"Hey, Jazz," said Danny, leaning into Jazz's room, one hand on the doorknob, the other braced against the jamb. "Wanna help me mess with Vlad?"
"Do I?" responded Jazz, pushing her chair back. "What's the plan?"
"Well," said Danny, "Vlad left one of his creepy spy bugs in the kitchen again, and I was thinking we could have a loud conversation in front of it about how Mom's going to that charity bachelor auction."
Jazz frowned. "But she isn't. She's married."
"Yeah, that's the point. Vlad's delusional."
"Ah, I see," said Jazz. "Yeah, let's do it. Should we write a script?"
"Maybe just a backstory. I work better with improv."
"I've seen your fights, Danny. You definitely do not."
"That's cold."
.
Maddie was not here, and Vlad was going to commit murder. Just a little bit. The victim was already half dead, after all.
His teeth squeaked as he forced himself to smile at the vapid, crowds of rich single women below him. He could not, unfortunately, back out now without losing quite a bit of face. The only consolation he had was that he had already communicated the need to eliminate the wealthier bidders, so that Maddie's bet would win, to his ghostly servants. If only he could get away from the crowds and duplicate himself to take care of the others…
But that would be suspicious too, wouldn't it? He had to let at least a few bids go through. And some of them had to be high, otherwise he'd never hear the end of it from his ever-aggravating business associates.
Curse them and their golf-playing buffoonery. He didn't even like golf. It took so long.
When his name was called, he went out onto the stage like a man expecting to be hung. Why did anyone think this kind of thing was a good idea? This was humiliating. Ninety percent of the people bidding were after his money one way or another, he was sure.
Not like Maddie.
He sighed and refused to make eye contact with anyone in the crowd as the auctioneer called higher and higher values. Finally, the number stopped climbing, and Vlad lowered his gaze to see who, exactly, he would have to waste a day with.
Well. At least it wasn't someone who was after his money.
.
"So," said Harriet Chin, not even bothering to hide the recorder she held in her hands, "Vladimir Masters. Do you have a statement regarding the Whole World Mission scandal?"
"Harriet," said Vlad, "please, we're supposed to be on a date."
"Yes, and I get to decide our activities. And I want an exclusive interview with the elusive Vlad Masters. That's what I paid for, after all."
"And here I was, thinking that it was my ravishing, good looks."
Harriet snorted. "Maybe for someone who didn't see you and Jack in that ridiculous hot dog eating contest. Although," she leaned back appraisingly, "you did fill out since then. Actually… I'm sort of surprised at how early the bidding topped out. Was the room filled with bitter exes, or is there some scandal I don't know about?"
Vlad rolled his eyes. "I confess, I'm as surprised as you."
"Now, that's a lie," said Harriet.
"Excuse me?"
"You still have that tell from college," said Harriet, smugly.
"Excuse me? I do not have a tell." If he did, he had to identify and get rid of it as soon as possible.
"You do," said Harriet, still grinning.
Vlad weighed the pros and cons of simply overshadowing her and making her lose the day. She'd probably claim that he drugged her or something. Curses.
He sighed, heavily. "At least let me take you out to a restaurant instead of," he flicked his fingers at his surroundings, "just standing here."
"Oh, I don't know. A person's house can tell you a lot about someone. Didn't your Wisconsin home blow up? What was up with that, anyway?"
"I released a statement regarding that some time ago," said Vlad.
"Wasn't it also raided by the government?"
"That was a misunderstanding. And I also released a press statement about that incident. It shouldn't take you more than, oh, an hour to look it up online." This wasn't entirely true. Once it was out of the immediate spotlight, Vlad had spent quite a bit of money to have the whole story scrubbed. "Dinner? I am paying."
Harriet looked thoughtful. "Alright, but I'm picking where we go."
"Of course," said Vlad, graciously.
.
He regretted everything.
"Harriet, I know Amity Park is small relative to, say, Chicago, but, really… There are good restaurants here."
"Yes," said Harriet, "but I wanted to eat here."
Vlad grimaced and tried not to look at the booth where Daniel and his juvenile delinquent friends were sitting and filming him with a handheld camera.
"Of course," said Harriet, apparently unbothered by the stickiness of the booth bench and the screaming of children in the other part of building, "if you wanted to go back to a more private setting so that we could continue our interview—"
"No, no, this is quite alright. I said I would get you dinner, and here we are, eating…" He glanced at the menu with derision. "Food."
He could, just barely, call it that. Even if he'd discovered during his short-term ownership of the chain that certain of its condiments could be used as mid-grade explosives. He didn't know how Daniel could stand it.
(On the other hand, he had to admit he was enjoying this. Just a little. He so rarely got to match wits against a competent adult.)
(Maddie didn't count—He was trying to woo Maddie, after all. They were practically on the same side.)
Valerie Grey, looking intensely weirded out, brought their order to their table. Harriet, unperturbed by the grease leaking through the paper wrappings, began to sort though the offerings for the cheap chicken burger she had ordered. Vlad, meanwhile, stared down at his sandwich.
Someone had put an ectoplasm antagonist in the dressing. He glared at Daniel. He didn't know how the boy had done it, but he was going to pay for it. Along with setting him up for this ridiculous 'date.'
"Aren't you going to eat?" asked Harriet.
"I'm not hungry."
"Oh, stop being such a snob. I remember you and Jack living off of instant ramen."
"That was then, this is now," said Vlad.
.
"Seems to be going well," said Tucker, adjusting the lens on his camera, "all things considered."
"Kind of surprised they're here of all places, though," said Sam.
"I think Ms. Chin's just trying to get a rise out of Vlad, to be honest." He'd stopped looking at them, though, instead frowning at the kitchens. "I think Valerie put something in his food. Do you think we should do something?"
"Not really," said Tucker.
"Yeah, I'm going to choose Valerie every day over the old rich white guy who wants to kill your dad," said Sam. "Even if she has some slightly homicidal tendencies regarding you."
"Fair enough," said Danny. "Want to stalk Vlad and his date until they drive home?"
"I don't have any other plans," said Sam, easily.
"Same," said Tucker.
"Cool," said Danny.
.
"Are you frequently stalked by teenagers?" asked Harriet.
"No," said Vlad.
"And isn't that Jack and Maddie's son?"
"Unfortunately."
"Oh ho, there's a story there, isn't there?"
"A private matter, I assure you."
"When you're as wealthy as you are, Vlad, nothing's a private matter anymore."
"I fear I must disagree with you on that count. Where are we going, anyway?"
"It's a surprise," said Harriet. "Unless you want to give me that interview."
"Ugh. No."
It was a miniature golf course. Of course it was. He could never escape from the accursed 'sport.' At least the miniature version was marginally more tolerable. Or it would be, if Daniel and his pack of friends weren't able to follow them in.
… Or maybe they wouldn't follow them in. The trio veered off suddenly right before the exit. Vlad smirked. Not enough cash for the little badger to get in, hm?
This assumption was disastrously disproven when a ghost fight tore through the Astroturf that covered the third hole.
Harriet was very nearly thrown into the pond, but Vlad managed to catch her at the last moment.
She was blushing.
Butter biscuits.
.
"Well," said Harriet, "that wasn't the interview I wanted, but it wasn't a total waste of time. Same time next week?"
"Fine, fine, whatever you want," said Vlad. Then what he said caught up to him. "No. One date. One date was all you paid for."
Harriet pretended not to hear him.