Julian

I. January, Ch. 14

     Roger dipped his last piece of orange chicken in ketchup before stuffing it in his mouth. He placed the empty take-out container on top of the coffee table and picked up the script he was reading. "Wow, our first attempt at writing love scenes was embarrassing."

     Calvin sat next to him on the couch, attacking his rice and noodles.

     It took him four days to regain his appetite. Genevieve invaded his occasional daydreams, but each day was easier than the last.

     He moved the food he was chewing to his right cheek like a famished chipmunk. "You wrote most of that."

     "I wrote most of everything."

     The air around Calvin became difficult to breath, as it always did when he was reminded that Roger was the better writer.

     Roger gave Calvin a playful nudge. "But hey, who was the master of fact-checking?"

     Calvin looked at the cover page. Written by Roger Stuart and Calvin Leblanc. "Don't patronize me."

     He grabbed Calvin's knee and shook it. "Don't fret, man. We're partners."

     Calvin put his food down and dug through the pile of scripts. He pulled out one titled Humor Me.

     He smiled, admiring the words on the page like he would a child who possessed his genes.

     Roger noticed the script Calvin was holding. "Aw, your pride and joy."

     "That's right," said Calvin "The one play I wrote on my own."

     Calvin thought back to the days he'd jump out of the shower to write ideas on his notebook. Humor Me was his one shot to prove he could succeed without Roger. "Why not this one?"

     "What? Humor Me?"

     "Yeah. We can make it last ninety minutes. It's fun. It's got plenty of roles to go around. The kids would love it. And it's cleaner than the play we wrote in high school."

     "Wait, you really want to put this on?"

     "What's wrong with it?"

     "Well, if you're serious about it, we might as well put on Much Ado About Nothing."

     Calvin shut his eyes in disgust. He was convinced he was the only English teacher alive with a secret distaste for Shakespeare. "We've been through this before. Don't confuse my masterpiece with that slop."

     "What happened to 'I'm giving up the dream'?"

     He held the script up. "All bets are off when you talk about my art."

     Roger opened his mouth to talk when the phone rang. "I'll get it. It might be Cookie."

     As Roger entered the kitchen and picked up the ringing phone, Calvin thumbed through the script. He was told repeatedly by Roger and Rachel that Humor Me was Much Ado-retold. Calvin ran his fingers over his words, soothing them from the insults.

     He heard Roger answer the phone with a polite "Hello?". Roger paused longer than usual. "Hi... you."

     Calvin could hear Roger's smile. It's not Cookie.

     "Yeah, he's here," said Roger.

     Calvin froze.

     Roger laughed. "Alright, just a second. Cal?"

     "Yes?"

     "Phone."

     Calvin put the script down, stood up, and walked to the kitchen.

     Roger covered the receiver with one of his palms.

     "Who is it?" said Calvin.

     Roger's lips curved into a silent smile. He held the phone out to him.

     Calvin's scalp prickled with nerves. "Stu, who is it?"

     Roger wiggled the phone in front of him, tempting him to take it.

     Am I in trouble with Marlo? In a panic, he snatched the phone and brought it to the side of his face. "This is Calvin."

     "I have a question," said the voice on the other end. "How much do you know about business?"

     Telemarketers. "Listen, I'm busy right now. Could you call back another time?"

     The voice morphed into a feminine, raspy laugh. "Tang, it's me."

     All five of Calvin's senses shut down. His skin shrunk like a damp wool sweater in a drier, clinging to his bones and muscles like a wet t-shirt. No, it can't be.

     "Tang?"

     He cleared his throat. "Genevieve?"

     "The very same."

     Where did she get this number? Did she look it up with Marlo? Did she talk to him?

     "So," she continued "How much do you know?"

     Calvin studied her voice, searching for any signs of sarcasm. He braced himself for the insult at the end of her question. "Um, nothing."

     "Okay," said Genevieve "But you know a thing or two about wine, right?"

     He couldn't find the sarcasm, but he was sure it was there somewhere. She wouldn't have called unless it was to get back at him. "Not really."

     Genevieve sighed in relief, as if she was making herself comfortable on a bed. "Do you drink a lot of wine?"

     Calvin felt an out-of-body experience coming on. He rubbed his forehead to tame his rattled brain. "I don't drink."

     "You don't drink?" said Genevieve, amazed.

     "No."

     "Why not?"

     Calvin looked around for Roger. As much as he enjoyed hearing her voice, he had to put an end to this prank. "Look, um, I'm really sorry about everything."

     "Stop. It's water under the bridge."

     A heavy load slipped off Calvin's back. "I feel awful. I'm really sorry I said all those things."

     Her voice was stern. "Calvin, enough. You're absolved."

     He blinked. Forgiveness was something he couldn't grant himself, let alone expect others to grant him. He thought back to the day he snapped at her, and felt unworthy.

     When he ordered the tears to return to their ducts, they slipped out of his nostrils, and he felt an ache in his throat. "The note I wrote was crap. Please, let me—"

     "Calvin," said Genevieve "There's a fine line between being a martyr and being inefficient."

     He pinched his nose to remove the tears. His voice cracked. "Psh, how many fortune cookies did you go through to get to that one?"

     Genevieve was quiet. After a moment, she erupted into laughter.

     Calvin smiled. He loved it.

     "I just thought we could start over."

     Staying under the radar as he promised Marlo was the last thing on his mind. This was Christmas morning. "I'd like that."