"Come on, letís eat," I said and he smiled. We walked out of the bedroom, hand in hand, to the smell of spaghetti. "Yummola!" I cried.
"Surprise!" Micky giggled. "I took advantage of your blocking the link to make your favourite without you knowing it!"
Why did you close the link? came a tentative question, pushing through the still-blocked link. I reopened the link.
Peter wanted to tell me something that he didnít want you or Mike or Davy to know. And donít even THINK about trying to pry that information out of me. I gave Peter my word, I replied while helping Peter set the table. He was telekinetically grabbing plates and silverware and handing them off to me, with my fields, to put on the table.
Okay. Is he any better? Micky turned off the flame and started to drain the pasta.
Yeah, I think saying what he was feeling out loud helped. A lot. But heís still not one hundred percent happy. I donít think he feels comfortable with his powers yet. I peered out on the beach, trying to spot Davy.
I dig. Iím not comfortable myself!
Neither am I. I spotted the shrimp and poked him in the lower back with a force field. He jumped, then his jaw dropped as he looked toward the beach house, realizing where the poke had come from. I saw him say something to the girl he was with and then head up to the house. Alone, for once. I grinned and grabbed the phone to call Mike back.
"Hello," came the drawled answer.
"Dinnertime shotgun. Bring a ghostie if ye please but come tae eat at least!" I said, switching smoothly from a Texan dialect to Scots. Mike laughed.
"Hey Isa, want to join us for dinner?" There was a mumbled response. "She wants ta know what weíre havin."
"Ah, but a dish fit fer a ghostie. Spaghetti wií meat sauce, salad, and anna drink ye wants."
I could almost hear Mikeís eyes roll as he relayed that to Isa, and then I caught her distinctive snicker. "Weíll be over in a minute," he told me and hung up.
" íA dish fit fer a ghostie?í Where do you come up with this stuff?" Micky exclaimed.
"Do you even need to ask?" Peter shot back.
"Ha ha." Just then the front door blew open and shut. "Whoís there?"
"I am the ghost of Christmas past . . . " came a howl with a distinct Texas twang.
"And I am the ghost of Christmas future!" came a feminine howl.
"And I am the ghost of Christmas present . . . " came a howl from right behind Peter.
"All right guys. Stop spooking Peter. Heís had a hard enough day without your teasing!" I cried.
"Whoís teasiní?" Davy called from the bedroom door.
Mike and Isa shimmered into visibility a couple feet off the living room floor. They touched down and became solid. Micky shimmered into view next to me. "Who else? Casper, Casper Junior, and Invisible Boy here," I said, rolling my eyes. "Come on, letís eat."
After dinner Peter begged exhaustion and went to sleep early. Isa was about to go home to work on an article when Mike stopped her. He gently closed the bedroom door and called us all out onto the verandah.
"Guys, you realize today is February 11th?" Mike said.
"So?" Davy asked.
"So, Peterís birthday is the 13th. Day after tomorrow." I swear a lightbulb appeared over Davyís head just then. "We gotta think of something special for him."
"Yeah, especially since heís bummed about the powers thing," Micky added.
"A party. A surprise party. He loves parties," Isa suggested.
"Good idea. Now, who will distract him while we set up?" Mike asked.
"Len will! She chatted with him while I was cooking dinner, got him out of his blue funk! I think they like each other," Micky teased. I bopped him on the head with a force field.
"Good, then he wonít get suspicious. You take him for a walk, a flight, a picnic, whatever, tomorrow morning after breakfast and bring him back in time for lunch. If weíre ready earlier or need more time, Micky can let you know through your link. That sound good to everyone?" Mike asked. We all nodded. "Good. Now letís go back inside, just in case he woke up, so that he doesnít suspect anything."
The next day Micky and I went out to get decorating supplies. Peter, Mike, and Isabel were out on the beach discussing strategy when we returned and thus, it was easy to sneak the supplies in while invisible -- Peter wasnít in the Pad to notice the door opening and closing by itself. We then changed into out swim clothes and joined them on the beach.
"Whatís up guys?" Micky called.
"Oh just planniní how weíre gonna win the next war games," Mike drawled.
"Thatís what you think!" I retorted as I ran down into the water. I swam a few laps, happy to see my stamina growing, and then encased myself in a field and dove down to find more seashells for my jewelry. I was slowly building a collection of seashell jewelry, and Iíd even begun sewing a sundress embellished with seashells.
Hey Len, Davy just got back from his date so weíre gonna start a war game! Come on in and get dressed! Micky called to me.
Okay, lemme just grab these shells I found! I had discovered a pile of pink shell fragments and I scooped them up in a field, floating up to the surface with them. I was dressed and back out on the beach in minutes.
"Let the games begin!" Mike called.
Three hours and several rounds later, the score was now eleven to three, still in our favour. Over dinner we discussed group strategy.
"Now, playing against each other is all well and good but one of these days we might have to work as one team against an enemy. We should try and come up with some war games to help us devise group strategies," Mike drawled.
"Youíre right. But what kind of games can we do? Thereís no one powerful that we can play against and without an opponent, itíll be hard to really get anything out of the game," I said.
"I donít know. Itís gonna take some thinkin."
The next morning we woke up to the smell of blueberry waffles. Peterís special recipe blueberry waffles, that is. Micky and I floated down the stairs on the smell, half-asleep and in our pajamas. Peter chuckled as he telekinetically filled our plates.
"Morning, sleepyheads!" he called.
"Hmph," Micky grunted. I just mumbled incoherently. Davy and Mike joined us a few minutes later.
By the time breakfast was over, we were wide awake. While Peter was clearing the dishes, Micky went upstairs to get dressed. Davy pretended to call girl #1689 but really called Isa to let her know we were done eating and to get ready.
"Hey Peter, wanna take a walk with me? Once Iím dressed, that is," I asked. He turned and beamed at me, causing my heart to flip-flop at the sight of those dimples.
"Iíd love to. Or how about a flight? I do the flying, you keep us invisible. That would be nice and relaxing."
"Just soís itís not too high, shotgun. Iím afraid of heights!"
"I know!" he groaned, remembering the fuss Iíd put up on the planes to and from Hawaii.
"Then let me get dressed and we can be off." He nodded and went back to the dishes. I floated upstairs and grabbed my favourite Nehru shirt, a blue and white patterned one, blue slacks, and my moccasin boots and headed into the downstairs bathroom to get ready since Micky had control of the upstairs one.
Fifteen minutes later we were flying high above Malibu Beach.
"Such a lovely view from up here. Malibu looks really nice from above, donít you think?" Peter asked.
"It sure does. Hey -- thereís the library!" I pointed.
"Howíd you know? We havenít taken you there yet!" Peter laughed.
"I donít know! I guess I just have a sixth-sense for libraries. Itís funny, though, that I havenít been to one in, geez, nearly a month! Iím such an advid reader."
"Well how about on the way back we stop to get you a library card and something to read?" Peter suggested and gently squeezed my hand.
"Iíd like that!"
"But first, letís go see the sights in Hollywood. We havenít had time to take you there. The Walk of Fame, the Chinese Theatre, the studios." We made a wide turn and headed toward the Hollywood sign.
"Well Iíve seen the Walk of Fame, Iíve seen the Chinese Theatre -- from the outside at least, and I saw Paramount, but I guess the rest we can do."
Peter chuckled. "Well then how about Columbia and Universal? We can only see the outside . . . oh wait! We can see inside -- weíre invisible!"
I laughed. "Youíre right! Hey, can we peek inside Desilu? Thereís a show I love in production there right now!"
"Sure! What show?" We started to descend in front of the Chinese Theatre.
"Star Trek. When I was here last year with my parents we did a tour of Paramount and they wouldnít let anyone on the sets of the two Star Trek shows that were in production but if weíre invisible . . . "
"That wonít matter. I admit, this is kinda groovey, getting to slip in and out of places like this."
"It is." We floated around a few feet above the sidewalk in front of the theatre, and I grinned as I remembered how it had looked when I had last been there, over thirty years in the future. There was a blank spot where the Star Trek castís autographs would be a couple decades in the future.
We floated upwards and headed down the street. A few moments later, we were at the gates of Desilu Studios. "Here we are, Len. Ready to snoop?" Peter teased.
"As Iíll ever be! Letís find us some aliens." We floated over the gate and inside the studio. Flying at an altitude of twenty feet, we quickly scanned the soundstage buildings until I spotted a sign that read Star Trek. "This is the place," I whispered.
"Then here we go," Peter whispered back. We floated inside and onto the set. I held my breath as we zoomed right onto the bridge of the Enterprise. Yet another dream come true, I mused. I peeked into Spockís viewer, sat down in Chekovís chair and played with the panel, then sat at Engineering and spent several minutes examining the panel, amazed at the realistic look.
We flew over to the Sickbay set next. I laid down on a biobed, peered in all the cabinets, and fiddled around with a tricorder. Then we visited Engineering, the Transporter Room, and the mess hall set.
Time to come back Len. Lunch is almost ready. I frowned. I didnít want to leave the set so soon.
In a couple minutes. Peter and I flew over to the commissary and got up-close looks at the principals. Shatner and Nimoy were nowhere to be found but I got to float right next to Jimmy Doohan, De Kelley, and Walter Koenig. I was ecstatic. Once weíd left the commissary though, I whispered to Peter, "Itís time for lunch, so as much as I hate to end this, we gotta head back to the Pad." He squeezed my hand in reply and we headed back.
Last updated 23 OCT 98
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