Page 22 of Jacob Michaels is Not Here

It wasn’t even lunchtime, yet the manager of Lounge in Toledo had allowed me to come inside to see their new act. “Lounge” was a funny name for an LGBTQ+ bar, in my opinion. Although I was utterly unsure why, I suspected it was because it was such a straightforward, if not lazy, name for any kind of dinner club. Lounge. I mean, yeah, I guess that’s kind of what it was…but that’s it? Not The Rainbow Lounge or The Executive Lounge or Unicorn Lounge or Meet Your Next Hookup Lounge—just…Lounge. Of course, I was going to keep my opinions to myself and not tell the manager my thoughts. One, she had been kind enough to let me come in during off-hours, and two, she had recognized me as “Jacob Michaels.” If I acted like a brat, it was possible she would tell some media or news outlet, and I’d be national news.

I was still waiting for more paparazzi to descend on Point Worth now that it was clear where I had run off to, thanks to Sheriff Dennard’s wife.

Certainly, my luck would run out eventually. There’d already been one incident before Jason and his pack had attacked Lucas and me at the high school football field. The paps don’t give up that easily.

Regardless of everything else, I was at Lounge to see if maybe my feeling about something was correct, now that I had all of my memories at my disposal. When I had my visions after jumping-slash-falling into the well, I had seen dead people on the streets and in buildings of Point Worth. Obviously, this was a vision of what was to come—or could occur. Point Worth was not on fire, had not been on fire, and two of the people I had seen in the vision were very much alive, I knew for a fact. So…why had I seen those two people in particular?

It was odd to me that in my vision I saw the dead body and saw the death of a person I was not all that close with in life. Why would seeing them dead or dying be important? How would their deaths affect me? If the hooded figure really wanted to rattle me, wouldn’t it be more effective to show me Oma’s or Lucas’ dead bodies or deaths? Even Ernst or one of the other Kobolds would have hit closer to home than the other two people. Maybe I was barking up the wrong tree or pulling at the wrong thread…but it seemed very suspicious to me. Oma and Lucas had been shown in other visions…so why not the first one?

Mr. Jackson Barkley, Lucas’ grandfather, and owner of Barkley’s hardware died in front of my eyes in the vision. Right after he had told me, “he’s coming.” Who Mr. Barkley was referring to was not the mystery. Why Mr. Barkley was the one to deliver the message was the confounding part. Not that I didn’t care whether Mr. Barkley lived or died—especially since it would destroy Lucas—but I had no personal emotional attachment to the man. Not like I did with Lucas, Oma, or Ernst.

The other person who was dead in my vision was currently prancing across the stage at Lounge, though the red high heels were nowhere in sight. Of course, you can’t always wear the same shoes—especially when you’re in the entertainment business. You have to switch things up, give people the ole razzle-dazzle with different fashion looks. Otherwise, you’ll come off as a cheap hack who doesn’t care about optics and presentation. Carlita, even though she was only regionally known, was not the kind to ignore her wardrobe.

Carlita was strutting across the stage, singing the opening number to Chicago—except the song had been retitled “All That Jizz.” So…it was tacky. But you don’t go to a drag show to get Shakespeare or a family-friendly rendition of your favorite songs. It was evident from watching Carlita command the stage as I sat at a table at the back of the room that she was a natural performer. Multiple times I blushed and laughed out loud at the lyrics she had come up with for her rendition of the song. Carlita obviously couldn’t see who was laughing since the spotlight was in her face for the performance, but I could tell that my laughter made her work harder. It was apparent that my laughter let her know that her routine was going to kill…once she actually performed it for a real audience.

As the last words roared from her mouth and the music came to a dazzling end, I stood at my table and clapped loudly, whistling to give it a little extra “oomph.” Carlita smiled grandly and held a hand to her eyes, trying to block out the spotlight so that she could see who was watching. Instead, the manager of Lounge approached the stage, wringing her hands as she walked up to the area at the front of the room. Carlita stopped trying to find me in the room, and instead, looked down at the manger, crossing her arms over her chest aggressively.

“It was wonderful, Carlita,” The manager said, simply. “But, do you think that…maybe…maybe…it’s a little too…colorful?”

Carlita assessed the manager for a moment before speaking.

“Well, darling,” She held her head up regally, “if you see a school bus pull up out front, warn me before the show. Otherwise, I think the boys and girls can handle it, don’t you?”

“I suppose so, but—”

Carlita waved her off and marched to the side of the stage and down the steps into the room of tables and booths. Once the spotlight was out of her eyes, and the manager was left with nothing to do but worry about the bawdiness of the song, Carlita’s eyes landed on me. Looking slightly taken aback, but pleasantly so, Carlita stared across the room at me.

“I’m starting to think that you’re stalking me, Rob.” She smiled wickedly. “The right way to woo a lady is with flowers and chocolates, and I see neither.”

Holding my hands out apologetically with a smile, I replied: “Will dinner sometime suffice, my love?”

“Oh, you!” She threw her hands up dramatically. “How could I ever be mad at you?”

“I assume it would be difficult.” I winked.

“What’s going on, sugar?” Carlita asked in a quieter voice as she sashayed across the room towards me, her hands outstretched. “Since you’re here, I can assume you know that I found a new home for my show?”

I took her hands in mine and kissed the backs of them with a flourish.

“The song was amazing.”

“Why, thank you.”

“You’ll bring down the house whenever you do your first show.” I nodded. “When is it? Maybe I can come see it?”

“I would be offended if you didn’t.” Carlita tapped me on the cheek playfully with the palm of her hand. “It’s Friday night, baby. Bring vieja loca and your…gentleman friend?”

“Lucas.”

“Lucas.” She parroted. “Sounds delicious. Boys with country-ass names are always scrumptious. A weakness of mine. Living in booty-ass Ohio means that I’m always weak.”

I laughed loudly.

“Of course, that doesn’t explain why you’re here now.” Carlita slid her arm through mine and pulled me towards the stage, walking slowly. “Sneaking a peek before the show is completely ready will give you the wrong idea. You didn’t get to see all of the lights, my dress—the confetti at the end! It will be fabulous, baby.”

“If it’s even better than tonight, you may as well pack up and move to Hollywood.” I cooed.

“Oh, you.” She giggled. “But, seriously, what in the fuck brought you down here in the middle of the day?”