Eddi suggested. She opened the door for him. "Here," she pointed to the inside handle, "pull this toward you to unlatch it. If that doesn't work, it means you have to pull this up first." She pointed to the knob that worked the lock. "And if that doesn't work, it means that the door's buggered up, and you can yell at Carla." Then he swung his feet out onto the gravel, and she stared. "You're not wearing any shoes!"
He straightened up, and his chest swelled with a long intake of breath. "That's true."
"No shoes, no shirt, no service," Eddi said with relish as Carla appeared at her elbow. The phouka looked baffled. "You can't go into a restaurant in bare feet," she explained.
"Tell you what," Carla said. "You turn into a dog, and we'll tie you up outside while we eat. And we'll bring you a doggy bag."
The phouka turned his gaze on Carla, and even in the light of sunset Eddi could see her pale. "A pity I have to deny you that pleasure. Come along." He strode off across the gravel.
Eddi touched Carla on the shoulder, but Carla's eyes were still on the phouka. She pointed after him. The phouka now wore low black boots.
Carla said, her voice wobbling, "He must have got 'em on when we weren't looking."
"Hypnotism," Eddi assured her. "Special effects. Mirrors."
"Right," said Carla—but she stayed wide-eyed.
They caught up with him at the corner. "I have decided to forgive you," he smiled hugely as they came up. "I even waited for you."
"Meaning," said Eddi, "that you couldn't find the place by yourself."
The phouka cocked his head. "You said the New Riverside Cafe. That"—he pointed down the street at a set of dark green awnings—"reads 'New Riverside Cafe.' How could I miss it?"
"You can read, and you can't open a car door?" Eddi said.
He nodded at a piece of construction machinery parked off the road. "You can read. Can you operate that?"
"It's a little more complicated."
"Not to whoever operates it." He smiled. "Come along. After you've eaten, you won't find so much pleasure in posing silly questions."
Eddi had to admit that the Riverside was not as bad as she herself had described it. The most recent renovation had brightened and enlarged the room; it no longer looked like the kind of place where wistful sixties anarchists reminisced about bombing the student union. And tonight's dinner was vegetarian pizza, with, blessedly, not a trace of eggplant.
"I'm buying," Carla said, "so don't starve yourself."
"Does that offer include me?" the phouka asked.
"Do you have any money on you?" said Carla.
"Not a penny."
"How'd you pay the cover charge last night?"
"By magic," he said happily.
Eddi and Carla exchanged looks. "Don't get anything expensive," Carla sighed.
The phouka shook his head. "Ah, gone are the days when your people gave to my people freely and with good heart."
"Yeah, stuff like a nice job picking cotton," Carla muttered. The phouka only laughed his throaty laugh.
They took their loaded trays to a table near the stage. Eddi found herself arranging a band on it.
"Nothing bigger than a five-piece," Carla's voice cut across her thoughts.
Eddi grinned sheepishly. "You read my mind."
"What mind?"
"Bitch. I think you could get six people up there."
"Not with keyboards and a full drum kit."
"Mmm. Anyway, it's not my problem anymore." She tore into her pizza.
"So you say. What are you gonna do if you're not working in a band?"
"I'll find a job, for godsake."
Carla shook her head. "The whole town's on unemployment, and you're gonna find a job."
Eddi looked up from her pizza and found the phouka gazing fixedly at her, as if she were a movie in a foreign language. "Having fun?" she said.
He nodded solemnly.
A slender, brown-haired man came out of the back hallway that led to the alley, clutching a drum case to his chest.
"Isn't that the drummer for Boiled in Lead?" said Carla.
Eddi studied as much of the face as she could see. "I think so."
"So that's who's playing," Carla said. "Windows
He straightened up, and his chest swelled with a long intake of breath. "That's true."
"No shoes, no shirt, no service," Eddi said with relish as Carla appeared at her elbow. The phouka looked baffled. "You can't go into a restaurant in bare feet," she explained.
"Tell you what," Carla said. "You turn into a dog, and we'll tie you up outside while we eat. And we'll bring you a doggy bag."
The phouka turned his gaze on Carla, and even in the light of sunset Eddi could see her pale. "A pity I have to deny you that pleasure. Come along." He strode off across the gravel.
Eddi touched Carla on the shoulder, but Carla's eyes were still on the phouka. She pointed after him. The phouka now wore low black boots.
Carla said, her voice wobbling, "He must have got 'em on when we weren't looking."
"Hypnotism," Eddi assured her. "Special effects. Mirrors."
"Right," said Carla—but she stayed wide-eyed.
They caught up with him at the corner. "I have decided to forgive you," he smiled hugely as they came up. "I even waited for you."
"Meaning," said Eddi, "that you couldn't find the place by yourself."
The phouka cocked his head. "You said the New Riverside Cafe. That"—he pointed down the street at a set of dark green awnings—"reads 'New Riverside Cafe.' How could I miss it?"
"You can read, and you can't open a car door?" Eddi said.
He nodded at a piece of construction machinery parked off the road. "You can read. Can you operate that?"
"It's a little more complicated."
"Not to whoever operates it." He smiled. "Come along. After you've eaten, you won't find so much pleasure in posing silly questions."
Eddi had to admit that the Riverside was not as bad as she herself had described it. The most recent renovation had brightened and enlarged the room; it no longer looked like the kind of place where wistful sixties anarchists reminisced about bombing the student union. And tonight's dinner was vegetarian pizza, with, blessedly, not a trace of eggplant.
"I'm buying," Carla said, "so don't starve yourself."
"Does that offer include me?" the phouka asked.
"Do you have any money on you?" said Carla.
"Not a penny."
"How'd you pay the cover charge last night?"
"By magic," he said happily.
Eddi and Carla exchanged looks. "Don't get anything expensive," Carla sighed.
The phouka shook his head. "Ah, gone are the days when your people gave to my people freely and with good heart."
"Yeah, stuff like a nice job picking cotton," Carla muttered. The phouka only laughed his throaty laugh.
They took their loaded trays to a table near the stage. Eddi found herself arranging a band on it.
"Nothing bigger than a five-piece," Carla's voice cut across her thoughts.
Eddi grinned sheepishly. "You read my mind."
"What mind?"
"Bitch. I think you could get six people up there."
"Not with keyboards and a full drum kit."
"Mmm. Anyway, it's not my problem anymore." She tore into her pizza.
"So you say. What are you gonna do if you're not working in a band?"
"I'll find a job, for godsake."
Carla shook her head. "The whole town's on unemployment, and you're gonna find a job."
Eddi looked up from her pizza and found the phouka gazing fixedly at her, as if she were a movie in a foreign language. "Having fun?" she said.
He nodded solemnly.
A slender, brown-haired man came out of the back hallway that led to the alley, clutching a drum case to his chest.
"Isn't that the drummer for Boiled in Lead?" said Carla.
Eddi studied as much of the face as she could see. "I think so."
"So that's who's playing," Carla said. "Windows
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