This choice: You'll go along with this plan • Go Back...Chapter #48A Search for New Servants by: Seuzz   Yoink!
Your mom doesn't actually say that as she snatches your cell phone from your hands, but your brain provides the sound effect anyway. "Have you done your homework yet?" she asks.
"Yes! At the library!" You thrust your hand out, trying to grab the phone back. "I told you! Remember?"
"What did you say the girl's name was?"
"Maria!"
Your dad's voice sounds from the dining room. "Trick question. You didn't tell us you were studying with a girl." He adds, "Supposedly" after you gasp.
"Well it was! Her name's Maria and she needed help on her math, okay?"
"She's doing worse than you?" your mom asks.
"I'm not doing -- ! I got an A on my last pop quiz!"
"After getting a D on your last couple?"
"I've been studying! More! Like you told me to!"
Your dad calls out again. "So why didn't you show us this A that you're so proud of?"
"Because I had it out in the passenger seat while I was driving home, and the wind caught it and blew away! I even did a U-turn to try to get back to it, but it was in the middle of Borman and I couldn't get to it without being run over!"
Thomas Murphy comes in. Eric's dad is small and paunchy, with a bald head and a frizzled, graying beard. (It was Eric's mom who gave him the genes for his long legs.) His expression is wry and skeptical. "When's your next pop quiz?"
"Pfthbt! It's a pop quiz, how the -- I'm not psychic!"
"Maybe I should give you one now."
An invented excuse is already rushing up your throat -- That last pop quiz was, like, two weeks ago and we're doing new material now and I haven't figured it out yet, so it's totally not fair for you to test me on it! -- but your mom preempts you. "Tom," she says, "how much trigonometry do you remember? If you gave him a pop quiz, could you even grade it?"
"That's a point," he mumbles, and goes back into the dining room to resume snacking on corn chips and grading his own students' homework. Your mom looks at you. "You know you need to pass this math class."
"Yes," you say through gritted teeth.
"You need the math credit to graduate."
"I know that!"
"I know it's not your strongest subject -- "
You roll your eyes and slump sideways on the sofa.
" -- so maybe you should be getting help instead of giving it."
"I thought you always said it's better to give than to receive."
"Don't be a smart ass. They have tutors at the school, if you want me to I can call and set you up a series of -- "
"I'll get help from one of my friends! From Tim! He's taking advanced superbutt math!"
She puts her hand on her hip. "What is 'advanced superbutt math'?"
"I don't know! You'd have to ask Tim! But that's what he's taking!" You shoot your hand out. "I'll text him right now, and we'll -- "
"Here. In the dining room. Twice a week." She gives you a very firm look.
"Twice a week what?"
"Twice a week tutoring sessions with Tim. Your father can sit in on them too, refresh his own math skills."
"Oh, very funny, Constance!" he calls back.
"Fine," you groan, and writhe while clutching both hands out for your phone. "But just. Give it. Here!"
"Tsh." She tosses it into your lap and mutters something about babies and milk bottles as she stalks out, but you ignore her as you bend greedily over the phone again.
You would never be able to get away with all that kind of sassery in the Prescott household, and it gives you an almost post-coital glow to be able to indulge in it here. But Eric's parents have long since reconciled themselves to the fact that their son has neither the native intellect nor the self-discipline to be better than a C student in unchallenging courses, and have apparently decided to hope that college will straighten him out. For his part, Eric is horrified by the idea of college classes, but he's almost frantic with anticipation at moving away from home and getting some cool roommates and having lots and lots of parties with lots and lots of girls.
But right now you've got other things to think about, and after moving to the bedroom -- so you won't be interrupted again -- you resume scrolling through Eric's contact list for possible additional aliases.
* * * * *
Initially, you were really unsure how to respond to Fairfax's idea. If he wants to experiment to see if someone can have more than one beta to control, why doesn't he try it out himself? And if he wants a bunch of minions, why doesn't he make minions of his own?
And on reflection you were still unsure how to respond to his idea. The answer to the first question was so obvious -- Dur, he's scared of accidentally turning himself into a frog -- that you didn't even ask it. And to your second question he replied, "Because I think it's better if I stick close to the other guys. Ride herd on them, I mean. You saw what they were like this afternoon."
"You could still make some of these betas of your own, so you could get these reports you're so interested in."
"I know, and I've thought about it, and I may yet. But I want to be cautious."
Cautious with himself. Pretty goddam reckless with you, though.
But it seemed best to humor him. He's showing more trust in you than in his regular friends. And if you don't quite trust him, it still seems like a good idea to keep on his good side.
So after you said you'd do it, you talked a little about possible minions. You suggested that one of them should be a cheerleader so you could send Fairfax messages through her. That was Eric's idea -- his brain was starting to creep back over yours -- and when Fairfax asked which cheerleaders Eric hung out with, you almost blurted back, "All of them." But he would have seen through that fantasy, so you admitted it wouldn't work.
He then suggested Parker Stott, and you asked what the fascination was with Parker. "Maria has him in her math class," Fairfax said. "They're pretty friendly, so I was thinking that would be a way of keeping in contact."
"Or through his girlfriend?"
"Maybe."
You then tossed out Barbara Powell as a possibility -- "We're going on a date this Friday, I could get her then" -- and after you described the people she hangs out with, Fairfax said she should go on a list for final consideration. But after a little more desultory talk, Eric's personality got sufficient hold of you that you told him you had to go home. You stopped to get a candy bar on the way, but otherwise made a beeline for the living room sofa so you could start studying the possibilities without him bugging you.
There is one name that you keep coming back to, even though that person almost certainly wouldn't work for Fairfax's purposes. But after your fifth crawl through the contact list, you call Tim to talk to him about her. Though, of course, not to talk about her in regard to Fairfax's suggestion.
"Jesus, man," you groan when he picks up. "The fuck am I gonna do about Melanie?"
"I told you at the time it was a mistake."
"We never even said we were -- ! I was totally free to do it with Emma!"
"That's not what I'm talking about."
"That's not what I'm talking about either, okay? Why didn't you tell me Mel was going around telling people she was going to fuck them up if they, you know, put out for me?"
"I don't think it's just 'putting out' for you they have to worry about," he says. "I think just making eye contact with you would get them in trouble with Melanie."
"So what am I going to do? Oh, and fucking answer my question, too. Why didn't you tell me she was going around saying this shit?"
"I didn't want to get in the middle of it. I told you at the time she was psycho and you should stay far away from her. You told me to eat a dick."
"And you're so fucking happy now to remind me. So what's your advice now?"
"Eat a dick, Eric."
"I'm serious, man!"
"So am I. Get yourself a wrestler for a boyfriend. Or one of the basketball players. I hear Steve Patterson loves getting his cock sucked. So, you know, get with someone who's not scared of Melanie."
"I've thought about that," you grumble.
"Yeah?"
"Uh huh. But not a guy! Jesus! But you know, Barbara Powell asked me out to a party this Friday. I played it cool, but I think I'm going to take her up on it. I don't think Mel could scare her."
"No, Mel could just throw acid in her face."
"So what am I going to do about her? Oh, and by the way, you're supposed to start tutoring me next week."
"I am? In what?"
"Math."
"Who says?"
"My mom."
There's a pause. "Funny, she hasn't said anything to me about it."
"Well, that's why I'm telling you now. But yeah, starting next week, twice a week, over here, in our dining room."
Another pause. "How much am I getting paid?"
"I don't think anyone said anything about you getting paid."
"Eat a dick, Eric," Tim says, and he hangs up.
So Tim Ryan's name goes on your tentative list of beta-slaves, along with Melanie Saxon's.
* * * * *
And that's really what it comes down to. Do you design a list that will maximize the kind of stuff that Fairfax is interested in? Or do you design a list that will please and benefit you?
And if you design it to please and benefit you, do you design it with Eric Murphy in mind? Or you yourself -- Will Prescott?  | Members who added to this interactive
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