THE LATE NIGHT SHOW

By T. J. Alexian

CHAPTER ONE

Hey baby, do you know who I am?

It’s addictive, I know it, but kind of thrilling, too, which is why, I suppose, most addictions exist. And it makes me feel as though I’m the Queen of the Night, which is really saying something, given the dumpy little town that I live in.

I take a glance at the screen name. Undertaker_16. Tall, dark, and six feet under, eh? I start to type out a response.

No clue. Who RU?

Yes, that’s it. I’m Queen of the Night. I control the vertical. I control the horizontal.

His response is rapid, like it was premeditated.

I’m the one who’s going to make your dreams come true tonight, baby.

And one of my golden rules is that I’m never going to get digitally horizontal with anyone who tries to scoop on me in the first five seconds. Not ever. Too dangerous. You never know who the other person on the receiving end really is, no matter how nice they look. I’ve heard too many stories, because my father was a cop.

I drag my mouse over to the search field and type in “Undertaker_16.” It takes a second or two for the webcam to download.

Oh, ick.

He looks to be at least 40, with balding, straggly hair and a disgusting leer. What, he didn’t think I’d check out his webcam? How stupid does he think I am? I am the Queen of the Night, buddy. I don’t get fooled by anyone.

Go away, I type. There’s another golden rule I have for web viewing. Don’t show anything that you wouldn’t mind having exposed on MTV. Okay, that might not be much, but I at least try to make it a point to stay in general interest areas and only talk to people that at least look normal. People who want to tell, and aren’t obsessed with showing. Still, a lot of freaks fall through the cracks, even if I only talk to people close to my age, which is 16. You’ve reached 20, you’re off my list.

Hello, babyfish.

I check out the screen name and smile, although I knew who it is immediately. Wirehanger. It’s Josh. My best friend in the whole wide world. I knock my biology book down on to the floor of my messy room and unwrap a stick of gum I had trapped underneath it.

Hi Josh. How’s it going?

Busy doing nothing.

Anyone interesting tonight?

Trying to talk to a real babe, but she won’t talk back.

I smile. Poor Josh. Nice guy, but such a dork around girls. I’ve tried to show him the ropes—what not to say, what to say...but Josh usually lets his hormones rule instead of his head, like most guys. Even worse, he’s too obvious, too anxious around the edges. He’s just a rejection waiting to happen, each and every time.

We’ve been friends since my Mom first moved us here from New York City. The move was P.D.--“Post Dad.” Josh has never once tried to hit on me. I’m not sure whether I should be upset or grateful.

What’s she call herself? I type. I’m bored. I don’t want to do any more homework (even though I have more than I really want to think about), it’s getting late, and all I really want to do is paint my toenails and hit the sack. But Mom should be coming home from working at d-Liteful Donuts any time now and I’d actually like to see her for a minute or two, before the week’s over.

Tulip2.

Tulip2...okay, Tulip, let’s see why Josh thinks you’re such a babalonia. I type in her ID. Her image comes up almost immediately. I start to laugh.

Josh, she looks like a spider!

I know, she’s very dark and scary, isn’t she?

And spiky. She’s not exactly what I think a tulip would look like. Not even a dead one.

Who wants a tulip? I’d rather talk to a spider!

Just try not to get trapped in her webcam.

See? That’s what I mean. Josh has no taste, and he’s bound to get burned trying to snag tough venomous little spiders like Tulip2, with her black spiky hair, five piercings per body part, and her Rotweiler tattoo. She’s going to take one look at him, this skinny, scrawny kid with bushy red hair and way too many freckles, laugh til she drops, and then freeze him out.

You’d be better off letting me choose your girlfriends, I type.

I’d rather be gay, he types back.

You’d better let me help with that, too.

Very funny. So who WOULD be a good pick for me?

For Josh? I sit back a bit. Picking someone from a webcam wouldn’t be the first place I’d going looking for romance, quite frankly. However, this wouldn’t exactly be the first place. Truth is, I had gone through all my friends at school, and even considered some people I didn’t really want to be friends with, trying to find Josh a woman. Every single attempt had ended in disaster.

Well, why not? It might be nice to see him start a conversation with someone who didn’t look as though they just landed on Earth from the planet Plutonia.

Give me a minute.

I glanced at the clock. 10:45. It was getting time for the real freaks to come out, so I’d better work fast.

I back out of Undertaker’s web cam and scroll down through the list of shows that are playing, looking for someone who is at least passable. A lot of the “girls” are either too old or way too old. One woman’s named “the Widowmaker” and looks to be 60. Brrrr. I consider sending Josh to the Widowmaker, just to be a pain. But no, he might like that too much.

Okay. I sit back in my chair. This one looks promising.

GoAskAlice.

I size up the girl on the screen. Looked to be about 17 years old. Dirty blond hair, cut to her shoulders. Wide, blue eyes. Full lips. Shiny white skin. She looks as though she might be related to elves. She’s wearing a black halter-top, making her skin seem to glow in the light of the camera.

I look past her, into her room. She’s sitting on a black leather chair. Behind her, I can make out red wallpaper and fuzzy glimpse of what appears to be a bureau. That’s about it.

Try this one, I typed. GoAskAlice.

Okay. I will.

I sit there, watching Alice watch the camera. I wonder how she’ll respond to Josh? And will I be able to tell?

And what if she’s a freakoid? Well, she certainly doesn’t appear to be, not from the face on the screen.

No, it was a nice face. For some crazy reason, there seems to be a sweetness there, something I really can’t put my finger on. Even if she hasn’t smiled once for the camera. Even though her eyes appear somewhat sad. She reminds me of someone. No, not someone. Something. But what?

I watch the frozen frames tick by, watch the countdown on the screen, and the jerky changes in her body position as a new image comes up, every five seconds, only to freeze again.

She lifts her head up, as if something had grabbed her attention. Is it Josh? Her soft lips were now parted. She really was very pretty. I had picked well for Josh.

A wounded bird. That’s it. She looks like a wounded bird.

Next frame. Her head is back up, staring at the screen. There’s a blank, dead look in her eye and her teeth appear to be clenched. No smiles or nodding of the head. That’s not good...

So what happened? I type.

Oh man. I sent her an IM.

And?

She told me to go to hell!

“WHAT?” My laughter travels all the way through my lonely, empty old house.

Is the wounded bird actually a tiger in disguise? Nah, it has to be Josh. He must have said something typically Josh-like. Had to be.

Okay, what did you say?

I didn’t say anything! I just asked her, “How’s it hanging?”

JOSHHH! You really don’t have a romantic bone in your body. She doesn’t have an ‘it’ to hang, you moron.

See, I told you it wouldn’t work.

Listen, do I have to write your lines for you, too?

I’m going 2g2 bed. Later!

Josh is off. I shook my head and stared at the screen, defeated. Absolutely hopeless. Well, maybe it’s time for me to log off, too, and end my reign as Queen of the Night. At least, for this evening.

My stomach starts to rumble. It might be nice to make chips and salsa and wait in the kitchen for Mom to come home. I want to talk to her. I hate to admit it, but I miss seeing her around.

But for some reason, I can’t move from my seat. All I can do is sit there, staring at Alice.

It had grown dark in her room. The red wallpaper had been replaced by dark shadows. All I can make out is the white of her face, and her shoulders.

She just stares at the screen, practically motionless. Has her webcam frozen? But no, the background light on the monitor changes with the next frame, and indication that everything is still working.

I wonder what’s going on in her head. What is her world like? These little screens are like entrances into someone else’s world, and you can easily get drawn in, if you’re not careful.

I want to talk to her.

Hey there, I type. Is everything all right? You look a little sad.

I hold my breath, waiting to see how she will respond. Will she turn me down, just as she had done to Josh? Perhaps she isn’t looking to talk to anyone at all. Maybe she just had a fight with her boyfriend, maybe that’s why she looks so sad. Maybe she’s returning home from a night out, and things had ended badly, and their relationship was at the end of the line. The possibilities were endless.

I hear a bell tone.

My heart starts to race, knowing that she responded. I’m almost afraid to look at the monitor, afraid that it might be another “go to hell.”

I glance down at the screen.

Hi.

Hi. Well, it was a start, at least.

Hey, I type. Can anything be more boring than watching the hours go by on a webcam? My name’s Jeannette. I call myself the Queen of the Night—big laff.

I watch her on the screen. She actually smiles for a second! Her smile seems to transform her, fills everything out, completes the sweetness I had imagined in her face. But five seconds later, it’s gone, replaced by a frown. I actually find that I’m disappointed, wish that I had saved the image.

I am lost in the night. She typed back.

Lost? What do you mean?

She lowers her head. All I can see is a crown of gold hair. What’s she talking about? Why is she lost?

The next image. She stares straight at the camera, straight at me, with a look on her face that makes me believe she really has been engulfed, consumed by the darkness. The look of sweetness from just a few seconds before is completely gone, as if had never existed to begin with.

I hear the bell. A return message. I glance over.

Her message hits me like a fork in a toaster.

Help me.

Help you? I type quickly. How? What can I do?

I lean over towards the screen, as if I could reach out a hand to save her. But the seconds had ticked away, time had run out, and a new image takes the place of the old one. This one is a fuzzy blur. I can’t quite make out much of anything, save for a swirl of yellow in the center of the screen, what I think might be her dirty blond hair, as if her head had moved forward abruptly.

Then the picture goes black.

It’s too late.

I sit there, staring at the flickering words on the screen.

Help me.