Spies

“Like...how about this? ‘I have this fear that one day I’ll meet a truly paranoid person who is technologically illiterate. What’s gonna happen when I tell them that the screens on computers are called “monitors?” I don’t think anyone wants to be around for that.’” Martin smiles.

“Okay, that’s pretty good. Not a lot of punch to it, but you have plenty of time to let that shit stew. So come on, who was that girl?” Martin has been pestering Tommy constantly since the party, meaning Tommy has had to suffer through a whole day of Martin calling him a coward.

“Or this one, I guess.” Tommy lines up his finger on the correct line of the notepad. With Ray out of town for a day or so, Martin figured Tommy could hang out there around the clock in preparation for a show at some point in the near future. “‘On a wall near my apartment, there’s a section that’s a mishmash of graffiti and flyers. One day I noticed that two local bands had put up flyers for shows on the same night at different places. Seemed harmless, but the next day I saw that one of the bands had printed about thirty more flyers and covered up everything else on the wall. Kind of a dick move, but hey, they’re proud of their music, right? The following day, the other band has done the same thing, but their flyers are the brightest, most obnoxious neon yellow I have ever seen while not on acid. So I bought a ream of paper, grabbed a permanent marker, and made my own sign out of paper that covered the whole segment of the wall. It said, “PLEASE STOP SHOUTING! I CAN’T SEE WHERE I’M GOING.”’”

“Seems a bit long, for one,” Martin suggests, “but also...did that really happen?” He gives a look to Tommy meant to pry out the truth, but his apprentice offers it freely.

“No. I just came up with it.”

Martin crinkles his nose. “You’re gross.”

“What? Comedians make up stories all the time.”

“But the whole thing? Was any of that true?”

“There’s a wall near my house,” Tommy says, but his tail is between his legs.

“Okay, well I wouldn’t suggest ending with that one; that’s all.” Martin looks around the dimness of his place at dusk. It’s not very clean, but it’s not dirty. Clutter. It’s cluttered, and Martin is starting to hate it. “You wanna get some weed?”

First Tommy looks at his notepad with what seems to be a mild case of despair and fear, but as his brain chugs along, he snaps out of it. Tommy shrugs. “Yeah, why not?”

“Exactly.” Martin calls Ian to arrange for a purchase. Tommy heads outside for some reason, but when Martin exits the building, Tommy’s just sitting in his car.

“You all ready to go?” he asks as Martin gets into the car.

“Why would I get into the car if I’m not ready?”

“Just asking,” Tommy says, backing the car into the street.

“I don’t know what the rush is. The whole reason we’re making this trip is to chill the fuck out. You especially. You need to calm down. Your first show isn’t a big deal, man. Go ahead and be nervous all you want, and go ahead and screw up a few times and bomb some jokes. You just need to get it out of your system, then next time you’ll know what to expect. It’s as easy as that.” Tommy just nods along as he drives. Has he really listened? Martin can’t be sure.

When Tommy pulls up to Ian’s place, Martin can already spot Tess standing uncomfortably near the door. “Damn, she’s like a bloodhound,” Martin says.

“Seems like you kind of owe her anyway since you didn’t leave the house yesterday.”

“Oh shut it.” Martin climbs out of the car and walks glumly up to the Countess. “I thought you were going to try to stay out of my business. Just observe, y’know?”

Tess looks stunned. “You didn’t complain about it for the first few days.” Tommy steps up behind Martin.

“You were better at it back then. I call my friend for a weed hook-up, and you’re already waiting here? At the door?”

“If I may be honest, I was a bit afraid to knock after what happened at the club.”

“He was just being protective,” says Tommy.

“Exactly!” Martin agrees loudly, then he knocks on the door. “Ian is harmless. Hell, just ask Francisco. He’s fine.”

When the door swings open, an arm appears from inside, extended and holding a large pistol. Tommy jumps back. Tess recoils in fear, slumping against the house.

“Hey Ian,” greets Martin. “What’s up with the gun?”

Ian hesitates before holstering the gun. “I’ve been having these hallucinations about a skunk...an elephant, I don’t know. Animals freak me out.” Martin nods sympathetically. Tess is only just barely standing up.

“I understand. So.” Martin rubs his hands together. “Do you have the goods?”

The wiry blond stoner disappears from the doorway and is suddenly replaced by an enormous bag of marijuana, although not quite as large as one Martin once saw Ian bring into the house. “Wow,” Tommy whispers.

“Jesus, man. That’s way more than I asked for.” Martin looks around for potential witnesses, but this part of town is pretty empty. “I’m not paying for that much.”

“Oh whatever,” Ian grumbles. He shoves the bag at Tommy and holds out a hand to Martin expectantly. “My scale’s broken. So sue me. Yeesh.” This is the first time in a while that Martin has been surprised by a side of Ian’s personality.

Martin shakes his head and hands the money he prepared over to Ian.

“Wait a minute,” Tess interrupts. “Don’t you owe your sister money? And you’re buying drugs?”

Martin holds his hands up and squints at everybody in turn. “I knew something was up. How the hell did you know that?”

“I...” It’s obvious that she’s caught up in some web of lies, but Martin doesn’t know where it starts, where it ends, or who exactly the spider is.

“I told her,” Tommy says. Martin whirls around.

“And why are you telling her about my problems? Did you tell her to meet us here?” Martin glares at Tommy. He can’t seem to find his words either. “Why are you working for her? Is she paying you?”

“Martin,” Tess starts, but he holds up a hand to silence her.

“I just want everything out in the open,” Martin says calmly.

“I saw Gay Martin’s testicles once,” Ian mutters from the doorway.

“Ian, go inside!” Martin yells, and Ian complies reluctantly.

“There’s nothing to explain, Martin,” Tommy begins. “She needed ways to track you, so I said I’d help. I think you’re blowing this out of proportion.”

“But I thought she was doing fine on her own. When did she start getting info from you?” Martin worries about where this interrogation might lead, but he doesn’t like unexpected information about the people close to him.

“From the beginning.” Martin maintains eye contact with Tommy, hoping to see a tell if the man’s lying.

“I asked him to get close to you,” Tess adds. “I wanted someone near you so I could keep a closer eye on you and get more information.”

“Wait.” A horrible realization is dawning on Martin. “Tommy, tell me the truth: do you want to be a comedian?”

Tommy’s jaw drops, and then so does Martin’s.

“What about Mary?” He stares at Tess with a calamitous mix of anger and hope.

“I just, I didn’t know how you’d be with a woman.” So that is Tess’s excuse for being a horrible person. Martin’s blood is boiling.

“I want you to both just go to hell,” he says as he storms away. “And I hope they extend eternity a couple million years just for people like you!”

Tommy: fake. Mary: fake. Martin wants so badly just to punch someone in the face over and over again, but the most he can get himself to do to expend more energy is walk a bit faster. As it is, it takes him two hours to walk home -- including a stop at the liquor store -- and he’s still furious when he gets back.

Martin sets down his packs of beer on the table. Ray is home, apparently, and he comes to the kitchen to greet Martin. “Uh, hey,” he says.

“Hi,” Martin says hastily as he rummages through their utensil drawer for the can and bottle opener. The first sip after he wrestles a cap off is a relief.

Ray laughs. “Are we drinking tonight?” He opens the fridge and grabs one of his non-alcoholic beers. Martin looks at Ray, then down at Ray’s beer, which he slaps out of Ray’s hand onto the floor, splitting the bottle open and spilling beer all over the floor. “What the hell was that for?”

In no mood to play, Martin grabs one of his beers and plants it in Ray’s open palm. “You’re drinking for real tonight.”

Ray looks wide-eyed at the alcoholic beer in his hand. “Alright, if you thin--”

“Dude, just shut up and drink.” Martin carries the bottle opener and some of his beer into the living room, where he claims one half of the couch as his own and turns on the television.

“Is, uh, is everything alright?” Ray asks as he sits down.

Martin continues to stare at the screen. “Yup.” He takes another sip of his beer.

The Human Canvas, Part 3 Epilogue: The Sultans of Swing

The police are yelling at Martin, telling him to get out of bed. He’s going away for a long time, something about child abuse. Tess is angry about what he did, but all she does is paint her feelings, something blue and orange that doesn’t make sense to him.

“Martin?” He takes a sharp breath as he wakes up. He’s relieved to be back in reality. Mary is sitting on the edge of the bed in short shorts and a tank top. “Bad dream?”

He closes his eyes and rolls over toward her, then says into a pillow, “The worst.”

“Maybe breakfast will make you feel better,” she suggests as she rubs his back.

“Okay,” he says, still muffled. There is the smell of something delicious and comforting wafting down the hall. Mary leaves him prone on the bed while she alerts her other guests about the impending meal by knocking on their doors.

Martin manages to get himself out of bed a minute later and gather the bare minimum of his clothing from the floor before walking out into the hall. Tess exits one of the bedrooms sleepily, and, upon seeing Martin, closes the door behind her and hurries past him.

“Good morning,” she says.

“Hey,” Martin says, following her with his head as she zips by. Strange.

A moment later, Jebediah exits the same room. Martin leans his head back, jaw dropped, and points at Jebediah. He only smiles back at Martin before pushing past him. Can it be true? The Countess and Jeb the Mute?

Another door opens behind him, and out of it comes Landon Freeman, laughing at something or someone in the room. Landon turns to see Martin, still wearing his look of surprise.

“Hey,” says Landon as Herb exits the room after him.

Martins jaw drops back down as he points back and forth between them. All of the rumors, the speculation, the naming of Herb Rollins as a “gay Casanova”; suddenly there’s very little air of mystery about it all. Martin wants to speak, but it only comes out as a whisper. “It’s true.”

The Human Canvas, Part 3: The Party

Tommy notices that Martin is grinning and fidgeting like a man possessed when he picks Martin up on the way to Mary’s party.

“Tommy, do you have any idea who she is?” Martin asks, knowing quite well already that he’ll get to explain what he means.

“No? You mean Mary?”

“Yes Mary! I tried typing in her name, ‘Marilena’, just kind of guessing at the spelling, and there was only one name that popped up: Marilena Trombitas. Fuckin’ Mary Trumpets!” Martin says. Tommy keeps his eyes on the road, but he furrows his brow.

“I don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Okay, her name isn’t ‘Mary Trumpets’, but that’s what ‘Trombitas’ means. So like, have you ever heard of The Watcher & the Leviathan?”

That manages to ring a bell. “That’s a movie that’s coming out soon, right? The one with the dragons and zombies or something. I’ve only seen the commercials for it.”

“Well, I...I mean sure, yes. It’s based on the book with the same name, written by one Marilena Trombitas. That must have been what the tattoo on her back was for.” Martin thinks back to the large black and gray picture of dragons with what must have been the original Romanian of the title. He’s also thinking about her body and how it’s only nineteen years old.

“Oh, no shit. I was wondering how she had a friggin’ house in the hills. I thought maybe she lived with rich parents.”

Martin’s excited. “This could be a hell of a party, y’know. Oh shit.” He just now remembers that it’s a birthday party. “Shit, should we have gotten her a present?”

“What?” Tommy takes a moment to look at Martin, filling his need to make sure that the comedian’s being serious. “We just met her. I think she’ll forgive us if we don’t bring her a gift. I really don’t think everyone is going to get her something. I mean, do you think Landon and Tess have a present for her?”

Now that Martin thinks about it, it doesn’t seem likely. To Tess, Mary can’t be much more than sort of, kind of an employee. “I don’t know. I just realized, though, why does she do modeling if she has all this book and movie money at this point? You would think she’d spend her time writing the next bestselling novel.”

“I hadn’t even thought about that. I don’t think it takes all of your time to write a book, though. Maybe she models because it’s fun. She’s certainly got the body for it.” For a moment Martin wants to stretch over and bite Tommy’s arm, growling and tearing at him for thinking that he can edge in on Martin’s mentally claimed nubile territory.

“I agree,” he says instead.

The house Tommy eventually pulls up to is gated, two stories, and a beautiful example of the modern usage of glass to really open up the first floor. Plenty of cars are in the driveway, so Martin’s question of whether or not this would be an intimate affair is answered quickly. Several large flagstone platforms make up the steps to the front door.

At first, both of the men are wondering why the house is so dimly lit. The walkway is dark, and the house barely glows at the end. When they get to front door, it becomes clear that the real party is out back by the pool. A horde of strange teenagers in all manner of dress are crowded around Mary’s pool, and the doors are open at the front and back of the house to channel new guests toward the old ones.

As Martin and Tommy pass through the house, a familiar voice calls to them from off to the left. Off in the western wing of the house, Landon and Tess are chatting with Herb and an unfamiliar man with a very round head. Upon getting closer, Martin realizes that this new man plus Herb, Landon, and Tommy are all of a similar height, that is to say several inches taller. He’s never felt so short. Assholes.

“Tommy, Martin,” Landon begins, “you guys know Herb and Tess.”

“Hi,” Martin says.

“Hey,” says Tommy.

“And this is my friend Jebediah,” Herb introduces the unfamiliar man. “He’s visiting for a bit just to see the big city.” Jebediah is carrying a small memo pad and a pen in his left hand, and Martin notices it while shaking the other.

“What’s that for?” he asks. “Are you a reporter or something?” Jeb laughs and looks to Herb.

“Ah, no. Jebediah is mute, actually,” he clarifies. “He carries the pad around for communication.”

Martin is genuinely surprised. “Huh.” He turns to Tess. “Where’s the birthday girl?”

“Out by the pool, I believe.”

“Ah, then excuse me while I go give her my regards.” Martin leaves Tommy with the rest of the familiar faces and ventures off in search of Mary. On the way he spies a table with punch and snacks, and realizing he’s famished, he grabs a cup of the sugary drink and a few finger sandwiches.

“Enjoying the spread?” Martin turns around with a sandwich pressed halfway into his mouth to see Mary in a shimmering silvery white dress with her hands on her hips. He decides against pulling the sandwich back out of his mouth and takes a large bite. Then he nods. “I’m happy you came,” she says, and Mary proceeds to give him a hug made awkward by the food and drink in his hands. “I wasn’t sure if you and Tom would come on such short notice.”

Martin just manages to finish chewing and swallow. “Hell, it’s not like we’ve got anything better to do. If it weren’t for this we’d probably be stabbing people at night clubs.”

Mary laughs. “Tess told me you were a comedian. I guess that makes sense.”

“Yeah, well the Internet told me that you’re friggin’ Marilena Trombitas. I had no idea until I got home earlier.” Mary shrugs. “I never realized you were so young.”

“Does it matter?” she asks coyly. Her accent creeps back in at the end of the question, but Martin’s comforted to know that it is most assuredly Romanian.

“Matter? Depends on the context. It’s really just impressive. Pretty accomplished for not even being twenty.” Martin can only wish he’d followed a career path with more opportunity to get lucky and become famous. As it is, he’s only really known around the city, and even that might be a bit generous.

“Well, storytelling is my passion. You don’t have to go to college or be a genius to create a good story,” she says.

“So,” Martin says, “you’re dumb?”

“No!” she insists, “I am not dumb. I am just uneducated. There is a difference, Mr. Avery.”

“Ha.” Martin smiles. “Thank you for enlightening me, then. You’ve made me a better person.”

“Mmm, and if you ever feel like returning the favor, perhaps you can teach me a thing or two.” A young blonde Romanian girl writes a bestselling novel that gets turned into a highly anticipated movie, makes millions of dollars, inks up her body, and then she giggles after delivering innuendo to a shaggy-haired, unshaven comedian who Martin suspects just might be him if he thought about it a bit more. Yup. This is happening.

Martin takes a deep breath and focuses on not showing the surprise on his face. “Sure, you just let me know what I can help you with.”

“I will, I will. Come, let’s go see what Tess and her friends are up to.” As Mary walks past Martin, back toward the house, he sees that the back of her dress is non-existent from the waist up. He grabs another sandwich and follows closely behind her.

Back inside the house, the group Martin left has largely dispersed. He spies Tommy sitting on a couch with a dark-haired girl who looks to be not much older than Mary. She seems fascinated by something Tommy’s saying, and he’s looking very confident. Interesting. Landon is off entertaining Herb and some other party guests with one of his stories, so Tess is left to slowly communicate with Jebediah. From the look on Tess’s face, Jebediah has just written down something especially funny.

“You found her! Very good,” Tess condescends. Martin scowls at her.

“He is an astute navigator, that Martin,” Mary says. There seems to be some subtext in the exchange that Martin can’t quite tune into. “Is everything alright in here? Are you sure you guys don’t want any snacks?”

“No, that’s fine. Landon and I ate dinner before we came.” At the mention of food, Martin takes a bite of one of his sandwiches.

“Oh, good! I’m going to go say hello to Tom. Excuse me,” Mary says, and she begins walking to the couch.

“Who’s he talking to?” Martin asks.

“I’m not sure. Half the people around here seem like babies to me, and we’re hardly older than they are. Tom may want to get a look at her identification before he tries anything unsavory,” Tess suggests.

“Yikes.” Martin looks around at the sea of jailbait. He hadn’t considered how many of them might be underaged. Thank goodness for nineteen-year-olds. Martin looks at Mary playing the chipper hostess with Tom and his new lady friend.

“And don’t try anything with Mary.” Martin’s heart sinks.

“What are you talking about?” He realizes now that he’s still staring at her, so he looks back to Tess. Smooth.

“I know she’s beautiful, Martin, but she’s young, she’s new to the country, and she’s vulnerable. I have doubts about your ability to handle that with the proper delicacy.”

“What? How do you know she needs someone delicate? I get the feeling that she can handle herself pretty well.” Martin remembers that Jebediah is standing there as well. “What do you think?”

Jebediah quickly scribbles something out on his pad and holds it up facing Martin. “Dude, go for it.” Martin laughs maniacally.

“See? Jeb knows what I’m talking about.” He raises his hand for a high five. When Jebediah hesitates by only slightly raising his hand, Martin winds up and connects with it, causing a pronounced slap to fill the area. Jebediah winces.

Tess shakes her head at him, but Jebediah only shrugs.

As the night wears on, much of the younger crowd filters out. Tommy remains firmly planted on his couch cushion. At some point he and the dark-haired girl started making out in front of everyone, much to Martin’s disgust. Granted, they were not in the center of the room under a spotlight, but somehow even Martin found it disrespectful. All he’s managed to do is get a few of the kids interested in seeing him do a show, even though he’s not a big fan of networking. The flirting with Mary has continued, sure, but it has yet to be fruitful. Tess and company apparently decided to go to bed, which Martin didn’t even realize was an option. He’s confused as to why they didn’t just drive home.

As Mary sees people out the door, Martin leans against a wall far away from Tommy, but with line of sight maintained so he can stare at him with hatred in his eyes. When the last few guests have left, Mary joins him in his lean, though not until after she’s looked with confusion at the spectacle taking place on her couch.

“Did the others go to bed?” she asks him.

“Yeah, I guess.” Martin looks to the bedroom doors down the hallway. “I’m not sure why they didn’t just go home.”

“Probably didn’t want to drink and drive.” When Mary sees that he’s confused, she says, “I saw them sneaking pours from a flask into their punch.”

Martin’s face suddenly loses all expression. “Are you shitting me? Son of a bitch. I figured I could live through a dry party if the hostess is underaged, and those assholes are sneaking in booze.” He growls.

“Aw, so you didn’t have a good time tonight?” The disappointment is so playful that Martin almost doesn’t want to play along.

“Sure, I had a good time. It just seems like Tommy got to have a slightly better time. Makes me look at myself, y’know?” Mary looks on sympathetically. “Have I made some wrong decisions in my life? Maybe I should have staked out the couch as my personal bone zone.”

“You know, there are other couches,” she says, reaching her hand in front of Martin and placing it on his crotch. Martin jumps away from the wall reflexively, his brain flooded with doubt. Mary pushes away from the wall. “What?”

“I...” He thinks back to what Tess said, and it keeps ringing in his ears, especially the word “vulnerable”. As much as he was hoping to ignore Tess’s warning, “vulnerable” is on a deeply engrained list of words in Martin’s head that indicate a partial retreat is in order. “I just don’t know if this is right. Honestly, I’m not sure what you see in me right now. We just met.”

“That’s okay. There’s plenty of time for us to get to know each other.” Oh god. Martin’s defenses are weakening.

“I’m sorry, Mary, really. You’re gorgeous, okay, but we should go about this with all the caution we can afford, right? No need to rush things. I think I ought to get going.” Martin turns on his heel to leave, and he’s met with the sight of an empty couch. Tommy was his ride. Hmm.

“Martin, you can just spend the night here. It’s fine! You don’t need to worry so much.” Rather than desperate, Mary is sounding resolute, determined. Logical.

“And where am I gonna sleep, your bed?” Martin says, laughing it off.

“Sure, you can sleep in my bed,” Mary says. “After we’re done fucking.”

She presents her hand for Martin to take, but his heart is beating too loudly for him to see properly. Mary finally gives up on waiting for him, takes his hand in hers, and leads him off to her bedroom.

The Human Canvas, Part 2: Tee Pee

“Tell me something interesting about yourself,” Tess tells Martin. “Tell me something that you would keep as a secret from most people.”

“A secret? Whatever secrets I want to keep are kept for a reason.” Martin has no desire to mention the theft of Hilda’s car, his feelings about his sister or his parents, his hopes of somehow getting money from Landon...

“Yes, of course, but what major consequence would there be from telling me of all people?” Tess places another line of paint with a steady hand as Martin watches.

“I can’t say. It might give too much away.” Martin grins at Tess, but she just shakes her head.

“That’s childish. You could probably get more out of life if you were more honest.”

“Oh what, that’s the big conclusion you’ve come to after observing me for all of two days?”

“Not at all. I’d say that’s good advice for most anyone with your maturity level.” Tess continues to paint with a striking calm.

“Screw you,” Martin says, realizing too late that maybe storming off is a mark of immaturity. He follows through with it regardless. Whatever Tommy and Landon are discussing can’t be too important to interrupt, right? “Hey Tommy, when do you want to go do some open mic work?”

Tommy struggles to come up with a response. “Anytime? I don’t know. I was hoping you had something planned for me since I’m more or less at your beck and call right now.”

“He’s pretty funny, Martin,” says Landon. “I don’t know if his brand of humor is quite the same, but he’s got some good material.”

Martin looks down his nose at Tommy. “Good material, sure. We’ll see. Let’s go.”

“What? No,” Tommy says, “why don’t we hang around here a bit longer? I’m sure Tess is almost done with this painting.” Then Martin remembers that he actually does need to talk to Landon, but he doesn’t really have a scheme in mind for getting money from him.

“Fine. Landon, tell me about your numerous feats. You must have a zillion stories to tell.” Martin flops onto what looks to be the comfiest part of the couch.

Landon leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, apparently his storytelling pose, and begins. “I think my story for you doesn’t actually involve any heroic feats or heartwarming encounters with the less fortunate. You might appreciate this, Martin. I was at my publisher’s building to go over the manuscript of my first book, but they had me wait outside the editor’s office for whatever reason. One of his subordinates was outside in a cubicle doing some kind of busywork, maybe editing or retyping some manuscript that was illegible, in the wrong format...you get the idea. But I looked down at her foot, and there was a parade-sized streamer of toilet paper sticking out from her shoe.” Martin gives the most incredulous look at Landon that he can muster. It sounds made up. “I considered not telling her just to see how long it would take before someone else noticed.”

“Aw, of course you told her. Pfft.”

“Well, the worst part was not the size of it or its mere existence. Even from a distance, it looked like it was just covered in shit.”

“What?” Tommy isn’t buying it. “I’m calling bullshit.”

“Nope. It looked like it had been used to wipe up an enormous amount of crap, and it was trailing from her shoe.”

“That’s disgusting,” says Tommy.

“Yes, so I got up, went over to her, and I said, ‘Excuse me, but you have some toilet paper stuck to your shoe.’ Guess what she said to me,” Landon says excitedly.

Martin says, “‘Oh my god, that’s so embarrassing.’”

Tommy says, “‘Oh, that? That’s not mine.’”

Landon shakes his head. “As soon as she turned to look at me I knew something was off. When she looked down at the toilet paper, she immediately vomited all over her lap, her shoes, my shoes...it was a mess.”

“Ew,” Tommy says.

“Jesus Christ,” Martin says as he recoils. “Why is this a good story?”

“Sorry, I know it’s disgusting. It really was a shit-stained stretch of toilet paper. Apparently this girl had just gotten the job, and her manager was on her case about taking sick time within her first couple of weeks. Poor girl had food poisoning and was trying to just hold it in or hide it so she wouldn’t have to go home. She’d been in and out of the bathroom all morning.”

“That’s the nice part about being a comedian, I think. If I have stuff coming out of both ends of my digestive tract in the morning, it’s probably just from a good night of drinking, and there’s no management of sick time or hours involved.”

“Really? Is that all there is to being a comedian?” Tommy asks.

“Basically.” Martin shrugs. “So is there more to the story?”

“Oh yes. I go in a few weeks later to pick up some free copies of the book that I wanted to give to people. They said they could just send them to me, but I figured it was a waste if I’d be around their office. So when I go in, I notice the same girl in her own office. I asked the secretary how she got her own space. ‘Oh, her manager is...no longer with us,’ she said, so I didn’t ask questions. I figured I’d congratulate her on moving up in the publishing world, though, so I went to the door to her office, knocked, and said a bit loudly, ‘No more food problems around here anymore, you hear?’ Seemed like a harmless thing to say, but I hoped she would look back on that incident humbly and maybe attempt a laugh. So then I laughed a bit to try to get her started, but I must point out that she looked horrified. People were giving me weird looks as I left, and I didn’t think much of it until later. It started to bug me, so I called up my editor and asked him if I said something wrong. Turns out her manager had choked to death the week before, and that’s how she got moved up.”

“Holy shit,” Martin says.

“I can’t believe you managed to pick the most precisely offensive thing to say there,” Tommy adds.

“I...think that’s why it’s a decent story, if I may say so,” Landon says, beaming.

“I don’t even know what to say to that. Maybe you’re just a bad person,” suggests Martin.

“Oh hush. I didn’t realize what I was saying,” Landon rebuts.

Martin glares at him. “Okay.”

Tommy shakes his head in bewilderment. Then Martin notices Mary saying something to Tess before heading into the bathroom. They are apparently finished with making art for the day. Tess puts down her brush and stretches dramatically before walking to where the men are sitting, taking her place behind Landon.

“Gentlemen, Mary has been so kind as to invite us to a party if you’re interested,” says Tess.

Martin is instantly excited by the prospect of partying with this inky sprite. “That sounds good to me...”

“Yeah, I guess I’m down,” says Tommy. The idea of Tommy getting drunk and hooking up with a hideous skank tickles Martin, and so he is glad that his apprentice will be accompanying him.

Mary comes out of the bathroom wearing a blue sundress. The girl clearly has some style. "Aw, you put your clothes back on," says Martin. She shrugs.

"I can always just take them back off once I get home." Martin closes his eyes to picture this, and it relaxes him greatly.

"Mmm, yes. That's a good point."

She looks around at Tommy, Tess, and Landon. "So are you all coming to my party tonight?" Mary asks.

"I guess so, yeah," Tommy replies.

"What's this party for anyway?" Martin asks.

"My birthday!" is her enthusiastic response.

"Oh, how old are you?" Tommy asks.

"Mary has only just turned nineteen," Tess says. Martin's heart beats just a little faster.

The Human Canvas, Part 1: Mother Earth

There’s a spring in his step and a smirk on his face as Martin heads to the elevator. Tommy follows closely, and they ride up to Tess and Landon’s studio space.

Martin knocks lightly on the door. The Countess must be busy giving bloody birth to her art, because Landon opens the door sheepishly and ushers the two men into the apartment without a word. Tess is standing in the middle of the open floor space. Surprisingly, she is not as lavishly adorned as she normally is, wearing only a black t-shirt and long white skirt, both of which are speckled with many colors. Just past her, Martin spies an obese woman lying flat on her back with her arms draped out over the edge of the bench she’s on. Disappointment begins to creep up on him until he notices a cute blonde girl in a bathrobe waiting off to Tess’s left. There’s hope yet!

“I heard you gentlemen caused a bit of a stir at Herb’s club last night,” whispers Landon.

Martin winces and says, “Was he pissed? I totally get him calling the cops, but I hope he’s not mad at me.”

“All in all, I wouldn’t say he’s pissed. If anything, I think he was a bit frightened by all of the blood that was left once they took you all away. Herb doesn’t have the strongest constitution, I’m afraid, but he’s a good man.” Martin suddenly thinks back to the rumors that Herb bedded Landon, but it’s just not possible. It can’t be true.

“Ian’s a bit of a wildcard, man. I only invited him to meet some girls we met at the bar, but he arrived mid-fight with a knife. I don’t think he’s usually a very violent person.”

“Right, but he just did what any friend does when he sees someone he knows about to get his ass kicked,” Tommy suggests. Martin concedes ceremonially to show Tommy that he did a good thing by destroying Max Enberg’s body.

“Tom’s right, Marty. Plus, it’s not the first fight the Hole’s ever seen, nor will it be the last. It’s a night club. People go there to get drunk and let emotions run high, whether it’s joy, anger, sexual arousal...you get the picture. If any of those get misaligned, there’s bound to be some squabbling.” Goddamn Landon Freeman and his voice of reason. Just listen to this guy, talking like he’s spent a year doing research on the social impact of late-night gathering spots.

“Cool,” says Martin. “I just really don’t want him to ban me or something.” Landon waves the concern off as if it’s nothing, and so suddenly it is nothing.

“Y’know, Marty, I’m a little surprised Tom managed to get you to come over. I thought you hated Tess.” Is Martin blushing? He thinks he might be, but he doesn’t like showing embarrassment.

“Me? Hate someone?” Landon smiles with half his heart. The other half is waiting for Martin’s explanation. “I don’t hate her, okay? She just makes me really uncomfortable for too many reasons.”

“Such as?”

Ugh. Martin was hoping he wouldn’t have to explain himself, but dishonesty doesn’t seem to have much of a purpose at this point. “At the club, for example. She was being far, far too open about your...private life, if you get what I’m saying.” A tilt of the head and a knowing raise of the eyebrows tells Martin that Landon shares some of Martin’s distaste for Tess’s disclosures. “Plus, I don’t know. This may seem like a weird thing to complain about, but it pains me to see how Tess dominates this place,” Martin says, waving his arm in front of him. Landon looks around the studio. “Why do you let her take control of this place?” Landon only laughs.

“Martin, I don’t live here most of the time. I have my own place in the hills. This is my legal residence for the moment, but it’s largely Tess’s apartment. That’s why I try to keep my things stuffed away.” Ah, of course Landon Freeman has his own place, full of masculinity and world record plaques and Landon’s musky manscent.

“Ohhh, that makes sense. But, so, you see? I don’t really hate her. She’s just not really my favorite person. The only reason I was mad the other day was because I wanted to talk to you privately.”

“What about?” asks Landon.

“Ha, silly. This isn’t exactly private, is it?” Martin says, leaning his head toward Tommy. Tommy looks back from the overweight model on the bench.

“What?” Tommy asks. Martin and Landon chuckle at their own little joke.

“My dear, I think I’m finished with you for the day,” Tess says suddenly to the current model. “Something’s just not clicking for me. I can’t explain it, but thank you for holding that pose. It was just what I wanted.” The model smiles shyly at Tess before donning her own robe and taking her handbag into the bathroom.

Tess lets down her hair as she walks over to the sitting area. She runs her fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp with her eyes closed. Martin wonders if she’s trying to conjure up some talent.

“Hello, Martin,” she says, gathering her hair back up and tying it loosely at the top of her head. “And Tommy, hello. I was surprised to hear that they released you so quickly.”

Martin smiles as he recalls Ian’s strange gestures. “Me too. I guess Ian has magic powers.” He revolves his hands around each other in front of his face as he says this, though no one could possibly get the reference.

“That’s good to hear. I was a bit worried when Herb called the police, but I think it was fully justified.”

“Yeah,” Martin says, though at this point he’s already sick of talking about it. Tommy told him on the way over that Tess invited Martin to her apartment to look at the models and remain close to her. She claimed that she needed an “art day” -- stupid -- and wanted Martin to uphold his end of the observation deal. “So I don’t mean to be an ungrateful guest, but what do you really expect me to do while I’m here? I’m interested in seeing the other model pose for you, y’know, but otherwise I’m just hanging out with Landon and Tommy.”

“C’mon, that’s not so bad,” Landon suggests, but Martin isn’t having it.

Tess sighs. “I suppose you could give me some input on what I’ve done so far, but it’s really disappointing.” Martin remembers seeing a blob of yellow on blue, but that’s the biggest impression one can expect from several feet away. He gets up and walks over to the canvas while Landon strikes up a conversation with Tommy.

The image laid out on the canvas is unexpectedly spectacular and eerie and beautiful. The yellow blob he thought he had seen was in fact a yellow human figure, laid out much as the model had been, but with a filigree of golden floral pinstriping tracing out the lines of her body and exploding into the shifting blue-green of the surrounding space. Martin immediately gets the impression of a woman’s seed giving birth to the world, and despite it not making perfect sense, he’s moved.

“This is really good, Tess. I mean, in some ways it’s so simple, but it’s gorgeously done.” He leans in to look at the stripes. They’re so precise and smooth. Martin can’t imagine his hand placing anything so delicately. Martin is struck by how quickly his opinion of the Countess has changed.

“You think so? I was honestly considering just wiping it clean and starting over, but I didn’t want to keep her too long.”

“God, no. You can do more to it if you want, but it looks good to my untrained, barbaric eye.”

“Hmm.” Tess grabs the canvas and sets it down by the base of the easel. “Well, when it’s dry you can have it, a gift from me to you.”

Martin’s not sure where he’ll put it, but he’s nonetheless appreciative. “Thanks. So what do you plan to do with your next model? Same thing?”

“No no, Martin. It depends on the model,” Tess says, turning to the girl. “Marilena, could you come here for a moment.” The girl perks up at her name and puts down the book she was reading. She saunters coolly over to Martin and Tess.

“You can just call me Mary, Miss Carter,” says Mary, her words only just hinting at an accent. Now that Martin can get a good look at her, he likes what he sees. Her eyes are a deep blue, their shape both familiar and exotic, and he can’t help but notice the hint of a tattoo where her neck slopes into her shoulder. Martin can’t tell how long her hair is since it’s pinned up, but he’s hoping it’s short.

“Marilena?” Martin asks. “What kind of name is that, Italian?”

She smiles at him. “It can be, but not in this case.” Martin pauses, expecting a continuation, but she leaves him wanting. “Would you like me to pose now, Miss Carter?”

“First I’ll need to see your body.” At first Martin wants to laugh, but then he realizes she’s saying it as a matter of business. The demand is suddenly arousing.

“Of course,” Mary says happily, and she slips the robe off right there in front of Martin. When she begins to turn slowly for Tess’s inspection, Martin just about loses his grip with reality. She’s smooth, slender, fair of complexion, and her arms are covered in bright yet tasteful tattoos of all different varieties. A large black and gray arrangement of dragons, flames, and words in a foreign language takes up the entirety of her back down to her tailbone. “Will I do, Miss Carter?”

Tess looks unsure, but she nods. “You can try out whatever pose you like, and we’ll go from there. I’m not really sure what I’m looking for at this point.”

“Okay,” Mary chimes, and she walks lightly to the bench in front of Tess’s easel.

Martin’s attention returns awkwardly to the situation at hand as Tess addresses him directly.

“Sorry, what?” he replies.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just...” Martin just now realizes how long he’s been staring at Mary’s body. “I fuckin’ love tattoos.”

The Promise of Things to Come

As Martin sits on the curb, awaiting the inevitable revelation of his hidden truth, he realizes that it’s day three of Tess’s observation. Somehow, though, she managed to avoid being part of the incident at Herb’s club, and now she’s nowhere to be seen. It’s at once pleasant and mildly disconcerting.

“Hey Ian,” Martin says. Ian sits down next to Martin.

“Sup?”

“How is it possible for Francisco to just drop the charges on you? Isn’t stabbing someone a crime?” At the time of release, Martin had been too pleased, and perhaps slightly concussed, so he didn’t bother to question it.

“Maybe for some people, people without connections,” Ian says, pantomiming what looks like the sprinkling of fairy dust, but Martin can’t be sure. Ian follows it up with a wink.

“Connections? Do you know a bunch of cops or something?”

“No, but I have my...ways,” as Ian begins to make a strange waving gesture, Martin reaches out and gently pushes Ian’s hand back down.

The overall mood of the trio -- Francisco having walked off as soon as he was free to go -- is “decent but tired”. Martin gets the feeling that all of them could use a good nap. In fact, he’s struggling not to nap as he notices Hilda’s car approaching the curb. He looks up at Tommy, and the big oaf is screwing up his face in a lack of certainty.

“Is that the car-“

“Tommy, you shut the hell up right now. Don’t mention the fucking car. Just don’t do it. I will murder you.”

“But is it the same one?” Tommy asks.

Martin tries his best to channel all of the fury he can summon into a death stare, but he undoubtedly looks more worried than anything else. Tommy shakes his head at him, and Martin hopes that that is a deal between the two of them.

“Shotgun,” Ian mutters as he climbs into the passenger seat. He tousles his own hair a bit before crossing his arms snugly and slumps against the window. Martin and Tommy get into the back, and Hilda pulls away from the curb.

“Thaaaanks, Hilda,” says Martin.

“Yeah, thank you for the ride,” Tommy adds.

“Oh, not a problem, boys.” Hilda looks at Ian with concern, but as far as Martin can tell, she’s quick to remember that Ian has no shortage of peculiarities. Martin pictures Ian waving again and shakes his head in an attempt to clear the image. “Are we just heading to the Hole?”

“Yeah, I think the necessary vehicles are all there.”

“I walked,” Ian interjects without lifting his head. Martin glares at him for the unnecessary addition.

“So you guys got into a fight, huh?” Martin doesn’t really want Hilda probing too deeply into the situation, but it was somewhat exciting.

“Have you ever heard of the band Maximus Shmaximus?” Martin asks.

“No?”

“Well, they suck. As people. Except Francisco. Max sucks.”

“I don’t think you really gave him much of a chance,” says Tommy.

“I didn’t need to! I’m a good judge of people, dude. When that ginger bitch stepped up to me, I knew he was an asshole.”

“Not to mention taller than you. Next time maybe pick a fight with someone you could actually beat. Like a five-year-old.”

Martin laughs. “I don’t need to fight five-year-olds when I’ve got Tommy the Paralyzer by my side.” He pats Tommy on the shoulder.

“Jesus Christ, Martin. Don’t say that.” Tommy begins to slouch and leans his head toward the window.

“The Paralyzer?” Hilda needs some clarification. Martin had forgotten to mention that part on the phone.

“Oh yeah. Tommy threw Max across the room. Broke his arm and maybe his back.”

“Oh my god. And what about the stabbing?” Hilda asks.

“Well, Ian stabbed Francisco a bunch of times, but he was really cool about it. He’s kind of a badass.” Hilda looks at Martin through the rearview mirror, eyes wide.

“Sounds like you guys had quite the night.”

“No shit. All I want to do now is take a shower and go to bed.” He assumes roughly the same position as Tommy and Ian, but by the time he gets comfortable they’re back at the club. Martin yawns as he gets into his car. Tess apparently went home after the confrontation, or at least someone stole her car. His thoughts flash back to taking Hilda’s car for the repo guys, but it’s too depressing. As he starts his car, he sighs.

He wakes up later in the day to the sound of his cell ringing. His face is still tender, a marker that reminds him to never fuck with Francisco Panza again.

“Hello?” Martin can hear that his voice is drenched with the paralysis of sleep, but screw it.

“Hey man,” Tommy says. “You up for a little midday entertainment?”

“I-wh-I’m barely awake, dude. What do you want?” Martin cannot believe that Tommy is already up and about after nine hours.

“Naked women?”

“Okay. Continue.”

“Tess is painting nude models today, and she said we’re welcome to stop by during the day to hang out with her and Landon.” This sounds promising.

“But wait, I have a few questions. Just women? Do I have to see any penises today? Is Herb going to be there? Do I have to paint anything?”

“Uh, let’s see. As far as I know, not that I know of, maybe, and probably not?” Martin nods approvingly to himself.

“That’s a good list of answers.”

“I thought so, yeah. I can pick you up if you want.”

“Ah, you’re a gentleman, Tommy. I need to get dressed and...whatever anyway. See you in a little bit.”

Martin continues to nod to himself. Despite last night’s shenanigans, this day is starting out on exactly the right foot.

Francisco Panza Is a Kind-Hearted Badass

Mariah?

Laura?

Carla?

There’s a name in Martin’s head that he can’t shake, and suddenly his vision resolves. In front of him is a grisly soul wrapped in bandages and chatting happily with the skinny blond fellow next to him.

Francisco mothereffing Panza. Kayla! Martin suddenly snaps out of his daze and looks around. Ian and Francisco are sitting next to each other on the other side of the cell. Tommy is sitting directly next to Martin looking dejected. Max Enberg is nowhere to be seen, though there are a couple of other gentlemen occupying the cell with them. Then Martin receives a signal from his face warning him of impending pain.

“Ow,” he whispers, gently touching a couple of fingers to his throbbing cheek. Tommy looks to him quickly, then leans out in front of him.

“Are you alright, dude?” Tommy looks back and forth at Martin’s eyes.

“What the hell, Tommy,” he says, swatting him away. “You’re creeping me out.”

“Jesus, you’ve been out of it all night. The medics said you’d probably be okay, but we weren’t allowed to let you sleep. Do you remember talking to them?”

“Do I remember...” Martin tries to recall a recent memory. Kayla. “I remember Kayla and the chick with the...hand.” He covers up one hand with the other and shoves his stump in Tommy’s face.

“Yeah, Kayla and Sylvia. Then the cops showed up after you punched Max and Ian stabbed Francisco.”

Martin looks across the cell at the happy couple, chatting away about who knows what. He’s stunned to think that he actually saw Ian stab someone.

“Man, who’s such a dick that they’d call the cops for a little stabbing?” Martin chuckles.

“Herb,” Tommy says. “After he got the bouncer to break up Ian and Francisco, he called the cops himself.” The implications of that phone call are not good for Martin’s career. He can potentially work other locations, but The Glorious Hole is his most repeatable moneymaker. Martin just hopes that Herb isn’t too pissed about such an incident.

“Christ. I hope he wasn’t too angry.”

“I think he was more worried about everyone’s safety, really.” Tommy stares vacantly at the floor.

“And what happened to that ginger dick Max Enberg anyhow? Did he not get arrested?”

Tommy’s eyes go wide. “He’s uh. They took him to the hospital.”

Martin furrows his brow, trying to remember what happened to him. “What the hell? I don’t even remember anything happening to him after I tried to punch him.”

“Well,” Tommy sighs, “I saw you about to pick a fight with two people who could kick your ass, so I figured I’d try to get one of them out of the way as quickly as possible.”

“Oh yeah!” Martin suddenly recalls seeing Max flying through the air. “You actually picked him up and fucking threw him! That was amazing, man.” Tommy chews the inside of his lip.

“Yeah, well...his back might be broken. And one of his arms definitely is.”

A part of Martin wishes that he hated Max enough for this to be inappropriately funny, but he just can’t enjoy it. It’s too real.

“Oh dear.”

“Yeah...” Seeing that Tommy’s distraught, Martin wants to find a new topic.

“So what’s up with Francisco and Ian? Best friends? What the fuck is this?”

Tommy shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t really want to talk to Francisco after what happened at the club.”

“Oh, you wimp,” Martin says, standing up. He’s a little light-headed, but he manages to navigate to where Ian is sitting and plop down next to him.

“Hey Martin,” Ian says. “You feeling better now?”

“Sorry about your face, man,” says Francisco. “I just gotta step in when people are hassling Max. He’s more of the sensitive type, y’know? That’s why he keeps around a bruiser like me to keep the crazies off his back. He’s got some nutty fans, bro.”

“I...” Martin wants to be mad at Francisco, but he’s being really nice. “Didn’t this guy stab you a bunch of times?” Ian laughs.

“Yeah, I went sort of crazy there, huh?” He laughs again. Francisco smiles.

“What, bro? You think I haven’t been stabbed before?” Francisco starts to laugh.

“Are you kidding me?” Martin asks. “What the hell kind of life have you led to get to the point where being stabbed isn’t a big deal? Is that some kind of secret Mexican power?”

Francisco shakes his head. “Man, I’ve seen some shit. Back when I was just a little shit roaming the streets with my friends, we saw a couple of gangs clash in an alley behind some rundown houses, and I say to my friends, ‘What do they have to fight about?’ So I stepped in between their knives and bats and shit, and they stop fighting each other just long enough to tell me and my friends to get the fuck outta there.”

“And? Jesus Christ, dude, why would you get in the middle of that?” Martin is enthralled.

“Well what the hell were they fighting for? Drugs? Territory? Just trying to kill each other? Tell me what a good reason is for them to stab and beat each other in the middle of the neighborhood, bro. Now, I wasn’t as big as them, and I wasn’t as strong, but I told them to stop. You know what they did?”

Martin shakes his head.

“They beat the shit out of me and my friends. I woke up in the hospital with a tube in my throat and bandages on my face.” Martin stares at the scar running down his face. “One of those gangbangers slashed his knife right down my face as a reminder that people weren’t supposed to fuck with him or his brothers.”

“And what about your friends?” Martin asks.

“Two dead. Two in the hospital for weeks. They had my back, though. That’s what friends do.” Martin looks at Tommy, then back at Francisco. “I told myself I’d never get beaten up like that again, so I started working out, and I stayed the hell away from gangs. I ended up playing drums just as a way to stay indoors when I could. You ever feel scared to leave the house when you were a teenager?”

“I lived in the suburbs. The worst problem we had was people driving too fast while kids were outside.”

“Then consider yourself lucky, bro.”

“I do, man,” Martin says, nodding. “So did you ever track down those thugs and kick their asses or what?”

“Naw, man, at this point they’re probably dead or rotting in prison. They’re not my problem anymore. But you’d better believe it, if they ever come my way again,” Francisco places one hand around his neck, “I’m tearing out their fucking throats.” Martin and Ian have no doubt that he’s serious and fairly capable.

“You three!” An officer points into the cell at Martin and company. “And you,” he says, pointing at Tommy. “You’re all free to go.” He unlocks the cell door.

A wave of relief washes over Martin. “What? How is that possible?”

“It’s basically all Francisco,” Ian explains. “He has Max’s power of attorney while he’s unconscious, and he’s not pressing charges against anyone.”

“You’re not gonna press charges against Tommy? For real? I mean, I don’t want him to go to prison, but it sounds like he wrecked Max.”

Francisco sighs. “It was my job to protect him. It’s my fault he was hurt. I never should have let Tommy get close to him, so when he wakes up, I’ll explain it to him. I’ll take the blame. As for Ian, I already told you that getting stabbed ain’t too bad, man. Adrenaline covers the initial pain, and drugs take care of the rest. I’m feeling pretty good.” Francisco smiles and pats Martin on the shoulder as he walks out of the cell.

As Martin, Ian, and Tommy leave the police station, Martin has a painful realization. “Shit, guys, how are we gonna get home?” Ian and Tommy look at each other, but they have nothing to offer. “Dammit.”

Martin looks at his phone, carefully picking through his list of contacts in order to find a good friend who won’t judge him too much, or at least one that will actually come to pick him up. Then he remembers that he hasn’t seen Hilda in a while, and she has a car.

“Ah, maybe this’ll be our ticket home,” he says. It’s kind of early in the morning, so Martin prays that she isn’t heading to work yet.

“Hello?” she answers.

“Hiiii. It’s Martin.”

“Martin? Why are you calling me so early?” She doesn’t sound too groggy. There’s a chance he didn’t wake her up.

“Well, I kind of got arrested last night-” he starts.

“For what?”

“Uh...I started a fight at Herb’s club. Ian stabbed someone. It was crazy.” To Martin’s left, Ian mimics the stabbing motion and laughs.

“Martin, I don’t have the money to bail you out.”

“Ah, you assume too much. We’re actually free to go home, but all of our vehicles are by the club or anywhere but at the police station. Any chance you could swing by and pick us up, pleeeeease?”

“Well, I do owe you for helping me get my car back.” Martin’s heart leaps into his throat. He looks at Tommy. Uh oh.

“Oh yeah. I had kind of forgotten about that, to be honest. We at least just need a ride to one of our cars so everyone can get returned to their proper vehicle.” Shit shit shit. Martin had forgotten who Tommy was.

“Okay. I still need to get ready, but I can come get you guys before work.”

“Awesome. Thank you. You are an excellent friend.” And hopefully very forgiving.

Hilda laughs. “Alright, bye.”

Martin looks at Tommy and briefly considers calling Hilda back and telling her not to come.

“Fuck,” he says, and Ian nods in agreement. Martin plans on doing his best to ignore the coming catastrophe and just relax for a bit.

Max Enberg Is an Egotistical A-hole

Stupid damn Michelle. Around midday, Martin is mulling over all the reasons for why he usually avoids her and why those reasons abandoned him when he agreed to go out to breakfast with her.

His best hope for money at this point is probably Herb, although he doesn’t want to let go of the idea that Landon Freeman has hidden millions at his disposal. Martin pulls out his cell phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Herb. This is Martin.”

“Martin! How are you? You stormed out the other day before I really had a chance to speak with you.” Oh yeah. Martin had totally forgotten about that little incident.

“Oh right. I was just on my period.”

“Ah, the woman’s curse. I do hope you’ve pushed past that,” Herb jokes.

“Drier than the Sahara down there right now,” Martin continues.

“Surely you didn’t call me to discuss your menstruation. What can I do for you, Martin?”

Hmm. Martin hates the idea of making his financial trouble so obvious, but he doesn’t know a wealth of club owners. “I was just wondering when the next time is that you could squeeze me in for a show, actually.”

“Well,” Herb begins, but he soon follows with a series of hedging noises to indicate his inability to get Martin back on his stage anytime soon.

“It’s okay, Herb. I was just wondering if it would be possible.” Shit, though. Herb was going to really help Martin’s cause.

“I’m sorry, Martin. It’s not that I don’t want to help, but it’s rather terrible business sense to let one person have the stage all the time. I’d love to have you back in a couple of weeks, if that helps.” It would help in the long run, but Martin feels a sense of urgency that he’d like to choke out of existence. Given the brief pause during Martin’s contemplation, Herb adds, “And there’s always another standing offer if you’d like to make some quick money.”

Martin chuckles half-heartedly. “It’s not gonna happen, Herb. I can’t imagine you have any success with suggesting gay prostitution to straight males.”

“Then perhaps you need to work on that imagination.” Landon Freeman pops into Martin’s head. “If it would make you feel better, you can come to the club tonight and have a few drinks on the house. Bring a friend with you and make it a party.” Now that is an idea.

“What do you have for entertainment tonight?”

“A local two-man band, actually. Maximus Shmaximus. No idea if they’re any good, but they’re not asking much. I don’t expect a very a busy night.”

“I guess I don’t have much else to do. Expect me, handsome.”

“I will,” Herb says, and they end their conversation.

At the club, it is clear that Herb didn’t research Maximus Shmaximus the slightest amount. The crowd is so large that a sizable group is milling about outside with some of them even begging for entrance. Herb hired a bouncer for The Hole, though this is the first night Martin’s seen him actually outside and earning his keep.

Tommy is standing a good deal away from the crowd talking to Tess. Martin doesn’t know how Tess can be expected to keep her distance with Tommy keeping a firm hold on her ear.

“Hey Tommy,” Martin says. “Tess.”

“Hello,” she replies coolly. “Not as quiet around here as I was told to expect.”

“Yeah, what is up with this crowd?” Tommy asks.

Martin shrugs. “I guess this band is popular or something. I’d never heard of them.”

“Will we even be able to get in?” Tommy cranes his neck to look at the door. Dave, the bouncer, is commanding a wide area of his own personal space. Thankfully, Martin has connections.

“You bet. Let’s go.”

Tess and Tommy follow quickly behind Martin as he pushes his way down the sidewalk and toward the door. At the front of the line, Dave towers over Martin, all shiny baldness, thick beard, and bulging muscle.

“Oh, hey there,” Dave says, reaching out to give Martin a rough handshake. “Herb told me to expect you.”

“Oh good, that makes things easier for me. These two are with me.” He points to the two sheep in the flock who are his and his alone. “Actually, I might have one or two more coming later. I’ll come out and let you know if I give them a call.”

Dave nods. “Have a good time, guys.” He lets them by, much to the crowd’s disappointment.

Inside, the air is filled with a pleasant mixture of electric guitar and the steady beat of drums. There are no flashing lights, no lasers, no fog machines, just a red-haired guitarist and his Hispanic drummer. Aside from the initial observations, Martin pays no mind to them on his way to the alcohol. Most everyone in the club is too interested in getting close to the stage to pay attention to the bar in the back. Martin’s pleased to see a couple of women are the only customers giving heed.

“Hey Hank, could I get a scotch and soda?” Martin’s known Hank for about as long as he’s known Herb.

“Sure thing, and for you?” Hank looks to Tommy.

“Uh...” Martin begins an internal countdown. When it gets to zero, he’ll have no choice but to glare at Tommy. “I’ll have a gin and tonic.” Phew.

Martin turns to find out Tess’s drink order, but she’s nowhere to be seen. She was just behind him as he entered, he knows this, but now the Countess has managed to vanish into the club scene. Sneaky, sneaky bitch. Then Martin remembers that the Countess knows Herb, so it’s possible that she went off in search of his company.

Tommy sits down at one of the stools to drink his gin, but Martin elects to lean with his back against the bar, facing the stage. The music’s actually quite enjoyable as background noise to his alcohol consumption. He nods approvingly to himself.

“Hey Martin, what do you think of those girls?” Tommy asks with his head down next to Martin’s. The two girls are actually quite attractive, and Martin has an idea of what Tommy wants him to do. He walks over to the closest one, a pale blonde in a green dress, and sits down next to her.

“Hi there,” he says. Martin looks back to Tom, and he’s clearly struggling internally over whether he should follow Martin over or not. The blonde turns to him and looks him up and down, disgusted.

“Who are you?” she asks. It takes a miraculous feat of control for Martin to keep his face from showing his disbelief. He likes to believe that there’s no one else in the world as rude as he is.

“Excuse me. I’m Martin, and my shy oaf friend over there is Tom.” When she looks over Martin’s shoulder, Tommy manages a timid wave. “I was wondering if we could freshen up your drinks for you.” Martin signals to Hank, and he begins preparing new drinks.

“That’s alright, actually. We can pay for drinks,” she says while turning away. This time Martin can’t maintain control.

“Christ, it’s not like accepting a drink from us is signing a contract. I figured that maybe it would be a good deal if we gave you drinks and one of you would just talk to my friend for a little while, but apparently I overpaid.” He neglects to mention that his drinks are on the house tonight.

“Come on, Kayla. F-f-francisco won’t care if they b-buy us drinks,” the blonde’s brunette friend urges. Kayla demurs momentarily, but she relents. The brunette hops down off her stool and walks over to take her place next to Tommy, who looks pleased. Martin turns back to Kayla.

“You can’t accept drinks because you have a boyfriend? Like I care,” Martin takes a sip of his drink.

“Well he’s not just any boyfriend, y’know. He’s that big guy up there banging on the drums,” she says, pointing to the stage. This is the moment when Martin realizes that they’re the band girlfriends or groupies or whatever.

“Ohh, and she’s dating Maximus the firedick?” Kayla looks at her friend and nods.

“I think Sylvia has a fireproof vag or something.” Martin nearly spits his scotch and soda in her face.

“So I’m guessing yours is immune to amoebic dysentery?”

Kayla looks bemused.

“You know? ‘Don’t drink the water.’ Amoebic dysentery is usually why.” She scrunches up her face at the thought.

“No, I don’t think he has a diarrhea dick.” Martin finds himself laughing more than he expected he would given the conversation’s rocky start.

“I’m so happy for you,” he tells her, then notices he’s at the bottom of his glass and asks Hank to get another.

“So what do you do, Martin?” Kayla asks.

“Stand-up comedy. The occasional male prostitution. Sometimes I get paid so people can follow me around all day and take notes about how awesome I am,” he chuckles. “I’m not even joking about the last one.”

Kayla smirks at him. “Or about the second one?” Martin glares at her.

“What do you do aside from open your pearly gates for Francisco Franco?”

“I’m an actress. Sometimes I whore myself out or get paid so my friend will talk to people.”

“Are you a whore just for women?”

“Man, that would be awesome.” She stares off into space.

“Ooh, you know what? I have a friend you should meet. It’s one of my most recent life goals, to introduce him to everyone. Hold on.”

Martin steps away from the bar for a minute and walks toward the entrance to the club. He made a promise to Dave that he intends to keep.

When he walks back in, he stops to see how Tommy’s doing. Most of the concertgoers are starting to file out of the club, but the bar area remains sparsely populated. As he approaches the pair, Kayla’s friend is in the middle of some story about a car accident. Tommy is listening with wide-eyed fascination, causing Martin to wonder what he’s missing.

“So the d-d-doctors said it was a m-miracle I didn’t lose m-more than m-my hand,” she finishes.

“More...than my...” Martin echoes her last sentence, then looks at her left hand. Nothing. Then he looks at her right hand. “Whoa,” he whispers, then more audibly says, “that’s a fake hand.” Tommy smacks him on the shoulder. Martin pouts and rubs where Tommy hit him.

“My apologies, Sylvia,” Tommy says. “Martin’s kind of an asshole.” Sylvia smiles and leans her head back, her body shaking slightly in a silent laugh. That’s when Martin spots a facial oddity.

“What’s up with your hair?” he blurts out. Now Sylvia laughs like a regular person, and Kayla turns to investigate.

“The j-jig’s up, Kayla.” Sylvia pulls back her wig, revealing wavy blonde hair that goes down past her shoulders. Kayla removes her wig as well, showing off shoulder-length dark brown hair. Martin’s jaw drops, and he puts his hands up in front of himself for protection while his neurons explode from the pressure of the illusion.

A pasty white hand claps down on his shoulder as he backs up. “You aren’t bothering the ladies, are you?” a familiar voice asks. Martin turns around to see Max and Francisco coming to claim their women. Max looks to be about six feet and four inches tall, whereas Francisco is Martin’s height but built like a firmly muscled Mexican man named Francisco. A gruesome scar runs down the length of his face just to the right of his nose.

“God no, I was just entertaining them with my wit and charm. The music wasn’t really doing it for them.” Martin figured Max might have a good sense of humor, but he’s met with daggers for eyes. “I was joking, you know. You don’t need to be so angry at the world just because you were born without a soul.” He realizes too late that he’s really not drunk enough to be using this sort of smack talk.

Max pushes him away. “Go be a dick somewhere else, munchkin. You’re not funny.” Not funny? In a fit of rage, Martin throws what he thinks is a decent punch at Max’s face, whimpering at the same time. His hand glances off Max’s cheek without much impact, and then Tommy is off his stool and lifting Max up in the air and away from Martin.

Then Francisco gets involved. In an attempt to show Martin what rage is really like, he rips his shirt off with startling Mexican fury and shoves Martin backwards with tremendous force. Martin immediately trips over his legs and ends up rolling backwards, landing on his shoulders with his feet trapped in the underside of a bar stool.

While still upside-down, Martin witnesses Tommy lift Max over his head and throw him into a group of onlookers, knocking them over and almost hitting Tess and Herb, who have just made their way out front. As Tommy turns around to see how Martin is doing, Francisco hits Tommy in the ribcage with a right uppercut, then throws a left hook into his face, knocking him down. Tess is scribbling in her notebook as fast as she can manage.

“GALILEO!” As Martin is scrambling to his feet to better assess the situation, a shrieking cry comes from the entrance. The crowd has given Ian his own clearing in which to be crazy, in large part because he’s holding a knife.

This night is going nothing like how Martin had imagined it.

Herb heads for the door to get Dave. Ian charges at Francisco.

It’s clear to everyone watching that Francisco is a seasoned brawler, but Ian doesn’t have the benefit of this knowledge. He’s therefore very surprised when Francisco dodges his first slash and then transfers his momentum into a well timed hip throw.

“Are you really okay with this?” Martin asks Kayla. She’s in shock, however, and can only respond by opening and closing her mouth. Sylvia is in a similar state of distress after seeing Max flying through the air.

There’s only one chance for Martin to not get his ass kicked, so he drops to his knees in front of Francisco. “Please stop. I get it. You’re a juggernaut. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt, okay?” Francisco responds with a right hook that lays Martin out flat on the floor. Despite years of drinking, he’s fairly certain he’s never felt so woozy in his life.

The last thing he thinks he sees before he passes out is Ian jumping on Francisco’s back and stabbing him repeatedly in the shoulder, but he hopes that’s just the concussion talking.

Stragglers

$350 is a good start on the remainder of Martin's debt, no question. He's feeling pretty good about the money he's already made off his show. There's still a balance owed, though, and Michelle is seemingly getting curious. The night of Martin's visit to Landon's apartment, he receives a call from his sister asking him to come out to breakfast again, this time at one of her shitty organic spots. This is, of course, a waking nightmare to him, but he acquiesces just because she's his sister.

She asks him to show up at 8:30, and this time Martin is capable of managing that kind of early rise. After all, he knows that this time people aside from his sister are relying on his punctuality. So when Martin shows up to one of his least favorite breakfast spots, Tommy is waiting for him, as well as his sister and the Countess at a distance.

Martin greets Tommy first, then introduces him to Michelle with judicious brevity. As they sit down, Martin realizes he can't order real bacon, and the anger begins to rise.

"You realize it's possible to make organic bacon. You just can't make vegan bacon or vegetarian bacon. Organic is totally possible. It's all in the treatment of those delicious, delicious piggies."

Michelle sneers at Martin, and Tommy seems to also lament the lack of cured pork bellies on the menu, but Martin has no idea if this is part of his act as apprentice or if Tommy really appreciates the salty, savory flavor of good bacon.

"I do realize that, but it's not a matter of taste, Martin. I agree that bacon is delicious, but it's not especially healthy," Michelle replies.

"Not especially healthy for a super strict diet, but it's a certifiably scientific hangover cure. That much is true. As an alcoholic, I should know these things."

Michelle sighs. Tommy smiles.

"So who is this guy, then? Tommy? Is that his name?"

"Yes," Martin replies. Michelle's feigned forgetfulness is more insulting to Tommy than Martin. He can't avoid the possibility that his sister is a bitch. "He's my...student. As much as I find that weird, and I'm sure you find it weird, he is my student. He wants to be a comedian, and I'll do what I can to make it happen."

"I really can't picture you being this accommodating for someone." See! Bitch.

"Oh fuck you, Michelle. I had the exact same thought, and yet I'm going to help him out. And I'm helping the chick who's with us at the same time. Birds and stones."

There's a distinct break in the conversation, then Michelle responds to Martin's claim. "Are you talking about me?" Martin laughs in her face.

"Nope." He turns around and points to Tess, who is sitting a few tables away from them near the door. Tess waves awkwardly at Martin, then takes notes about his behavior. "She's with us too, but she's not allowed to get close. She's paying fifty dollars every day just to not bother me." Martin laughs again, but he's worried that this much revelry will cause the good things in his life to collapse into ruin.

"So you'll help some poor sap tell jokes, but you're making...whoever that is pay you just to watch your behavior? I guess I should expect this kind of chauvinistic behavior from you."

"I'm right here, you know," Tommy points out. Martin can see this little interjection as Tommy's attempt to assert his position as a human being, but he can't just let his sister get away with calling him a chauvinist.

"Sure, you should expect this behavior from me, but that's because I don't see you as a woman. I don’t see any reason to show you my good side.”

“So Tess will say that you’ve been nothing but a gentleman to her?” Michelle waves to Tess. Martin turns around to see a very confused artist, so he swats at Michelle’s hand until she puts it down.

“Why did you want to see me, again?” Better to get back to the matter at hand, Martin figures.

“Have you figured out how you’re going to cover the rest of my bill?” She looks at Martin with low expectations. Tommy follows her look across the table with a similar curiosity about Martin’s finances.

“Is it really that urgent? I gave you everything I made at Herb’s place, and I plan on giving you Tess’s money too. My other means of making money are somewhat secret at the moment.”

“Secret?” Michelle seems skeptical. “Or...”

“Or what?” Martin has no idea what she wants him to admit.

“Or you don’t actually have any plans.”

Martin just shakes his head. “Have faith, sister. The money will flow.”

“Oh, so you can cover breakfast?” She’s trying to call his bluff, but Martin isn’t bluffing at all.

“Hell no. I’m broke right now.”

With that last victory, Michelle leaves Martin alone regarding his financial difficulties, at least until breakfast has ended and they’ve gone their separate ways. Tess shuffles out of the restaurant as Michelle is leaving, making sure to give Martin a decent berth.

As Martin and Tommy get to his car, Tommy hesitates before climbing in. “Do you really have a plan?”

Martin’s eyes are dead as he looks at Tommy. “From now on, can you please just take every question you have and make it into a statement? Then you’ll just seem like a liar instead of a dumbass.”

“What?”

“Of course I don’t have a solid plan yet. Just say ‘You don’t have a plan.’ or ‘You have a plan.’ and wait for me to correct you.” Martin gets into the car and slams the door. Tommy gets in, but his face is screwed up in thought.

“What?” Martin asks.

“You are mean all the time.”

Grr. Tommy follows orders strictly just so he can point out what a dick Martin is. It makes him feel worse than he’d like to admit.

Countess, Part 2: Blank Wombs and the Second Apprentice

Landon Freeman lives in the home of an artist. The space is vast, comfortable, and littered with the debris of a struggling creative soul. Blank canvases sit on easels surrounded by palettes with many different mixtures of paints, inks, and tools Martin can’t identify off the top of his head. He looks around for any indication that a brawny, capable man like Landon lives here. Maybe one corner of the studio seems to contain a jumble of his belongings. It hurts Martin just to think about it.

“What’s with all the blank canvases?” asks Tommy.

The Countess heaves a tormented sigh. “Would you like the short version or the long version.”

“The short version,” Martin blurts.

She smiles at his tenacity. It occurs to Martin that she might think he’s joking, but before he can cut her off she begins reciting the long version of her story.

“You are a comedian, Tom?” she asks.

“Sort of. I am as of today, just not a very good one.”

“Well then, you understand the need of an artist to feel inspired.”

Tom shifts his weight from one foot to another. “How can you really be an artist before you’re inspired? When everyone starts out, we’re all just plain creatures with no title. Then inspiration hits, and we become artists.”

“Certainly that’s one way of looking at it,” she concedes, “but I dare say that someone without an artistic soul wouldn’t know what to do with the most divine of inspiration even if it were shining golden in front of them with a note from God tacked on. These canvases here are for both inspiration and receptacles. If, one day, I feel the need to fill their voids, I can simply grab a brush or whatever implement most pleases me and go about my business. On the other hand, if some other seed inspires me, they can be my womb.”

Tom nods. Martin scowls. “That’s disgusting. You could have gone this whole visit without mentioning reproductive organs,” he says.

She has the gall to laugh at him, which only serves to further unsettle him. “Have I offended you? Have I made you uncomfortable? I figured no topics were taboo for someone like you.”

“Oh, I have no problem discussing dicks and vaginas all day if that’s what people ask of me, just not...”

“Me?” Martin has the sudden urge to run out of the apartment and leave Tommy behind. He’s already said too much, though. It’s time to face the consequences.

“Yeah. We really don’t know each other well enough to talk about things like that.” He has no idea if that’s a good excuse.

“Hmm. I suppose you’re allowed to be different from your stage persona.” She looks at the floor, then turns and beckons for Martin and Tommy to follow her to a sitting area with a couch and chairs.

Tommy leans over a little to whisper. “You’re being kind of an asshole, dude.” Martin waves him away like he’s swatting at a swarm of insects. Tommy pulls back. “Just saying, man.”

The two men take up a good portion of the couch across from where Tess is sitting, looking awfully pleased with herself. She crosses her legs, intertwines her fingers, and leans in toward her visitors. “So, onward to the matter at hand, yes?” She looks to Tommy. “Your question about the canvases cut quickly to a point I was hoping to make later: I am stuck. As an artist, I am stuck. There’s something I thought I had in me that isn’t flowing, and yet the desire to turn these canvases into something beautiful is there.”

Martin stares blankly at her. He can think of a handful of crazy reasons why this might involve him, but he’d rather ignore them than vocalize them. He has no desire to give her ideas.

“And as you know, Martin, Landon and I are fans of your shows. One thing that really blows my mind is that you have all new material every time. Do you have other comedians you work with?”

“No.”

“Then I am duly impressed,” she admits.

“I don’t really do shows very often,” Martin points out.

“Wait,” says Tommy, “you don’t repeat any jokes?”

Martin shrugs. “Maybe I have. I don’t actually keep track of it. But yeah, to the best of my knowledge, I don’t repeat jokes.”

“Jeez. That sounds rough. I think I’d rather work with a stable of solid jokes and just mix in the new stuff.”

“Yeah, well I’ll tell you why I hate that later.” Tommy lets his curiosity subside.

“I don’t mean to seem so obsequious, but you’ve left me quite interested, Martin.” Martin can picture it now, running some kind of artist day school for wandering souls and writers with blocks.

“Look, I already have one unexpected follower, Tess. I’m not looking to share my methods with anyone else right now.” The thought of having to put up with her ceaseless musings on art and inspiration makes him a tad suicidal.

“And I understand that. No offense, of course, but Tom’s unexpected to me as well. I had really figured things wouldn’t have changed much for you in the last week or so.” Martin is flipping her off in his head with such intensity that her torso combusts in alignment with his will, charring her face and causing her eyeballs to bubble and drip out of their sockets. When reality reasserts itself, he’s crushed to find out that it was all a fiction. “But I think it can still work. All that I ask is the opportunity to observe you from a distance. I won’t interfere with your life in the least bit, but I want to understand you. I want to understand what it is that lets you create like you do.”

“It’s weirdos like you and Herb Rollins and Gay Martin and Tammy the Genius.” The Countess seems puzzled. “Well, at this point you’ll probably meet them. Don’t worry about it.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Am I going to get any compensation for this invasion of privacy?”

“What would you like?” she asks. Martin has to wonder if financial compensation would come from her bank account or Landon’s.

“I guess it depends on how long you plan on doing this.”

“Until I understand you, Martin.”

“Don’t you have any other people you could monitor? You could follow Tommy around all the time and still get to observe me every once in a while.”

“Hey now, don’t I get a say in this?” The sound of Tommy speaking startles Martin. He had forgotten he was there.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Why don’t you just let Tess hang around you for a week or so for a trial period.”

“That sounds marvelous!” The Countess is thrilled by compromise, apparently.

“And I’ll want fifty dollars per day,” Martin adds. Tommy laughs.

“Done.” She stands up and presents her hand to Martin. Pleased by the prospect of a few hundred dollars, Martin springs to his feet and shakes her hand.

“But you won’t interfere with my life?”

“Not unless you want me to.” Martin snorts derisively, feels bad about it, then finds himself utterly confused by the sensation of guilt.

“Alright, Tom, let’s get out of here.” He starts to walk toward the door, and Tom follows like a trained hound.

“Wait, how will I know where to find you?” Tess calls after them.

Martin laughs maniacally. “That’s part of your job, lady. My job’s just to keep on movin’.”

In the elevator, Tom can’t help himself. “Did you seriously just ask for money so she could hang out with you?”

“Did she seriously just say yes? Good lord. Everyone is a fucking idiot." This new promise of cash makes Martin feel better for the moment. "Sorry you didn’t get to meet Landon, by the way.”

“That’s okay.”

The door opens on the first floor to Landon Freeman and Herb Rollins chatting in the lobby. Martin’s blood begins to boil. “You son of a bitch!”

“Martin Avery!” cheers Herb. Landon looks upset by the implication of Martin’s anger. Tommy is horrified.

“Whoa, Martin. What’s the problem?” Landon, in his glorious glory, seems genuinely concerned by Martin’s anger. It’s soothing, and Martin finds this frustrating.

“I thought you invited me over to just chill out and talk to, you know, you. And not her,” he says, pointing toward the ceiling.

“Ah, it would seem Martin has a problem with your Countess, Earl Freeman.” Herb has a jolly laugh at his own commentary. At this point, Martin’s mind jumps to the hypothetical scenario in which the two pairs of men get into a fight. Tommy would clearly have to tackle Landon. Martin is just too scrawny to take him on. On the other hand, Herb is, as he describes it himself, “delicate”. Maybe Martin and Tommy could even win.

“Martin, I just figured that you could maybe let her get some ideas to get her started with her painting and your ego would be satisfied at the same time.” Landon is handsome. He’s tall and strong, and the finer details of his look have been determined by the conditions of his travels around the world. He is, in a word, rugged. Beyond this, he is also a beloved public speaker. It annoys Martin to no end that despite all this he remains a really likable person.

“Not to mention he gets a decent payday,” Tommy inserts. Martin shrinks back.

“What?” Landon asks. This mention of money exchanging hands has taken this conversation in the wrong direction. Landon’s surprise makes Martin feel guilty again. This is too much for him to handle in one day.

“Well, we’re gonna head out now. Nice seeing you guys.” Martin pushes past Tommy and walks briskly for the door, heading out into the parking lot before anyone can get a chance to stop him.

He waits in the car while Tommy says his pleasantries to Landon and Herb. Martin doesn't know if he's funny yet, but Tommy is at the very least polite.

Tommy slips into the passenger seat. “What the hell was that about?”

“I’m just having an off day. I feel weird right now, and I don’t really want the Countess hanging around me all day. She creeps me out.”

“And I still don’t get that. She was nothing but nice to you.” Martin recalls flames, eyeballs.

“For the most part. I think she was just being reserved with you around, or maybe she was sober. Last time I had to chat with her, she was saying the most boring shit about aesthetics you can possibly imagine, then she started describing her sex life with Landon in horrible, horrible detail. I know things about that man that I didn’t even realize I could know.” Tommy has to ponder this for a moment.

“That sounds kind of awkward.”

“Yeah? Sounds like the next week of our lives, dipshit.” Martin starts the car as grumpily as he can manage.

Countess, Part 1: Grasshopper

Money is bullshit, at least that’s what Martin thinks. Every man should be entitled to a wealth equal to the work he does for society. Being steeped in debt isn’t helping him appreciate the capitalist pigs around him either. Despite making money at Herb’s club, Martin still owes thousands of dollars to his sister, and while he knows that she won’t complain, he prefers to limit the amount of reasons she has to contact him. Keeping debt-free is one way for Martin to remain Michelle-free.

A name pops into his head: Landon Freeman. Herb had introduced him to Landon and his strange counterpart Tess Carter, “The Countess”. Such a stupid nickname, and yet Landon seemed quite fond of her. Landon is also quite fond of adventuring, archaeology, record breaking, and any other number of Hollywood-level masculine feats. Somehow all of this managed to raise him to the level of mid-range celebrity, and with this status came a moderate level of wealth. Martin is hoping to tap some sweet, sweet Landon Freeman ass.

Not literally, of course, though the rumor is that the smooth talker Herb Rollins has done just that. Herb is suspected of having seduced many straight male celebrities, though to what extent no one can be sure. None of the proposed celebs ever go on to lead anything but a fabulously straight life, and so the rumors remain rumors.

Martin is ready to dig in and see what he can find out, about the wealth, the rumors, and this weird woman Landon insists on retaining at his side. When Martin calls to make good on Landon’s invitation to his studio apartment, Landon is unusually pleased. Martin keeps this noted as he gets ready

Knock knock. Martin leans his head out of his bedroom door and listens. Knock knock. He steps cautiously toward the front door, wondering who might be on the other side.

“Are you gonna get that?” Ray yells. Damn you, Ray.

“I can hear you in there, Martin,” a voice calls out from outside. It’s a male voice, and vaguely familiar.

Martin opens the door. “Hi, Martin. I don’t know if you remember me, but-“

“Tommy?”

“Yeah, ha.” Tommy the repo man is standing outside Martin's door for who knows what reason. He looks a little younger than Martin, but he is taller, wider, and his hair is thinner.

"Why are you here?"

"Well, uh, Rico told me about your show the other night..."

Martin had forgotten that he even mentioned the show to the repo crowd. "Wait, so you went? And you didn't even say 'hi' to me after the show?"

"Yeah! And no." Tommy seems nervous about something, yet still pleased to see Martin. "At first I thought Rico was joking, but I checked it out anyway. It wasn't bad at all. The opener was kind of weak, but I liked some of your jokes."

"Not all of them?"

Tommy seems to purr with hedging noises, so Martin relieves him of his faux pas.

"I'm just joking, man. You're not the first person to tell me I need to work on my jokes." The big guy seems more relaxed now, but Martin has somewhere to be. Martin begins to walk toward his car. "Look, I kind of need to be somewhere. Why did you come to see me?"

"I sort of wanted to ask you about something."

"Shoot."

"It may require some discussion."

"Well, do you want to come with me to see Landon Freeman?" Martin asks, trying to hide how much fun it is drop a name like that.

"The Landon Freeman? World record guy?"

"The one and only."

"Damn, sure."

Martin nods toward the car. "Hop in."

As soon as they head out, Tommy opens up about why he's suddenly back in Martin's life. "I've always had an appreciation of comedy, you know. It's not easy to be consistently funny."

"I think it's genetic or something."

"Really?" Tommy asks. "Were your parents funny, then?"

"Oh god, no. My dad had no sense of humor and my mom wasn't as funny as she thought she was. I'm just assuming that it's recessive."

"Well I like to think I have a good sense of humor, but I've never really had the balls to do stand-up. Scares the shit out of me to just think about it." Martin is suddenly realizing that Tommy had prefaced this trip with the promise of a question, not a discussion of the finer points of comedy.

"So...what did you want to ask me exactly?"

"Right. You're welcome to say no, but I was thinking maybe you could be my mentor."

Before Martin has a chance to stop himself, he's laughing hysterically. He considers being responsible and pulling over until the fit passes, but he doesn't want to be late. When he finally calms down a bit, he realizes he has a legitimate proposition to mull over. "And what about the wonderful world of moving furniture, eh?"

"Kiefo fired me."

"What? Why?"

"I was too drunk to work one morning."

Sigh. "Look, Tommy, there are enough alcoholic comedians. I think we can make do with the thousands we have already without you throwing in your two cents. Just go beg Kiefo for your job or something."

"How did you get your start? Everyone just recognized how naturally funny you are and started paying you?" Screw you, Tommy, but I guess you have a point.

"What the hell would I even have to do as your mentor?"

"I don't know. Show me the ropes? Show me how to write jokes? Let me open a show sometime if I get good?"

"Jesus, Tom. Look, you're not going to make money doing this. I can't support you, and you're going to be doing open mic nights until I actually think you're funny on your own." Martin is surprised to realize how quickly he's accepting this idea, but he doesn't have anything else to do.

"That's okay. If I don't go after this now, I'll just regret it later." Ew.

"Okay, you know what? First big change as my pupil: you need to get it into your head that sometimes it's okay to say 'fuck it'. I mean, you couldn't work because you got hammered. Don't you regret that?"

"Fuck you. That was a rough time for me." Martin doesn't really care what "that" is, so they pass the rest of the trip in unpleasant silence.

When they arrive at Landon's address, the two men are in the middle of one of the city's trendy warehouse districts. Martin knows that this must be at the urging of Landon's Countess, but he can't avoid thinking about Tammy and her idiotic warehouse purchases.

"Damn," says Tommy, "this place is nice." Martin can't imagine what kind of shitty domicile Tommy uses for shelter.

"That's the way people trick you around here. Everything's nice on the outside, but once you dig a little you realize it's full of shit."

"Should I be taking down quotes for your memoir?"

"Shut the hell up, Tom." When Martin reaches the door into the building, he presses the buzzer for Landon’s apartment.

“Hello?” asks the Countess from the other end. Martin wrinkles his nose at her voice.

“Hello.”

“Who is this?” Blech.

“It’s Martin Avery. I’m here to see Landon.”

“Oh! Come right up.” As the buzzer sounds, Tommy grabs the door handle and holds it open for Martin. Landon lives on the top floor of the building, no doubt paying top dollar for a magnificent view and an airy, open apartment.

Tommy and Martin exit the elevator into a strange hallway. The floor is apparently split into two open studio spaces, and they are separated by a thin hallway that spans the width of the building, probably as a fireproofing or acoustic dampening measure. There’s little more space than is required for the doors to open to each apartment.

Martin knocks apprehensively on Landon’s door, then stands back. Tommy gives him a weird look. “You don’t understand, Tom. Lesson two: weird shit happens to me.”

“Okay.”

The door glides inward, and therein stands the Countess, stick thin and wearing a wisp of a shirt, mostly sheer fabric and hanging loosely. She’s also wearing a long, straight skirt slashed up to her hip. Everything about her dress makes Martin uncomfortable. Tommy just smiles and waits like a dumbass.

“Martin! My darling, so good to see you.” She stretches her arms out in front of her, slightly spread in anticipation of a hug. Nothing in her relationship with Martin prior to this would indicate this level of intimacy, but here she is, expecting an embrace.

“Hey, Tess. So uh, where’s Landon? Is he around?” The Countess is unfazed. Her arms remain elevated.

“No, not at the moment. But it’s alright. I told him I could handle you on my own." She leans back and laughs. "You’re here to see me anyhow.”

“Am I?” Uh oh.

“Yes, of course.” Sensing the stand-off between hug and unnatural hatred, Tommy springs forth to save the day. He grabs the Countess around the waist and lifts her up above his head. As he sets her down, she begins to laugh. “Well, who is this animal?”

“I’m Tommy. I’m Martin’s apprentice.” Shh! Damn it. Martin had forgotten that acting as a teacher for this big dope would do little for his prickly reputation.

“No! No, he’s my lover.”

Tess smirks at Martin. “Whoever he is, he certainly knows how to greet someone. Come on in.” The Countess turns and walks out toward the center of the apartment.

Martin raises his fists to the sky and grunts like he’s having an especially difficult bowel movement. His moment of venting passed, Tommy looks to Martin with yet another weird look.

“I fucking told you, man,” says Martin. “Strange, awful shit happens to me.”

“She seems nice, though. She’s been nothing but pleasant.”

“Lesson three: I hate you.”