How I Stole Johnny Depp's Alien Girlfriend Page 11

  “How?”

  She looks up at me. “You’ll know in time.”

  “You’re so cryptic.”

  “You look so tense.”

  Is it me, or is the space between us reducing at breakneck speed?

  “I…well…you…um…”

  I have totally forgotten why I came to see her and what I wanted to ask her.

  “What?” she asks.

  Oh, I remember: “There’s a place I want to show you.” I take her hands off my shoulders and pull her gently toward the panel window.

  She resists a little. “We cannot go out, Pudin. We will be seen.”

  “It’s going to be all right, I promise,” I say, pulling up the blinds and opening the sliding window. I look up at the sky. I love this time of day at Édouard’s villa. The sun’s gone, but there will still be hours of dreamy, warm blue twilight.

  She follows me to the terrace hesitantly, looking around for possible spies.

  “All we have to do is run across the garden and into the woods.” I point at the pine trees on the other side of the empty swimming pool. “Once we’re in the woods, it’s like we’re invisible.”

  She studies the garden and then nods. Okay, we’re on.

  We run silently along the swimming pool and slide down a small slope into the woods. We land on the path left by a dried-up river. She stops to look at the beautiful surroundings and closes her eyes to smell the air: sun-baked ground, pine trees, and the sea. The insects are buzzing their own opera around us. The crickets go at it wildly in the warmth. You can hear kids laughing and splashing in the swimming pool of the nearby campground. If I wanted to stage this whole scene, I couldn’t make it any better.

  “This way,” I say, taking her hand and leading her down to the dry riverbed. The path leads to a place that’s out of this world. My own dreamland. I push a last pine branch out of our way, and we’re on the beach. Unlike the house, this is exactly the way I remember it. A tiny stretch of white sand cut off from the rest of the bay by a thick layer of pines and bushes.

  I sit down on the warm sand and point at the sea. “Ta-da!”

  “Why are we here?” Zelda asks.

  I spent my entire childhood dreaming of this—bringing some-one special down here to share my loot of black currant sorbet. “Isn’t it beautiful? I love this place. It’s probably my favorite place in the world.”

  “What do you do here?”

  “You rest. You lie on the sand. You dream. You…you swim, of course! Don’t you like swimming?”

  She shakes her head. “All nonsubterranean bodies of liquid on Vahalal will either melt you or boil you. We don’t swim.”

  “What about nonmelting, nonboiling swimming pools?”

  “Water is holy for us. It’s a sin to use it for leisure.”

  “Zelda! Here comes another Earthling treat! Maybe even better than vanilla ice cream.” I peel off my T-shirt and start unlacing my sneakers. “And since you always walk around in a swimsuit, all you really have to do is kick off those boots.”

  “Your body,” she says when I stand up wearing nothing but my boxer shorts.

  “Yeah, I know.” I shrug helplessly. “I’m too skinny, right?” But that’s nothing she hasn’t seen before.

  “It’s not that,” she says, reaching for my hips and touching a bruise.

  “Oh. The dogs,” I say, tensing under her touch. “I hate dogs.”

  She grabs my hand and twists my arm to get a better look at the other dog bites on my arm. She presses and squeezes one of the bruises.

  “OUCH!”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Only when you pinch it!”

  She laughs! I’ve never heard her laugh before.

  “Where else did they bite you?”

  “On my head.”

  She pulls me to her. She twists my neck, bends my head in all the directions of the compass—south, north, east, west—looking for the bites. A mother gorilla searching for lice wouldn’t put less heart into it. When she’s done looking, she launches into physical contact, hugging me really tight.

  I put my arms around her. That’s it. Nothing can ever break us apart. Until…she pushes me away hard, and I fall on the sand. She grabs a piece of driftwood, getting into her war stance and turning toward the riverbed.

  A group of little kids stands there silently. They all have wet hair. They’re all wearing swimsuits. They all have this expression, like, “What are you doing on our secret beach with your pants down?”

  “They’re just kids, Zelda,” I say, standing up and taking the piece of driftwood away from her before she decides to Space Splash it in their faces. I throw it back into the sea and pick up my clothes and shoes.

  The kids get out of Zelda’s way as she pushes a branch aside and walks back up to the path. I put my T-shirt back on and follow her. I stop midway to put on my pants and shoes. The kids are following us silently. I slowly lace up my Converse ultras, waiting for the kids to go away. They finally disappear into the woods toward the campground.

  I turn toward Édouard’s villa. Zelda’s gone. I wonder if she’s furious about what happened down on the beach. Or if she’s just like me, wishing those kids had never come to interrupt us. “Next time, we swim!” I say to myself, running along the path to catch up with her.

  We’re finishing dinner at the kitchen table. Spaghetti and canned tomatoes à la Malou. I haven’t talked with Zelda since the beach incident. I slurp my spaghetti, trying to make eye contact with her, wondering if she’s mad at me.

  “I don’t like this place,” Tena says, helping herself to more pasta.

  “It’s really beautiful when the blinds are open,” I say, grabbing the platter from her.

  The Valks won’t let us open the blinds to air out the house. They don’t care about the stuffy atmosphere, the sea, or the spectacular views at dawn. They only care about the surrounding geography and the absence of a good escape route in the event of a police raid.

  “This house is a trap,” confirms Pela. “Reminds me of the time we got cornered in that whorehouse during the Babylonian wars.”

  “What a beautiful bloodbath!” reminisces Tena, licking her fork. “Remember that big guy? What was his name? Ugo something. He used to wear human heads on a necklace.”

  “Ugo the Chopper. He had this trick with two axes.” Pela demonstrates with her fork and spoon. Chop! “He would cut off a head in one single, neat move. Even the mother liked him.”

  “She was different back then.” Lena uses her fingers to scrape up the sauce left on her plate. “She could still appreciate a male if he had a talent for mass murder.”

  “Those were the days,” Tena agrees, pushing her empty plate away. “Good pasta, by the way.”

  “Thanks. And thanks for all the heartwarming head-chopping stories.” Malou stands up, looking exhausted. “I’m going to rest my eyes a little,” she says, leaving the table. “By the way, Zeldie, you’ll find plenty of clean swimsuits in the master bedroom. And regular clothes, too.” She walks out to the terrace like a zombie. She’s going to sleep in the pool house. She always used to claim it as hers, once upon a time.

  “There are plenty of other bedrooms if you want to sleep,” I tell the rest of the gang.

  The Valks leave the table and Tena and Pela help Lena walk out of the kitchen.

  Zelda and I are completely alone. Everything is quiet except for the buzzing in my head.

  “I’m sorry for what happened down there.” I point vaguely toward the secret beach. “It was totally my fault. I shouldn’t have dragged you there.”

  She shrugs, like it doesn’t matter, and looks at me from across the table. She smiles faintly. “Come here, Pudin.”

  “Why?”

  “Unfinished protocol.”

  I carefully walk around the table. She’s way less careful. She grabs my T-shirt, drags me down, kisses the top of my head. Then the tip of my nose. Then my lips.

  The bald guy with the broken nose was rig
ht: I’m losing my mind for her. And I don’t care if it means having my eyes turned into black balls, blowing up like a water balloon, or being changed into a singing donkey. “I’m crazy about you, Zelda,” I whisper, kissing her back.

  She’s not listening. She’s all action and no words. She stands up and drags me to the living room, still kissing me. She reaches for the sofa and snatches the wolf fur blanket Mom likes so much, then puts it around us and pulls me down to the floor.

  I’m about to speak again. She doesn’t want me to.

  “Quiet,” she says. “Listen to me.”

  Silence.

  “Sometimes you need to do something very wrong to accomplish something very good,” she says.

  Silence.

  “When you’ll wake up, I’ll be gone.”

  “Where’s Zelda?” Malou asks, coming into the living room and scratching her messy hair. She’s wearing one of Édouard’s long-sleeve shirts as pajamas. “Where’s everyone else?”

  It’s early morning. You can see a deep blue sky through the sky-lights. The sun will be up any minute. Everyone’s gone. The Valks. Zelda. It’s just me and Malou left.

  “I don’t know. Leave me alone.”

  “Why did you sleep on the floor?” Malou asks, squatting beside me. “Wait a second. Are you, like, naked under there?” She lifts the fur blanket and takes a peek. “Omigod! You’re totally naked!”

  I snatch the blanket back.

  She gives me a wary sidelong look. “What did I miss, Tadpole?”

  “Zelda’s gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “I don’t know. Can you let me sleep now?”

  I turn my back to her. Zelda abandoned me while I was sleeping. I woke up, searched for her. Waited an eternity. Now I’m sure she’s not coming back under that blanket. The world can crumble. I don’t care.

  “What did you guys do?”

  “Nothing!”

  “Did you…?”

  “Mind your own business.”

  “Taaadpole!”

  “Stop calling me that! I’m not a kid anymore.”

  “Oh, I see. You’re a man now.” She grabs my arm. “What’s that?”

  “What?”

  “That! On your arm!”

  I look at the inside of my left arm.

  “Is that a freaking tattoo?” Malou yells.

  “I don’t know. It’s…” I can’t believe it. There’s a black triangular octopus proudly holding a stick on my arm! It’s the key—the same tattoo that was vanishing on Zelda’s arm. I try to brush it off, but it’s deep under my skin, the sharp black edge all red and irritated.

  “Did she give this thing to you the way she said you give it to people?” Malou holds my arm, inspecting it closely.

  “I think so.”

  “You think so? Tadpole! Sex with a Spacegirl! Tattoos! What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with me. Leave me alone!”

  I can’t stand Malou anymore. I can’t stand myself, either. I reach for my clothes, throw off the fur blanket, and shoot for the bathroom. At least there’s a lock on the door and I can be alone in there.

  “Nice butt, lover,” Malou calls after me.

  A cold shower doesn’t help. Banging my head against the freezing tiled wall is just marginally better.

  Why did she do that? Why did she give me the key and then leave? The more I try to wash it off, the redder it gets. Is this some sort of sick Vahalalian trick? A stupid souvenir that will remind me of her forever?

  Like I need a freaking tattoo for that.

  Malou knocks on the door. “What are we going to do with out Zelda?”

  If only I could have another attack of Eol-69 and be done with it! I stick out my tongue and check it in the mirror. It’s never been pinker.

  “David! Let me in!” Bang bang bang!

  I stop the water, snatch a towel, cover myself with it, and lie down in the cold bathtub. I plan to disappear into a cocoon and never ever reappear.

  “Don’t leave me alone,” Malou begs. “The phone’s ringing. David!”

  I put my hands over my ears. I close my eyes. The pain just won’t go. It’s everywhere in me.

  “I hear something in the garden. Frog! Please open the door.”

  What have I done? Why did she have to go? Will she ever come back? Why couldn’t she stay with me? Why does everything have to be so painful?

  “There’s someone at the door.”

  “Zelda,” I say, passing my fingers over the weird symbol on my arm, “why did you give me the key?”

  “Omigod. They’re coming in. Get out of there, David! We need to—”

  Then Malou’s gone. Then they break down the door. Then they drag me and my cocoon out of the tub.

  And then I don’t care.

  18

  KEY TO VAHALAL LOCKED ON THE EARTHLING CREATURE CALLED DAVID GERSHWIN—VALIDITY: UNLIMITED

  “Do you believe you were the instrument of a higher power?”

  The Red Tie Man waits for an answer, tap-tapping his pencil on his questionnaire.

  “Can you repeat the question?” Malou asks, frowning.

  “Are you responsible for your own actions?” he repeats, pronouncing each word carefully.

  I look up at his old, wrinkled face. I’m pretty sure this man hasn’t smiled in at least two decades.

  “David?” he asks me.

  Forget about me. I’m not even here.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” Malou says, trying to read his questionnaire upside down. “Is there, like, a right and wrong answer to that?”

  “This person you were after, the actor, Johnny Depp.” The Red Tie Man makes a face, like mentioning a celebrity is filthy. “He could press charges against you. Sue you and your parents. He could make you miserable. Do you realize that?”

  Ha. Make my life miserable. Get in line!

  “Are we, like, going to jail?” Malou asks.

  The man sighs and brushes imaginary crumbs from his red tie. He’s not an old policeman. He’s an old therapist working for the police. We’re not in a sinister interrogation room in a sinister police station; we’re in a sinister interrogation room in a sinister juvenile nuthouse near Paris.

  The Red Tie Man is trying to establish how deeply Zelda has messed up our sanity. He moves on to the next question: “Do you realize Zelda put your life and the lives of others in great danger? David? Can you answer that for me?”

  Okay, I’ll answer that for him. “Go to hell!”

  He clears his throat and checks a box with his pencil. The “go to hell” box, I suppose.

  “I bet you that wasn’t the right answer,” Malou whispers to me.

  The Red Tie Man sends me back to my cell. There’s a metal net over the window to remind me I’m a dangerous nutcase in a nut-case prison.

  A bed, a toilet, a sink, four gray walls. Very minimal, just the way Mom would like it.

  They gave me the excessively large and worn-out type of clothes Zelda was wearing the first time I saw her. I have slippers for shoes.

  The door is locked. Zelda’s out there somewhere. I want to be with her. I’m not. I’m dead.

  Someone unlocks the door, and Dad comes in. I don’t move. I stay quietly crouched on my bed, hugging my legs even tighter. I’m not even sure I’m happy to see him.

  Dad’s going to do all he possibly can to prove that my Zelda was just a daydream. I don’t want her to become a daydream. I want Zelda to be Zelda.

  There’s no chair in my room, so he sits on the toilet. “I just talked with the judge,” he says.

  Dad’s a real ace at looking poised when everything’s crumbling around us. “So far, he’s refusing to let me take Marie-Louise and you under my care.”

  Dad’s about the only person in the world who calls Malou Marie-Louise. He doesn’t believe in nicknames.

  “Did they abuse you physically?”

  “No.”

  “Did they imply you were crazy?”

&n
bsp; I shrug.

  “Don’t let them tell you you’re crazy. You are not crazy. You hear me?”

  “Did she get him?” I ask.

  “Who?”

  “Johnny Depp. Did Zelda get him?”

  Dad gets off the toilet and sits beside me on the bed. “Would it matter to you if she did?”

  That’s it, he’s in child therapist mode.

  “If she got him, I’ll never see her again.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because she will take him to her planet, and she will never come back to Earth.”

  Dad seems to think about this. “David?”

  “Yes.”

  “Try not to talk to anyone about Zelda until I get that order from the judge.”

  I’m not crazy—no, no—but other, less understanding people might think otherwise.

  “She got him, then?”

  “No, she never got to him. He’s not even in France. He’s away somewhere promoting his movies. It’s…” Dad’s looking for the right words. “You know, I believe this actor…what’s his name…the pirate.”

  “Johnny Depp.”

  Dad nods. “He is not the real issue here.”

  “You’re wrong. She’s obsessed with him.” She would stop at nothing, not even breaking my heart—or killing me, which is the same thing.

  “No, David. She doesn’t really want him. She’s never even met him. He’s just a name she put over her real purpose.”

  “What purpose?”

  “Zelda is just like anyone else. Like you or like me. She wants exactly what we want.”

  “What’s that?”

  “To love someone and be loved back.”

  A young girl, also wearing worn-out, oversize clothes, brings me my dinner tray. “The food here sucks. It’s freaking revolting,” she says, leaving the tray beside me on the bed. “My name’s Suzy, by the way. Suzy for Suzanne.”

  She drops a folded piece of paper on my lap when the male nurse isn’t looking. “Don’t worry, I’m cool. You’re cute, but I’m not coming on to you. It’s from your sister.”

  When they’re gone, I unfold the note. It reads, “Hello, my little tadpole. Or is it ‘Mister Man,’ now that you’re all clued up? How’s life in your part of the nuthouse? I’m surrounded by totally crazy girls. Never felt so much at home. Ha ha ha! You can write back to me and give the note to Suzy. She’s cool, but she probably told you that. She’s here because she’s a nymphomaniac, and since you’re a sex beast, I’m sure you’re going to love each other. Did you get any new tattoos? Write to me. I love you (like a sister, you perverted boy!).”