Freddie

I took a quick drag, coughed a little, made a few scratch marks on the paper, then tried again.

"Da da do da, di di da ya di doo, doo doo doo- no, that's rubbish.  Wait, uh- Da da di doo, doo di doo doo do di da da da... oh, fuck it."

It sounds ridiculous, I know, but that's basically what I had been saying to myself for the past hour or two, using different melodies but the same flat syllables while I fooled around on the keys. 

Behold, my creative process. Spectacular, don't you think?

Of course I didn't really complete anything yet, though I gave it a noble effort.  There was too much working against me, what with Farnsworth squawking at random intervals, Fry swimming around the bench and even jumping up in my lap once or twice until Danny came down and put him outside (and just in time, too; I was close to putting the hyper little sausage on a stick and roasting him over a fire had he tried it but once more).  All the same, I had expanded on things that I and the rest of the old ladies had started putting together back in Munich, plus a handful of scattered new ideas, some of them quite promising indeed. 

Despite not really having made a lot of progress, certainly not at the level I was used to, I felt pretty good.  Now I had something I could work on in whatever time remained that I had to stay here, and then Julia and the boy could do what they wanted with the half-finished products.  For I had no use for what I wouldn't remember in the end, certainly not for things I was too distracted to finish in the first place.

Speaking of distractions, Julia was on her way back from university; this I knew because she had called a little while before, and sounded just as stunned to hear me answer the phone as she had looked upon seeing me in her office doorway earlier.

"Are you going to kill me if I bring home Chinese or something?" she had asked over the phone.  "Because we'll be decorating the tree tonight finally, and I don't think I'll have time to cook."

"Darling, Chinese takeaway - that actually sounds wonderful," I replied, and it honestly did- although I really just wanted her to sort of take a break, she'd been burning the candle at both ends this entire time.  Running on empty was my job, not hers.

"Good, because that's the only takeout I can think of that doesn't come in paper bags, so we should be covered."  Her voice had been ever so cool, too, if memory served.  "What do you guys want?"

"Well- what do they have?"

"You can have Danny pull up the menu online, or ask Mo- oh, yeah, you don't like Modo either.  Forget that.  Uh- oh, right, there's a drawer in the kitchen with a menu, so go look at that if you want, and I'll pick it up on my way home, if that's okay with you."

"Um, all right, sure," I agreed, while to myself I was saying, Some housewife I am, I can't even cook.  I should be helping her out, not just creating a bigger problem. 

Nevertheless, I had called Danny (who was only the slightest bit disappointed that we weren't resorting to White Castle hamburgers for dinner) into the kitchen with me and we relayed our desired choices to Julia. 

"Great," she murmured.  "Thanks.  Sorry for bothering you."

"Julia, you aren't bothe-"

Click.

And now, sitting there at the upright, I found myself thinking about it all over again.  I had been trying not to let it interfere with my concentration, but I couldn't help it.  For I had a fairly good idea why she had spoken so aloofly then.  And it had everything to do with that afternoon's "driving lesson." 

Let's just say I hadn't been completely honest with Danny as far as the afternoon was concerned.

I'm not going to go into too much detail about it here.  For one thing, aside of the kiss I sneaked in toward the beginning, it wasn't all peaches and cream.  Oh, we tried, I tell you, and Charles did help, even if his sleek yellow monster had an entirely different set-up than any other car I'd ever seen (there wasn't even a key on the damn thing, he used his thumbprint to start it up- "biometric technology," he said, or some other new-age crap like that). 

And I won't say it was completely fruitless, because our lunch prior had been very easygoing, and for a little while at one point I actually got the car moving along nicely around the lot where we were practicing, which was very exciting.  But she was high-strung and pressed for time; I was impatient and lost sight of the real reason I had even agreed to do it; so in the end we wound up quite cross at each other. 

And that's the context in which this conversation happened:

Julia took a deep breath and said, "Can I assume we won't be doing this again?"

"You can."

"Very well, then.  I'm sorry for wasting your time, it was a stupid idea from the get-go."

I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel.  "Well, you were right about one thing, you really are no fucking good at teaching."

She sighed.  "I'm not much good at anything when it comes to you, am I?"

That's when I said it: "That's not true.  You're good at leaving me.  You fucking excel at that."

Julia didn't pop back.  Instead she simply sat there and looked at me, her eyes flat, an odd little forced smile on her lips.  She nodded quietly, breathed through her nose.  And I immediately felt terrible.

To make matters worse, she agreed with me.  "You're right, Freddie, I can do that quite well," she whispered coolly.  "And now I'm going to do it again."

"What?"

"Get out of the car.  Lesson's over."

"But-"

"Get out." 

I got out.  She wasn't yelling, she didn't have to.  Her cold expression was frightening enough.  As soon as I climbed out, she moved around to the driver's side.

"Uh- see you this evening?" I asked, voice timid.

She didn't so much as look at me as she slid inside, closed the door, and floored it to the middle of the parking lot.  I thought she would just drive away, head back to the university, but she didn't.  Instead, she found the center of the lot, well away from any cars or lamps, and sat there for a few moments.  I didn't have the first clue what she was doing; even Charles got out of his car to watch.

Then, with no warning, she started driving around and around in a circle at top speed.

"What's she doing?" I asked in alarm.

"Looks like an attempt at a doughnut," Charles mused.

"I can see that, but why?"

Charles's hidden eyes studied me quietly.  "Blowing off some steam perhaps?"

Julia didn't keep it up for too long, however.  Just as suddenly, the car came to a screeching halt, then with a high pitched squeal, she zoomed away, leaving me and my driver alone.

And now, several hours later, I still felt like an asshole for the way it had ended that afternoon.  Perhaps that was the true reason I couldn't finish any of the ideas; I felt guilty. 

That was the closest either I or Julia had come to talking about "us" yet.  Of course it had to be me to show the raw nerve.  I knew she would never say anything, she was far too strong for that- or perhaps what I took for strength was in fact mere indifference.  After all, Julia was the one had been so swift with the promises she never had any intention of keeping- and it was she who walked away.

But the past still didn't excuse my behavior now- and that had been completely uncalled for.  What an impression to make on what could have been my last night in the Samuels household.

I took another drag, set the burning cigarette on the ashtray, then played the same sad little D minor sequence I had been working on before.  "Dm da da da, da da da daaa, di da-aa..." 

My thoughts drifted to Julia again as I struck a B flat chord, then G minor seven, and quite by accident another piece of the song came about. "I'm so sorry..."

In spite of myself, I smiled.  This was progress; I would take it. 

I tested out variations of the new bit, playing with the notes until I hit upon a little flow that sounded a lot like another chorus I had written once upon a time.  Just to see if I still could muddle through that old song -for it was a song we never played live, and generally things I wrote but didn't practice I tended to forget over time- I set the new song aside a moment, played chords I hadn't played in ages- and was startled to see how much I actually remembered. 

And I sang softly to myself, "Oh, how wrong can you be..."

Of course, I flubbed up in a few places, but it had been at least eight years since I wrote, let alone played, what was publicly named "Jealousy."  Funny what you remember, isn't it- funny what stays with you.  I did not remember a single chord of the original version of "Love of My Life," as Brian had taken over the accompaniment during tour performances of that; the same went for a lot of my songs that didn't take on a life outside of the album.

But I remembered "Jealousy."

Before I could finish the song, though, I remembered Julia saying something about decorating the tree. I stood from the bench, stretched a little, then called toward the ceiling.  "Danny?"

"I'm right here."  I turned and saw him stand up behind the stair rail.

I folded my arms.  "Are we still playing the spy, Mr. Phantom?"

He shook his head.  "No, I just thought that sounded really pretty, and I just wanted to, um, listen and stuff."

"You like that, eh?"

Danny nodded.  "Is it a love song?"

"Sort of, I suppose." 

"I thought so.  Sounded like it."

I came close to telling Danny that it was written for his mother, but I decided against it.  There were too many bad turns that could take- especially since she and I were not the best of friends at the moment.

So I changed the subject.  "Did you listen to all of the music?  On those CDs, I mean."

"Nope, just the first one," Danny answered.  "You guys are awe-some."

Of course, I thanked him politely, and then I asked, "No, I was just wondering, where is it you two, um, keep the ornaments and things for the tree?"

Danny pointed at the ceiling.  "Attic.  Should we go get them?"

"I think so, save us all an extra step when your mum comes home."

With that, Danny led me toward the attic entrance.  He made a valiant effort to reach the cord which would pull down the step ladder, but the dear boy was too short.  No matter how many times he leapt at the string, he couldn't reach it, till I finally had him stop and I pulled it down for him.

"I hate being little," he grumbled.

I had to laugh.  "You won't always be, don't worry," I assured him, then shimmied up the ladder.

The attic was actually of a decent size, and there wasn't very much up there in the first place, so it was easy to navigate. Once I located the box of ornaments, I passed them downstairs to Danny, who took the box over toward the tree. 

Before I headed back down out of the cold, though, I couldn't help but notice the open cardboard box set apart from everything else.  I drew closer, saw it was full of glossy framed photos.  I wondered if these were the ones that Julia had taken down around the house, in places where only picture hooks remained.  Humming my new song to myself, I peered in at them- a nosy thing to do, perhaps, but I was curious, and no one could see me up there.

Wonder if Danny's father is in any of these, I asked myself.  It simply amazed me that I hadn't yet found any artifacts or even so much as a photo of the man by whom Julia had had a child- because unbeknownst to my hosts, I had been looking- and more and more I was forgetting to ask myself why it mattered.  It just did.

I reached for the light switch, but before I could yank the cord, Danny called up to me, "Hey!  Do we have to hang up the mistletoe this year?"

That caught my attention.  "I should think so, uh- you mean you've got some packed away in the box?"

"Yeah, it's fake, but it's mistletoe all right," he replied while I hurried back down.  Nosing about could wait.  I had an idea.

"Let's have a look," I said once downstairs. 

"Ta-da."  Danny handed me the cluster of waxy green leaves with fake white berries peeping out here and there. 

I shot him a look out of the corner of my eye.  "You know what mistletoe's for, don't you?"

He scoffed.  "Yeah!  It's for kissing."

"I suppose there's been a lot of kissing between your mum and Stuart under this little thing?" I asked, crossing my toes (for it would have been far too obvious had I actually crossed my fingers).

And to my delight, Danny shrugged.  "Not really.  He doesn't kiss her a lot."

"Is that so," I hummed, looking innocently around the room for a good place to put it- some place where both Julia and I tended to drift. 

"I mean, he does kiss her and stuff, but- I don't know."

Before I could overstep myself and ask what Danny thought of Dr. Preus kissing his mother, the doorbell rang. 

"That's probably Mom," Danny smiled.  "She rings the doorbell when she's got stuff in her hands."

'I'll get it," I told him quickly, "Stay here." An apology was in order, and having Danny bear witness would only make the situation that much more awkward.  So I rushed up the stairs, mistletoe in hand.  I knew where to hang it now.

It's odd, though, I mused.  She came through the garage before.

I didn't give it much more thought, however.  Quickly I pinned the mistletoe over the threshold.  There would be no way she could avoid it- and what was more, it would be the perfect prerequisite to a heartfelt "I'm sorry for being such a fucking arse today, you didn't deserve it, I'll never bring it up again, I'm such a dreadful tart, please darling, forgive me."

The doorbell rang again, this time a little more impatiently.  "Yes, darling, right away!" I crooned, and flung open the door.  And for a split second my smile froze, and my heart stopped.

Julia wasn't standing there.

Instead, I beheld a handsome, blonde woman in her mid-sixties with mischievous, wide-set green eyes and a frosted pink mouth gaping in pleased surprise.

"Oh! You must be Rick!" she smiled. "Hi, there.  I'm Roxie."

I looked instinctively down at the hand she put toward me- and my suspicions were confirmed.

Bloody fucking hell.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Sal here.  Merry Christmas!  Hope you enjoy this chapter (or part of a chapter), most of it was written in the last two hours.  I hope you like- and that you've had a lovely holiday!