Page 53 of Script
We padded further into the living room, removed the cushions from the sofa, then plopped our asses on them. He sat with his back against the couch, I used the side of my recliner for a backrest. Legs folded into a lotus, we sat across from each other, his tremulous smile helping to ease the rabid urge to throttle all the press bubbling like a rancid stew inside me.
A moment or two passed.
“Now what?” Finn asked.
“Well, we close our eyes, breathe, and say ohm a lot.” I knew jack and shit about meditation. My sister was the real expert, but she was out of town with a young man and had left a rather snippy message in the family chat to not disturb her unless someone had died or was on the cusp. I could call my neighbor. Rottie had some sort of ancient guru from Tibet—or maybe it was Tahoe Vista—who came to his place twice a week to lead him through some mindfulness stuff. Nah. I didn’t really want to subject Finn to Rottie while Finn was so frantic. Rottie was a lot. Maybe after I talked Finn down off the ledge he was teetering on. We’d need a hand to slip out of my place undetected. I could dodo the meditation thing. It couldn’t be too hard, right? Sit and breathe. I’d seen Kelly do it a thousand times. Cake.
“Okay, I can do that.” The tension around his eyes and pretty mouth had lessened. That was a good start. I leaned in to kiss him just once. He sighed in pleasure as his eyes drifted shut.
I sat back. We needed to chill. Not fuck. Not that fucking didn’t release tension and lower stress levels. Hmm. Maybe weshouldfuck…
He began deep breathing, in and out, and whispering something I couldn’t quite make out. Feeling like a hot dog at a hamburger convention, I tossed out a few ohms here and there, peeking at him getting right into the meditation thing. Within ten minutes, Finn had drifted off to sleep, his chin on his chest, full zonk-out mode. I pulled a soft Mexican blanket from the back of my recliner and draped it over him.
Then, easing out of the room, I walked into the kitchen to make some tea. Herbal probably. That was what Kelly would suggest. I opened a few cupboards and yep, there were several boxes of tea from when she had been here last. I filled my sister’s brass kettle, put it on the stove, and turned the burner on. Then, I pulled out my phone and rang the wild man at the base of the canyon.
“Holy shit, Cammy, did you see that skeet shot Milton pulled off?!” Rottie shouted in my ear. “We were out back just doing some target practice when that mother-humping drone showed up. We rode up the canyon like two lone rangers of the metal wild. Oh fuck, that is an awesome song title.”
“Rottie, hey, yeah, thanks for the hand on the drone. Listen, Finn is napping right now, but in say two or three hours, we’re going to need a hand getting out of here. Can you provide a diversion to pull the press and the fans gathered at my gate away?”
“A diversion you say. Fuck yes! I am the motherfucking king of diversions and glory holes. That was actually the name of my last album.”
“Wow, that’s quite the title.”
“Right? Totally sticks in your cranial pan. Tell you what…” I heard him talking to someone in the room with him. The other guy let loose a maniacal laugh that put me on edge. “Okay, two hours from now you will get a text from Milton—
“Who’s Milton?” I had to ask.
“Oh, Milton is the dude who’s teaching me how to incorporate couples massage with mixology.”
Ah. Sure. “Oh, wow, sounds great.”
“It is. So, in two hours you’ll get a text from Milton. It will say ‘Go now!’”
“Is that it?”
“Well, yeah. Did you want some sort of Jason Bourne cryptic message?”
“Maybe.”
He sighed. “Okay, fine. Look for a secret agent man type of message from Milton Puffly.”
“His last name is really Puffly?”
“Dude, don’t name shame.”
“I wasn’t! I just… sorry. Tell Milton I’m sorry. Two hours. Text from Mr. Puffly.” Isowanted to laugh at that last name, but I behaved. “Then, we go.”
“That’s the plan, man. Listen, I have a little place in the UK that you could crash in. Oh, and a chalet in Sweden, overlooking a lake. Very posh. Swedish people are so welcoming.”
“No, thank you. I’m taking him home to my family for a while.”
“Ah nice. Your folks are the best.”
He hung up. I stared at my cell. When the hell had he ever met my parents?
I thought to call him back, but I had packing to do. After I brewed tea and had a cup to settle my rage. Finn was sound asleep on the floor when I walked his cup out to him. He’d slipped down to his side, taking the blanket with him, his head now on the cushion. The man was exhausted. He had some dark rings under his eyes. Neither of us had been sleeping all that well, but Finn was carrying so much anxiety. Placing the lemon and lavender tea on the coffee table, I tucked the throw under his scruffy chin, then jogged to my bedroom to pack. I threw clothes into a couple of Storm duffels; uncaring what items went into the bags. Since most of Finn’s clothing was now here, I soon had his duffel full as well as mine. I showered, pulled on some old shorts and a white T-shirt, and shoved my feet into sandals. Then, I sent my mother a text to let her know we were coming.
She and Dad were thrilled. They’d been clucking like two worried chickens ever since Finn had come out. I’d contacted everyone to warn them and explained that my name was going to be connected to Finn’s as we were dating. After the shock wore off—I mean it wasn’t that stunning of an announcement was it?—they all got sappy and happy for us.
