Freddie
Julia stood up, blowing a stray hair out of her face, and grabbed her empty wine glass. "I do hereby declare this kitchen closed!"
The boy's eyes lit up. "Does that mean I don't have to wash the dishes?"
"That's up to you," she told him matter-of-factly. "You can wash them now, or you can wash them tomorrow morning."
Danny frowned. "Aw, man."
Pick tomorrow, Mr. Phantom, I urged silently, so you can run off and study or practice or whatever, go talk to Lauren, you know, do something that doesn't involve me- or your mum.
Not that I didn't want him around, of course. That wasn't it at all. I simply had so much to tell Julia, none of it being the sort of thing that could wait a while. I'd had to hold back on saying it all through both the meal prep and the dinner itself, which was long enough.
However, it seemed that Danny didn't feel like procrastinating tonight. "Okay. I'll do 'em now."
"Thank you, sweetie," she said. "Most of this stuff can go in the dishwasher anyway, so it shouldn't be too much."
Nodding dutifully, Danny pulled on the gloves and took to the job. Julia's eyes shone as she watched him. She was such a proud mum, and quite rightly.
Incidentally, I believe this was the first time, not counting that evening we dined in front of The Matrix, the three of us had sat down together at the table without acting like we hated each other. (Well, Danny had never behaved that way; I suppose I'm only referring to Julia and myself.) In fact, things were indeed quite relaxed between us. You would never have thought, if you were a fly on the wall and listening in on our little chat, that only a few hours before she and I had alternated almost too smoothly between being at each other's throats and in each other's arms.
With a little sigh, Julia reached for the half-empty pinot bottle when I came up from behind and swiped it. "Allow me," I smiled.
She arched her brow rakishly, but she moved her glass closer. No sooner had I tilted the bottle to pour than Julia pushed the bottle away, scoffing and tossing her head like an indignant duchess.
"What is it?" I asked.
In a haughty accent that seemed to be a playful imitation of my own, she answered, "I'd think surely you of all people would know better, Freddie."
Danny giggled- and I realized Julia had had much more to drink than she could handle. I had to fight back a grin while I began, "I don't- quite-"
"Don't insult me, dear man!" she thundered, waving her free hand dramatically. "Peasants, we may be, compared to your higher standing, but we're not rubes- and only a pure, full-fledged rube would allow such a social atrocity!"
"Social atrocity? My dear, what are you on about?"
She gestured at the bottle and our positions, then leaned in close and softly uttered two words:
"Left. Side."
I blinked, lost for a moment while she smirked in triumph- and then I remembered. My cheeks flushed a little. Julia, that was eight years ago, and I apologized from the bottom of my heart. My God. And people say I'm one to cling to all the wrong things. Nonetheless, I moved around from her right to the more socially accepted angle.
"Was that worth it, darling?" I sighed, pouring what was left of the wine into her glass.
"Completely."
I lowered my voice so Danny wouldn't hear. "Bitch."
She was not impressed. "Takes one to know one."
"Ooo. Never heard that one before."
All she could do in response to that was stick her tongue out at me, then kiss my nose- gently so as not to agitate the bruise.
Despite our bickering, I really wasn't miffed. In fact I was much more amused than annoyed. A tipsy Julia was always entertaining. Not drunk, you understand, just tipsy- just a little cheekier than usual. There was apparently quite a difference; according to what Roxie had revealed to me in the car ride home, "You know she's plastered when she starts getting emotional- and rambles nonstop about Danny's father."
That's the only way anyone referred to him, it seemed. Not by his actual name, which nobody seemed to know in the first place- not even Danny (for I had asked). Just "Danny's father." In fact, all people seemed to know about him at all was that "she loved him." A lot of fucking help that was. Certainly didn't make me feel any better, I tell you.
Perhaps this mysterious box Danny spoke of held a few more helpful clues. Already I was ever so anxious to get my mitts on it. Why did I care? Good question.
So she wouldn't be drinking alone, I splashed my own glass with the very last bit. Waste not, want not, after all.
"A toast?" Julia asked.
"Why not," I agreed.
She lifted her glass. "To the past, the present, and the fut-"
"No, no, never mind them, they can take care of themselves," I interrupted.
She frowned. "Then what?"
"To the moon. No, bigger, um..." Then I said the first thing that came to my mind: "To- to Andromeda!"
Julia's smile vanished, and her eyes widened. "...Andromeda?"
"Yes! Andr-" I cut myself off, realizing that once again, I'd unwittingly hearkened back to "those days", and a very intimate moment within them at that- but I didn't take it back. I had no wish to. Not with the way I was feeling.
Instead I cleared my throat and said again, in a softer voice, "To Andromeda."
The big eyes blinked slowly, her lips curving in a cautious half-smile. "And back?"
"Naturally." I winked.
We clinked glasses and drank. Julia watched my every move with pursed lips, but she didn't say anything. But somehow I could tell that she had a bit to say as well- something just for me. Something she might have tried to tell me were Danny not right there, washing dishes, smack dab in the middle of it all.
Suddenly Julia turned away and set her glass down so hard on the counter it nearly shattered. "Boys, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go dress for bed," she whispered.
"Do you need any help?" I offered slyly- but the question flew right past her. I doubt she even heard me, she hurried so quickly out of the kitchen. But I still saw the melancholy in her eyes, turning them glassy. I would have given a lot to know what was on her mind right then.
Ah, Danny, you dear little talkblock, I sighed inwardly, cracking a smile at my own joke. It occurred to me suddenly, how calmly I was taking Danny's, shall we say, unintentional interference, when not so long ago I might have become truly frustrated by it, enough to throw a small tantrum over. Perhaps the fact that I was indeed growing quite fond of the child had a hand in the change.
Or else I was just getting old, like Miami.
My stomach turned. Oh, yes. Dear Jim Beach, whom we called "Miami"- among other things, of course, but Miami was the band's favorite nickname for him. The memory hit so hard I had to sit down again and light another cigarette.
God, was that a fucking kick in the teeth, seeing him like that. I could hardly even picture what Brian, Roger, and John looked like nowadays- assuming they were all still alive. And no, I hadn't tried to find out for certain; I preferred to be just as much in the dark about my own demise as that of anyone else, even those I was the closest to.
That didn't mean I stayed totally ignorant. That would have been impossible, certainly with Mr. Phantom around. I don't remember the context, but during our ride home Danny had blurted out that David Bowie and Prince had died within just a few months of each other. That was probably the most uncomfortable moment we endured, which I myself passed over as quickly as I could; I didn't want to dwell on that news any longer than necessary, nor did I want Roxie to suspect.
While I very much respect Prince and his talents, the latter didn't affect me nearly so much as the former, as I did consider David Bowie close enough to call a friend. I didn't break down and cry or anything, but it hurt. I won't lie about that. It indeed stung. Danny didn't understand, of course, for he grew up in a world without them. I, however, considered these men my peers. My competition. So it hit my ears a little differently.
Absently I leaned forward against the table, biting my knuckles while I stared off into space. What was Miami doing there anyway? How far had this thing gone, if they were dragging an eighty-five year old man into the fray to make the determining call? Supposing the boys did know? Brian was always a cautious one, I could see him sending Jim in as a probe before making any moves of his own. And supposing Wes had told him and the press where I had set up house? Good Lord. They'd never let up!
Either way, I'd have to tell Julia I saw him- and I would, as soon as I could get her alone.
All of a sudden I shook myself back to the real world to find Fry had slunk under the table and hopped up on his hind legs, asking me silently to pet him. I rolled my eyes, tapped the ash off my cigarette, and reached down to rub his head while my gaze swept the room- then came back to Danny.
Why? Because he was staring right at me, leaning against the sink, reaching down with one hand and with the other pretending to take a drag from an imaginary cigarette- basically the exact same thing I was doing, except in pantomime.
I furrowed my brows at him; he furrowed his at me. I winked with one eye, then the other; so did he. I cocked my head from side to side, tilted my chin up and stuck my tongue out at him, watching in quiet delight as he copied every movement to a T. As it so happens, John told me about a year or two ago how his son Michael did this with him one morning at the breakfast table, copied his every move and expression. I thought it a cute, but trifling, story at the time; now that I was on the receiving end, and even though Danny was not my son, I saw it quite differently. I couldn't even begin to tell you why, I just did.
Then Danny crept closer to the table, clearly trying to suppress a grin- but then, so was I. Now I took another puff, but this time, I kept the smoke in. He took a drag off the invisible cigarette, then held his breath, waiting for me to exhale. We stood there for at least half a minute, waiting to see who would pop first. When the boy's face started changing color, I let myself lose, and finally breathed out.
"Ha ha!" Danny cried. "I win!"
"Only because I didn't want you passing out," I informed him with a smile. "What brought that on?"
He shrugged. "I don't know, just always wanted to do that."
"What?"
"The Jaws thing. There's a part in Jaws right before Hooper comes to the house, where the kid and- oh, wait, you don't like Jaws. Sorry."
I didn't feel like explaining to him again that it was a song, and only a song- and anyway, that line was a childish and really rather obscure jab to begin with. "What about the kid?"
"Nothing, he just copies his dad."
"Oh, that part!" I nodded. "I remember now. Very sweet."
"I did it with Mom sometimes when I was littler," he hummed. "I just never got to do that with Dad. Wanted to, though."
I looked him over. "Do you remember anything about your father, Danny?"
"Uh-uh," he answered. "He was gone before I can remember anything. But I know he liked music- and, uh- yeah. And he was weird."
"Weird?" I smiled, belying how my heart ached at the longing in his voice. "Weird how?"
"Cool-weird, you know? Like Prince."
I squinted. "Your father was like Prince?"
"Kinda. That's what Mom said once, I think. Like a taller, lighter, handsomer Prince, maybe? I don't know. Something like that."
I folded my arms. "Danny, is that why you like Prince in the first place?"
He pushed his glasses up his nose. "Well- kinda. Partly. Yes. But I like his music a whole lot too! He's the b- uh, I mean, both you guys and Prince are the best!"
At this I burst out laughing. "Mr. Phantom, relax! Okay? Music is music, and what you like is your business entirely!"
"Yeah, but I do love you guys- I love your songs, I love the videos and stuff- some of them- there's a couple I don't really get, but, like- ninety-one percent of that stuff is great!"
"Ninety-one-" I started to repeat, but instead I doubled over from this dear boy's sincerity. Danny kept trying to explain, but all I could do was hug him reassuringly. If nothing else, I was grateful to the shifty man that had caused this sweet boy to exist.
Well, grateful, and jealous, if we were being completely honest.
"Ah, Danny," I managed at last. "I'm going to miss you when this is over."
He shook his head. "No, you won't," he stated flatly.
I paused, quite taken aback at the finality. "Why do you say that?"
"I thought they were going to, um, make you forget or something-"
"Oh, yes, right, I keep, um-" I chuckled- "I keep forgetting that I'll be forgetting." But deep down, I could feel my heart sink. More and more, the idea of losing every memory spent here- those spent with Julia and Danny in particular- was becoming quite distasteful to me.
"When are you going back again?" Danny asked.
"Tomorrow night, I believe."
"Oh." His voice was hollow. "Okay."
"Mm."
He was silent a moment.
"You're a good lad, Danny," I murmured. "You'll, um- take care of your mum for me, won't you?"
"You're not leaving yet, though."
"I know, I know, just- you will do that for me?"
"Sure," he hummed. "Also, you're a- you're a good guy."
"Thank you," I smiled, turning my head to kiss his cheek before I caught myself. It was probably a better idea to make sure it was all right with him before I did so. "Mr. Phantom, would it be weird if I kissed your cheek?"
Danny thought it over. "Yeah."
"Cool-weird, or, um- plain weird?"
"Plain weird."
"Would you let your father kiss you?"
"That's different, you know?"
"I understand," I nodded quietly. "The hugs are still okay, though, right?"
"Oh, yeah. Hugs are fine."
"Good."
Just then Danny let go of me. "Freddie, can I ask you something?"
"Oh, what's that?"
He put his hands on his hips. "Who's 'Angel'?"
I froze. "What?"
Danny balked, perhaps realizing that yet again he'd just blown his cover. "Uh- who's Angel, I said. I just saw that name over and over in the notebook and I wondered-"
"YOU-" I shot a frantic glance toward the bedroom, then hushed my voice. "You said, you didn't read anything bad!"
Danny was confused. "Is 'Angel' bad?"
"It is for me. Listen, anything you saw in that journal-"
"I know, I know, don't say anything- like the box," Danny sighed in annoyance. "I get it. Mom's box, your book, don't say nada, yadda yadda yadda-"
That might have prompted me to ask more, having been so reminded, but Julia's new phone began ringing. Through the door, Julia called, "Would- would one of you answer that, please?"
Danny frowned. "Is the Modo in there not answering it right?"
"I haven't hooked it up to the new phone yet," she answered. "Please, fellas?"
"Right," I sighed. The caller ID had not yet been set up either, so all I could see was a string of numbers that I didn't recognize. "Danny, who's that?"
Once the boy saw, he shivered. "That's Dr. Preus. You answer it."
"Me? Why me?"
"Because I'm having a couple of gingerbread men right now." With that he ran to the pantry and tackled the container she had stacked them in.
"Oh, very well," I sighed. "I'll take him on with pleasure." Clearing my throat, I answered the phone. "Why, Gertrude! How do you do?"
To myself, however, I griped, Never, ever, ever, ever, ever trust a fucking nine-year-old, regardless of whether or not he's got Julia's nose.
TO BE CONTINUED...