthier disposition than his father. He must have lived with his mother, or another relative, and had only just came back into his father's life.

Charles appeared out of nowhere, and having the three standing at the door made things a little crowded. "You're B. J.?" he asked as Lydia stepped out onto the porch.
Beetlejuice clasped his hands behind his back. "Yes, sir,"
Again, Lydia tried very hard to keep her face neutral.

Charles took in the sight of the foreign car in their driveway. He looked between it, Beetlejuice and Lydia uneasily. "I… see you have the intention of driving,"
"Oh, I'm a very sensible driver, sir," B. J. said, still remaining courteous.
Charles rung his hands nervously. "I- I hope so."

Lydia moved closer to Beetlejuice.
Luckily things were going well, and she wanted it to stay that way. "We'd better be off, huh, B. J.?" She prompted.
Beetlejuice gave her a thumbs-up sign behind his back.
"Oh, yeah." He held out a hand to Lydia. She took it gladly.
"Later, Mom. Dad."
"Nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Deetz," B. J. excused, and the two began to make their way down the many steps to the hillside drive where Doomie, relatively disguised, was parked.

Delia spoke up. "You must come for dinner sometime, B. J.!" She cried, waving after the two of them.
Beetlejuice flinched at the very idea. Sitting still for a big slap-up meal, at a table with Chucky and Delia, masquerading as a polite boyfriend that you'd love to take home to Mumsy and Dadsy? Rough questioning, improvising, and no beetles?
He turned. "I'm lookin' forward to it!" He called back unsteadily through gritted teeth as he opened up the passenger side for Lydia. She climbed in, now giggling under her breath. As Beetlejuice walked around to the driver's side, Doomie let out a little snicker.

Lydia gave a slight wave as they took to the road and drove off.

As soon as they were out of view from her parents' potential spying eyes and taking the main road out towards the Mondo Mall, she glanced at the ghost next to her snidely. He looked handsome like that, there was no mistaking it, yet, at the same time, he wasn't as – (Lydia grasped at the right word) – attractive, however contradictory that may be.
It wasn't him. It was a false ideal of what others might want him to be, and Lydia didn't expect that of him.
Now her laughter came full and steady. "What possessed you to look like that?"

Beetlejuice turned to her, removing his hands from the steering wheel. Doomie kept driving straight.
"Wha-aat? It worked, didn't it?" He objected. He knew what she meant however; he had every intention of burning that cardigan, for one, when he got home.
As soon as it was safe there was a flash of light and Beetlejuice was back to his normal self. He flashed her a grin, this time displaying his teeth.
Lydia grinned. Yes. Much better.

Brimming with both confidence and gratitude, she leant over and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. "Yes. And I'm really, really grateful. Thank you, Beej,"

Beetlejuice, stunned, touched a hand to his cheek as she pulled away. It was still warm from where her lips had brushed his skin. His whole body tingled as though someone had pressed a live wire to his nerves.
... I know I've never washed it before, but I'd rather face an army of sandworms before washing that cheek again.
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He found his gaze drawn to her lips like a magnet. His lips wanted to be magnetised to them too.
Shaking himself down firmly, he forcibly turned back to the road.

Trembling, he tried to regain his cool, placing his hands back on the steering wheel. It wasn't necessary, but he found he didn't shake so much when he had something to grab hold of. "We-e-ell, just say the words, babes. Then it's goodbye poverty and hellooo celebrity," He said, voice cracking slightly.
Doomie beeped in agreement.

To say Lydia felt good about herself was an understatement. She raised her hands, rollercoaster-riding fashion. "We'll see about that. Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!"
And with that, the three vanished in a flash of bursting light.


It was only after B. J. and Lydia had left and Delia had resumed watering her flowers that she realised something.

Firstly, B. J. looked far too grown up to be a son of Mr Beetleman's. Supposing that man had a child, she would have put them at half B. J's age. She'd have thought he were adopted had it not been for the family resemblance.
And secondly, speaking of the handy man, how old was he anyway? He couldn't be any more than his mid-thirties, but he'd looked that way since the first day they'd met. That man never seemed to age.

She bent down to a planter of tulips, pouting slightly. "Some people have all the luck when it comes to looking youthful."
Simple-minded as ever, she poured some water into the flowerpot. "I must find out his secret,"