#spammanager

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Is this woman for real, with her tour guide persona? This place looks more like Downton Abbey than like somewhere real people live. 

This is bizarre. Would everyone hate me if I took an Uber to the train station?

T.M. was apparently getting shown to her room first because she was the “girl”... Sienna actually said that out loud and with a straight face. Swatch caught her eye and gave her a look that was just short of an eye-roll… it was good that someone else thought there was something off with Spamton’s sister.

So much for women’s lib… 

Once she was alone, T.M. unslung the garment bag from her shoulder, making sure the pocket with her hat was on the outside and not getting crushed.  Her suitcase had been placed on a wooden rack that looked like it actually belonged on ANTIQUES ROADSHOW. The rest of the furniture seemed to be a little more modern, but it was made of more solid-looking wood than she had ever seen in her life.  “IKEA this ain’t,” she muttered to herself as she laid the garment bag on the bed and unzipped it.

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I’ll see if I can find the kitchen, Swatch thought to themself. That seems like a logical place for people to hang out.

I’ll see if I can find the kitchen, T.M. thought to herself. That seems like a good place to dig up some dirt.

Let me see if anyone’s in the kitchen, Spamton thought to himself. That makes sense that they’d both head there.

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Blinding white light reflected off surfaces of marble and chrome.  Two people were there, neither of whom were T.M., Spamton, or any of the Addison siblings. And they didn’t look like Addison relatives… neither of them had the long pointy Addison nose.

The two women both wore white chef uniforms. One was unpacking containers of meat and vegetables and pasta from a trolley onto counters, while the other was unzipping a suitcase that held cooking utensils that were obviously from one very expensive manufacturer.

Swatch tried to back out so they would not be in the way, but the taller woman with the dark braids noticed them and said with a smile, “Come on in, we don’t bite. Not hard, anyway.” 

“As long as I won’t be in the way,” Swatch replied, and sat in the chair that she pointed to, part of the set for the table in the corner. “My cousins are going into the hospitality industry when they graduate, so I’m always interested in watching professionals work.”

“Well, it’s more than our jobs are worth to tell houseguests where they can and can’t go,” said the other woman, a thin freckled redhead who had just finished offloading the last insulated food box. “You ARE one of the houseguests, right? One of Stanton’s friends?”

“Yes, that’s me. I’m Swatch Paletta.” They weren’t sure whether to identify themself as Spamton’s partner; there already seemed to be a layer of reserve by being identified as a “houseguest”. The use of the name “Stanton” also hadn’t escaped their notice.

The redhead nodded and commented, “Please don’t be insulted if we don’t shake hands. Again, more than our jobs are worth, damaging the tools of our trade, so to speak, and you look like you’ve got a powerful handshake.”

That was a subtle way to bring up Swatch’s size, they surmised. “I take your point,” they replied. “And the appetite to go with it. That all looks like some wonderful possibilities for meals.”

“Oh, you flatterer,” the dark-haired woman chuckled. “Anyway, I’m Bonita and that’s Jen. Of Bonita and Jen’s Household Meals. You can make yourself useful by telling us some of your preferences, as well as what the other guests like to eat.  Usually we deliver premade meals for the two guys here, but this weekend we’re cooking fresh for a house party, and that changes everything up.”

“Other guests?”

“Well, yeah. The sister and her wife, and the other one of Stanton’s friends.”

“Oh!”  For some odd reason Swatch had made the assumption that Sienna and Saffron lived here too. The house was certainly large enough.  Spamton had mentioned that there were ten bedrooms and seven bathrooms.

They collected themself, realizing Bonita was waiting for an answer.

“Well, T.M. - that’s my and Spam- I mean, Stanton’s friend - she’s pretty much a fan of anything except shrimp. I don’t know much about the other two other than they’re both vegetarians.”

“Yeah, we did get that memo,” interjected Jen. “What about you, big guy?”

“Me? Well, I guess if I’m getting asked, something I can’t cook myself? At home, I tend to do Italian or stir-fry, so I don't know… maybe fish?”

Swatch was delighted to actually be asked for their preferences.  They wondered whether Spamton still got the same thrill at the possibility of choice, or whether he took it for granted.

And if the thought of Spamton summoned him from the ether, their partner’s voice could be heard from the door that led to the outside. “D-Did someone say fish?  That sounds d-d-delicious!”

T.M. stood in the doorway on the opposite side of the room, her expression carefully blank.

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Spamton wasn’t sure why, once he’d made up his mind to head to the kitchen, he ended up detouring to the greenhouse instead. It wasn’t that there was NO greenery in Mrs. Anselmo’s backyard; she had rambling wild roses, a butterfly bush, and a dogwood tree.  But something in him was calling for the pots of violets, primroses, begonias, and kalanchoe that Kip the gardener set up every year and brought out to the stone-flagged patio each summer.

He’d hoped for a few minutes of solitude before he had to be sociable. But there were already people there, by the sound of raised voices.

He took his hand off the glass door and turned away, not wanting to interrupt.  

Back to the kitchen it would be, then.

As he crossed the lawn to get to the rear of the house, Spamton noticed that the van for Bonita and Jen's Household Meals was parked there. He wasn’t surprised, when he walked through the French doors, to see Swatch sitting and comfortably chatting with the two chefs. He caught the tail end of what Swatch was saying and added, “D-Did someone say fish?  That sounds d-d-d-delicious!”

Across the room, he could see T.M. standing in the main doorway, a peculiar expression on her face, as though she’d stopped herself from saying something she’d regret.

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T.M. looked back up at the curving gallery from where she stood in the foyer, trying to count the number of closed doors. She took a rough stab at guessing this place must have a dozen bedrooms and probably just as many bathrooms. Her room, and presumably Swatch’s, were in what Sienna had called the east wing, whereas the family’s rooms were at the other end. T.M. assumed that meant she’d get sunlight in the morning.  That would have been her preference anyway. If only the house itself had not been creeping her out so much.

Oh well.  Best not to linger here as if she were casing the joint.  Logically in a place like this the kitchens were probably tucked away out of sight. “Further on and further in,” she muttered to herself as she picked a likely direction.

At least the doors down here were open and she could see inside. A room with a fireplace, big overstuffed leather chairs, and walls full of books looked friendly. A big open space with a grand piano and an entertainment center with very expensive-looking stereo equipment also seemed promising, and not as intimidating as the VERY formal dining room. That room had built-in hutches with a terrifying amount of china, plus a sideboard with enormous platters stacked on it.

Again T.M. was struck by the excess of it all. How had Spamton grown up in this house and come out even vaguely well-adjusted?

She heard voices in the next room down from the dining room, including the blessed familiarity of her bestie. They were talking about food with two people she couldn’t yet see, but could hear, and were being asked about… her?

“Well, T.M. - that’s my and Spam- I mean, Stanton’s friend - she’s pretty much a fan of anything except shrimp. I don’t know much about the other two other than they’re both vegetarians.”

“Yeah, we did get that memo,” said a sharp female voice, continuing after a miniscule pause, “What about you, big guy?”

“Me? Well, I guess if I’m getting asked, something I can’t cook myself? At home, I tend to do Italian or stir-fry, so I don't know… maybe fish?”

T.M. inched into the doorway, ready to jump to Swatch’s defense, but stopped herself when she saw the smile on the speaker’s face, The thin redhead apparently just had one of those dry voices.

She saw Spamton step into the room from a glass door that led onto a patio and caught his eye, trying to look normal.

She came all the way into the kitchen then, and blurted out, “Shit, this place is HUGE, Short Stuff!”

Great. 

She wanted to die of embarrassment.

But it seemed to be the perfect icebreaker, and T.M. found herself sitting down with Swatch, Spamton, and the other two, who introduced themselves as Jen and Bonita, sampling a dish of what the chefs called Brown Butter Almond Salmon.

She didn’t want to get too used to this… she still thought it was ridiculous to have catered meals rather than takeout.

But damn, this tasted awfully good.  

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The rest of the night turned out to be much less formal and more fun than T.M. expected. 

Although there was one bit of unexplained tension.

After the chefs had chased the three of them out of the kitchen once they’d finished their “tasting”, Spamton had unerringly led T.M. and Swatch to where the rest of the family were… a living room that T.M. had missed.  The couches had plastic slipcovers and the coffee table had a wooden bowl in the middle, filled with bead-encrusted velvet fruit. Carved wooden cherubs flanked several mirrors on the walls, catching the light from the Tiffany lamps on the various end tables.

The enormous flatscreen TV made quite a contrast with the rest of the kitschy decor, and reminded T.M. that yes, the Addison family was made of money.

Spamton had introduced Saffron, his sister-in-law, a toned, tanned, and athletic-looking blonde, and re-introduced Eos, who had a sweet and welcoming smile for them all.

Once he heard where they’d been, Ballew made a snarky comment about children spoiling their dinners, to which Spamton snarked back about Ballew and Eos keeping Bonita and Jen’s cooking all to themselves for long enough.

Almost apologetically, Eos seemed to feel the need to explain that, due to the hours he and Ballew pulled at work, it was just easier to have prepped meals during the week. “But it’s all healthy stuff!”

Sienna patted him on the arm. “Hey, I checked in on them earlier, and their vegetarian stuff looks divine. Thank you for thinking of us.”

She seemed a lot more relaxed than she had earlier. Until her wife spoke up, at any rate.

“Anyway,” Ballew said, and all heads turned to him. “This weekend we’ll all be eating together. Do we want to have a quick hand of cards, and then a movie after dinner?”

“That sounds great!” Swatch started to reply, whereas, almost at the same time Saffron said, "My God, not Nutdealer again. Can't we do something else?"

"But we always—" Sienna interjected before she got cut off by Saffron saying, "Sweetheart, if I hear one more 'but we always', I'll scream. Just like I did in the greenhouse."

"And we can't have that now, can we?" Sienna's mouth was smiling, but her eyes were not.

“Let’s not bicker in front of the company,” Eos said mildly.

“Awwww, you’re no fun anymore,” Spamton interjected in a silly, Monty Python-esque voice.  

T.M. couldn’t help but giggle. Swatch smiled, and that gave her the courage to break the ice with her suggestion. “Maybe rummy? We don’t have to worry about how many people we’ve got, and it’s less bloodthirsty, from what I hear about you all.”

“Now that I can get behind,” Saffron replied with a grateful look. “Although I don’t know about the ‘less bloodthirsty’ bit. These guys are sharks.”

“So am I,” T.M. grinned back.

Ballew got up and pulled a card table and folding chairs out of a rack that leaned against a wall. There were multiple sealed decks of cards that he fetched from a built-in drawer in the table. “Glad to have that settled,” he commented drily. “C’mon, gather ‘round, cats and kittens. The birthday boy gets to be the dealer for the first hand.”

“You don’t trust me?” Sienna asked, good humor apparently having been restored.  

“Not as far as I can throw you.”

The game went smoothly through three hands of cards before dinner was announced by Bonita.  Dinner, as T.M. had expected, was served in the formal dining room, but it was set up in a buffet style on the sideboard, which relieved some of the stuffiness. In addition to the salmon dish she’d gotten to nibble on earlier, there was a beef dish in a creamy pasta, an absolutely kicking chicken curry, something that looked like a shepherd’s pie made with just cheddar and mushroom, and a coleslaw dish made with avocado, mango and coconut. There were side dishes of plain rice and noodles, as well as chopped butternut squash and steamed green beans, with separate serving utensils for everything to avoid cross-contamination between vegetarian and not-vegetarian dishes.

Spamton’s style of eating seemed to be accounted for here… everyone had divided dishes rather than flat plates, and no one raised an eyebrow when he took little portions of everything, rather loading his plate with one of the meal choices.  T.M. privately thought that was rather sweet, and wondered whether the family had started to do that after his homeless stretch, or whether he’d adapted later in life to something that had always been there. 

She wasn’t sure what to expect for choices for the after-dinner movie, but when RISE OF THE GUARDIANS was suggested, she gladly put in a “yes” vote.  It was by the same director as Swatch’s and her beloved SPIDER-VERSE movie, done more than a half-decade earlier, and the sheer love for beautiful detail shone through.  T.M. 's favorite character was Sandy, not just for his silent sass and subtle badassery, but because every bit of animation of his dream-sand was a work of art. She’d found out from a Google research rabbit hole that the movie company had actually commissioned NASA to get some of the textures right.  

Eos and Ballew disappeared into the kitchen and came back juggling several massive bowls of popcorn. T.M. happily plopped herself on the living room floor, leaning against Swatch’s legs as Swatch sat cuddled up with Spamton on a loveseat, same way she would have done back at the Tibbetts Avenue townhouse.  

She did notice that the two married folks weren’t sitting together, but she put it out of her head and lost herself in the movie.

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When it came time for the party to break up and the various family members headed to bed for the night, Spamton led the way to his own bedroom [after making sure that he knew where the rooms for the other room were]. “I m-may not have had the chance to - to play the p-piano for you tonight, b-but I’m not going to miss out on our b-b-bedtime reading.”

“Damn straight,” Trez said. Swatch stuck their tongue out at her.

Spamton’s childhood bed was a full-sized one, nowhere near as big nor as long as the king the three of them had gotten used to at Mrs. Anselmo’s. He felt the need to apologize for it, but Swatch waved it off. “This is fine, my dear, at least for tonight’s reading. I am going to commandeer the backrest, though.” And they suited action to words, crawling onto the bed and propping themselves up. Trez positioned herself between Swatch’s legs and laid her head on their chest, while Spamton slotted himself on Swatch’s other side.

The old-fashioned language of L.M. Boston’s GREEN KNOWE book flowed off Swatch’s lips like raindrops, and Spamton let the words he could quote from memory relax his body and mind.

“I'm glad this house is stone,’ said Tolly. "It smells of stone. When you come back to any house that you know, it has such a special smell. Do you think when they built this they put in some magic somewhere to make it last? Because it has lasted so much longer than houses do."

"I am sure they did—or something magic. It was a custom going right back to the first house ever made. Generally it was something under the threshold, or on the roof, or perhaps under the hearth—the three most important places."

"Have you looked?" Tolly was patting and stroking the walls as if they were alive.

"No," the old lady said. "I haven't disturbed anything. Whatever is there is working very well." 

The entrance hall was delightfully enclosing and reassuring, full as always of flowers and birds' nests, the lights relayed from mirror to mirror all down its length, and all the scatter of happy living—secateurs, baskets, books, letters, and anything-to-hand lying on the tables. The coloured stairs led up invitingly, but to get to the attic you had to pass through the Knights' Hall, which, if it had been alone for some hours, had a habit of slipping back to its own century. However much you loved it, Tolly thought, it always needed a little resolution to break away into its privacy at night. 

Just as Swatch was going to end the chapter, there was a knock at the door.  Spamton raised his head and looked at the other two for confirmation before calling out, “It’s open!”

Saffron was the last person he expected to see poking a head around his bedroom door. But there she was.

“Hi, I know it’s getting late, but I’m glad I can catch all three of you at once,” she said, hovering on the threshold. “Can we talk?”

“Sure, c-come on in,” Spamton replied. He sat up and waved his hand towards the wing chair off to the side of his desk.  The other two rearranged themselves so that they were sitting up, as well.  

His sister’s wife came in and sat down, crossing her legs and clasping her arms around her knees. “Well,” she started, “I was going to ask if any of you wanted to come on a run with me tomorrow morning.”

That, too, was unexpected. Spamton couldn’t remember ever being invited anywhere by Saffron, let alone on what was usually sacrosanct time between her and Sienna.

Blessedly, Swatch stepped in. “I most certainly would be interested. A three-mile circuit?”

“Yeah, how’d you guess? Down that ridiculous driveway and around what passes for a block in these fancypants parts. And I’m happy to do a shorter distance or a jog if that will tempt you other folks.”

Spamton’s curiosity was even more piqued. “Why d-do I get the f-feeling you’re angling for something, Saffron? Are you - and Sienna g-going to g-gang up on us? I’m n-not the athlete in - in the house.”

Now Saffron looked awkward. “Hardly ganging up, Stanton. In fact, Sienna probably won’t even be there.  I don’t know if you noticed at dinner, but things are a bit, shall we say, uncomfortable with us right now.”

Trez had been watching the exchange in silence, but spoke up. “It’s not like I have a yardstick, but yeah, I was picking up some hinky vibes. Is it because of us?”

“Not directly. But maybe, kinda. I don’t think so?” Saffron ran her hands through her short hair in frustration. “I don’t know. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea—”

“Hey,” Spamton interrupted. “I c-can only sp-speak for myself, but that f-fact that you’re t-t-talking to me at all is a big fat m-m-m-m-miracle.  I’m actually kinda - kinda honored, for a change.  Sure, we’ll all g-go for a walk tomorrow morning… and have a t-t-talk too.”

That seemed to ease Saffron’s mind. “Good. I’ll look for you all around back at seven o’clock then, before breakfast?”

Trez groaned. “I’ll be there, early but not bright.”

“Oh, it’ll be good for you, Moggy,” Swatch soothed.

“Says you, Birdman.”

Saffron got up, looking as though she wanted to say more, but then just left the room, closing the door behind her.

All three of them looked at each other with varying shades of alarm, not knowing what they'd let themselves in for.  Finally Swatch said what all of them were thinking. “What was that about?  She didn’t call you ‘Gainsboro’, she was practically friendly…”

Spamton chewed that over before answering, “I’m n-not sure. B-But it won’t surprise me if Sienna tries to g-get us alone for a t-talk, too, some t-time this weekend.  I d-d-don't turn 25 every day.”

Trez stretched and swung her legs off the bed. “Well, I’m going to head to my guest quarters before anyone starts doing bed checks. I assume that’s a thing here.”  Her tone was light, but it sounded like she meant it.  She leaned over and gave Spamton a goodnight kiss.

Swatch got up as well. “I’ll walk you there, Moggy. At least my room has a queen-size bed. I love you, Spamton, but if I slept here I’d be a pretzel by daylight.”  They kissed Spamton as well before heading out with T.M.

Spamton picked up his fork again, ate a few bites of chicken, and had a sip of his own Bellini. He seemed to be carefully pondering what to say next. What came out was, “Have you t-talked to her at all today?”

“Nope. I was too much of a coward.”

“Huh.”

Swatch felt their lips firmly curving downwards into an involuntary grimace. They didn’t want to sour the night, but there was no way they were going to keep anything from their partner. “I know I’m going to have to talk to Moggy about this, but I was kind of hoping you’d be around for a talk like that. If I had had half a brain, the three of us should have talked this out before it came to this.” 

They lowered their head and devoted their attention to their food.  Spamton did the same with his slider and nachos. Almost ten minutes went by before a text ping from Swatch’s cellphone broke the silence.

“Speak of the devil herself. Do you mind if I check this?”

“G-Go right ahead.”

Swatchpulled out the phone and swiped to get their message. After reading it, they squinched their eyes shut and pushed the phone across the table so Spamton could see the one line “my new place” and the attached photos. They answered Spamton’s questioning look by answering, “T.M. has lost her marbles. She’s about to move into a broom closet.”

“She WHAT.”

“She went and rented an apartment. Not even an apartment, a bloody studio. It’s smaller than our dining room.”

They both looked at each other, trying to let this sink in. Finally Spamton said, “Um, n-not for me to - to judge, b-but that seems like she’s trying to run away from us.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“I think we three really n-need to talk. In person. Fast. Like n-no later than t-tomorrow.”

Swatch leaned over and kissed the top of Spamton’s head. “You’re a smart fella.”

“That’s what they c-call me. M-M-Mister Smartfella.”

Spamton was not being very subtle about keeping an eye on the decreasing level of the Bellini pitcher. He’d matched Swatch drink for drink, and there was maybe enough left for each of them to have three-quarters of a glass.

Swatch was enjoying having someone reining in what had been an unusual impulse for them. They were waiting to feel the effects of the alcohol; they had a sense of all-over physical relaxation, but that could have been the food and the company as well. But their mind still seemed clear, and they didn’t think they were slurring their speech.

They couldn’t tell how affected Spamton was. He’d mentioned blaming sangria for something that happened last night, but had he consumed more alcohol last night than he had tonight, or was it just that the Bellinis were weaker?

Hmmm. Maybe Swatch WAS starting to feel a bit tipsy, since they were starting to get more hyperfocused on petty details. 

Two nachos remained; the sliders and chicken fingers were long gone. Spamton seemed to know what Swatch was thinking, because he scraped one onto his own plate, the other onto Swatch’s, and then split the rest of the drinks between their two glasses. “Bon appetit," he said in an exaggerated accent.

“Tres bon, tres bon,” Swatch replied. 

A thought was starting to form in their mind as they finished eating.

“Is that bathroom as private as this lounge is?” They waved their hand towards the door Metthias had pointed out.

Spamton almost looked alarmed at the question, which gave Swatch the answer they’d been expecting. He asked a question in return, “Are you asking m-me what I - I think you’re asking?”

“Yes, if you are asking whether I want to ravish your lovely body. More accurately, I’m asking if you want to ravish me.”

“Is - is that the Bellinis t-talking?”

“No. This is what I want. I want you. Here. Now.”

Swatch twirled the ridiculously ornate bathroom key on the end of one finger. “You yourself said that sometime in the last few years, this place changed from a corporate hangout to something queer-friendly. No one’s going to even notice.”

They stood up, saying more quietly, “Knock five times, and I’ll knock back twice.”

They heard Spamton make a comment about “Shave and a haircut” when they were already halfway across the floor. They looked back quickly, just in time to see Spamton pull out some twenties from his wallet, and two more. 

That apparently caught Metthias’ eye, and the dark-haired waiter hurried over. Without even letting Spamton speak, he plucked the bills from Spamton’s hand. Swatch imagined Metthias was saying something like, “Go catch up with that big beauty, sweet thing. I’ll make sure no one takes your table”, and they grinned as they turned the key in the door handle.

Ten minutes later, in probably THE fanciest bathroom outside a private home that either of them had ever seen, Swatch found themself lying flat on a padded bench with their chambray shirt pulled out of their jeans and completely unbuttoned, Spamton kneeling above them and pinning both of Swatch’s hands above their head. 

On the subway ride home, Swatch listened while Spamton haltingly outlined his siblings' plan for him to split the summer between them. "If I hate it, I c-c-can crash with you, right? Wherever you end up living when - when you start work in June." "You most certainly can, my dear. Or maybe Ratfink Freddie will let you move back into Overlook early." By hook or by crook, Catechu had managed to get Spamton added back as his and Indigo's roommate for the upcoming Fall semester.  

"That c-c-could work."

Back at Tibbetts Avenue, Swatch made a point of drinking almost a liter of seltzer as they were looking over what they’d need for classes tomorrow, and they put a full glass of seltzer on Spamton’s night table by his side of the bed. 

They didn’t think they were going to have a hangover tomorrow, but they didn’t want to risk it after their first actual drinking experience. 

They could faintly hear music from upstairs, where Spamton was showering… something jazzy. Swatch nipped into the downstairs bathroom, stripped and threw their clothes into the hamper. They gave themself a quick sponge bath and ran some dry shampoo through their hair with their fingers. Good enough for tonight, but tomorrow better be wash day. 

Swatch would miss a lot of things about this house… the way everything in it seemed to be suited for one short person and one tall person to live in harmony.

Could they find someplace like it elsewhere?

And if so, could they make it into a place for three people, equally comfortably? Swatch remembered the text exchange before Easter, about one enormous bed…

They went back to the bedroom and had just finished pulling on clean sweatpants when Spamton came in, one towel wrapped around his head, another one wrapped around his waist. The lower towel was almost big enough to use as a toga.  He took off the head towel first, tousling his hair, and then pulled out a t-shirt and boxers from the dresser drawer before dropping the other towel.

Such a difference from the modest fellow who used to change into full pajamas somewhere out of sight!

Swatch, smirking to themself, lay back on the bed and spread their arms out wide, and Spamton clambered up to lie next to them.

A drop of water ran down Swatch’s shoulder, from Spamton’s still-damp hair. “I’m g-g-getting your chest all wet,” their partner murmured apologetically.

Swatch laughed at that, shivering overdramatically, and hugged Spamton tight. “Like you didn’t get me all wet at the bar? With that delicious tongue of yours?”

Despite the locked bathroom door at The Cathode Ray, neither of them had felt comfortable enough in such a public place to do anything more than a prolonged makeout session. Both pairs of jeans had stayed firmly and regrettably on.

“Hey, you know what I m-mean,” Spamton protested. “And I’m t-too tired to do anything except - except lie here.” “Sounds good to me. Come under the covers, though.”

“You d-don’t need to ask me twice.”

Suiting action to words, they both wrapped themselves in sheets and blankets and huddled closer. As nice as the evening temperatures had been downtown, now that night had fallen it was chilly with the window open a crack.  A few weeks ago, Swatch had figured out how to pull down the screens that had been slid between the old-fashioned wooden frames with the double glazing. They’d come to appreciate over the winter how much the thicker glass cut down on street noise; there was a difference now in both air and sound quality in full-blown springtime. 

I wonder what this house is like in the summertime.  Or a house like this.

They decided to shelve that thought for a later time, and asked Spamton a different question. “So, successful date night? I’d give it two thumbs up.”

Swatch could feel Spamton’s smile against their bare arm. “D-definitely better than our first - our first date. Although there were a f-f-few similarities.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Like visiting m-m-my old stomping grounds and laying old ghosts t-to rest.” “Huh. You’re right.”

“Thank God we d-d-didn’t have a staircase incident, though.”

“Amen to that.”

Spamton kissed Swatch’s shoulder. “I m-m-meant what I said back there, though. About talking m-more about your mom and your grandmother. T-Talking more about how and - and where you grew up. I’m n-not the only one who’s got ghosts to d-d-defeat. I want to hear your stories.” 

Swatch felt a warmth in their chest that had nothing and everything to do with the man curled up in their arms. “You’ve got a deal,” they replied.

T.M. found herself grateful that she didn’t have to make the first move in setting up a time and place for her to meet up with the other two. She’d felt cowardly enough when she had sent the photos of her new studio apartment to Swatch and had worried when she hadn’t gotten an immediate reply. She’d been sure that they’d be avoiding her for a few days at least. And she had no idea how Spamton would feel, no matter what Swatch might have said to him, before or after she’d jumped Swatch.

But first Spamton had texted her this morning, and then Swatch had called her in the afternoon when they knew she’d be between classes, and both had asked her to come over tonight. Swatch had even said, “I can hear your self-blame from a mile away, Moggy. And there’s no reason for it.”

God, talk about reading me like a book!, T.M. had thought to herself. She’d laughed and answered that she’d be there. 

Now the three of them were seated at the kitchen table at the townhouse, splitting several chicken-and avocado-on takeout entrees - chicken and avocado on flatbread - from Tin Marin. Because she’d committed herself to staying overnight at their place, T.M. had indulged herself in a six-pack of Presidente. Swatch had their usual flavored seltzers stockpiled in the fridge, and Spamton had a bottle of port wine in front of him, although he was still only on his second glass.

T.M. made a mental note to ask Swatch later about Swatch relaxing their personal rules about alcohol in the house. But for now she needed to pay attention to the matter currently under discussion.

Namely, living arrangements.

Spamton got the ball rolling. “Your n-new place looks - uh, c-cozy.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Don’t mince words, Short Stuff. You can say it’s tiny. I know it’s tiny. But the price is right, the neighborhood is right.  I can move in anytime after the first of May. GiGi’s already moved in with Leroux, so there’s not much keeping me on campus between now and graduation.” 

Too late, she realized how that sounded… as if Swatch and Spamton weren’t good enough reasons to stay around for.

Her bestie, however, swooped in before she could stick her foot further into her mouth. Cutting to the chase in time-honored Swatch fashion, they asked, “Does the timing of this have anything to do with Tuesday night?”

Damn. Busted.

Deciding it was better to tell the truth, she said, “Well, yes and no. I did really have appointments to see apartments this week… Desiree set those up. But I might have moved a leeeeeeetle bit quickly on grabbing one of them because I didn’t want to deal with you. Okay, let’s be honest. I didn’t want to have to deal with either of you.”

T.M. knew Swatch well enough to see, from the momentary way they stiffened up, that they were trying not to feel hurt. They disguised it well, but her heart sank a bit.

And Spamton’s next question didn’t help.

“D-d-did you think I’d condemn you? F-for spending a n-night with Swatch?”

She had to give that one a few minutes to sink in before she answered.

"If the shoe were on the other foot? Yeah, probably. Like if you'd jumped into bed with… I dunno, Catechu maybe? Or GiGi? Anyway, you jumping into bed with someone else without talking to me first. I mean, there’s no exact parallel—"

"Oh, Trez."

T.M. forged ahead. "I don't even know what you and I have, Spamton. Sure, I know what you and Swatch have. But I don't know where I fit in, other than being everyone's good time girl—"

"You were never that–"

"Oh, Moggy…"

Now all three of them were talking at once. 

But the sentence that came out clearest was T.M.'s, after everyone else finished their protests.

"Can I move in here? With both of you two? At least for the rest of the semester?"

Swatch’s jaw actually snapped shut at hearing that. 

She’d surprised herself with the request, but suddenly it felt like the most right thing she’d said or thought in ages.  She kept gong.  “Because I am excited about the new place, but I also am scared shitless of what it’s gonna mean when I can’t see either of you every day.”

Her bestie got up from their end of the table, walked to where she was tearing pieces of flatbread into shreds with her fingers, and pulled her into a standing, wordless hug.

"D-Did you think we’d try to t-t-t-talk you out of it?” was Spamton’s reply. “The new apartment, I m-mean.”

T.M. leaned forward so that she could rest her head on Swatch’s chest. “Kinda,” she muttered. 

“Well, don’t. And I c-can’t speak f-for Swatch, but I’ve been wanting you to m-move in with us for a hell of a long t-time.”

Spamton got up and wrapped himself against her back, saying, “So. You’re staying here t-t-tonight. That’s a start. Right, Swatch?”

“Indeed,” Swatch’s voice was a rumble, since they had ducked their chin to rest on top of her head.

And somehow everything was alright again.

While the three of them finished eating, T.M. laid out plans for what she’d need from storage in Queens, versus what she planned to thrift in her new neighborhood. Spamton actually had some recommendations, based on what he called “local knowledge from a bygone time”, doing his best Robert Carlyle imitation.

Swatch commented that they had checked with the HR department at Addison Cybernetics and, apparently, they would cover either a short-term rental or an extended-stay hotel for the first thirty days of Swatch’s internship, if their aunt Desiree couldn’t network something in Westchester County.  They looked meaningfully at Spamton while they were talking, but T.M. didn’t feel like following that yarn trail tonight.

The rest of the evening went by in a pleasant haze of beer, wine, couch cuddles, and Brendan Fraser, seasoned with delicious sprinkles of Oded Fehr, as the three of them watched the first two MUMMY movies. 

When it was time to call it a night, T.M. headed upstairs to the Eyrie, where Swatch had put her overnight bag. She’d half-expected Spamton to follow her, but it wasn’t until almost an hour after she’d crawled into bed that she heard a knock on the half-closed door.

“C’mon in, Short Stuff.”

She moved over and patted the covers next to her, and he sat down on the edge of the bed. He took her hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb. With an effort, she waited for him to speak first, because he looked like he had a lot on his mind, even after the strides they’d all made in regaining their usual ease with each other.

Finally Spamton said, “I n-never wanted you to ever f-feel like you were ‘lesser’ to me than what I f-feel for Swatch. If I have, then I’m so, so sorry.”  

That was something T.M. had been feeling for a long time, and she said so now.  “But how do we fix this? Especially this late in the semester.”

He made a thoughtful noise before answering. “Well, something I - I realized that may be p-p-part of the problem is that you and I haven’t g-g-gone out on a date. We spend a lot of t-time together, but we haven’t d-done the usual couple things.” 

“Hey, you might have a point. And I’m sorry, too, if I ever made YOU feel that I only wanted you around for sex.”

“You never d-did.”

“Good.”

Spamton shifted his sitting position, and T.M. felt a new wave of fondness. “C’mere,” she said as she pulled the blankets out from under his butt. “Stay with me tonight.”

She was rewarded with a smile and the words, “Thought you’d - you’d n-never ask.”

When  he’d settled in the crook of her arm and put his hand on her hip in his usual way, he asked, “So where would you like to g-go on our date?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Is - is that okay?”

“Hell yeah that’s okay!  I usually get told, not asked.”

“Huh.”

“I can’t believe how fast they made up their minds.  I only interviewed a week ago.”

“It’s to the c-c-company’s benefit not to - not to waste time.”

“I don’t know whether to kiss this letter or to frame it.”

“The f-f-first thing you need to do with that letter is sign all three copies and date - date them, s-s-send two of’em back, and THEN you c-can kiss the last one and put it under - our pillow.”

“Good thinking.”

“B-b-but you do know they’re lowballing you, right?”

“How so?”

“They’re g-g-going to make you do a full engineer’s work for the absolute minimum they can - they can g-get away with.”

“I don’t care. It’s a foot in the door. Besides, most of the engineering internships I looked at last year before Fairlight got sick paid less than half that.” “Shit. I t-take it back. You’re gonna be a k-king, king.”

“Thank you.”

Spamton pulled Swatch down on top of him with surprising strength and kissed them fiercely. “So, so proud of you,” he murmured into Swatch’s hair. 

_________

"Hello, fellow dreamers, this is DJ Dreamweaver. Before we all cross tonight's highways of fantasy together, so I can help you forget today's pain, I've got two announcements to make.

“First, and on the trivial side, due to seasonal shift changes here at WRCI, I’m pleased to announce that the DJ Dreamweaver show will be moving next week, starting on the 29th, to the Tuesday evening 8pm to 10pm slot. DJ Zonker will be burning the midnight oil with you on Wednesdays in my place to help you survive the midweek blues.

"Second, and much more importantly, don't forget that WRCI, the Nifty 850, the station that rocks a whole square block, will have a booth at the Seeds of Peace Festival in Garlic Park next month on Saturday, April 8th, rain or shine. The Seeds of Peace Festival is a fundraiser for relief efforts in Ukraine. Eight DJs from WRCI, including yours truly, will be spinning tunes from 8am until midnight for a sixteen-hour dance marathon to raise money for Ukraine. Sign up sheets and pledge forms are available to download from our website, or else pick up your hard copy from DJ Kaard in his office at the Student Union during station hours.

“Now it’s time to open the show with the late and much-missed Tom Petty, backed by his Heartbreakers and Jeff Lynne, performing ‘Learning To Fly’.”

_________

The vibrant, art-filled walls of SpaHa Soul never failed to send a shiver of happiness down Swatch’s spine. The Friday night after they got their offer letter, they followed Uncle Julius to a corner glass-topped table, while Indigo pulled out a chair for Aunt Desiree. Catechu chatted with the guitarist setting up for the evening’s set and waved at Artist T., just emerging from the kitchen with plates for the group of diners in the opposite corner.

Uncle Julius had found this place about eight years ago and it had become THE go-to place for Dyer-Paletta family celebrations.   

And tonight they were here to celebrate Indo and Catto’s getting summer internships at the Wythe in Williamsburg, as well as Swatch’s internship.

“Chef’s choice tonight, sir,” Uncle Julius said to Artist T., after getting a hearty backslap from the proprietor. “All three of these fine young people, going out into the world and making their mark!”

“It’s a better world for you all being in it,” agreed Artist T., making a note on his pad and heading back through the swinging doors.

“I like the new glasses, honey,” Aunt Desiree commented to Swatch. “You look good in aviators, and brown is a nice color for you.”

Swatch nodded.”The tint’s helpful for cutting out blue light, and since I expect I’m going to be spending a lot more time in front of screens with the new job, I figured they were worth a splurge.”

On the other side of the table, Indo was listing off all the different areas in the boutique hotel where he and his twin would be working during their ten weeks. “I don’t know how I’m going to keep a straight face when I’m answering phones and directing calls to ‘Le Crocodile’. It’ll probably get easier after a while. At least ‘Bar Blondeau’ sounds more normal. Only thing I’m worried about is getting there on time every day.”

“Better than the commute would have been if we’d gotten the gig at The Ludlow. That commute would have been a real bitch.” Catto caught his mother’s glare and muttered, “Sorry, mom.  It would have been a real bear .”

Uncle Julius laughed and then turned to Swatch. “You’re going to be cutting it awfully fine, between graduation and starting this new job. You’d better start looking at apartments now if you don’t think your landlady will extend your lease past June.”

“I know. Even with a decent salary, I’m either going to have to spend all my time commuting or all my money on a shoebox to live in.” They realized that it sounded like they were complaining, and quickly added with a laugh in their voice, “Or I could ask my favorite aunt to use her real estate agent superpowers and her mad networking skills.”

“That’s the spirit,” Aunt Desiree answered. “We’re not going to leave you out in the cold, even if you have to stay with us for a month or so while you’re getting your feet under you. You’ve got family, don’t forget.

Swatch smiled back at her. “I will never forget that.”

“And don’t forget we’re proud of you. All three of you,” Uncle Julius interjected, waving his hand to include his sons. “Not a bad apple in the bunch.”

“Thanks, Pop,” Indo replied for himself and for his brother. “Especially thanks for being such a good sport about us not working at Ambit Automation.” “Oh, you boys might still end up there if the economy tanks. Luxury disappears, but people always need manufacturing. Look at the Brooklyn Navy Yards. That’s as big a comeback as the Jazz beating the Nuggets.”

“But the boys are using their degrees,” Aunt Desiree pointed out. “Degrees that you and I both approved of, husband mine.”

“Yes, dear.”

At that moment Artist T. and Amber swooped in with platters of fried chicken, stuffed pork chops, coconut rice, spicy yams, and collard greens, enough to feed an army.

Catechu raised his glass. “To family.”

Four glasses clinked against his.

________

“Tell me more about these buff birdmen in corsets,” T.M. teased.

Spamton chuckled in embarrassed remembrance. “They weren’t  actually b-b-birds. They wore bird masks. Like - like beaks. Sexier than plague d-d-doctors.”

“So you turned your living room into an adults-only butler cafe for your twentieth birthday party.”

“I’m not - not pr-proud of who I was then. I didn’t - didn’t br-break the ‘no touch’ rule, but I did - I did ogle a lot.”

“You weren’t a complete sleaze, I guess.”

“Thank you, Trez.”

The first time Spamton had fumbled his words while trying out T.M. 's new name, “Terese” had come out of his mouth as “Trez”. To his relief and delight, she had happily adopted it as a nickname.

She was curled up in the basket chair in the upstairs room that Swatch had named “Spamton’s eyrie”. He was sitting on the floor and had his head in her lap while she played with his hair. Spamton had taken the advice of his current therapist and was now giving T.M. some of the edited “highlights” of his checkered past.

HEAVILY edited. 

“I c-could do the flexing thing, if you wanted. But I don’t think it would b-be quite as impressive as those g-guys.” He got to his knees and raised his face to meet her kiss.

They hadn’t moved beyond kissing yet, and T.M. seemed perfectly happy with that. She told him how much she enjoyed how carefully he kissed her. “Some guys think they have to be rough because I’ve got piercings, like it’s a challenge.”

Spamton was fairly sure that she knew he was careful only because he didn’t have a lot of experience kissing people with piercings, but she was too courteous to say so.  The snakebite bothered him less and less the more often they kissed, since her daily jewelry consisted of the tiniest of studs. 

The sound of the front door downstairs opening and shutting made them both smile. “Up here!” Spamton called out, sitting back down on the rug.

Swatch called back, “Are you decent?” as they climbed the stairs.

“Yes, and we’re even dressed!” T.M. trilled. This exchange had become the three’s shared joke.

“How was - how was d-d-dinner?”

“Fabulous. Real, honest-to-God soul food, in more ways than one.” Swatch took Spamton’s desk chair and turned to sit backwards on it. “My aunt and uncle send their love.”

“I gotta go down to Queens soon and just have a girly day with Desiree. It’s long overdue.” “Mmmm-hmmm. And maybe you can pick her brain about apartment-hunting. As Uncle Julius reminded me, graduation’s just around the corner.”

“Yeah.”

Spamton changed the subject to stave off the panic he felt at the idea of these two leaving him just when he'd found them. “N-now that all three - all three of us are here, c-can I ask both for a - a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Yeah, of course. Ask away, Short Stuff.”

“C-can you both sit in with me in the stu-stu-studio for the first leg of my radio show next week? I’m going to try something d-d-d-different and I kind of - kind of need both of you there.”

T.M. looked across at Swatch and nodded. Swatch got up and pulled Spamton to his feet and into a hug. With a suspicious raspiness in their voice, they said, “We’ll be there.”

_________

“I printed two copies, just in case you didn’t get a chance to.”

“Thank you, schwitthott.” T.M. took one of the sheets from Swatch and started reading. 

The two of them stood in the hallway of the student union, just outside the doors of WRCI’s main studio, waiting for Spamton. The dinnertime DJ was playing J-pop.

“He said this was your idea?” Swatch asked.

“Kind of. I mentioned I have a set of ‘go to hell’ playlists that I rotate through to cope with stuff. This timeline stuff though, that’s all 100% our lad’s doing.” T.M. smiled fondly.

“Our lad.  I like that. Not ‘lad’ like he’s our kid. but like we’re all lads together.”

“Uh huh.”

Swatch leaned against the wall and sighed. “So you know that he was homeless for a while, after… well, after everything.”

She nodded. “It explains a lot about his food issues. As horrible as it might sound, I’m really, really happy that it wasn’t what I first thought.”

“Oh?”

“I thought Spamton had the same thing going on that I did with my dad. At least the whole power-trippy withholding food thing so I had to hoard stuff. Trust me, I would have put at least one of his siblings through a wall if that’s what had happened.”

“Remind me never to wander down a dark alley with you when you’re pissed off with me, Moggy.” 

Swatch straightened up when they saw Spamton walking down the hallway towards the other two. 

T.M. murmured, “It’s showtime.” 

When he reached them, Spamton stretched up and gave each a kiss on the cheek. “Let’s - let’s do this thing.”

______

“Welcome to the premiere of the Tuesday night version of the DJ Dreamweaver show. Normally I give a little bit of background on what I’ve chosen for the night’s selections. This time around, I’m going to let the music do the talking. Thanks for listening.”

T.M. sat beside Spamton on one side of the booth, headphones on, ready to help him with the potentiometers for segues and fade-ins. Swatch sat on the opposite side, just there to listen and to give moral support. Spamton had mentioned that the playlist was less than an hour long, so Swatch would have plenty of time to leave before the extra Tuesday night shift they’d picked up at Plato’s.

They picked up the printed sheet of paper and started to read along with the lyrics Spamton had typed out, as well as Spamton’s notes as to why he’d put particular songs in his “timeline”. 

THE LOGICAL SONG - SUPERTRAMP

[ Self-explanatory, the little kid I was, and my boarding school days ]

When I was young

It seemed that life was so wonderful

A miracle, oh it was beautiful, magical

And all the birds in the trees

Well they'd be singing so happily

Oh joyfully, oh playfully watching me

But then they sent me away

To teach me how to be sensible

Logical, oh responsible, practical

And then they showed me a world

Where I could be so dependable

Oh clinical, oh intellectual, cynical

There are times

When all the world's asleep

The questions run too deep

For such a simple man

Won't you please

Please tell me what we've learned

I know it sounds absurd

Please tell me who I am

NUMB - MARINA AND THE DIAMONDS

[That’s when it started to hit me that I had a lot to live up to, being a part of the Addison family. Perfect set-up for Mike to step in]

One track mind like a goldfish

Stuck inside my Petri dish

I can't breathe and I can't smile

This better be worth my while

I feel numb most of the time

The lower I get the higher I'll climb

And I will wonder why

I got dark only to shine

Looking for the golden light

Oh, it's a reasonable sacrifice

Burn, burn, burn bright

Forego families, forego friends

It's how it started, how it ends

I can't open up and cry

'Cause I've been silent all my life

JUST LIKE YOU - THREE DAYS GRACE

[ all the accusations I threw back at my brothers and sister before breaking with them ]

I could be mean

I could be angry

You know I could be just like you

I could be fake

I could be stupid

You know I could be just like you

You thought you were standing beside me

You were only in my way

You're wrong if you think that I'll be just like you

You thought you were there to guide me

You were only in my way

You're wrong if you think that I'll be just like you

I could be cold

I could be ruthless

You know I could be just like you

I could be weak

I could be senseless

You know I could be just like you

On my own, cause I can't take living with you

I'm alone, so I won't turn out like you

Want me to

You thought you were standing beside me

You were only in my way

You're wrong if you think that I'll be just like you

You thought you were there to guide me

You were only in my way

You're wrong if you think that I'll be just like you

THE SANITY ASSASSIN - BAUHAUS

[Mike and all his lies. Hindsight’s 20/20, huh?]

Sinister echoes clutching at straws

Letter boxes screaming

You try to pin him to the wall

You end up on the ceiling

Locked in a dome

The shadows flicker by

He's the madcap pusher

Delirium the drug he's dealing

You empty yourself once again

But he's always one step ahead

He whispers in your ear

was it nothing that you said

He's walking in your sleep now

He keeps your fat paranoia well-fed

The sanity assassin

Stays up all night stalking

The sanity assassin

Picks off victims like flies

The sanity assassin

Let his fingers do the walking

He drops a capsule in your drink

And spikes your dreams with madness

I GOT YOU - SPLIT ENZ

[Deluding myself that Mike actually gave a damn about me]

I got you - and that's all I want

I won't forget - that's a whole lot

I don't go out - not now that you're in

Sometimes we shout - but that's no problem

Look at you - you're a pageant

You're everything - that I've imagined

Something's wrong - I feel uneasy

Reassure me - tell me you're not teasing

There's no doubt - not when I'm with you

When I'm without - I stay in my room

Where do you go - I get no answer

You're always out - it gets on my nerves

I don't know why sometimes I get frightened

You can see my eyes, you can tell that I'm not lying

But I don't know why sometimes I get frightened

You can see my eyes, can you tell me you're not lyin'

WHAT DO ALL THE PEOPLE KNOW? - THE MONROES

[The year of the trade show circuit]

You know I told you once tonight

That you could always speak your mind

You work so hard to say what's right

I watch you do it all the time

And when I called you on the phone

You said that I could be the one

But here I'm standing all alone

And you're out lying in the sun

Tell me, am I getting in too deep?

Every night I'm talking in my sleep

Lately I’ve been so confused

I really don't know what to do

Could you be the one I'm thinking of?

Could you be the one I really love?

All the people tell me so

But what do all the people know?

Maybe we're just holding on

To something that'll soon be gone

Do you think I'm blind to what you do?

Do you think I really care for you?

Do you think that we both should let it show?

Do you think that we both should let it go?

Or is it just another game that you and I pretend to play?

All the people tell me so

But what do all the people know?

UNKNOWN SOLDIER - BREAKING BENJAMIN

[Being lost in my own mind at the Pandora Palace for however long that was after the trade show circuit ended. I’m never going to get that time back.]

Border line,

Dead inside.

I don't mind,

Falling to pieces.

Count me in, violent

Let's begin, feeding the sickness.

How do I simplify,

Dislocate - the enemy's on the way.

Full of fear,

Ever clear.

I'll be here,

Fighting forever.

Curious,

Venomous,

You'll find me

Climbing to heaven.

Never mind,

Turn back time.

You'll be fine - I will get left behind.

It only hurts just once.

They're only broken bones.

Hide the hate inside.

Show me what it's like

To dream in black and white,

So I can leave this world tonight.

RUSTED FROM THE RAIN - BILLY TALENT

[life on the streets after he threw me away]

You hung me like a picture/Now I'm just a frame

I used to be your lapdog/Now I'm just a stray

Shackled in the graveyard/Left here to decay

DEATH ON TWO LEGS - QUEEN

[Finally starting to blame Mike rather than myself, during that second homeless winter just before Ballew found me]

You suck my blood like a leech

You break the law and you breach

Screw my brain 'til it hurts

You've taken all my money

And you want more

Misguided old mule with your pigheaded rules

With your narrow minded cronies

Who are fools of the first division

Talk like a big business tycoon

You're just a hot air balloon

So no one gives you a damn

You're just an overgrown schoolboy

Let me tan your hide

A dog with disease

You're the king of the sleaze

Put your money where your mouth is, Mister Know-All

Was the fin on your back

Part of the deal? (Shark)

Death on two legs

Tearing me apart

Death on two legs

You never had a heart (you never did)

Of your own (right from the start)

Insane, should be put inside

You're a sewer rat decaying in a cesspool of pride

Should be made unemployed

Then make yourself null and void

Make me feel good (I feel good)

[The first therapist I saw on Dr. George’s advice told me to start writing letters to my old Big Shot self as though they were a separate person, so that’s the last three songs. Maybe I’ll get closure, some day.]

PAID IN FULL - SONATA ARCTICA

It's hard for me to love myself right now,

I've waited, hated, blamed it all on you...

It's hard for me to love your face right now

I'm waiting, hating, needing being

Me...

I need you...less and less...

Every day leads us farther away...

From that moment

It’s hard for me to hate myself right now

Finally I'm understanding me

SUNSHINE - BARENAKED LADIES

Most of us, have learned to trust

What we see with our own eyes

But with blinders on you hardly realize

That out of view, it's still true

Even when no one's around

We can stumble and fall down

It's just as well, It's hard to tell

Cause my hindsight's crystal clear

But the view from then's not like the view from here

If you are passed through a looking glass

The important parts appear

But the details start to smear

I ran fast, but I came last

'Cause although I set the pace

It was rigged from the start that I'd lose this race

Sunshine burns your skin

Sometimes the things we love so much just eat us up from the outside in

Oceans blue will drown

I could find a way to live with your ghost but I won't be happy till I leave this town.

GOODBYE TO YOU - SCANDAL

Those times I waited for you seem so long ago

I wanted you far too much to ever let you go

You know you never got by your fear to choose

And I guess I never could stand to lose

It's such a pity to say

Goodbye to you

Goodbye to you

How could I have loved someone like the one I see in you

I remember the good times baby now, and the bad times too

These last few weeks of holding on

The days are dull, the nights are long

Guess it's better to say

Goodbye to you

Goodbye to you

Goodbye to you

Goodbye to you

'Cause baby it's over now

No need to talk about it

It's not the same

My love for you's just not the same

And my heart, and my heart

And my heart can't stand the strain

And my love, and my love

And my love won't stand the pain

Goodbye baby

So long darling

Goodbye to you

Spamton nodded at T.M. about halfway through Patti Smith’s final chorus, letting her know that he was getting ready for his talkback. She nodded back and cued up “Solsbury Hill” and “Scarecrow’s Dream” for him, as well as digging up an advertisement for Janovic Express to play at the quarter of the hour.

Swatch dug out the painted signboard they’d made and held it up wordlessly so that Spamton could see it.

You Are Loved. And You Are Stronger Than You Know. Never Forget That.

Spamton blew Swatch a silent kiss in return. 

Swatch left a few minutes later to go do their shift. T.M. stayed another half-hour and then slipped Spamton a note telling him to meet her down at Plato’s Cave.

There were plenty of spots open at the bar, but the one in the dead center of the ten or so stools was taken up by a reddish-haired stranger who looked like Sid the Sloth from ICE AGE. And he was following Swatch’s every move with his bugged-out eyes.

T.M. thought of Spamton’s bird-masked buff butlers in corsets and giggled to herself, picturing Swatch in that kind of outfit. This had to be that freshman who Swatch said was a fixture on Wednesday nights. How the kid had figured out that her bestie was on duty tonight, she didn’t have a clue, but she got the devilish urge to mess with the guy’s mind a little.

She sat herself down at the farthest end of the bar and put her purse on the seat beside her to reserve it. When Swatch came over to take her order, she whispered, “When Spamton gets here, give him the old ‘your usual, sir?’ routine. And then follow my lead.”

Swatch caught on swiftly and gave her a wink while asking in their clearly audible customer service voice, “May I suggest a Blue Moon for the young lady?”

“Oooooh, that sounds yummy,” T.M. squealed in her best imitation of some of the airheads she had loathed in high school.

“Very good. I’m certain you won’t be disappointed.”  Swatch moved away to get her a bottle and a glass.

Blue Moon was a fruitier beer than she usually drank, but it had the benefit of being known for putting lightweights under the table.

T.M. was no lightweight, but she was a fantastic actress.

The things we do for love , she thought to herself.

________

Spamton hit the switch for the cold open after his final talkback, unhooked the vocoder, hung up his headphones, and queued up the next few selections for segue for the DJ who would be following him. 

It seemed to him that time was moving both at a snail's pace and in the blink of an eye. The past few weeks had established a new status quo in his life and had brought about changes that were cementing the groundwork of his partners' lives.

Partners, plural.

He still had to grin and hug himself at the thought of having partners. Equal partners. No bloody power imbalance. No secrets. No head games. No possessiveness. No jealousy.

The new love didn't outshine the old. He didn't love Swatch any less now that he had Trez to love as well.

His heart sank, though, as he crossed the floor of Plato’s Cave and saw Kirov Rouvin seated at the bar. He was obviously trying to engage Swatch in flirtatious banter while Swatch was trying to juggle drinks and food orders for several other customers.

Including bringing another bottle of beer to one very familiar girl with golden contact lenses and blue tips at the ends of her hair. They put it down in front of her and said in an unnecessarily loud voice, “I’m afraid I will need to cut you off after this one, miss.”

Was T.M. drunk?  He hurried over to the seat beside her and looked anxiously into her face.

She tittered at Swatch’s comment, and then turned to face Spamton, her eyes stone cold sober while she grinned inanely.

Ah.

Not sure what’s going on here, but I’ll play my part.

He pulled himself up onto the barstool, pretending to ignore T.M. and waiting for Swatch to approach him, in the meantime keeping an eye on Kirov.  The young Chechen had yet to see Spamton, since Kirov’s eyes were fixed on Swatch.

Swatch finally finished with their flurry of transactions and came over to Spamton.  “The usual, my good man?” they asked him, the mellifluousness in their voice turned up to eleven.

Feeling like a celluloid hero, he replied, “Yes, indeed!”

And Swatch leaned over the bar and kissed Spamton on the forehead.

Applause broke out from the tables behind him and seemed to rouse T.M. from her state of faux -inebriation. “Hey, I wan’ some of that,” she slurred, standing up.

Kirov’s face was red and his eyes were narrowed into angry slits. Spamton sighed to himself and thought, might as well go for broke.

“It’s constitutionally impossible for me to refuse a lady.” He extended a hand to T.M. in the time-honored fashion of asking someone to dance, and she placed her hand.in his, not forgetting to loop her purse over her wrist. Clasping her around the waist, he began to circle her around the floor while crooning the song that came to mind when he saw the empty bottle on the bar.

Blue moon

You saw me standing alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own

Blue moon

You knew just what I was there for

You heard me saying a prayer for

Someone I really could care for

The impromptu waltz had them near enough to the doors to make a dramatic exit. Spamton called over T.M.’s shoulder to Swatch, “I’m going make sure this dolly gets home in one piece. See you there, sweetie?”

“Sure thing, darling," Swatch replied.

The wolf whistles and catcalls were cut off as the heavy oaken doors closed behind them.

Once outside, T.M. immediately shed her drunken lolling posture. “God, that was fun. And hopefully that stops any more workplace harassment for Swatch.”

“You are br-brilliant as well as b-b-b-beautiful.”

Now that he no longer had to channel both Cary Grant and Fred Astaire at the same time, Spamton was feeling the adrenaline that had sustained him all night starting to drain away.  It was good to see with his own eyes that Swatch hadn’t been exaggerating Kirov’s increasing creepiness, and T.M.’s little maneuver was better than anything he could have come up with.

T.M. noticed the change in his mood and asked, “Are you going to be able to relax after all this?”

He took a minute to think about it so  that he could answer her honestly. “N-not right away, no.”

“Do you trust me?”

He didn’t even have to think for a second. “Yes.”

“Come with me, then. I’ll text Swatchy so that they don’t wait up and worry.”

TO: BIRDMAN

FROM: MOGGY

taking spamton to the invisible castle

FROM: BIRDMAN

TO: MOGGY