"Did your aunt say what I think she said?" Bob asked as the car finally made it back to a main road.
"Yes," Natasha said. "But she's been engaged three times and never married so don't listen to her. She said she was rooting for us though. Good job, babe."
"Oh yes, good job," DeeDee mocked him. "Be still my heart! I just looooove cats!"
"Well?" he said defensively. "My lady asked me to be nice to your aunt and I was. Should I have said, my, but your home is an unsanitary barn and now my suit looks like it's made of patchy mohair? No, because that would've hurt her feelings. Besides, for your information I like Aunt Phil. Even though she's one of those whingey feminists and frankly, a bit of a hypocrite, at least she's been nice to me."
"Still my aunt, hon," Natasha warned him lightly.
"She told you both to run," DeeDee said.
"Just because we can't articulate our love for each other as well as some, doesn't mean it isn't there," Bob said.
"That's right, sweetie," said Natasha. "DeeDee knows Aunt Phil likes to be the voice of opposition even if she has to turn against her own team to do it. She's a contrarian. Says it keeps things balanced and honest."
"Sure. Like when she was pouring all her money into that Naples love nest with her Italian count. Her lawyer tried to warn her that the woman pretending to be his sister was actually his wife, and what did she do? She doubled the budget and said his 'sister' could move in with them." DeeDee said.
"And she put her on the lease! She knows she's no judge."
DeeDee dropped the subject and stared out the window. She was no judge either.
"DeeDee it's me. I'm just calling to say Merry Christmas and to let you know I'm thinking about you. I'm always thinking about you. Christmas is just the excuse.
"I miss you. I miss your face, your calm. I miss how you sparkle with joy, the way you tease me and see me, not just what I do and who I am for everybody, but how I really feel. I think about that time I was waiting for you outside the theatre and you said you were late because you stopped to look at me. All these people on the planet going on with their lives, you said, and there I was, and I was yours. Of all the people I belonged to you. You never stopped looking at me like that until I told you I was married, and I'm sorry you didn't see that right away and that it made you feel you didn't know me at all because you're the only person in this world who does. You still feel like you're mine, only I can't have you and it kills me. Look, I know ends mean over but can't I say again I don't want it to be over? I can't change the reason it is, but if we could talk about it....
"I love you, DeeDee. Even if you never speak to me again, I need you to know it. I love you. Bye."
Kurt could think of a million reasons why he loved her, and she could think of a million reasons it was so hard to stop loving him. He was kind and compassionate; there was never a day so chaotic he didn't make time for her in it, never a day so tough that he hid his feelings from her. That he shared so much with her made her feel special and cherished, so much so that she hadn't realized she was sharing so much of him with someone else. She'd been miserable without him, but she knew she'd be miserable with him.
If settling for Bob was what Natasha was doing, what did it matter if she was happy? For that reason, as they continued to drive with the greying afternoon sky growing steadily darker outside the windows, DeeDee wordlessly tapped Bob's shoulder with her box of French Creams and offered him another.
******
With three other cars taking up room in the driveway of the Wurtz mansion, they parked along the street. The mini hike up a gravel hill to the house gave Natasha time to dispense a little advice to Bob.
"Tread lightly with Gene, okay."
At first, Bob thought she was warning him not to drop character to make an impression, but it didn't make sense in front of DeeDee. "In what way?" he asked.
"He can be a little intense."
"Oh sure, eccentric genius. Inside carrots. Got it."
"Let's just say he's a little more eccentric than genius is all."
"I've seen his sets. He is a genius," Bob said.
Natasha halted for the briefest moment, considering something she then quickly dismissed. "Forget I said anything," she said and moved again.
"What does that mean?" Bob said to DeeDee who was trailing slightly behind.
"You know those parents who let their kids wear Spider-Man costumes to the grocery store to get them to behave? Parents are happy, the kid is happy? There's no point telling that kid he isn't really Spider-Man, is there?"
Bob loved those kids but assumed he wasn't supposed to. "Have you ever been sprayed with silly string in the eyes?"
"No."
"You tell enough Spidey trick or treaters to grow up and they'll web sling right at 'em."
"Don't worry," Natasha said over her shoulder with a toying smile. "Gene's not after you. DeeDee's his Mary Jane."
A little head shake was accompanied by an eye roll and sigh. "At some point he decided I was good girlfriend material," DeeDee said to Bob. "I've never indulged or encouraged it, but once he gets something into his head he can be a little obsessive."
"Yeah, well then maybe someone needs to get it out of there," Bob said with a seriousness which took DeeDee aback. She waved his concern aside.
"He pulled out all the stops to woo her," Natasha teased, "but DeeDee doesn't want to marry into Broadway royalty so she said no. Now Gene pretends it was the other way around."
"Like he turned you down?"
"Yep. Because he doesn't want to get married."
"Even with you holding out?"
"Gross. No. He tells everyone he's too young to be married, and acts like he set me free because he didn't want to string me along. Sometimes, I think he's actually convinced himself that's how it happened, but all I'd have to do is crook my finger..." DeeDee shuddered and laughed. "He's harmless, though," she said.
We will see, Bob thought with the distinct feeling he was about to be out-weirded by someone who didn't need to employ method acting to do it.
The Wurtzes had nicknamed their home The Armadillo because of the way its intricate modern design seemed to have more overhangs than levels. If one had the imagination, it could bring to mind the scales of the creature, even though it was more likely a pangolin being pictured. In any case, it was a fancy way of saying enormous grey house, which it definitely was. Natasha rang the doorbell under a porch cover so protruding the door seemed to be illuminated by a searchlight.
Steve Wurtz, dapper in a dark blue suit, welcomed his guests with a friendly cheer for their arrival.
"Merry almost Christmas everyone! Look at this sexy bunch! Get in, get in. Let me take your coats."
Before anyone's top buttons could be undone, a tall figure came crashing around a corner and into the front hall like a Great Dane on a waxed floor.
"Hello everyone," the famous Gene Wurtz said formally, as though he'd meant to slam his shoulder into the wall while greeting his guests, or rather, guest. With a flickering smile he unceremoniously squeezed past Natasha and knocked into Bob to help DeeDee off with her coat. He then grazed Bob's lower lip, holding out his long arm and snapping impatiently for his brother to hand him a hanger.
Bob noted from very close range that Steve obliged unfazed while asking how the drive had been. DeeDee smiled patiently as Gene tucked the ends of her coat and scarf into the frame of the hanger so that it resembled a sleeping bag. "So that it doesn't touch the floor," he said, attempting to sound debonair.
The Wurtzes had similar facial features, specifically the same prominent narrow nose with wide nostrils, but Gene's complexion was studded with miniscule freckles whereas Steve's was even and olive-toned, and his hair a dull gold where his brother's was dark. He was a good foot taller than Steve and of a thinner build, which is to say there was both more and less of an arm urging DeeDee to latch on to it, which she did pleasantly if not eagerly. She let him kiss her cheek, but did not return it, patting his arm instead with a sincere, "It's nice to see you too, Gene."
"I'm here too you know." Natasha said going in for a hug. Gene hugged with only one arm, pinning DeeDee's hand to his side with the other. "How's my other favourite brother? Am I going to be blown away by your decorations inside this year or what?"
"We've been so busy this year we had to cheat again and pay for decorators," Steve said.
"They didn't really understand my vision," Gene sighed.
"Gene was going for a monochromatic vibe. Only green lights and ornaments."
"Sort of Aurora Borealis?" Bob asked.
"Who's this?" Gene asked with a curious head tilt and a cold stare.
"Where are my manners?" Steve said. "This is Bob, Gene. I told you about Bob. He's with Natasha."
Bob offered his hand, deciding to ditch the see-saw shake he'd been using to annoy the girls' parents, treading lightly as ordered. Gene shook it firmly, shaking DeeDee along with it.
"What about Rodney?" he asked.
The group smiled uncomfortably until Natasha said, "We're not together anymore Gene, you know that."
"Yeah I do know that, but what's Rodney going to say when he sees you brought him?"
Natasha's eyeballs nearly popped. "He's coming?"
"Haha, yessss," Steve chuckled waggishly. "You sort of sprang Bob on me last minute, and Gene invited Rodney before we could fill each other in."
"I told him I was trying to get you back together so he's not going to like this," Gene said.
"Well...that's fine. We're still friends so it's fine," Natasha said, handing Steve her coat with pretend angry eyes at his shameless grin.
"He's here now, actually," Steve said. "Already seated with our other guest."
"And who's that?" Gene asked.
"Maya Adler, Gene. You've only been talking to her for twenty minutes."
"Maya's here?" Natasha gulped. Her eyes darted to Bob's.
"She was my intentional surprise," Steve said.
Bob instantly understood the threat Maya posed, being the only one other than Rodney who knew he was an actor. He tried to think of some excuses which might explain what she would undoubtedly say. He'd told DeeDee about theatre camp so now his brain hastily built onto his backstory even though a part of him felt that if the whole sham unravelled tonight, so much the better.
"I know," Gene said with some irritation, "but who's that?" He pointed his long finger past Bob to the front door. Four heads turned around to where Gwyn Sticks had entered stealthily and now stood quietly behind them as though she was waiting in line at a club.
"Gwyn!" Natasha blurted at the same time as Steve.
"Hieee! Boy am I glad this is the right house. I wasn't sure until just now."
"What are you doing here?" Natasha asked excitedly.
"Relax everyone, she's not working," Steve said. Gwyn passed her coat to Bob who passed it to Steve as he explained. "I finally went to see her like you've been bugging me to and we had a wonderful session. The whole time I was talking to her I kept thinking, Gene would be fascinated by all this ESP and other dimensional stuff." He turned to his brother. "I invited her so you could, you know, get to know one another."
DeeDee seemed to be the only one to breathe a small sigh of relief as Gene adopted an even stiffer posture without noticing she'd unlinked her arm with his.
"Hi," Gwyn said coyly.
"Welcome to our home," Gene said, his Adam's apple bobbing with a hard swallow.
"And Gwyn you know Natasha. This is her sister DeeDee."
"Oh yeah! Hello."
"And this is Natasha's...significant other, Bob."
"Hello," she said to Bob, and then curiously, twice more in his direction without eye contact. "This is interestinnnnng," she said with a surprised guffaw, her eyes moving quickly to Natasha. Bob saw Natasha's silent plea with her not to expose anything, but the psychic shrugged and flopped a dismissive wrist. "Like he said, I'm off the clock, don't worry."
"Well," Steve addressed the crowded hallway," what do we say?"
"I thought your house would be bigger," Bob said eyeballing the cramped quarters.
"Ah, but there's so much more of it! Let's go in. Oh, Bob, I haven't taken your coat yet."
As Bob removed his coat, horrified eyes shifted to take in the extent of his de-furring failure.
Gene stretched his neck to get his nostrils out of range. "Nope!" he said loudly, and ran out of the hallway as ungraciously as he'd careened into it.
"We went to Aunt Phil's first," Natasha explained.
"Does he have allergies?" Bob asked.
"No, just eyes," Steve said. "Bob you come with me and I'll get you something to change into. Everybody else please go relax in the dining room. Won't be a moment."
Bob was brought to a sparsely, strangely furnished guest bedroom bigger than his bachelor apartment. While waiting as Steve rummaged inside a large walk-in closet, he found it impossible not to stare at a giant chair...sofa...seat of some kind in the shape of a ludicrously large dented ice cream scoop; an alien egg chair with a scuffed white plaster finish giving the impression that it had been damaged by whichever poor delivery persons had been tasked with rolling it upstairs. It sat in front of a king sized bed, surely obstructing the view of a 57" curved television screen, its only competition for attention being a sturdy stripper pole too close to the wall to be fully functional.
"You're a 32-34 waist?" Steve guessed.
"That's right. Depends on the make."
"Same build as my late husband Colin, but maybe slightly broader in the chest." Steve caressed the sleeve of a cotton shirt before moving on to select a cream coloured heavy knit sweater. "Here, try this on, and better take these." He handed Bob a pair of dark khaki trousers.
"I remember reading about his passing. I was very sorry to hear it. Was this his room?"
"Thank you. Ah, no. Even when we brought in the hospital bed and the tanks and things, I wanted him to be with me. This is just a spare room. I keep all his clothes in here because it's hard to look at them sometimes, but I can't get rid of them. I don't really know what to do with the rest of it. The room, I mean."
"Shouldn't Gene take a crack at it?"
"He did. This is it. I meant what I should do with it next."
"Looks like a Star Trek jail," Bob heard himself say. "Maybe purgatory for strippers," he said, pointing at the pole.
Steve smirked in agreement. "It disappoints everyone, but it's not actually a stripper pole. It's meant to be a fire pole that leads nowhere. It's supposed to symbolize man being no match for nature."
"I can see that," Bob played along.
"No you can't," Steve laughed. "My brother has a very singular design aesthetic. It requires...translation. And sometimes aspirin. I don't know."
"I guess you're referring to his personal style. What would you call this? Minimalist?
"You could say that. You could also say that he doesn't like anything that's stuffed. Doesn't trust layers. That bed's a solid block of foam."
"He must have hated the 80s. And certain kinds of dip. And women who wear Spanx. And anything with feathers."
"Don't get him started on down!"
"It's so impressive how his set pieces defy his own tastes. It'd be like someone asking me to twerk. Technically, I could do it, but would my body comply?" Bob answered his own question with a headshake of no. It was perhaps not the best thing to admit to someone who might potentially cast him in a musical, so he returned to the topic of Gene's talents while Steve dug through a drawer for a belt.
"I remember his first award for Idiot's Delight. One reviewer called it 'glamorously bleak'. Perfect, don't you think? But then the Springtime in the Rockies and the Never You Mind sets were so unforgettably beautiful and complex."
"You do know your theatre," Steve said. He dangled an uncoiled belt from one hand, rubbing his chin with the other as he stared at Bob thoughtfully. "Idiot's Delight was a..."
"Masterpiece?"
"A fluke." He tossed the belt back in the closet. "What am I thinking? You've got your own."
"How so a fluke?" Bob puzzled.
"Gene had done a little sketch and his barren-room style worked. We built on it and then lighting really clinched the mood. Everything else since though has more or less been...how shall I put this? Not his."
Bob's brow furrowed for the memories of so many extravagantly intricate, innovative stage sets. "What are you saying?"
"I'm not saying Gene isn't inspirational, just that while he thinks outside the box, he hasn't exactly got the engineering skills or the artistry to design anything but a box."
Steve shrugged and shook his head with a helpless grin which left Bob slightly dumbfounded.
"But...the gyroscopic dream scene?"
"He said, 'the stage should flip upside down' and then tried to buzz saw a globe in our study down to a disc. That thing had been in the family for years. And it was hollow."
"What about the panorama projection in Rockies?"
"That came from his insisting the theatre chairs should swivel. Only half way, like at McDonald's, he said because you wouldn't want anyone turning around and staring at you. We liked the idea of action on the peripherals so we combined a cyclorama with Cinerama."
"But...all his awards?"
"We have a brilliant design team who are generously compensated for lesser credit and for signing non-disclosures."
"They say never meet your heroes," Bob said, disillusionment complete.
Steve gave pat him on the shoulder with an understanding smile. "Look, Bob. I'm only telling you this because you're practically family now, and honestly, sometimes I've got to tell someone."
Bob knew the feeling. "But why give him credit?"
"Gene's my half-brother from my father's second wife. Mom raised me. Gene was raised by a Hungarian nanny with a cleaning fetish who thought he walked on water. It wasn't until dad asked him how university was going that he found out she was still homeschooling him. Imagine being told you're a genius your whole life and having no real world skills. He's like a domesticated squirrel who thinks he invented nuts. I love him, but he'd never survive in the wild. My father's last words were, 'Take care of your brother. He's an idiot.' I let everyone think he's an eccentric genius because the world's kinder to him that way. There's just no point in popping the bubble now."
"Isn't that, I don't know, enabling?"
"Dad wasn't specific. In showbiz, the contract language has to be."
"I'd love to know what he actually designed for Princess and the Pea. All those mattresses piled on top of one another, and somewhere a pea that won't squish. Doesn't he get mad when he sees you've changed everything?"
"My saving grace! He hates musicals!"
"What?"
"Never sees them! Hates them all."
"I heard Sondheim did too." This cracked Steve up. "Let me guess, it's those theatre seats right? What's in that stuffing after all these years? Talk about culture."
"All of it. So what he doesn't know won't kill any of us."
"It's like The Emperor's New Clothes," Bob said, thinking of a Spiderman costume.
"Something like that. I'm sure I can trust you not to point out the obvious"
"I'm a lockbox," Bob said, buttoning his lips. "I know nothing. You have my word."
"Good. I'll take it. Listen, since we're sharing, let me ask you something. You and Natasha, why this speedy engagement?"
Bob felt ashamed to have to return Steve's trust with more lies, but if he betrayed Natasha, Steve would be done with him anyway, so what was there to do?
"I love her," he said, then joked, "And I can't get my hands on all that trust fund money till I marry."
"God, she's not a beard, is she??"
"No. I'm straight. Straight to the bank with all that trust fund money."
Steve deadpanned agreement. "In another age, she'd have been my beard of choice too."
"She's prickly, but she grows on you."
"All right, Jr. Get dressed and then come on down."
Bob ran his hand over the sweater folded over his arm. "Colin must have been a really lovely man."
"He was," Steve said softly, then added on his way out, "but he loved a low rise and a tight inseam. Good luck."