Okay, so it wasn't quite Monday. : ) Much love to everyone for reading, and praise be to my betas!
CHAPTER THREE: In which I stretch my interrogation skills and attempt to lay down the law.
You know how sometimes you wake up in the morning, and you just know that something heinous happened the day (or night) before? There's this gut feeling, but in those first few moments of wakefulness you've got that 'blank slate' thing going on. It's nice, right? Not having to remember yet. On this particular Saturday morning, I knew that if I dug a little deeper into my consciousness I could pop a hole right though that bubble. Even so, it was crucial to me that I put it off as long as possible.
I woke up feeling beyond disoriented. I figured I must have gone out with Carla and everybody from the production staff the night before and had too much to drink. That was not good that I didn't remember it, though. Very not good. My headache felt like a gift from the mother of all hangovers, and my eyes were very nearly swollen shut. I forced one of them open, and the edge of a purple pillowcase swam into focus. Good, so I least I was in my own room. The last time I'd woken up feeling this shitty was several years ago, when we'd thrown a bachelorette party for Rachel and I'd woken the next morning on what had turned out to be Rachel's living room carpet. Well, it was hardly the I-woke-up-in-a-dumpster story that some of my more adventurous college friends liked to tell, but it had been pretty wild living for me.
There was also the vague impression that I'd had some bizarre dreams, but they didn't have any form or substance. Just the kind of dreams that vaporize in daylight. I closed my eyes again. My face, especially the mouth and eye regions, were gritty and as dry-feeling as if I'd slept in a desert. And the taste on my tongue, well, it's better if I don't go into that. I wouldn't know if I was going to be sick to my stomach until I tried to move, and I decided I might as well postpone that particular experience. But in some ways it was like the desire to pick at a scab, so I (very cautiously) stretched my arms and legs, just a little bit.
Mmm…the pillow currently squashed against my face smelled like Neil, a combination of his aftershave (which I'd bought him for Christmas) and my shampoo (which he used freely whenever he ran out of his own, never mind the fact that it was expensive and he had practically no hair). It was an unforgettable combination, kind of like an outdoor campfire that had been banked with a bucket of wet cherries. Okay, I know it sounds a little weird, especially for a scent I apparently liked, but this mixture of boy- and girl- smells reminded me of him and definitely smelled right in the bed next to me. Okay…but something really wasn't right. Why was it my head, and not Neil's, being caressed with the odor of burned-cherry stink? I opened my eyes just the tiniest bit and confirmed what I thought I'd noticed when I'd stretched before. I was lying diagonally across the bed, my head on Neil's side, and I was alone.
Panic started to seep into me then, smothering the sick feelings I'd had when I woke. With some difficulty I struggled into a sitting position. Neil had a late-at-night kind of job and it had never bothered me to go to bed alone, unless you think 'bothered' would be indicated by my compulsive window-locking habit, which I was sure it didn't since sixty percent of home invasions in our zip code involved entering through a window. Anyway, he was always back by morning. In other words, if it was daylight (and before noon if he'd been working the night before) there was only one place my husband would ever be, and that was in this bed. I proceeded to panic ever-so-slightly more as I consciously noticed that I hadn't been under the covers at all and the door was closed tightly. I never slept with it closed (pointless to try with a dog in the house who is constantly at odds with himself over whether to sleep with his people or attempt to guard the front door). What the hell happened last night?
Feeling the oncoming dread teasing against my insides, I made my way up and through the bedroom door, and proceeded cautiously – and silently – down the hall towards the living room. When I saw the pair of bodies on the couch, my pulse quickened and last night came flooding back. The lock, the rain, the Goblin King. Oh crap. My fight with Neil. The fact that Jareth had set me up with my husband, apparently. Oh yes, there it was now – that increasingly-familiar feeling of betrayal and revulsion and disbelief was knifing it's way though my chest yet again. Neil and Jareth. Jareth and Neil. God only knew the extent of their relationship. But holy Christ. They had a relationship. My life was some kind of cosmic joke. The evidence of my subsequent tirade, upon learning this news last night, was right in front of me now. Neil and Ambrosius were huddled together on the couch, evidently in fear of incurring my wrath once again. They were deeply asleep and it was difficult to judge which of them was snoring louder.
Letting out a long breath, I stepped into the kitchen to decide what to do. Shit! Of course I had been in the bedroom because of the fight, and Neil had slept on the couch. Now, what to do about that fight…I allowed, just in my mind, that maybe I'd been a bit irrational in not letting Neil say everything he needed to say. I was quite sure there was more to the story of Neil's past meetings with Jareth than I'd heard last night, but I hadn't waited around to hear it. But seriously, my husband and Jareth, for goodness' sake! Knowing that they knew each other, that they'd discussed me…well, it was more than just betrayal. It was a cold, vulnerable feeling that invaded every part of my being and I didn't know how I'd ever feel okay again.
Even though it didn't come close to the anguish I was feeling over this, I couldn't help but be reminded of something that had happened to me in high school. My sophomore through senior year, I had this amazing English teacher. Most drama (or music, or art) kids have a teacher like that at some point, who totally inspires them, makes them feel that they understand their artistic soul far better than their parents ever could, etc. Although the phenomenon I'm talking about is probably also to blame for the occasional teacher who has the baby of one of her twelve-year-old students, obviously cases like that are few and far between. This type of teacher/student bond is wonderful and magical; Plato had Socrates, Mozart had Haydn; I had Mrs. Prescott (not that I'm comparing myself to the Platos and Mozarts of the world, per se, but you get the idea). Mrs. P and I were friends from the moment we met, and she encouraged my interest in theatre, even as – under my mother's influence – I gravitated toward the melodramatic nineteenth century plays, instead of the Shakespearean classics I'm sure she would have rather seen me interested in. It's not that there was anything wrong with the plays I liked – Zakar's "Labyrinth" of course at the top of that list – but in terms of their literary value, they weren't, you know, Shakespeare. But Mrs. Prescott and I had a real bond. She listened to me when I had no one else to turn to, spending time with me after school, running lines or going over poetry I'd written, to distract me from the general crappiness of my home life. Her mom had remarried when she was a teenager, so she knew firsthand what I was going through. She knew that if I really dedicated myself to something, if I had something positive to focus on, that it would make that time easier for me. That was the genesis of my learning of "Labyrinth." She helped me to memorize the whole thing and once a week I'd perform monologues for her to critique. If I hadn't had Mrs. P during high school, I don't know what I would have done.
Finally, at graduation, the unthinkable happened. It was after the ceremony, and kids were milling around on the lawn outside of the auditorium. The day had started out pretty well. Karen and I were getting along better, mostly due to the fact that I was finally growing out of some of my immaturity, and I remember just feeling really good, standing there with her and my dad, Toby running around us like a maniac as usual. Mrs. P fought her way over to us through the crowd, and I was really so happy to see her; I'd finally get to introduce her to my family and I was just getting ready to ask my dad if she could come out to dinner with us when she hugged Karen. I was confused at first but then Karen started calling her 'Lorraine' and the two of them started gushing together about how proud they were of 'their little girl' (namely, me) and then my dad was in on it, too, giving Mrs. P a hug and a kiss. Somehow, I managed to ask if they already knew each other, and guess what? They sure fucking did! Karen and 'Lorraine' (whose last name had been 'Harrison' then) had been best friends/roommates/sorority sisters in college. Oh, and for the past three years they had been discussing me at length, as soon as Karen found out that Mrs. P was my teacher. In fact, one of Mrs. P's secret missions had been to get me to trust Karen more. Turns out that on my graduation day, they were both so damn proud of me for growing up enough to do that they just couldn't shut up about it. Well, I showed them. I threw a world-class temper tantrum, worthy of the feistiest five-year-old, right there in front of the school. Then I turned around and ran to the park, which had an entrance on the next block, ignoring their attempts to call me back. That's what they got for thinking I'd matured.
An hour or so later, Mrs. P found me where I was sitting in my spot by the little stone bridge, wiping my tears with the huge sleeve of my graduation gown. She tried to tell me that she and Karen hadn't truly realized that I didn't know the nature of their relationship, and that they both loved me and were so proud of how well I'd done in school and had gotten into a good college and all of that. But it was all crap. The words coming out of her mouth were so clearly put there by Karen – the excuses for their little cover-up; they were just so lame. I told her so. Then, for the first time since I'd known her, Mrs. P got cold with me. She told me that I really needed to grow up – God, it was like she was directly channeling Karen now! – and then she said something so hurtful that I've never forgotten it. She said, "Sarah, I can't believe you're mad at me after I spent all that time working with you on that play about that stupid labyrinth." At this point I should mention that I never, you know, told Mrs. P about anything relating to my actual labyrinth experience. Thank goodness for that, huh? Or that would have been thrown in my face, too.
After she said that, I knew my friendship with her was completely over. I didn't speak to her again for years, not until one night when she and her husband attended the opening of a play I directed at the university and she purposely found me afterwards. She really tried to talk to me then, but I was dismissive and blew her off. I know it's a little silly now, that this many years later I should still be so upset about something that happened back then, but I can't help it. I don't care if she and my step mom had the best of intentions, in my mind they will always be secretly laughing at me and talking about my darkest secrets. Fortunately it didn't irreparably damage my relationship with Karen. I couldn't let it; Karen will always be a part of my life; she'll always be my family and I've accepted that.
The feelings consuming me now had just too much déjà vu. Karen Williams and Lorraine Prescott. Neil Porter and Jareth 'Goblin King'. I knew they weren't exactly the same scenario, but they were pretty damn close! Hell, with the way Jareth had apparently been screwing around with my life, maybe I should give old Lorraine a call. They were probably old friends, too!
"Sarah…." A moan came from the living room.
Neil was waking up. I was going to have to deal with this, somehow. Ambrosius lumbered groggily into the kitchen; obviously Neil had shifted and woken him. I threw some dry food in the dog dish and went into the living room.
He wasn't totally awake yet; Neil's eyes were still closed and he had a frown on his face as he turned, trying to find a more comfortable position. I made a decision. Clearly, the only person I could trust in the world (at the moment) was myself. But I needed information. I would make amends with Neil for last night, and then we would talk everything out as much as possible so that when and if Jareth reappeared, I'd be as armed and prepared as I could be. Kneeling next to him, I gave Neil a quick kiss on the forehead and shook him awake. "Good morning, sweetie," I whispered. His eyes opened and locked with mine, but he didn't say anything.
I took a deep breath. "Listen, I'm really sorry about the way I acted. I shouldn't have been so hard on you. Last night was obviously stressful for both of us and I just went off and made it worse. I want to talk about this, now, if you're willing." I waited as he seemed to take an eternity to respond.
The expression that shattered the calm on Neil's face was heart-wrenching, even for me, a woman with more than enough right to be mad at him. "Sarah, I love you so much. Please, love, don't be mad at me for this. I mean, I know you've got plenty of reasons to be pissed, but once I explain everything…." He trailed off and his eyes shone with tears as he struggled not to let them fall.
That was it for me. So much for my plan to not let emotions take control as I calmly interrogated him. I leaned forward, dropping my head onto his chest and clasping my hands around the back of his neck. I could feel his heartbeat, steady and reassuring, against my face as I pressed my upper body against him. A few of his tears fell into my hair as he slid over on the couch as much as he could to make room for me beside him. We lay like that for a few minutes, just breathing together, not saying anything. Relaxing there like that with him, I could almost pretend to myself that everything was fine and that the events of last night had been a dream. Almost. I closed my eyes and focused on matching my breathing to Neil's. I listened to the ticking of the kitchen clock, the gentle snuffling sounds of Ambrosius' face buried in his bowl, and the soft hum of the cable box that never seemed to stop. As I snuggled in more closely with Neil, his hand came up to stroke my hair.
"Well, well…what have we here?"
Oh, no fucking way! No way was I going to let this bastard barge in on my private life like this! I was on my feet in a matter of nanoseconds.
Jareth smirked down at me, arms crossed over his chest. "I'm glad to see my surprise visit hasn't affected anything between you two lovebirds, although I'm a little shocked at your lack of hospitality. I clearly told you last night that I would be back this morning and the two of you are hardly in any position to be receiving guests." His eyes glittered with malevolent amusement.
Neil came up to stand beside me as I faced Jareth; I was literally too paralyzed with my own fury to decide what to do. "Now, really Jareth, it's seven o'clock in the morning and you never said you'd be back so early," Neil started apprehensively.
Things crystallized for me then. I lifted my hand to stop Neil from saying anything more, and addressed Jareth directly. "Is this funny to you?" I asked in my coldest possible voice.
He raised an eyebrow and affected a small smile. "Why? Do I look amused? 'Entertained' might be a little more accurate, but then, you always knew I had a penchant for voyeurism, didn't you, Sarah?" He took a step toward me.
Without acknowledging that little comment, I stepped forward, definitely taking Jareth by surprise, and grabbed hold of his wrist, undeterred by the softness of his flowing sleeve as it slipped though my fingers. "You will come with me now," I told him, never breaking eye contact. "I need a word with you, Your Highness." Shocked as I was at my own boldness, I didn't loosen my grasp and he didn't argue as I pulled him into…let's see…the bathroom. I mean, I wasn't going to bring him into one of the bedrooms to try to reason with him, and the bathroom was the only other room with a proper door. I heard Neil's garbled protest over my shoulder as I led Jareth away. Commanding the situation, the manager in me took over. Leveling my gaze at my husband, I said, "It's okay, Neil. We just need to get a few things straight." I gave Neil my sincerest, authoritative look and he didn't protest. I did feel a twinge of pity for him as I noted how horrible he looked – a vicious combination of forlorn, angry and confused. Oh well. It's not like he had any reason to question me, ever again, now that I knew what he had been hiding. Very deep down, a part of me hoped that sometime in the future I'd be able to forgive him, but for now I was in full wife-holding-mistake-of-the-husband-over-his-head mode.
Shutting the door deliberately behind us, I guided Jareth, not at all gently, to sit on the edge of the tub. Only once he was sitting did I release my grip and move to lean against the sink, doing my best to camouflage my shaking as I realized that I'd just aggressively been touching him. I was now looking down at him from a couple of feet, which did wonders for my confidence. I crossed my arms and stared him down, not saying anything.
In his book, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, Stephen Covey suggests that in a meeting when trying to negotiate with someone, you can't be afraid of silences. If you've just made your whole point, shut up and wait for the other person to get uncomfortable; pretty soon they'll be babbling away, and you'll end up with a better deal as they give all kinds of ground to you. When I had first been promoted to Department Chair, Karen gave me the book on CD so I could listen to it in the car. Most of it is pretty ridiculous, but that particular little tip seemed applicable in this situation. It's not like I had any better ideas, and besides, I had made my point. Jareth was obligated, under my roof, to oblige me if I wanted him to do something, and he could not just come and go at will whenever he pleased. My little manhandling of him should have made that loud and clear, and now I just had to wait for the opportunity to tell him so, verbally. Okay, any minute now he was going to crack. I kept staring. Any minute now….
His face relaxed slightly, and the ghost of a smile he'd been sporting when he sat morphed into a lopsided grin. His eyes twinkled, and he said nothing. Yes, a whole lot of nothing was said between us, as we engaged in an impressive staring contest. Minutes, years, millennia and eons ticked by as we stared at each other. Mine was a hostile sort of glare; his was relaxed and decidedly amused. Just when it was beginning to feel like forever, I felt a subtle shift in the quality of the stare. While the mechanics hadn't changed – our eyes were still locked as they had ever been – it had somehow become less 'staring' and more 'looking into each other's eyes'. In the harsh, unforgiving light of the bathroom, I noticed all sorts of things about his face that weren't so obvious in the more dramatic mood-lighting that usually seemed to accompany him. The aesthetic of the sweep of his brows was supremely graceful, like a bird in flight, and his ivory pallor – seriously, his complexion was the kind of pale usually reserved for marble statues and vampires – actually suited him very well. The eyes themselves, well, they were their own works of art. Two seemingly-different colors, one cold, one warm, different as night and day and yet, equally deep, equally…haunted? That could have been what I saw in them, but it could just as easily have been that they were haunting me. His pale skin only accented the oddly beautiful markings around his eyes and the sharp, precise angles of his cheekbones. Come on, Sarah, you can do this! I screamed inwardly at myself as I felt my gaze begin to drop. You idiot! I thought frantically; I knew how crucial it was that I was losing the eye contact. He couldn't win this, he just couldn't! But even as I fought so hard, I knew I was being sucked in. My will was not my own as my gaze settled on his mouth. Now, most often when people think of a typically attractive or particularly sensual mouth, they think of full, soft lips; inviting and warm. Jareth's are the complete opposite of that, thin, cruel in their own way even when he smiled, almost without color, nothing soft about them. But that grace that was present in the rest of his features and in every gesture he made, every breath he took, seemed to emanate from his mouth. His lips quirked and curved, almost acrobatic in their movements as he shifted his lazy smile back into a smirk. Dear lord, I was lost looking at his mouth. Still silently screaming at myself, I begged and pleaded with my own stupid mouth to stay closed. Shit – I was going to say something, or drool, or worse. Oh God! Please don't let this happen to me!
"Umm…."
So much for the big build-up. Thanks, Stephen Covey, for nothing. There was my eloquence, "umm." Very nice. What exactly was I supposed to follow that up with, huh? There was no point to this little fight for dominance anymore. I spun around and faced the mirror, doing my best to ignore Jareth – who was still seated on the edge of the bathtub and still infuriatingly silent – as I attempted to slow my heartbeat. Hoping he wouldn't notice, I twisted my wrists and laid them, pulse down, against the cold porcelain of the sink in an attempt to use the flowing of my own blood to spread the coolness to the rest of my body. I risked a glance at my reflection and cursed the flush on my cheeks.
Against my will, I caught Jareth's glance in the mirror. In an instant, he was next to me, uncomfortably close. The way he moves just…defies logic. It's unnaturally, inhumanly graceful and deliberate, and always seems to be either very slow or very fast; nothing in between. When he's in fast-mode, which he most often seems to be, you almost don't see him move at all. He's just suddenly transported from one spot to another, and you can practically see the movement, but not quite. Basically, it's not your textbook abracadabra stuff, like a cheesy movie effect achieved by just stopping and starting the film; it's more like, say, watching an animal that moves through something that's an alien medium to you, like a fish though the water or a bird through the air. You can see it happening, but because you're a human and you can't fly or breathe underwater, you can't exactly empathize.
Almost casually, he directed his attention forward and stood beside me, focusing on the mirror in a contemplative manner as though he was studying the way we looked together. Reluctantly I directed my attention to our images as well. What a pair we made. I raised an eyebrow as I took in his otherworldly beauty next to my first-thing-in-the-morning appearance. I was wearing one of Neil's old concert T-shirts and a pair of yoga pants, my hair was slipping out of its ponytail (and not in any sort of trendy, messy-on-purpose kind of way; my hair looked just plain messy) and there were mascara smudges under my eyes as a testament to the less-than-thorough job I had done last night of washing my face. So no, glamorous I was not. The absurdity of this situation was overwhelming.
Clearing my throat, I decided the tension had already been broken, so I might as well get this over with. "Wow, Jareth, I'm surprised you have a reflection." I moved a couple of paces away and leaned against the wall.
"I'm not some kind of monster, Sarah," he replied as he pulled at the spikiness of his hair with his fingertips. That's right, he was fussing over his damn reflection instead of looking at me. The narcissistic jerk had just turned my life upside down and he didn't even have the decency to look at me.
"I didn't say you were, it's just that I assumed you could make sure you always looked perfect without using something as ordinary as a mirror. Or is it just that you're so vain you can't pass up the opportunity to admire yourself?"
"Careful, Sarah," he said quietly. "I can bear with a great deal when it comes to you, but mind that you don't go too far…." He turned slowly to face me.
Yes! That's right Jareth, I thought, if you want to talk to me you have to do it on my terms and that means that you have to come to me! Without warning, I was suddenly pinned against the wall, my hands behind me (I have no idea how that happened) and Jareth had one hand on either side of my head to support himself, effectively trapping me in place without touching me. Damn, talk about a miscalculation on my part! Obviously I couldn't be right all the time, but still, this was not cool.
"I am every inch the king you created, Sarah Williams. Don't you forget that. An artist who insults her creation may find it turn on her when its patience is tested." And just as quickly, he was gone.
I stood in the bathroom by myself, not too surprised to notice that I was shaking. What the hell had I done to deserve this? Numbly, I pulled my terrycloth robe from its hook and wrapped it around myself as I struggled not to cry. Why was it so cold in here? The tiles under my bare feet felt like ice as I slid to the floor and sat, wrapping my arms around my knees. On second thought, maybe it wasn't the room that was cold; maybe this frigidity was coming from me. It felt like it was radiating from my own heart. My stomach and what felt like several other internal organs seemed to have stepped out for a vacation, leaving me hollow and empty. The only part of me that seemed to still be in working order was my brain, through which my thoughts were flying at such a dizzying pace I couldn't keep up with them. I wanted to take a hot bath, but what if Jareth came back? It was unthinkable. "Neil!" I yelled.
The door opened seconds later. Fortunately I hadn't locked it. Neil took one look at me, huddled on the floor, and dropped to his knees, pulling me into his arms. "Sarah, what happened in here? Where's Jareth? If he did anything to you – " At this, Neil held me at arm's length, frantically studying my face, and I found I couldn't look him in the eye.
"I'm fine," I mumbled as I stood, brushing myself off. Grabbing my face scrub, I turned on the hot water in the sink. If I couldn't have a real bath, this would have to do. Bathing or showering were out of the question for me for the time being. I went over the possibilities in my mind, including having Neil guard the door from the inside or outside, but of course there was no way to stop Jareth if he decided to come back. A few tears of frustration squeezed their way out of my eyes while I splashed the wonderfully warm water on my skin. As I buried my face in a clean towel, I felt Neil's hand moving in a circular motion on my back. Bless him for not trying to make me talk. Sometimes he knew just what I needed.
See, I was just completely rattled. You might think that with everything that had happened since the previous evening, I'd be over that feeling of sick shock by now (or at least getting used to it), but I wasn't. Something about confronting Jareth in as mundane a place as my bathroom, and particularly having him that close to me, physically, made all of this uncontrovertibly real. I had tried to make a point with him (that my home was my own domain) and he had bested me. Bottom line, my pride was a little hurt. My level of immersion in fantasy and science fiction up to this point in my life had taught me a few things about dealing with all-powerful non-humans (or so I thought). I guess it's like if you're a fan of slasher flicks, you might feel a little smug seeing characters make the standard mistakes, like watching a female victim running upstairs where there'd be no escape from the knife-wielding maniac in the house (or one of the many such clichés). You think that you'd never be so dumb, and God forbid, if you were ever in a similar situation, you'd at least know what to do. Well, at the moment I was being humbled. Even though until last night I hadn't believed that things like Jareth existed, on some level I figured I'd know what to do if ever confronted by something, say, from an episode of Night Gallery or Tales From The Crypt. There are just a few common sense things that every kid knows, like that werewolves are allergic to silver, that you shouldn't invite a vampire into your home, and that if say, you're ever in an Egyptian tomb and you stumble upon the Scroll of Thoth, maybe you shouldn't read it out loud. Okay, so Jareth was hardly a classic movie monster, but he certainly wasn't human, and humans at least I knew how to deal with. The idea of someone being able to appear at will, uninvited, or spy on me at any moment, or – eek! – read my thoughts…. Come on! People in my situation usually had some course of defensive action, like a talisman, or a phrase, or a well-directed dose of Judeo-Christian religion. It had been a shot in the dark, to be sure, trying to assert some kind of dominance over him by pulling him into a private meeting, the same way I would with an unruly underclassman. So it hadn't worked, but there was bound to be something else that would…. And if I was being honest with myself, as much as Jareth was frustrating me at the moment, I didn't think he was evil, so I supposed that throwing some holy water on him wouldn't have much of an impact. But wait, wasn't there some weakness I was overlooking? I felt it pulling at my memory, ever so slightly….
You have no power over me.
Aha! Of course! The laws of fantasy do prevail. Every super-being has their kryptonite. The next time I saw Jareth, he would get a taste of his.
"Earth to Sarah."
I looked up from the towel to see Neil, looking as concerned as I'd ever seen him. "Sorry sweetie, I was just thinking." I turned back to the mirror to ponytail the mess on my head.
"About what?"
"The Pythagorean Theorem. What the fuck do you think?" Okay, maybe I was a little testy. "Sorry, hon," I said hastily. "Jareth just has me a little freaked, is all. Could you make me some coffee?"
Neil gave me an appraising look. I'm sure my attitude, and the fact that I was having private arguments with the likes of Jareth wasn't helping his state of mind. His eyes narrowed and he sighed. "Sarah, where did he go? Will he be back?"
I slipped past Neil into the hallway and patted him on the shoulder. "Your guess is as good as mine," I answered grimly.
"Sarah, I'm telling you, you got most of the story last night. To break it down for you, like I said, I met him probably ten years ago, then I saw him a few more times after that – just these quick conversations, nothing too profound – where he'd remind me of our deal."
"Wait, hold up a second…deal? I think I need that particular word explained a little more." Neil and I were sitting and basically just…waiting. For what, I didn't know. We'd spent a couple of hours (and a half dozen pots of coffee; let's just say I never wanted to sleep again) after Jareth left, rehashing everything that had happened. I was in complete turmoil and while I kept reminding myself that the best course of action would be to kill my husband with kindness, so to speak, my raw anger just kept getting the best of me. Sure, I knew that being nice and understanding would probably coax the most honest answers out of him, but then I remembered what he'd done. I know it was technically only 'lying by omission' for him not to have informed me that he had met Jareth, but that was little consolation.
"What? I'm just saying he kept turning up, you know, and reminding me that I was going to meet this awesome girl and marry her. That's all, Sarah." He sighed, the sigh of a man beaten down under intense interrogation. But I was not about to let his word choice pass by so easily.
"Neil, you said 'deal'. Now, do I need to pull out the dictionary and look up that word for you in order to get my point across here? 'Deal' implies that something is exchanged for something else. Do you see where I'm going with this?" My blood on its way to boiling, I paused for dramatic effect as I waited for him to respond, but the bastard just sat there looking harassed. I decided to come to the point and hit him over the head with it. "What was my dowry, Neil? Some responsive audiences and lucky breaks for you? Hey – you got a 30-second cameo in a Lorne Michaels movie and all you had to do was marry me! Sorry, darling, but it seems like you may have gotten the short end. You had to put up with Chris Kattan for a whole day, and me for the rest of your sad life!" Fuming, I got up and started shuffling through some CDs that I'd noticed had escaped their alphabetical order. This was ridiculous. My husband had had to be bribed into matrimony. What was wrong with me? Was I not enough of a desirable potential mate that I could have attracted someone legitimately? And why, of all people, was Jareth so concerned with my ability to find a husband? Nothing made sense anymore.
"Jesus, Sar. You always have to make things so dramatic." He stood and joined me at the CD rack, his expression softening slightly. "Sarah, I'm sorry I used the word 'deal', okay? That wasn't what I meant. Yes, it's true I had a great set the night I first met Jareth, but if it was his doing, I'm sure it was only to get my attention, so I would listen to him." Neil gently grabbed my shoulders, halting my mad organization, and looked directly into my face. There was an expression of true sincerity in his dark eyes. At this moment I couldn't help but think of what had happened earlier with Jareth in the bathroom. Now I was studying Neil's face, and – not for the first time – I couldn't help being drawn in by his boyish good looks. His serious brown eyes were fringed with the longest eyelashes I'd ever seen on a man, his skin was a healthy tan no matter the time of year and his hair was dark and very short, but its tendency to curl ensured that it always looked as though he'd just climbed out of bed. "I love you," he said. "And I always will."
I should have left it there. It was a nice moment. But damn it, I just couldn't, because I had to voice the question pounding in my head. "Neil, how can I ever trust you again?"
Neil's hand came up to brush the side of my face. "Let me put it to you this way, sweetie. What choice have you got?"
Suddenly, I was back in a dank, dark tunnel outside of an oubliette in a world (I guess) created by Jareth just for me, consumed with questioning of the loyalty of someone else I once thought I could trust. I shook the image away.
In that moment, direct eye contact was too much for me. I pushed away from him. "Well," I said, "it's been a little while since we've seen you-know-who, and I still need to get dressed, so…I'll be back in a few." Edging out of the room, I tried not to notice the melancholy expression on Neil's face.
As it turned out, one good thing had come of the morning so far. I learned that a constant state of dread did eventually turn into numbness. There were two negative feelings fighting within me for the title of Thing That Most Ruined Sarah's Life. These were the betrayal itself (the feeling that I could never again trust my own husband) and the fact that I was no longer (if I had ever been) in control of my life. There was just no getting around the fact that Jareth was stronger than me, stronger in the practical sense (again, super-being) and in the fact that he knew everything that was going on from a far more omniscient position than myself (and knowledge equals power). So okay, there was nothing I could do about the control thing. I knew Jareth could call the shots if he wanted to, and I didn't have much hope of being able to change that. So then there was the other bad feeling to contend with: the betrayal. Of course I know that trust between married partners is key, but I totally took ours for granted (childhood lessons to the contrary orchestrated by Jareth notwithstanding). Neil had always been exactly who I needed him to be, a little goofy at times (well, he is a comedian) but dependable, too, and very good at listening, supporting me and giving me my space when I needed it. He wears every emotion on his sleeve; there's nothing secretive about him. He's a terrible liar and he certainly can't hide anything from me. Or so I thought. Now, in the span of a few short hours, all of my peace had been shattered. I was bitter about that, and intended to hold both of these males accountable.
Mindlessly, I stepped into the closet and stared at my clothes without really seeing them. Usually when I got dressed, I had some idea of what that day might hold. Since it was Saturday, I would normally have dressed in jeans or maybe sweats; something acceptable for walking the dog or maybe a quick trip to the grocery store. As I contemplated different items now, I thought about what would happen if Jareth came back, and what requirements I might have of my chosen outfit. In my first encounter with the guy, I'd been sucked into his make-believe world without so much as a chance to ask if I was dressed appropriately or if I should be wearing more comfortable shoes. And as it had turned out, I was about to go walking for several hours through mostly unforgiving terrain and had I known that I would certainly have worn hiking boots and maybe a jacket, not to mention the fact that I would have packed some food. Hey maybe then I wouldn't have taken an ill-fated bite of a certain edible item that turned out to be Jareth's equivalent of Snow White's witch-given apple. But no, best not to think of that little incident right now.
In any case, Hollywood – and certain popular novels – had taught me that un-predictable mythical beings had a habit of sending you to remote locales if you pissed them off (which honestly, since I planned on reading Jareth the riot act the next time I saw him, was a possibility). Barbara Eden's "Jeannie," for example; if she caught Major Anthony Nelson with some little astronaut wife-wannabe, well, she'd be likely to cast him to the North Pole or the Amazon jungle. Although, Jareth didn't seem to be the jealous type – after his little pop-in earlier today, I doubted he'd be upset at finding Neil and I outright having sex, for goodness' sake. No, he'd probably just watch, and then follow up with some smart-ass critique.
In any case, I settled on a pair of jeans, and given the current early-spring weather, a lightweight sweater, knowing that I had a jacket near the front door. I did end up picking a pair of boots to complete the ensemble, just in case. My pants I changed first, and having zipped up my jeans, I went fully into the closet again to dig out my boots. They featured a low heel, and I looked forward to adding a couple of extra inches of height today, even though at almost 5'8" I was already a little taller than my husband and my brother. Interesting point about me: for some reason I had a history of surrounding myself with short men; I'd only ever had one boyfriend who was taller than me and I found it so unsettling that that particular relationship was officially my most brief on record. Anyway, after getting comfortable in my boots, I stood upright, about to pull off my T-shirt.
"Good gracious, Sarah! Your exhibitionist tendencies continue to astound! If you insist on keeping up these little displays for me, I'll have no choice but to recommend you seek professional help."
I spun around to face him, fortunately having kept my shirt securely on, choked by my anger at having yet another brush with the paranormal. Jareth was standing there, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes sparkling with laughter as though he'd just made the best joke. "You asshole," I sputtered. "Get out of here! Get out!"
I thought I saw a flicker of surprise on his face from the way I'd spoken to him, but it was gone in an instant and replaced with blank neutrality as he advanced on me. Shit – I didn't know exactly how tall he was, but he seemed to tower over me; so much for the boots. "Fine," he said smoothly, and a little more glitter was added to the growing pile on my bedroom carpet as he blinked away.
When I opened the door a few minutes later and advanced down the hallway, I thought I heard muffled voices coming from the living room. I moved quickly, but as silently as I could, because I had a pretty clear notion of who my husband might be talking to. I paused, hidden from view of the living room doorway as I tried to pick up their conversation. There was no mistaking it…laughter. Neil was laughing at something Jareth had said. Both were speaking in hushed tones, and damn! I couldn't really make out what was being said, other than being able to distinguish their two voices. Aside from that, they sounded almost…friendly. What the fuck? Again, I was flooded with thoughts of comparison between this situation and the apparent friendship between my beloved high school English teacher and much-resented stepmother. My breathing coming hard and fast, I tried to tell myself that I could be misinterpreting things, that maybe Neil was just trying to be friendly in the face of a really weird situation, but a much bigger part of my brain would have none of it. I was just getting ready to storm from my hiding place and kick two male asses, when the upper hand was deftly taken from me yet again.
A throat cleared loudly, theatrically. My experience of the night before told me it was Jareth's. "Pardon me, Neil, I must stop you for a moment. It seems that this conversation is no longer private. I believe your wife has finished dressing and has already joined us."
Fists clenched, I stepped fully into the room and approached the two men. They were lounging, both of them, casually. Two nearly-empty coffee mugs sat on the table. Beside them was an ashtray I hadn't seen in years holding two cigarette butts. See, Neil had once been a smoker but he'd quit shortly after we got married. The ashtray in question featured the old logo for Late Night With David Letterman, purchased by my husband at the NBC store on a high school trip into the city. It was a much-loved artifact of his youth and one of his favorite comedians, so it remained the only ashtray still left in our house after he'd given up the habit. My eyes narrowed as I absorbed the scene in front of me. This might sound weird, but the thing that disturbed me most about it wasn't the smoking or the apparent camaraderie between the two of them. It was the fact that – and I'm certain of this – Jareth had made his little appearance in the bedroom as I was changing no more than a scant five minutes earlier. So if he'd been out here no more than a few minutes, how had there been time for the two of them to get so cozy? Unfortunately, before I could think on it too much, or formulate a question to satisfy this particular curiosity, Neil was out of his chair and standing beside me.
"Sarah – hey – this isn't what it looks like. Jareth and I were just killing some time waiting for you and – the damndest thing – I found an old pack of cigs in my coat pocket. Well, turns out he's never had one, so I offered but don't worry – I'm not going to start up again – "
Predictably, Neil was trying to placate me by addressing what he assumed to be my biggest issue. I didn't really care one way or another about the smoking. Actually, there was almost no one in his line of work who didn't smoke – long, unpredictable hours, lots of pressure and spending time in bars pretty much guaranteed that vice as a sure thing. Even though I'd certainly done my henpecking in the past (lecturing him every chance I got about the fact that every cigarette takes 12 minutes off the life of the smoker) I was still mildly surprised when I'd ultimately gotten through and he quit. But whatever. So not the point right now. I asked, "What were you guys talking about? Neil, did Jareth tell you that he surprised me in the bedroom while I was changing?" I paid close attention to both of them for their reactions.
"Uh, yeah, well, he said it was an accident," Neil replied. He rubbed at the back of his neck and wouldn't meet my gaze.
Okay, so that was how it was going to be. Me against them. I was getting nowhere fast with one, might as well try the other. "Jareth, I think it's time you explained what you're doing here. Immortal being or not, you are still in my home and I expect to be treated with respect. You cannot come and go as you please, and whatever it is you've come here for, I wish you'd just tell me and then get the hell out." Yay, me! I celebrated inwardly at finally having said what I'd meant to say when I pulled him into the bathroom earlier. But that was only inside – on the outside I was cool as a cucumber, glaring at Jareth with my hands on my hips. I also knew my tone was sufficiently icy, because Ambrosius had just gotten up from where he'd been sleeping on the floor and barreled into the bedroom in a hurry. So at least there was still one male in the house whom I could intimidate. Let's see if I could catch any others while I was at it.
Jareth stood also, neatly unfolding himself from his feline posture – one leg draped over the arm of the couch – and leveled his gaze at me from his full height. "Tsk tsk, Sarah dear. I don't think you'll be banishing me so easily this time."
Well, I was ready for this. I took a deep breath and looked him square in the eye, ignoring Neil's fidgeting beside me. "You know what, Jareth? You still have no power over me." I stood, feet firmly planted, waiting for something to happen. But the walls didn't shake, lights didn't flicker, no one turned into any sort of nocturnal bird.
Jareth chuckled mirthlessly. "Oh, how precious! You really thought that would have some effect on me, didn't you?" He glided over to where Neil and I stood beside each other. I have no idea about my own expression, but I had the impression I'd lost my poker face. Neil looked like he wished he could drop through the floor. Jareth slung an arm casually around each of us. "Sarah, your charming husband has invited me to stay with you here, as your guest, for the next week. I'd imagine you two probably have some things to discuss, so," here he checked the clock, "I'll be back in an hour, ready to spend some time with my good friends and, if you're lucky and I'm feeling generous, I'll answer a few more of your questions then." And he was suddenly gone.
You might think at this point, I'd be ready to file for divorce. I mean, my husband was appearing to be conspiring against me with a supernatural entity. But something weird was happening to me, and I was only just beginning to feel its twinge. I have no explanation, but I just wasn't as upset as I should have been. Sure, I was experiencing healthy doses of shock, rage, betrayal, frustration at my loss of control, etc, but what was happening to me this weekend was just…too monumental. Incomprehensibly huge as these events were, I should have been paralyzed by fear and anger. But I wasn't. I was, for lack of a better way to describe it, going with the flow. Maybe it's like what would happen if you fell into a tiger cage. I mean, sure, you're scared shitless, but your survival instincts can also give you a lot of clarity. Having slipped into the numbness that followed the shock and anger, I was now feeling, more than anything else, clinical and calculating. Like a detective. It was like being in a dream, where you're seeing everything happening, even if it's happening to you, like a movie. That was me now. I was mildly interested in outcomes, but mostly just curious to solve some mysteries. I sort of knew it was probably a coping mechanism and I might be on my way to a total breakdown where I'd grab the nearest blunt object and warm body and have at it, but I was blessedly unconcerned. I flopped down on the couch, Neil eyeing me like I was an M 80 about to explode.
"Sarah, just let me explain," he started.
"Okay," I said. I was already on my investigatory path. See, I knew that being emotional would get me nowhere, because it would make Neil defensive or emotional himself. So, best to make him feel as secure as possible so he'd tell me what I needed to know.
He gave me a startled look. "Aren't you mad? Jareth just told you I agreed that he should stay here…."
"Let's just say I don't know yet how I feel. Why don't you start by telling me everything that happened out here before I came in?" Then I smiled. This was pretty much my behavior technique for questioning a rule-breaking student. It didn't happen too often in college, but there were the occasional cases of kids who were caught cheating, or walked-in-on in the bathroom smoking dope. There had never been a violation yet I'd felt I had to report to the campus judicial system. Each time, they'd been good kids who'd made a dumb mistake and I wasn't about to put their college careers in jeopardy over it. When Carla had sent me one of her freshman boys last week, for example, that she'd discovered cheating on her midterm, I went easy on him. He was just an unfortunate 18-year-old boy who'd had a hard time memorizing all of the names of Restoration-era ladies' clothing items (most of which were non-English words) and he'd written them on the inside sole of his shoe. But he was a good student otherwise, and showed great talent and dedication as a lighting designer, so I let it slide by making him take a few volunteer shifts in the costume shop. Actually, with the spring show about to open, an extra pair of hands was totally welcomed. God, what I wouldn't give for a run-of-the-mill problem like that right now!
Neil sat again in his chair, still keeping a wary watch on me as he began to tell me what had happened. "It was really no big deal. Jareth just appeared and told me he was afraid you'd be mad at him because he'd just surprised you in the bedroom."
"Um, Jareth was afraid I'd be mad at him? That doesn't sound right. He enjoys making me uncomfortable and doesn't give a shit about how I feel, so if he said anything like that, it was a lie."
"Well that's what he said. Anyway I offered him a drink and when I went to move my jacket off the chair the pack of Marlboros fell on the floor."
"Neil, you wear that jacket every day and you quit smoking years ago. That doesn't make any sense."
"The pack isn't mine, it's Nick's. He asked me to hold it at the club last night."
"It's your old brand. And when I first came in you told me it was an 'old pack you'd found'. So which is it?"
"They're Nick's. I was just a little flustered before, is all. Anyway, Jareth said he'd always been curious about smoking but had never done it, so I showed him how."
I tried, and failed, to imagine what that must have looked like. Some kind of warped version of a clichéd scene from an anti-smoking after-school special, featuring my husband and the Goblin King, right here in my sunny living room. I would have to take his word for it, I guess. "So what were the two of you talking about when I came in? It sounded like you were laughing."
To my amazement given the severity of the situation, Neil lost control for a second and cracked a little smile. "Well, Jareth was telling me how the two of you met."
Oh holy hell! So they had been laughing at the most embarrassing thing I'd done as a kid! I was not proud, in any way, of how I had met Jareth. Everything about him made me remember my shame at having wished something so horrible for my own little brother, even if I was just a kid myself. And everything about his appearance forcibly reminded me of my hormonally-charged teenage self, since I was ostensibly the creator of that appearance. No fair! Neil had had a poster of a scantily-clad Kelly LeBrock on his bedroom wall when he was in high school, but some simulacrum of her wasn't haunting him now. "Is there something funny about that?" I asked.
"No, sweetie, it's just that you have no idea what I've been going through all these years. A big part of the reason I never told you about my little run-ins with this weird guy with magical powers was that I didn't know what that meant about you, you know? I mean, did you secretly have some abilities I didn't know about, if the two of you were friends? At least our wedding night was – thankfully – nothing like Darrin and Samantha's, but I still couldn't be sure. Or maybe he was somehow your ex. Not to sound gay or anything, but he's pretty attractive and those pants he wears leave nothing to the imagination. I didn't know if you were comparing me to…that."
He looked like he was stifling some giggles; I rolled my eyes and looked away to formulate my next question. "What else did you talk about?"
"He explained how he, you know, does things for people, and how with his influence you created that world – the Underground – from that play, and that his 'Jareth' persona was part of that. Look, Sarah, I think it's a pretty damn cool story. You captured the attention of a super-being, and he granted your wish. That's pretty fantastic. Just thinking about it makes me feel like a kid again – imagine the possibilities!"
"Tell me how you ended up inviting him to stay here."
"I felt kinda sorry for the guy. Look, I'm not sure I should be telling you this, but he told me he was in kind of a bind and needed to get away for a while. Go someplace safe. He said he felt sorry for some things he'd done to you, or something like that. He seemed really genuine. Look, I'm honestly grateful to the guy – if he hadn't influenced me the way he did, I don't know if I would have pulled my head out of my ass long enough to realize you were the love of my life. So I have him to thank for you, Sarah."
Hmm…I knew I was no match for that kind of flattering talk. But I also knew there was something in there that should be setting off the warning bells. "When you say he needed 'someplace safe', do you think that's something we should be concerned about? I mean, do you think some even-more-powerful thing is looking for Jareth and is going to come in here and start blasting holes in our walls?"
"I actually asked him pretty much the same thing. He reassured me that it's not that kind of trouble and that we're not in any danger. Look, I know this might be out of line for me to say, but I think he just doesn't know how to really talk to you, you know? He knows how pissed you are at him for being here, and that he's caused all of this trouble between you and me, and I really think he's uncomfortable with you because of that. Maybe – I don't know – if you try being a little nicer to him, he might tell you what he's really doing here and who knows? Maybe you'll get to be friends."
"Neil, I don't remember asking for your opinion about this. My relationship with Jareth is none of your business."
"Well, I could argue that since I'm your husband and this guy is evidently your hormonal and romantic teenage-fantasy-brought-to-life, that I do have a right to butt in…." Neil paused when he saw the warning look on my face. "But I won't," he quickly amended. "I just want you to know, Sar, how sorry I am about all of this. I really, truly am. I didn't mean to keep any secrets from you, but now, well, you hopefully understand a little better why I did. You know I think – in some sense – I wanted to believe it was all some crazy dream of mine, too. I love you and wanted to believe I'd attracted you all on my own, and not because someone else was pulling the strings."
Okay, I had to give in, just a little. "I'm not mad at you anymore," I told him. "I don't completely trust you yet, but I think you can understand why. I'm sorry if I've been hard on you, I know it hasn't been easy. But you also have to know that you'd better never try to tell me how to behave with Jareth. He and I may have some things to work out, but it's my business, okay?"
"Okay. Sar, I think we should just be a unified front from here on out. You and I are on the same team; we're just dealing with a weird houseguest. It's only for a week. Then it's over, he promised."
"Then I really need your support more than ever, Neil. This is the week we open the musical and I'm being pulled in a million different directions right now. You promise you'll be on my side, and you won't gang up with Jareth against me?" Or laugh at me behind my back, I silently added.
"How could you even ask me that?"
"Just promise!"
"Okay, okay, I promise. I'll keep him nicely occupied so you can do your work, and I'll be totally on your side, a hundred percent." He got up and settled down beside me on the couch, maneuvering his arm around me.
Alright, so it was a week. And by the end of it, presumably, my life would be my own again. It was already going to be a crazy week for me, but this was just one more obstacle to overcome, like the time Dad and Karen had to have their place fumigated and had stayed with us for two weeks. It wasn't exactly pleasant, but we all made it through. I rested my head on Neil's shoulder and waited for Jareth to return. I wondered what he was doing right now. Had he been watching our reconciliation? Or maybe he'd been packing. I smiled, just to myself, as I thought about what his luggage might look like, and how many pairs of extra-tight breeches he could fit in a suitcase.