they liked her. But at one bed, she stopped and began laughing before she could introduce me.
Sitting in the middle of the bed was a tiny boy. He was perfectly proportioned with a shock of black hair. As I watched, his features began to change. It was like watching a live-action version of computer morphing.
His hair grew longer until it came to his waist. His features changed, became more feminine. Then I realized: he looked like Cher.
“Okay,” I said. “That’s just wrong.”
Niobe giggled. “Watch this.”
The boy’s body began to bulge, arms and legs expanding as if there were balloons in them.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “The Michelin Man?”
Niobe and the boy started laughing together and I realized that this was one of Niobe’s children. I knew she was psychically linked to them, but that was about all I knew about her power. She’d been pretty closemouthed about it. When she stopped giggling and could speak again, she said, “This is Xerxes.”
I reached out so we could shake, and he slipped his tiny hand into mine. “It’s very nice to meet you,” he said. He sounded like Marvin the Martian.
“You should take that act on the road,” I said.
Niobe stopped laughing. I was baffled. I mean, I’m not the greatest joke teller in the world, but I didn’t think my comment had sucked all that bad: besides, as deuce powers went, Xerxes’s wasn’t a bad one.
“Uhm, I guess we should move along,” I said. “It was nice to meet you, too, Xerxes.”
Niobe led me to another bed. I wasn’t certain of this patient’s gender, so I decided to follow Niobe’s lead.
“This is Jenny,” she said. “Jenny’s card turned about a month ago. She isn’t sick, but she keeps expelling her internal organs when she gets too excited.”
“Hey, Jenny,” I said. “You’re not going to spew on me, are you?”
Niobe gave a little gasp, but Jenny laughed. Or kinda gurgled. “Usually people are too freaked out to say anything to me,” she said. “You know, I was rooting for Drummer Boy on American Hero.”
“I can see why,” I said. “He’s a musician and chicks dig musicians.” That was my polite response when people said anything about Drummer Boy. I still thought he was a massive douche even after Egypt.
“Would you sign my book?” One of her flippers shoved an autograph book across the bed.
I flipped through it. She had an astonishing number of famous people. She must have started it before her card turned. I found a blank page toward the back and scrawled my name and a dedication across it.
“There you go. I can give Drummer Boy a call and see if he can send you a signed picture. I mean, if you’d like that.”
“That would be so great!” Jenny said. “Oh, dear, I think you better stand back.”
Niobe and I moved back and, sure enough, Jenny hurled her innards. It was not only disgusting to look at, but the smell was awful.
“Okay, well, I think Bubbles has a flight to catch,” Niobe said.
The flight to New York had been about what I expected: long, boring, and way too crowded. (The less said about the flight from Carlsbad to El Paso the better. Terror in the skies.)
I was ready to get back home to Stuyvesant Town. It wasn’t in the hippest part of the city, but it felt like a real home to me. It was at Fourteenth Street and Avenue A. Lower East Side, but not quite trendy—yet.
The neighborhood was only just beginning to be gentrified. It still had lots of cheap clothing shops, good ethnic food (also cheap), and some great bookstores within walking distance. And the Stuyvesant Town complex remained what it had been designed for—middle-class housing.
Of course, I was living there illegally, subletting from a couple who had moved to Columbus after their baby was born. They’d wanted to be closer to the relatives, but hadn’t wanted to give up the idea of being New Yorkers. So we’d agreed that when they wanted to come back, I would vacate. That had been two years ago, so I felt pretty secure where I was—for now.
But I couldn’t get home from the airport without transportation, and today there were only a handful of cabs and a wicked-long line to get one.
I eventually found myself in the back of a makeshift cart being pulled by a joker. He was at least eleven feet tall, almost all of his height in his legs. It was weird as hell