“Is there not a changing room nearby?” I asked.
Mother Cantwell laughed, derisively.
“No,” she said and slammed the door behind her.
“Well, this is awkward,” Vic said.
“Can you turn away for a minute?” I asked.
Vic nodded, silently, and then turned.
“You can’t tell Eddie I was here when this happened,” he said. “He’ll murder me. With his bare hands.”
“I’m tempted to, just to see if he does,” I said.
I shucked off my sweatshirt. There was a cold breeze that caused every portion of my exposed skin to goosepimple. In the distance, I could see a stand of barrels and bottles from a wine cellar. I tried to focus on them.
“This is going to be one for the books,” I said. “This is a crazy night.”
“A little dramatic, though, don’t you think?” Vic asked. “Why would he shoot himself?”
“Haven’t you seen Beetlejuice? Ghosts get bored and run out of ideas on how to terrify you.”
“Still,” he said. “I just don’t like this. Why not tell us what he’s done? Why not debrief us? This feels like some sort of messed-up game for him. Are you dressed yet?”
“Almost done,” I grunted. There was a pair of stockings in my chest, and I stared at them reluctantly. “Hey. I don’t mean to be this way, but. How old are you?”
“Two hundred and sixteen,” he said.
“Are you. Do you think you could help me get into this outfit? I’m having a hard time with the buckles and straps and such. I’ve just never dressed up like this before.”
There was an awkward silence between us.
“Do I have to?”
“Weren’t you the one saying something about fitting in? We don’t need to rock the boat?”
There was another silence, punctuated by a pause, and then Vic sighed and said, “Yeah, I guess.”
I could hear him move behind me, and he sucked in a breath.
“Umm. That’s. Don’t tell Eddie, but I guess I see it now. Now that you’re all. You know.”
“Half-naked?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I get the appeal, I guess. You look. I guess you look like you fit in here, that’s all. You have the face for it. A real throw-back.”
“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment,” I said.
“I’m not sure either, but I meant it as one,” he said. “Here. I’ll hold this. You lift your leg and try to stretch and pull it up to the garter belt.”
I did and felt his hand guide my foot into the stockings. There was a bizarre feeling in my legs, feeling the scratchy material rise and envelop me. A tingle of something in the depth of me gave me a warm flash, and I struggled forward, almost falling.
“I have it from here,” I said, awkwardly.
“Are you sure?”
I did not look at him, just struggled some more.
