Genevieve's seductive voice rang in Calvin's left ear. "Wake up, Tang."
He winced, keeping his eyes closed. His sensitive eardrums and barely-awake brain couldn't tolerate loud noises.
She ran the tips of her fingers through his scalp.
The soothing feeling made him moan. Her fruity, delicious scent played with the hairs inside his nose. She smelled so good, he wanted to have her for breakfast.
Aroused as he was this early in the morning, a vengeful hangover wouldn't let him enjoy himself.
His head pounded. His mouth was too dry to let him swallow. His muscles felt as though he was crammed in a tiny box, or was up all night engaging in some intense physical activity.
He tried to remember what happened the previous night, before he blacked out.
All he remembered was dancing with Genevieve, drinking with her, and meeting her friends. It must have been a dream, but what would explain the headache?
And Genevieve? What would explain her presence? He opened his eyes in alarm.
Genevieve's bright face was only inches from his. She giggled, almost tenderly, and moved her fingers to the back of his ear.
Did we...?
He sat up and looked around, but his aching brain wasn't prepared for the sudden movement. It attempted to burst out of his skull by pressing against it.
Calvin grabbed his head to keep it in place, scrunching his eyes shut in pain.
Genevieve giggled again, not so tenderly this time.
After a moment, he opened his eyes and scrutinized his surroundings.
It took him a minute, but he eventually recognized her living room. Sunday morning sunlight pierced through the raindrop-coated windows.
His lanky body was on the couch, covered by a blanket. Genevieve was on her knees next to him.
He touched his chest and felt his shirt, but not his jacket. He checked under the blanket like a doctor and found he was in his slacks, belt, and socks.
Genevieve, too, was fully-clothed. She looked like she had been up a while. "Relax, Romeo. Nothing happened."
Calvin wasn't sure if he was disappointed, embarrassed that she read his mind, or disgusted at the Shakespeare reference.
She brought her eyebrows together and slapped his bicep, hard.
He rubbed the spot she hit. "Ouch. What was that for?"
"For nearly getting us killed last night."
"What are you talking about?"
"Do you have any idea how we got home?"
His brain demanded attention and he winced to control the pain. "I got us a cab."
"That wasn't a cab, you moron, that was a scam."
He shut his eyes. "Not so loud, please."
"The guy we rode with wasn't a licensed cabbie. San Kolbe is infamous for those. They wait outside of bars and clubs and go fishing for drunks."
His neutrons struggled to recreate the memory. "He didn't hurt us."
"Because I was with you. They isolate drunk men, snatch up their valuables, and dump them in the middle of nowhere."
Calvin re-opened his eyes. "Really?"
"Why do you think I was desperate to get you in the house?"
He knew why he thought she wanted to get him in the house, but he'd make paper cuts on his cornea before he'd admit it.
She stared at Calvin like she at one time changed his diapers. "You thought you were going to get lucky, didn't you?"
His jaw fell. As soon as he'd start pronouncing one word, he'd abandon it to start another, ultimately saying nothing but half-noises. He took a deep breath to reboot. "I thought you were afraid of the dark."
She hit him again. "That's for being a liar."
I deserved that. He brought his hand to his injury.
The temporary silence was taking its toll on Calvin's conscience. He remembered what his father told him. Apologizing is an admission of guilt.
Genevieve bit her bottom lip. There was a sly edge to her eye-smile. "You would've had the night of your life."
Oh, no. Don't do this to me in the morning. Calvin pulled the blanket closer to his waist. "I won't dignify that with a response."
She looked into his eyes, savoring his discomfort. "I'm serious, Tang. You would have fallen in love with me."
"Okay, that's enough."
But his pupils dilated, his mouth got drier, and his pants felt tight. Damn, I've gotta get out of here.
She turned her torso to face the coffee table, grabbed an aspirin and a glass of orange juice, and held them in front of Calvin. "This is for your headache and your morning breath."
Yes, take my mind off waking up next to you in some ungodly way. He took the juice and medicine and consumed them with greed.
She gave his hair a final combing with her fingers before getting off her knees and walking to the kitchen. "Help yourself to the phone or the bathroom while I finish with breakfast."
The second she gave him her back to walk away, he missed her.
At least the view is nice.
Calvin scolded his naughty eyes. Take a cold shower.
He sat upright on the couch and checked his watch. Seven fifty-five in the morning. Roger and Cookie would be awake in the next hour. If he left with plenty of time, he'd arrive before they noticed his absence, if they hadn't noticed it already.
Once he put on his shoes and jacket, he dragged his feet to the kitchen, where Genevieve's citrus scent was replaced with that of bacon grease and melted Kraft American Singles.
He placed his empty glass of orange juice on the table and took a seat. "How are you not feeling miserable? Didn't you drink more than I did?"
Genevieve transported a fried egg from the hot, buttered skillet to an open sandwich. "There are good things that come with age."
"Like learning Spanish?"
She looked at him. Something in her face went missing, something pleasant. She went back to assembling breakfast.
"Was it that guy you told me about, Pablo, who taught you?"
Her eyes were back on him. "What do you know about Pablo?"
"Nothing. You just said I looked like him."
She spread mayo on a toasted slice of Wonder bread. Her lips were pressed together, and her shoulders locked in a way that didn't look comfortable.
Calvin wasn't sure if he should continue. "Was he your dance coach?"
The butter knife Genevieve was holding slipped from her grip and clashed on a porcelain plate, making an angry, clattering noise. "Let's not talk about Pablo, okay?"
"Oh. Okay."
He placed his hands on his lap, afraid to move or talk. Every second of silence felt eternal.
Genevieve came to the table with a carton of juice and refilled his empty glass. "So how's the play coming along?"
He took a long gulp. "Badly."
She placed the juice back in the fridge, brought a sandwich and a cup of coffee to the table, and sat down. She pushed the sandwich in front of Calvin. "Why's that?"
"Principal Marlo gave me a strict censorship list. I've turned the entire play around, but it's not the same anymore. He said a classic play wouldn't need to be censored as heavily. The rules apply to me because this would be an original production."
Genevieve took a sip of her coffee. "There's always Much Ado."
It might have been the hangover, but Calvin was feeling irritated. "Why do you defend that script so much?"
"I'm not defending it. I'm just saying if you left this job to the experts, you'd have more time to do other things, fun things."
His mind lingered on the patronizing "leave it to the experts" portion of her words, but he liked the idea of dropping it to spend more time with her.
"If you stick to the list the boss gave you, you wouldn't be putting on your work anyway. Is it worth it to destroy something so dear to your heart just so you can hold onto your pride and say Shakespeare wasn't produced?"
Calvin took a bite of his sandwich. "I don't know."
"Just think about it. It would save you so much trouble. And you and Roger can still direct the play how you please."
Calvin nodded, contemplating her suggestion as his jaw chewed.
He didn't know how hungry he was until he noticed his sandwich bites were only a second apart. He was inhaling every crumb.
Suddenly, he felt an itchy, burning sensation on his tongue. The pain spread to the inside of his cheeks. He put the sandwich down and looked at it in confusion. "Ugh, what's in this?"
"I added a few drops of Tabasco."
He covered his mouth, horrified. "Why?"
"Oh, you're such a baby. Trust me, this is the perfect hangover cure."
Calvin swallowed the spicy blob of food and took a gulp of orange juice, nearly finishing the glass in one drink. He twisted his face in pain.
Genevieve's eyes brightened the space around them as she released her third laugh of the morning.
Calvin watched her. Physical pain couldn't stop her from taking his breath away. What a gregarious, stunning, carefree woman she was.
They talked absentmindedly about everything and nothing. How doo wop would never be cool again. How unreliable horoscopes were. How George was the real romantic Beatle.
Calvin sighed. "Is there anything I can do to make up for nearly killing us?"
She gathered the dishes. "Yes. You can help dry."
He followed her to the sink, where they rolled up their sleeves and got to work.
After a few minutes, Calvin dried the second-to-last dish. "Genevieve?"
She tossed her hair to one side with a flick of her head, and turned to him.
"Did I do anything embarrassing last night?"
"Other than gawking at me? No."
His face got hot. "Gawking? I'm sure I wasn't gawking."
Genevieve squirted soap into a sponge. "I wasn't born yesterday."
"Clearly," he muttered.
She looked at him, feux-offended. "Excuse me?"
"Nothing."
She leaned over the sink a few inches, adding extra volume to her backside.
Calvin's eyes traced the outline of her curves, going all the way down to her ankles, then back up to that deep curve on her lower back he loved so much. Forget her earlobe. I want a taste of those calves.
His inspection was interrupted by half a glass of soapy water splashing against his face.
The moment the water hit his face, he took a step back, giving a dramatic gasp. He looked at Genevieve with both anger and fear. "What the hell?"
She turned off the faucet and dried her hands on a nearby rag. "You were gawking. Just now."
He wiped his eyes, his mouth wide open. What could he possible say in his defense?
Her voice was a silk scarf sliding off a marble countertop. "Don't be shy. It's not like you have bad taste."
Then, like a reckless child with a detonator, she gave him a wink.
If Calvin's body was a filling station, Genevieve just struck a match.
It was clear as day what needed to be done if he wanted more free time to spend with her.
Humor Me was important to him, so it only made sense to keep it in its original form. Marlo was his respected superior, but he could take his censorship list and shove it somewhere even the Governing Board won't find it.
Much Ado About Nothing it is.