I shook my head. “I can’t even...”
“What happened?” he crossed his arms and took a commanding stance even though his voice was gentle.
“I’ll tell you later,” I said, eyeing Jenn, who came out of the restaurant and was walking toward us, looking put out, with my purse and coat that I had left at the table in hand.
She stopped at the passenger door and looked at both of us distrustfully. “What’s going on?”
“Perry was just feeling sick,” Dex explained.
She smirked. “I could see that. Trying to skip out on the bill there, honey?”
Honey? Oh no she didn’t. It was their treat. But I bit my tongue from saying anything that would damn me. I was too confused and exhausted to argue anyway.
She handed me my stuff.
“Thanks. I was feeling ill. I’ll get you guys back next time,” I said and jumped in the back seat before my legs gave out from under me. I shut the door on Dex, who still looked puzzled, and stood there for a few good seconds before shaking his head and going around to the driver’s side.
Five minutes later we pulled up across the street from the Harvard Exit Theatre. I had hoped Dex would have driven us straight back to the apartment, but no. He still wanted to show me some stupid haunted theatre.
“We can see this some other time,” Jenn said from the front seat, looking at the small, brick building with disinterest. For once I agreed with her. I was in no mood for paranormal hijinx after what happened in the bathroom.
“Chill out, babe,” he said, leaning forward in his seat and scanning the street. “You don’t have to get out of the car if you don’t want to.”
“Good,” Jenn and I both said at the same time. He jumped at that and turned around in his seat to look at me, confused.
“Well, I’ll obviously need you to come with me. That’s why we’re here.”
I stared back at him, trying to telepathically tell him how scared I was, that I wasn’t in the mood for some field trip. His eyes narrowed slightly, becoming balls of coal in the car’s interior, but he didn’t relent.
“Come on, kiddo. I just want to show you the lobby; it’s actually really-”
“Dex!” Jenn called out suddenly, smacking him on the arm.
“What?”
She pointed out the front of the car, at four people who were crossing the street and heading over to the theatre. One of them had a camera on his shoulder, the other had a boom mic. Leading the way was a tall guy and girl.
“Is that them…the Spook Factory?” she asked, waving her finger.
I leaned forward between the seats to get a better look. The guy was actually wearing a Tap-Out shirt or something and looked just like G.J. Jermaine. The female had a rat’s nest of blonde hair. It was them. And they actually had a crew, too.
Dex and I exchanged a look, both of our brows raised, mouths agape.
Finally he said, “Now will you come with me?”
Jenn and I both nodded in shared determination and got out.
Dex promptly jaywalked across the street and we hurried behind him, getting dirty looks from the passing cars as we slowed their progress.
Once on the other side, he walked down the leaf-strewn sidewalk toward the Spook Factory group, his step deceivingly light, his hands in the pockets of his black cargo jacket.
“What’s he going to do?” I said, more to myself than to Jenn. I took a step after him but she put her hand out to stop me.
“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “Let’s just wait here and see.”
I examined her face. Her thin brows were creating miniscule lines on her forehead. She was worried and on edge. I wondered if she was used to this confrontation from her boyfriend. Dex isn’t a big guy by any means. He’s on the short side and toned but still thin. But he has unpredictable pit-bull tactics and one hell of a lippy attitude with strangers. For heaven’s sake, never give that man a shovel.
My attention back at Dex, I could see the group pausing in mid-stride and conversation as he approached them. I couldn’t tell from behind but I had a feeling Dex was smiling broadly in that unnerving way, a wide, joker grin that wouldn’t match his eyes.
He stopped in front of them and they started talking. From where we were, I couldn’t really hear what they were saying but the Factory crew’s faces quickly went from apprehensive to amiable. Dex was winning them over, or at least leading them astray.
I looked back at Jenn. She hadn’t relaxed and hadn’t removed her arm.
“Girls,” Dex shouted. He was waving for us to come over. Jenn relented and we walked down the street, both of us approaching them all nervy and wired, like spooked horses.
Seeing G.J. and Annie up close didn’t change my opinion about them. He still looked stereotypically “hot” but charmless, and she still reminded me of an orange witch with too much plastic surgery. The guy with the camera was older, with a heavy beer gut, Megadeth shirt (which normally would have won him points in my book but not now since he was involved with this douche show), buzz cut and braided goatee. The guy holding the boom mic had a white-and-red striped sailor top, a white cap and glasses. He looked exactly like a French, hipster version of Waldo.
“Perry, Jenn,” Dex said, gesturing to them with incredibly false sincerity. “I’d like you to meet G.J., Annie, Joe and Douglas.”
Joe was the guy in the Megadeth shirt. I wondered if people called him Little Joe as a joke.
I smiled at them all as earnestly as possible and quickly shook their hands. Jenn gave a short nod and flash of her white teeth.
“We’re big fans of your show,” G.J. said to me, holding onto my hand for a second longer than he should have. His hand was greasy and big and he had too many rings on.