Disclaimer: Beetlejuice and all related characters belong to Warner Bros. I wouldn't take responsibility for BJ if you paid me. No way, baby.

Chapter 10: Cabaret Beetlejuice

But they did not appear in her room. The room was dark, but deeply crimson, hung with velvet curtains and filled with small, intimate tables. Lydia felt a cool breath of air and looked down at herself. She was dressed in a long wine-colored cocktail dress, with a slit up to mid thigh, which her poltergeist companion was eyeing with some interest. She scowled at him. "A nightclub? I thought we were in my dream." He was dressed in an unbuttoned purple waistcoat and creamy untucked linen shirt, and looked… she critically eyed his ragged hair and the purple shadows under his jade eyes. He looked like Gentleman Death's kid brother.

"Cabaret, actually. And this isn't your dream, anymore, toots. It's mine."

She refused to admit that she was impressed. "Ghosts dream?"

"The dangerous kind do, little Lydia." He grinned that hungry, feral grin again. But rather than cower, as he had fervently hoped. Lydia brushed past him and chose a table in a secluded corner. Rather, she chose a table, because they all seemed to be in secluded corners, as impossible as that was. Disgruntled, Beetlejuice trailed after her. She waited for him to pull out her chair, and belatedly, he did, feeling somehow that he had lost the upper hand. Maybe he shouldn't have chosen that particular dress… But she sat gracefully and favored him with a cool smile. He turned the other chair with a flick of his wrist and straddled it, unconsciously putting up a barrier between them.

Lydia didn't miss much. "You don't seem particularly dangerous at the moment, Beej." He scowled at her, but she was looking around at the club. "This is nice. Can I get something to drink?"

"Orange juice or root beer?" His voice was gruffly sarcastic. She eyed him, and then deliberately looked down at her gown.

"If you're going to dress me like an adult, then I should be able to get whatever I want, right?"

There was that smile again, and her stomach fluttered a bit, despite her brave show. The ghost rested his chin on his folded hands. "What, exactly, do you want, Lyds?"

She chewed at her lip. "I should be asking you that question. You were the one who tricked me, and then kidnapped me and put me in a dress, for gods sake, and now I'm here, and you're dead, did I mention that?"

"Didn't we already have this conversation?"

"No!" Her voice was pitched too high, and it betrayed her nerves. "I don't understand any of this! Why are you haunting my room? Why can't you say your own name? Why the big production, B? And you're in my dream, now?" Hysteria rose, but she couldn't fight it now. "You attack the Moose lodge in a tiny little town in upstate Connecticut, and you expect me to believe that you're some powerful poltergeist, but you don't seem to be much of a match for a little girl!" Beetlejuice's eyes were growing wider and wider at this monologue, until he waved frantically and a dusty bottle of wine appeared on the table with two glasses.

"You need a drink, Lyds. Geez, calm down!" He filled both glasses and shoved one at her, and she grabbed it before it ended up in her lap. "One question at a time, okay? That's why I brought you here—to talk, okay?" He snorted and muttered, "Never thought I'd say that. Me." He pondered for a moment, looking unaccountably depressed. Lydia sipped at her wine, swished it like her mother always did, and then tipped the glass back and emptied it in one swallow. She held the empty glass out to him, and he refilled it, and then took a swig out of the bottle before finishing off his own glass and filling it again. "We're gonna need another bottle."

Lydia took a deep breath. "So okay, one question at a time."

"Trade." He looked speculatively at her, and she squinted at him, confused.

"Trade what?"

"Questions. I answer one for you, you answer one for me." He raised his already upswept eyebrows and looked innocent. She nodded carefully, looking for a trick but not finding one.

"I go first."

"Sure! Sure, no problem. Ladies first, and all." He perked up, listening intently. Lydia thought for a moment, during which his eyes glazed over, and he fumbled in his waistcoat pocket for an ancient-looking gold watch. She scowled.

"Why are you haunting my room?"

"I like the wallpaper. Why did you let me out?"

"That wasn't an answer. You have to tell the truth." But he shook his shaggy head.

"You didn't specify truth, sugar lumps."

"I'm specifying it now." Her voice was hard edged now. He liked that.

"If you want truth, you have to give me something extra."

"What?" She failed to keep the sharp sound of exasperation out of her voice.

"A kiss." He smiled a lop-sided smile. She blinked.

"A kiss?"

"Yes! Anythin' wrong with that?" He sounded defensive.

"You'll tell the truth if I promise to kiss you?"

"Fine, if you can't bear the thought, whatever!" He scowled and crossed his arms across his chest, erecting yet another barrier.

She smiled despite herself. "Okay. But I get to pick where I kiss you."

"Deal!" She looked suspiciously at him, but he just grinned toothily at her. He had agreed far too quickly. He had secured a promise of a kiss from her, and had given her a big nothing in return. He was really good at this manipulation stuff, and she felt like she was losing badly at chess.