Chapter 11

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Stupid of him to even ask Jane, what with so many other things going on. His job was to roll back the cafeteria rule—not try and get a date with the loveliest woman in Lawndale.

Going to the Dragon's Tower was out of the question. He was far too agitated to command the Cadian 15th. Hell, he could barely manage himself.

It was Saturday, and Victor had been pacing in his room in a state of panic since shortly after dawn. What did you even do during a date? Talk about stuff, right?

What was there for him to talk about? Warhammer 40K didn't strike him as a good subject. Art, maybe—but the only art names he really knew were Blanche and Goodwin and others associated with Games Workshop. As for art with a capital A—just the ones everyone else knew, like Van Gogh and Da Vinci. Dull cliches for Jane, he was sure.

Instinct guided him to his computer, where he Googled "famous artists". He only lasted a few minutes before the Titians and Repins and other names he'd never heard overwhelmed him. Pushing away from his desk, he stared at the ceiling's bumpy white texture and took in deep breaths.

Panic was bad. Panic compelled bad decisions and broke squads. Panic didn't impress anyone, certainly not Jane.

Victor needed advice. The only person he could ask was Priscilla.

With a faltering hand, he picked up the cordless and dialed her number. They'd exchanged contact info a few days ago to better coordinate, though neither had called until now. A bit dizzy, he raised the phone to his ear and waited as it rang and rang again.

"Hello?" came a woman's voice on the other end. Priscilla's mother?

"Hello. Is Priscilla there?" he asked.

"Who is this?"

He tensed up. If Mrs. Pruitt was as religious as Priscilla, she might not like some random boy calling for her daughter. She didn't sound mad, though.

"Victor Adamos. I'm a classmate of hers."

"Oh, okay! I'll fetch her."

He heard the sound of a hand being pressed over the receiver, followed by Mrs. Pruitt's muffled voice. "Priscilla! It's for you."

"Who is it?" came Priscilla's barely audible voice.

"Someone named Victor. Is he a cutie?"

Victor blushed.

"Ugh, mom! He's a guy from school. I'll take the call."

Her dismissive tone hurt. A little.

"Hi, Victor," Priscilla said, her voice clearer now.

"Hey."

How best to explain his situation?

"Is there a problem?" she asked.

"No. Uh, actually I'm calling on an unrelated matter. I, uh, have a date tonight."

"A date? Like with a girl?"

"Yes. I was hoping you could give me some advice. I've never been on a date before, you see, and I'm not sure what to do, how to comport myself—"

"And you want me to enable you fornicating with this girl," she said.

Victor gasped. "What? No! This is just a date, not… that! I asked out Jane."

"Who?"

"You know, Daria's friend?"

"Oh. Oh! That's why you were so big on getting her and Daria to help. Hm. I don't go on dates, Victor. Dating's not about love—it's about lust and putting money into the hands of restauranteurs and chocolatiers."

"Uh, maybe we can agree to disagree. I just… I really need a woman's perspective."

No answer.

"Please?" he begged.

"I guess, but don't expect much. I don't know about this sort of thing. I will say you don't dress well."

Victor clutched the soft fabric of his sweater. "I don't?"

"No. Wear clothes that actually fit you."

He frowned. "These clothes do fit me."

"Yes, in the sense that you can fit inside them," she said. "But they don't fit your body."

Victor gulped. "Priscilla, I'm basically a human skeleton. Baggier clothes hide that fact."

"A human skeleton's still better than the walking laundry basket that you look like."

"I see. All my clothes are like this."

Priscilla didn't say anything for a while. When she finally spoke again, she sounded reluctant. "Look, if you really need, my younger brother has some spare clothes that could fit you."

"Your younger brother?" Great, another reminder of how young he looked.

"Yes. He owes me a favor. You can come over and pick them up."

"I'll take it. What time?"

"Now's fine, I'll be busy later. Here's my address…"

Victor wasn't sure exactly what he'd expected Priscilla's house to look like—but he hadn't expected it to look so normal. Pale blue and two stories tall, with a neatly trimmed lawn out front and a shiny silver SUV in the driveway, the place resembled most of the upper middle-class homes in Lawndale.

Leaving his dusty room for the crisp suburban autumn had calmed him a bit, but tension still needled as he marched up the path to the door and rang the bell.

Was his wardrobe sense really that bad? He'd worn baggy v-neck sweaters since middle school. Which, he supposed, probably did mean it was time for an update.

The woman who opened the door resembled a shorter and older version of Priscilla.

"Ah, are you Victor?"

Victor peered past her into the living room. A bunch of middle-aged women sat around a coffee table, chattering away. No signs of Bibles or prayerbooks, but each woman had a glass of red wine that he doubted was intended for communion.

"Yes, I am. Is Priscilla available?"

"Should be. Pris!" she called. Then she motioned to Victor. "Come on in. Don't mind us, I'm just hosting this week's meeting of the Lawndale Wine Moms."

"Thanks," he said.

"Oh, Susie, did you ever end up getting that time-share…" Mrs. Pruitt said as she hurried back to her gathering.

Priscilla appeared at the head of the stairs, carrying a canvas bag. She shot her mom a disgusted look as she walked down the stairs.

"Hi," she muttered, looking like she wished she had a shell she could hide under.

More laughter from the Lawndale Wine Moms.

"Hey. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Here are some of my brother's clothes."

She handed the bag over, and he took a look at the contents: slim tan khakis, a white button-up shirt, and a dark blue sweater vest.

"Uh, this looks rather preppy, doesn't it?"

"That's because my brother is preppy. Anyway, preppy's better than walking laundry basket. If you don't like it, don't wear it, but this is all I could get."

"Fair enough." He glanced over the moms, where Mrs. Pruitt had apparently made some uproarious joke. "Could I ask you a few more questions?"

Priscilla hesitated, before nodding. "Sure, but we're doing it outside."

Once at the sidewalk, Priscilla shuddered.

"I am really sorry you had to see that," she said.

"What, your mom?"

"Yes."

Victor shrugged. "It doesn't bother me."

"It's just this whole… ugh. Her values are very secular. It's the same materialistic junk that fuels this entire lost suburb. Anyway, what are your questions?"

"Right, questions. Uh, what should I talk about with Jane?"

She made an annoyed expression. "How should I know? I'm not Jane."

"That's a good point. What are some generic things I can talk about?"

"Generic things? Those are boring. Talk about something interesting. Like, I don't know, how it's kind of weird to be worried about the Judgment Day, since each and every one of us will die and be judged anyway."

"I'll put that subject in the maybe category," Victor said.

"Do you have any hobbies?"

Victor hesitated. "Warhammer 40,000," he finally admitted.

"What forty-what?" Priscilla's face scrunched up in confusion.

"It's a game!" he said, mentally cycling through a dozen explanations and rationalizations to make it less embarrassing.

"A video game? Yeah, she's not going to like that."

"No! Well, yes, there are video game versions. It's like a board game where you move these, uh, miniature soldiers. A lot of strategy and lore are involved."

Her expression turned flat. "You play with plastic army men? Definitely don't bring that up." Then she looked down at the ground. "Sorry. I'm not being very helpful, am I? Honestly, I don't know. Dating doesn't interest me, so I never put much thought into it."

"You don't want to get married someday?" Victor vaguely recalled that being important for most Christians.

She shrugged. "Not really. It's God's plan whether I do or not, anyway," she added, making a vague motion with her hand. "Just try to be friendly and relaxed. Honestly? You're not bad at that. I'm good at getting people's attention, but you're better at keeping the conversation going than I am. Ask her questions. People are sinners, which means they're selfish—and like talking about themselves."

"Okay. I suppose if I was able to help organize our plan with near-total strangers, I have some chance here."

"Hey, you asked her out, right? And she said yes, right? So, clearly, there's something that interests her. Just don't get weird about it."

"Right! Nothing weird. I can do that."

He hoped.

The designers of Chez Pierre had spared no expense in making the restaurant as lavish as possible. Candles burned bright atop silk-draped tables, the flames' reflections flickering on utensils of real silver. A string quartet played as well-dressed couples danced on the floor.

None of it looked especially impressive compared to how Jane looked that night, clad in a glittering black gown and carrying herself with that sly and subtle confidence that was unique to her. Taking Jane by her gloved hand, Victor led her deeper inside.

"Happy anniversary!" he said. They'd been together a year now—the best year of their lives. But only the first of many.

"I hope you like the gift," he added, gesturing at their surroundings. He'd scrimped and saved for this, but she deserved nothing less.

"It's perfect. Hey, I got a little gift for you, too."

"Oh?"

"Actually, I made one."

Stopping at the nearest unoccupied table, she put down the black carry case she'd brought in with her and opened it up.

Inside, the Cadian 15th stood at attention on canvas. She'd captured them exactly as Victor had imagined them, down to the rank insignias and the dust on their armor. But the magic lay in the faces, each one unique and seeming to tell a story: the cautious half-smile of the grizzled veteran, the mixed fear and hope of the neophyte conscript, the commissar's gaze stern and unflinching but stopping short of cruelty.

And off in the corner, two other soldiers. One slight and small for a guardsman, his eyes behind some decidedly non-regulation glasses. With him, holding him close, a guardswoman with bobbed black hair and three rings in her exposed ear, the smile on their faces telling the whole world that the two of them were the luckiest troops in the entire galaxy for being at each other's sides.

"Oh my God," he uttered. "This is magnificent! You did—this is so cool!"

"Glad you like it," she said.

"I bet you could submit this to Games Workshop and get hired. This is… amazing!"

"Maybe I will. But that's for later. Tonight, should be about us."

Now she grasped Victor's wrist and guided him to the dance floor.

"You ever dance, Victor?" she asked, turning to face him.

"I haven't, actually."

"It's been a while for me… but I remember the basics. Here, hold me like so…"

She got him into position so that he held her the way dancers did in movies.

"Now take a step forward…"

He did, and then took another, Jane adjusting and reorienting him as needed.

And in minutes they glided across the dance floor, eyes locked and moving as one. Chez Pierre faded away as the world shrank down to just the two of them because nothing else mattered.

Victor looked at himself again in the mirror. He felt absolutely phony wearing Priscilla's brother's clothes. He did look sharper though.

Probably.

It was a few minutes past four. He was about as ready as he'd ever be—which wasn't much. But readiness didn't matter. All that remained was to try his best.