Day 17 and Day 18 (really, I'm working on it)

Andrew (cont.):

She rolled her eyes. "Where's Grace?" she asked. shoving Cale's feet, and therefor the rest of him, off the couch.

"Hey!" Cale protested from the floor.

"At home, being intense about something or other on her computer," I said. "Typical Grace. So, what are we watching?"

"I think it's supposed to be a Star Wards parody, but at this point, I'm assumed Cale lied to get me to watch an awful sf movie. Again," Tammy said, sitting down and patting the spot next to her. "Come on, sit, he doesn't stain the couch anymore, I've house trained him."

I sat. Thomas, who had been standing a little awkwardly at the top of the stairs, finally came in and claimed the arm chair. Cale, who was still engaged in the laborious task of sorting out his ungodly long limbs and getting himself back upright while suffering from a major flow of blood to the head, looked up and said, "Goddammit," gave up, and collapsed back onto the ground.

I don't remember what the movie was about. We B.S.ed the entire time, talking about the awful effects, the random thoughts about our day, the fact that Cale now refused to get off the floor because he claimed we'd broken his motivation bone. Fun stuff. Thomas fit in pretty well, too, just sort of hanging out and sidetracking me with ancient in-jokes that were funny for completely new reasons in context.

At some point, Thomas and Cale became sidetracked with their own conversation, comparing music cred. That was a competition I had no want or need to join. Instead, Tammy and I ended up simply watching the movie, until she fell asleep on my shoulder and the movie ended. Enter the worst confliction I've ever experienced. I stared at her, willing her to wake up and save me from actually having to make a decision on this, or for something like that. Fortunately, Cale noticed that the credits were rolling after only a moderately awkward length of time and jumped up to go to the kitchen, making enough noise in the process that Tammy sat upright, looking startled and surprised. "Oh, is it over already?" she asked. "I didn't get to find out whether the masks were nasty rubber or nasty papier-mache."

"Papier-mache," I told her. "You could see the marks left by the fake blood spray."

"Thought so," she said, satisfied and stretching her arms up. "Rubber makes the people look like fish."

I grinned, pulling out my phone. Then, looking at it, I realized that all of the sudden it was nearly nine, and that as someone who had to take a cross-town train to work the next morning and was unable to function without a solid eight hours of sleep, it was time to leave. "The movie was really, really bad," I said, standing up. "I thoroughly enjoyed it. Thomas, I'm heading back to the apartment. Are you coming just yet or do you want to hang here?"

"I'll come back with you," he said, pushing himself up. Cale was immature from the other room.

"Shut up, Cale,"  we said in unison. He laughed.

Tammy showed us out, smiling and laughing down the stairs. Once we were out on the street and the door closed, Thomas turned to me and said, "There's no way that Tammany is taken."

"What?" I asked, confused, starting the walk back to the flat. "Of course she is. Hell, I think she and Cale live together. At least, he's at her place like ninety-five percent of the time."

"You think she's with Cale?" he asked me, incredulous, walking next to me. "I knew that you weren't the most socially attuned person, but I didn't know it had gotten worse since college."

"Hey, I'm very socially attuned when I need to be," I said. "I can convince even the most hard-core label haters to sign."

"That's just charisma and fast talking," Thomas said, dismissing half of what I did in a single hand wave. "No offense."

"Some taken, but whatever."

"Anyway, you've never been able to tell the most basic things about any female you've ever had the slightest bit of interest in," he continued, ignoring my interruption. "It's like you suddenly go blind in a very specific context. It's weird."

"Thanks for that," I said.

"You're welcome. This case is no exception." He stopped, abruptly, and grabbed my shoulders melodramatically. "You, sir, are not only blind in this case, but deaf and possibly missing the sense of touch as well. There is literally no way you could miss this otherwise unless you were specifically convincing yourself everything you were sensing was completely wrong." He paused. "Wait, that's not what you're doing, is it?"

"Not at all," I lied. "What do you mean, blind and deaf and senseless?"

"Man, she fell asleep on your shoulder during a movie," he said, releasing me and starting to walk again. "That is a sign of high-level trust and affection. She couldn't be broadcasting 'I Like You' louder if she found a boombox and stood beneath your window. Honestly, that might be the only thing that gets your attention."

"Look, I'm not an idiot," I said. "I know we're friends. But look at Cale -"

"You mean the guy who acts like he's her older brother? The one she dumps on the floor to let you take her place? The one she doesn't fall asleep on?" Thomas shook his head. "Seriously. You must be amazing at pinball, dude, because you're blinder and deafer than Tommy."

"Did you just make a The Who reference in the middle of castigating me on my love life?" I asked him.

"Maybe," he said. "That's beside the point, which is that you're scared that you're going to screw something up. Right?"

I didn't say anything, instead looking into the lighted windows of a crappy little greasy-spoon diner. Sometimes, as much I liked Thomas, I hated him for knowing me so well. At a point, really good friends can sort of read your mind, and Thomas and I had hit that point ages ago. Which was really freaking irritating when it came to him knowing myself better than I did.

"I'm right," he said. "Of course. So. Either you go and talk to Tammany, or I will for you."

I stared at him. "You wouldn't dare."

He raised a single eyebrow, another ability for which I hated him. "Try me."

Again, I didn't say anything. There was a reason he was a vocalist and leader of a band and I was just the person writing and mixing in the studio. He had the kind of self-confidence that usually only results from being the hero of an eighties high school movie. I didn't.

"So we're agreed?" he asked. "You'll talk to her?"

I wasn't going to do this without at least some small benefit for myself. "Only if you promise to play bass on my album," I said.

"Agreed," he said, instantaneously.

"... You were never going to say no to that, were you?" I asked. "Being in another band wouldn't have stopped you."

"No, it wouldn't have," he agreed, amiably. "And honestly, by now that album should have a name. It's been 'your album' for like three years now. It needs more identity than that."

I rolled my eyes. "Look, when you write an entire concept album by yourself and nurse it to perfection and have regular crises of faith, identity, and sanity because of it, you can judge me for not naming it yet." We were at the apartment building and heading inside. "Philistine."

"At least I can sing," he said, jogging up the stairs ahead of me.

"I hate you," I said.

"I know."


Tammany:

The day after Andrew and his friend Thomas came over, I technically wasn't supposed to work. The thing about that technicality is that I'm a small business owner who lives above her shop and the majority of whose friends would be working in said shop just below her feet all day. So I ended up on the couch behind the counter anyway.

Grace seemed a little out of it for most of the morning, but I put it down to her and what's-his-name, Jim. She was texting him every five minutes, it felt like. Cale teased her about it from time to time, but the way she went a little dreamy when he was mentioned took the fun out of it. If she'd gotten flustered, there never would have been an end to the torment. She was amazingly lucky, and she didn't even know it.

"Jealous?" Cale asked me, about eleven, when she stepped outside to take a call. "She's got it harder than I've ever seen anyone got. You wishing you had a someone right now?"

"Says the man who's emotionally broken," I said, rolling my eyes. He clutched his heart and reeled like he'd been shot. "Idiot."

"At least I know it," he said, straightening up. "Knowledge is power."

"Tell me, if I could plug a sixty-watt bulb into your brain, would it run?" I asked. "Or would I have to reduce it to a single LED?"

"And someone's in a bitchy mood today," he said. "Jealousy doesn't become you."

"Just make the freaking coffee," I said, slumping back onto the couch and covering my eyes. Okay. So maybe a little jealous.

When Grace came back in a couple minutes later, she was positively bubbly. Like, shaken-up Mountain Dew bubbly, or Coke and Mentos bubbly. `The kind that gets everywhere and dampens other people's moods if they aren't bubbly themselves. The irritating kind of bubbly.

"Hey, sunshine, what happened?" Cale asked. "If it's a ring, then you two better have an awfully long engagement."

"What?" she asked, pausing in the middle of rocking up and down on the balls of her feet.

"So that wasn't Jim, then?" he asked. "Go on, what happened."

"I'm a lit major, right?" she asked us. We nodded. "And that's honestly a bit of a crap major. It's not like there's a literature factory where I can analyze Faust for a living. But the one thing it did prepare me for was writing a lot about stuff."

"I'm following," I said, propping myself up.

"I've been submitting resumes and manuscripts all over the place," she said, beginning to rock up and down again. "And I finally got a response from a publisher. That was my agent. Apparently the SF imprint of Harper-Collins is interested in my novel."

"That's amazing!" I said, while Cale said, "Wait, you have an agent? You wrote a novel?"

"Hello, lit major, it's the one thing that I've got an overabundance of experience for," she said. "Creative writing, even."

"Oh, right, got it," Cale said. "So, what now?"

"I sit back and wait for something to happen," she said, a little sheepishly. "It might not happen. But still. I got a response! I'm freaking out!"

"Have a free latte, on the house," I said, lying back down. "As a congratulations gift."

"Hey," Cale said, offended. "Why haven't I ever gotten a latte for getting a signing offer?"

"Because you always turn them down," I said. "Being an idiot does not a latte get."

"Harridan," he said, looking longingly at the syrup pumps that Grace was using and abusing.

I said, "The very first time you actually consider signing, I'll give you one. Okay?"

"Fine," he said. "It's still unfair."

"Deal," I said.

I spent most of the day just lying on the couch and reading, until about five thirty, when Andrew showed up. He chatted with Cale for a bit, got a sandwich, and came around behind the counter. I swung my feet off the arm of the couch to give him room to sit.

"Hey," he said, awkwardly.

"Hello," I said, putting my book down and smiling at him. That only seemed to make him feel more awkward.

He shifted uncomfortably. "This might be completely out of line, but do you want to grab a coffee or something?" By the end of the sentence the word were practically piling on top of each other in his haste to get them out.

I looked at him, a little shocked. That feeling where the world narrows down to just one thing happened.  "Did you just ask me out?"

"Maybe?" he asked. His ears were turning pink, I noticed.

"Sure," I said, smiling. "Of course I would. Now, or later?"

Andrew blinked, and said, "Now works, sure." He started grinning. "Any place in particular?"

"Not really," I said, standing up. When he took my arm and led me outside, I felt like I was in a movie, the pretentious kind in black and white. Until Cale wolf-whistled in our direction. I didn't bother looked back, but I heard a thump that sounded an awful lot like a baking sheet hitting someone's skull, and as the door closed behind us, Cale said, "Ow, Grace, shit."

We never actually made it to a place to get coffee. We just sort of wandered around and I showed him some cool places that weren't well-known enough to get put on the touristy sites. I introduced him to the wonder that is the local imports store. He bought me a poster of the Beatles. We ended up eating ice cream at one of the little green space areas the city was trying to create. We were out long enough for the sun to start setting, and had wandered far enough to make taking the subway home the only really feasible answer. I ended up falling asleep on his shoulder halfway home. He was sweet about it. He escorted me back to my flat, even.

Andrew stopped at my door, though, and, slipping back into his typical awkward mode, said, "This isn't going to screw anything up, is it?"

"It shouldn't," I said. 'Just don't turn into a colossal D and we should be good."

"Alright, then," he said, smiling. "'Night." And he left.

Tuesdays we were open until seven thirty, which meant that Cale was still inside closing up. I went inside and leaned on the counter. He barely glanced up at me, continuing to sweep up. He did start humming the Bridal March theme, though.

"Is someone jealous?" I asked.

"No, I'm pretty sure that Grace has her own little portion of bliss going on," he said. "Jim came and picked her up. The rate they're going, they'll have twins by May."

"That's avoiding the question," I said, holding the edge of the counter and leaning back on my heels. "Are you feeling a little left out, perhaps?"

He stopped sweeping and said, softly, "Tams, I'm happy for you and Andrew and that you somehow got your heads out of the sand long enough to realize the obvious, but don't do this. I don't need setting up or whatever you're planning in that nefarious brain of yours. Just let me be."

 I leaned back forward and looked at him - like really looked at him, for the first time in probably days. He looked tired. He looked tense. He'd been goofier than normal, which should have tipped me off - silliness was how he burned off stress. "Is this about Morgan?" I asked, gently.

He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. "Only sort of," he said. "But not trying to set me up would be appreciated, so."

"Then what is it?" I asked, moving around to the other side of the counter. "I'm your best friend, idiot, you can tell me."

"Your sympathy is astonishing," he said, dryly, and began to sweep again. "It's nothing much. I'm just having a minor identity crisis."

"That's not typically considered a minor thing," I said, stopping the push broom with my foot. "Come on. Tell."

Cale pulled the broom away and leaned it up against the wall, fiddling with it to make sure it wouldn't tip over and knock something down. Finally he said, "What the hell am I doing with my life?"

The part of me that disliked drama and hated dealing with crying people cried out, /abort! abort!/ But the part of me that had been friends with Cale since it was still socially acceptable for the both of us to bop each other over the head with plastic shovels kept going regardless. Unfortunately, it wasn't very good at what it wanted to do. "I don't know. What do you think you're doing?"

"I don't know." He was staring at the floor. "That's the problem. I thought I was going to rule the world when I graduated from high school, and I knew I was going to be famous until my junior year in college. But all it took to knock me down for six freaking years was a single rejection."

"It was sort off the mother of all rejections," I said. "The kind of rejection that leads to stalkers and evil villain-ry in the movies."

"But still," he said, looking up at me. "I went from knowing I was going to change the world to being too afraid to even think about signing ever again. I'm working in a sandwich shop at age twenty-seven because I'm too scared to do what I love, because one bitch six years ago broke up with me and had her daddy kick me out. That's freaking pathetic."

"At least you know what your problem is," I tried. Again, bad with this kind of thing.

"But what do I do about it?" he asked, "Knowing why the hell I have issues doesn't get rid of them. Knowledge, contrary to popular belief, is not a Magic Eraser for problems. It just gets rid of the comfy cushion of ignorance that protected you from them in the past." His volume had grown until the end of the sentence. "I'm freaking broken, and I don't know what to do!" he shouted, then whirled around, and leaning on the wall behind him, head hung low.

I stared. I honestly had never seen Cale get this upset about anything. It was sort of like watching the laid-back family dog get well and truly angry. It was sort of scary. "Why not sign on with a label, then?" I asked, hesitantly. "It's not like you don't have people coming to ask you to sign regularly."

"That's the thing," he said, talking to the wall. "They don't, so much, anymore. They've learned that I'm not going to, and they don't ask. I'm not quite as new and fresh, either, so they aren't going to think they can mold me into whatever they want, either."

"They wouldn't have been able to do that, anyway," I said. "You'd have freaked out."

"True, but they didn't know that." He took a deep breath and turned around towards me again. "And what if they don't want me? What do I do then? Just accept a life as a sandwich shop assistant and part-time accountant? I don't want to be that guy anymore. No offense to the cafe, of course," he added, hurriedly.

"None taken," I said. "It's always been a little weird being your boss. And I know of one dude who's not going to reject you."

"Who?" he asked, pressing his hands to his eyes and scrubbing at them.

"Andrew," I said.

"No," he said, immediately. "Not a chance in hell. No."

"Morgan would have no say in anything he does," I said. "He is his own thing. It's not like she has the power to get you thrown out again."

"It's the principal of the thing," he said. "I know where I'm not wanted."

"But you are wanted," I told him. "Andrew was practically jumping up and down when he heard you perform. He wants you to play his songs like nobody's business."

"I have standards, and I'm not goign to have anything more than absolutely necessary to do with that woman," he said, crossing his arms.

I cocked my head. "Think of it as proving to her that you aren't scared of her. Go in there and prove that you are better than she is. Become their most famous band, knock it out of the park. Show her what she missed out on."

He just looked at me for a moment, before sighing and uncrossing his arms. "Fine. But if I still work here at the age of seventy because this screws me up permanently, I'm blaming you and asking for a raise."

"Duly noted," I said. "I don't think that will happen, though."

"And I never thought I'd be making sandwiches for ten dollars an hour, either," he retorted. "And look what happened."

"Baby," I said. "Stop whining, go home, get some sleep, and talk to Andrew in the morning."

"Fii-iine," he said, definitely whining, pulling off his apron. "You get to finish closing up then." And he was out from behind the counter and halfway to the door before I thought of protesting. I let him go, though. I was still too pumped about the date with Andrew to get to sleep yet, anyway. I closed up the shop.

Andrew:

I was groggy the morning after the date with Tammy, because Thomas had insisted we watch Sean of the Dead in celebration of my successfully making a move on someone. I didn't follow the logic behind this idea, but whatever. I was in too good of a mood to care about faulty logic when there was a zombie movie to watch. So I stumbled through my morning routine, congratulated Grace on her contact with the publishing agency after she told me about it for the second time - I'd been so out if it the night before that I hadn't remembered. I was together enough in some part of my barely conscious mind to understand that going to the cafe for breakfast would be a good move.

Sure enough, when I staggered in, awake only technically, my day was made by the blinding smile that Tammy gave me. It was worth the bleariness that awakeness without coffee resulted in. And, as a bonus, I got to buy coffee that was well-brewed and not burnt, like the coffee I made about ninety-five percent of the time. Definitely a good choice.

Today was Grace's day off, which meant that she was somewhere else, hanging out with Jim. Honestly, the pair of them were getting a little creepy. It was like they'd found their mind-twins and were  intent on making up as much lost time as possible by never being apart more than an hour or so unless absolutely necessary. Her absence meant that Cale was working the coffee machine, which meant that he was there to look vaguely ill at Tammy's and my carrying on. I decided that he could deal.

After Tammy and I had finished being that sickeningly sweet brand-new couple that I normally hated, I looked over at Cale and said, "Sorry, dude."

"No, it's fine," he said. "Just keep the little hearts floating above your heads from getting in my air, and we should be good."

Tammy cleared her throat from over by the sandwich ingredients. I glanced at her, but she was looking expectantly at Cale. Confused, I looked back at him.

He shut his eyes and breathed for a moment. "Not right now, okay?" he asked Tammy.

"What?" I asked, intelligently. The caffeine was still working its way into my system, okay?

"Nothing," Tammy said, but she threw a significant look at Cale.

"Is it something that I could feasibly be alarmed about?" I asked, suspiciously. "Because dude and chick, not good."

"One, that was the most surfer-dude-esque thing I've ever heard you say; don't ever do it again," Tammy said. I hung my head. "Two, no, nothing to be worried about. Cale's just working on expanding his horizons."

"I hate you," Cale said, conversationally. Another early-morning customer arrived then, and Cale looked up at him and took his order with alarming cheer.

"No, seriously," I said in an undertone to Tammy. "I'm not exactly onee for open rrelationships, so-" She started laughing. I deflated. "Not that?"

"You're on the wrong track so far that I think you just left the country," she said, laughing. "No, it's nothing like that."

"Alright," I said, and smiled. "See you later,"

"See you," she said.

It was a good day.