Slow Play, Part 1: A Fiery Cockpit

The drive to Tess's apartment isn't especially long. From Vommy's office, it's as simple as hopping onto the expressway and getting off two exits later. Martin isn't expecting it to be an eventful trip, and that's a good thing. He's a bit nervous about confronting someone hell-bent on ruining his life. He's still angry, too, but as far as he can tell, that's not really his problem.

Landon is kind enough to be silent as he turns up the on-ramp. Martin is lost in his thoughts somewhere far away from this car. A loud bang pulls him back.

"Holy shit," says Landon, and he instinctively hits his hazard lights before coming to a hasty stop at the edge of the road that has Martin bracing against the dashboard. A car just ahead of them had careened into the guard rail. Its radiator grill is crumpled beyond repair, the hood folded like an accordion. Landon gets out of the car.

"Where are you going?" Martin shouts after him, but when someone like Landon has their sights set on a goal, the confused yelps of a stand-up comic aren't much of a deterrent. Martin also gets out of the car.

At first, Martin expects to see his life flash before his eyes as the cars on the road whiz past them, but everyone has been kind enough to either stop or slow down to rubberneck as Landon tears off his human costume to reveal the Superman outfit underneath.  Martin joins him at the driver's window. He's just some ginger kid, the driver, and he's all alone in there. Martin can't imagine he's been driving for long.

"I can't get the door open," Landon mutters as he pounds on the glass. The kid's slumped over the steering wheel, but it doesn't look like he's suffered any head trauma.

"Just call 911. They know how to handle this shit."

Another car pulls over behind the accident, a hulk of chipped white paint and rust. A young black woman hustles to get out and over to the car. She begins to take pictures of Martin and Landon. Martin thinks she might be kind of cute if she weren't being weird and annoying.

"What are you doing?" Martin says, approaching her. "Isn't it kinda creepy to take pictures of an accident?"

"I work for the paper," she says, taking another picture of Martin before turning her lens back to the crashed car. Martin doesn't think he likes this sort of journalism, if only because she seems a bit too happy to have stumbled across this wreck.

Landon puts his phone back in his pocket. "Figures that he'd do this right at the midpoint between exits. With the traffic backing up, it's gonna be a while before anyone gets to us."

Martin notices a strange light flickering inside the crashed vehicle. "Dude, what is that?" he asks, pointing.

Landon presses his face to the glass, putting up his hands up to cut down on any glare. "Oh shit," he says. "Shit shit shit." He's gone from impatient to downright frantic as he runs to his car and pops the trunk.

"What?" Martin says, realizing he'll have to look for himself to see what the problem is.

Fire. Fire is the problem. The kid must have been trying to light a cigarette before he crashed, because now there's a small flame burning its way through the middle of his passenger seat. Martin doesn't even hear sirens yet.

"Look out," Landon says. One quick swing of the tire iron shatters the kid's window. "Get ready, Martin." Landon unlocks the door and pulls it open. Martin fumbles at getting the kid's seat belt undone. His adrenaline-charged brain can't seem to solve such a simple problem. Landon pulls him out of the way to do it for him. The lady from the newspaper continues to take photographs instead of helping, a point Martin intends to bring up later. "Got it," Landon shouts, and suddenly Martin is helping Landon pull the kid out of the car and away. The reporter follows them closely, trying to capture the scene from multiple angles.

"Oh fuck off!" Martin yells, and she most certainly grabs a picture of his frustration. He looks to Landon and to the car, still on fire. "Do we have anything to put that out?"

"Not at this point," Landon admits. He looks defeated, but Landon's done more than most people would have by now. This reporter woman has done absolutely nothing. Martin has to make a conscious effort to resist yelling at her more before the police, an ambulance, and later a fire truck finally make their way through the traffic. The car is a blackened skeleton once the fire is doused.

It's another thirty minutes after help arrives before the police let them go on their way. Thankfully the woman from the newspaper is more interested in chatting with the police, paramedics, and firefighters at that point, so Landon and Martin have no problem sneaking away. Landon asks Martin if he still wants to see Tess, but Martin just shakes his head. He's too unsettled by how contagious Landon's desire to do the right thing turned out to be. How can Martin be angry about Tess's book when he's just saved some kid's life?

Landon drops Martin off at his house. Ray isn't around, so the night turns into Martin's typical night in: beer, naked girls on webcams, and streaming television on his computer.

The next day he decides to get coffee from an actual coffee shop instead of drinking the shit he brews at home. He's not hung-over when he orders his coffee, but nor is he fully awake when he picks up a copy of the morning paper.

"Two Men Called Heroes in Expressway Crash" jumps out at Martin. He flips to the continuation a few pages in, and there's an action shot of him pulling the red-headed kid out of the car. There's no mistaking that it's Martin, though the article is mostly about the great and powerful Landon Freeman tacking another medal onto his jacket.

Damn it. This is yet another hit on Martin's scumbag reputation. First the book, and now this? It's like he's forgotten how to be dick to people, how to let idiot kids burn themselves to a crisp after they realize they can't drive and light a cigarette at the same time. But how's he supposed to be a jerk when he surrounds himself with decent people like Landon Freeman? Martin needs sleaze to tarnish this good. Martin needs shitty to scuff up this not-so-bad. Martin needs another ginger, an asshole to make Martin forget what it's like to be nice.

Of all the people Martin could need, Martin needs Max Enberg.

Lair of the Silken Palms

Landon pulls into the small alley parking lot at 1:50 PM. Their appointment is at two o'clock sharp, and neither Martin nor Landon knows what to expect.

"This should be pretty interesting," Martin says. "I can't imagine why he has a secretary."

"You read his website. He's a philanthropist. Maybe that...requires a lot of scheduling," Landon suggests, but signs point to him being just as baffled as Martin.

Turns out that Vommy Bamboo wasn't the hardest guy to find. A quick search of his name turned up the "Vomit Bamboo Foundation", apparently a way for Vommy to use his trust fund wealth and cantankerous spirit for the greater good. Perhaps the Vommy Bamboo videos had just been a convincing act. Even that might be helpful, though.

The building containing his office is neither lavish nor run down. It looks to be home to several office-dwelling entities, from talent managers' offices to other non-profit organizations. The location, at least, is not intimidating.

"Yeah, let's just get in there and see what's happened to the guy," Martin says.

The two men exit the vehicle and enter the building, noting that the foundation's office is on the third floor. Martin tries to get Landon to take the elevator, but he is of course too fit for that.

A nondescript sign marks the entrance to Vommy's office, where Landon holds the door open for Martin to venture forth. Waiting to greet them at a clean, modern desk is a cheery plump woman sitting behind a keyboard.

"Hello!" she beams. "You must be Mr. Avery and Mr. Freeman."

"Uh, yeah," says Martin. "We're here to see...Vommy, Vomit, whatever."

"Mr. Bamboo is ready to see you whenever you're ready," she says. "His office is right through those double doors." Martin looks at the plain doors. Everything's too normal so far. Perhaps the interior of Vommy's office is a terrifying mess.

Inside, a wall of skunky perfume hits Martin like a warm bucket of water to the face. It smells like Vommy has been trying to mask his weed with cheap incense. Martin gives Landon a look of uncertainty when Landon crinkles his nose.

"Gentlemen," says Vommy Bamboo in a lilting trill.  His hair is short and dark, just like his beard. Silver-framed glasses sit high on his nose. He is wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants, carrying his signature ukulele, and a large iguana rides across his shoulders. "I'm so happy to see neither of you is black."

"What?" says Martin.

"Have you ever touched dicks?" Vommy asks.

"Have we..." Landon starts.

"Touched dicks," says Vommy. "Have they touched?"

"Not recently," says Martin.

"Hmm. I guess that will have to do," says Vommy. He shakes hands with Landon, then with Martin. After releasing his grip, he runs his fingers down the side of Martin's face. They're disturbingly soft, like the hands of a eunuch. "Please have a seat."

He points to a leather couch opposite his armchair. There's no desk to be seen, but there is a low coffee table in the middle of the seating arrangement. It seems odd to Martin that there are several other doors leading out of the "office".

"You are welcome to one doughnut or one danish and a cup of coffee." Martin notes the two mugs with a small pitcher of creamer and a bowl of sugar. There are also two plates with one of each baked good on them. Martin wonders what Vommy would do if he ate both, but he doesn't feel like testing this man.

"So Mr. Bamboo," says Landon, taking a sip from his coffee and picking up his doughnut, "do you know why we're here?"

"No," says Vommy. His fingers pull out a pleasant tune from the ukulele while his iguana swings its tail.

"Okay," Martin says. "Well, you've probably never heard of me--"

"Nope!" Vommy blurts out. He laughs to himself as he continues playing his song.

"Right," Martin continues, "but I saw your videos a long time ago, right around when I was moving here, and they became a source of inspiration for me." Martin wasn't going to touch the food, but his pastry is starting to look delicious.

"I can only imagine what sort of dull imagination you must have," Vommy says. "Would you boys mind if I touch myself a bit?"

Martin is caught completely off-guard, but Landon is mentally present.

"A bit," he says. "I think that would be a bit traumatizing for Martin."

Vommy snorts his disapproval.

"Anyway," Martin says, trying to keep a grip on the reason he's here in the first place, "I don't really know how busy you are these days with this foundation, but if you have any tips on being a jerk, I could really use them."

"For what?" Vommy asks.

"This woman is publishing a book about me saying that I'm really nice at heart, and that will ruin the reputation I've cultivated. How can I convince everyone that I am truly a bad person?"

"I don't know," Vommy says, staring at nothing in particular. "You could marry a black man. That would be the ultimate middle finger to society."

"Sure, sure," Martin says, hoping to move away from the bigotry, "but what about something that doesn't involve reshaping some of my major characteristics? I'm not, y'know...gay."

"Look, you're the one who's trying to be a jerk. I don't want to give you advice anyway. You're just trying to take my routine." Vommy stops playing his ukulele and stands up. "If you think I'm such an asshole, then why would you think I'd help you? That's absurd."

"Point taken."

"If you need help, go get it somewhere else," Vommy says, trying to push his glasses up his nose even though they haven't slipped. "That's not what we do around here."

"We? You and your secretary?" Martin asks.

"What exactly does your foundation do?" asks Landon.

"That, I'm afraid, is none of your business." Vommy walks to the double doors and opens one, standing to the side. "I'm going to have to ask you boys to leave." Landon just finishes his doughnut, and Martin decides now is the time to take both options and split. He makes no attempt to hide his theft from Vommy and walks out just behind Landon.

"Do you need another appointment?" asks the secretary.

"No, that's quite all right," says Landon. "Let's go."

As they're walking back down the stairs, it dawns on Martin that he still doesn't have a plan to keep his life from imploding.

"Any ideas for a Plan B?" he asks.

"It may not be your idea of a plan, but we could just talk to Tess, see what she has to say."

Martin sighs. "You really are always right."

Think Tank (Pt. 2)

After a brief stint of pacing across Ian's living room with his head down, Martin looks back up to the concerned faces of his audience. He is just now impacted by the image of friends and acquaintances looking at him with anticipation, all gathered here for his benefit. He is still confused by some of the faces, though. It is odd to see Max Enberg eating a hastily assembled cold cut sandwich in a room that is so familiar to Martin. He still has no idea why such a welcoming spread of food was put out.

"So...is there some kind of speech planned?" Tammy says. Everyone's heads turn from her to Martin.

"Yeah," Gay Martin adds, "I still don't get why we're here." Ray voices his agreement as well.

"Okay," says Martin. "It's pretty clear that Ian didn't follow my instructions at all, so let me start again from the beginning. Tess Carter is trying to ruin my life."

"Who's that?" asks Francisco.

"She's uh, hmm." Martin had forgotten that not all of the people he wanted here were familiar with the Countess, and there are also people here who never should have been invited.  "Landon here," he says, pointing, "used to date her. At some point she decided that I am really interesting and that it would be a big adventure to dig into my psyche and see what she could find."

"I'm guessing she found an asshole," Gay Martin joked.

Martin sighed. "The problem is that she claims she didn't. And she wrote a book about it."

"What?" says Leanne. "Are you telling me she wrote a book about how nice you are?"

"Yes," said Martin.

"No way was she telling the truth," Leanne snorted.

"I might not agree with her opinion, but from what I've heard, everything she talks about in the book objectively is one hundred percent true."

"You're kidding me, right?" says Max. "Someone's writing a book about you. They're putting you in a good light. You're really upset. Do you not see the disconnect here?" Apparently Max has no desire to get on Martin's good side.

"But I have a reputation! Look at Francisco," Martin suggests, "someone who could easily rip me in half. He's one of the nicest guys I've ever met, and I bet he'd rather people not know that."

"I'm okay either way, bro." Francisco shrugs. "Someone comes at me thinking they're gonna have an easy time because I'm nicer than I look is still gonna have a pretty bad time." Martin puts up his hands as a sign of deference for forgetting that Francisco was superhuman.

"That works for you, but what if someone hears about me from this book and tries very excitedly to get me to sign it for them? In that case I should just scream and start punching them?"

"If you wanna be an asshole, just ignore them," says Francisco.

"But then they think it's just my crunchy outer shell and all they have to do is work a little harder to get to my soft nougat center. Do you not see the problem with this? I can't live like that."

"What exactly do you propose we do about it?" asks Leanne.

"I was kind of hoping you'd help me with that," Martin admits. "The first thing that comes to mind is silently getting rid of Tess, but that's not really feasible or morally acceptable."

"You could always beat her to the press," says Landon, this time crunching on a meaty celery stalk.

"Meaning what?"

"Before her book comes out, do something publicly that proves you are, to the core, little more than another city-dwelling asshole. Go back to your roots from when you first decided you wanted to become a comedian."

Huh. Good old Landon Freeman is onto something here. Before Martin had moved to the city, he had enjoyed a couple of videos on the Internet made by a guy who called himself Vommy Bamboo -- a name that was never explained -- ranting about anything and everything he could think of, most of it highly politically incorrect. Some of it was just oddly humorous, though, like Vommy's predilection for the ukelele, which he would strum throughout his videos. He also felt society was judging him too harshly for taking good care of his hands. Vommy went over, in detail, his moisturizing routine for each finger, ending with "And if that's too much for you, then fuck you. I love my hands."

"That gives me a great idea, I think. Either that or a really, really terrible one."

"What's that?" says Landon.

"I may need all of you to help me eventually, but in the interest of getting back to my roots, I need to go pay a visit to Vommy Bamboo."

"Who the hell is Vommy Bamboo?" says Leanne.

"Exactly," says Martin. "I think, if my judgment is correct, that Vommy Bamboo is a tremendous asshole."

Think Tank (Pt. 1)

Such a familiar sight, and yet Martin is nervous. He needs everyone to be on board if he's going to maintain his dignity.

Martin knocks on the door, such a familiar sound. The door opens just a crack, and inside, the house is dark.

"Password?" says the guardian.

Martin furrows his brow. "I...have no idea."

After a brief pause, the door opens wider. "That is correct." Ian flicks the lights on, and everyone behind him groans at the sudden change in brightness. It's late, and their eyes were probably tired already. Martin charges forward, lifting Ian in a firm bear hug. "Okay, that's enough, sailor," Ian hisses through his crushed ribs. Martin sets him down heavily and looks around the room.

On the couch, the occupants from left to right are Gay Martin, Ray, and Leanne. Standing around the room are an unidentified yet familiar woman, Tammy the Genius, and an unidentified man.

"Ian, who are the extra people?" Martin whispers.

"Oh, that's Leanne's sister and Tammy's husband. I told everyone they could bring guests if they wanted."

"What? This was supposed to be a private meeting."

Ian looks as though he's just heard a good joke. "Ohhh. I totally thought you said 'friendly party.'" Martin shakes his head.

He then steps forward, away from the door. "You all know why I've gathered you here tonight," he begins. Ray raises his hand.

"I have no idea what's going on right now," says Ray. Martin lowers his face into his hands.

"Yeah," echoes Leanne, "I'm kind of confused. Ian told me we were gonna burn some things."

"Ian just told me to bring a tray of snacks and some drinks," says GM. "He said we were going to play strip solitaire."

"I don't even know who you are," says Leanne's sister.

"I tried to brief her on the way over," Leanne offers, "but she still didn't see why she had to come."

"Well," says Martin. "I mean...she didn't. I don't think Ian told you guys anything he was supposed to."

Landon Freeman enters from the kitchen carrying a plate full of vegetables and dip. He looks around at the people greeting his entrance with silence. "What?"

Martin looks wildly back and forth between Landon and Ian. "And why the hell did you invite him?!"

"There's a device in my brain that translates every rational thing you tell me into whatever the hell I want it to be," Ian replies. "Like, just now, you asked me why I invited him, and as I was coming up with the answer, my brain kept whispering 'I think I'm gonna go get high.' and 'Unicorns are amazing.'" As he said this, Ian was slinking off toward the kitchen with no shame.

"Martin, you don't understand. I'm not the bad guy," Landon insists. "I know why you're upset, and maybe you'll be happy to know that Tess and I are no longer together." He crunches through a celery stalk, chewing pensively while he gauges Martin's reaction.

"Did you know what she was doing for her book?"

"Nope," Landon replies, and this time he pops a baby carrot into his mouth.

"Okay," Martin relents. "You're a good man, Landon Freeman." Landon nods in agreement.

"I have asked for some of you to be here tonight because I need help," Martin announces. "I am being slandered in a new book by Tess Carter. She wants to claim that I am a decent and intelligent person living some kind of life-affirming human experience in the middle of the city, and that's neither true nor good for my career."

The door opens behind Martin. He turns around to see Francisco Panza, and behind him is a tall man in a wheelchair.

"Hey, bro. Sorry we're late," says Francisco, and he reaches out a hand to shake Martin's. Martin has no intention of denying Francisco anything, but then his attention is turned to Max Enberg.

"Uh, hey. How's it going?" Martin greets him. Max punches Martin in the stomach, though not hard enough to drop him.

"I'm all right," says Max, and he follows Francisco into the room with a gentle push of his wheels.

"There are snacks in the kitchen," Landon tells them, pointing the way.

"Hey, when they come back, can you start over?" Ray asks. "I'm a bit lost."

Martin holds his stomach, looking around the room. This is not going according to plan.

"Ian!"

Black to the City

Ring. Buzz buzz. Ring. Buzz buzz. Martin picks up his phone.

"Dude, I sent the check out already. Just have patience."

"Right," says Ray, "but the rent was due last week."

"I don't control when the rent is due! You fix that," Martin hisses, then he angrily taps his phone's screen to hang up on Ray.

His parents have been as accommodating as always, and this chance to hide has proved itself a welcome break from all things to do with the city except for Ray. Ray is being a dick. For five months Martin has sent a check for his half of the rent on time, and the one time he's late, Ray begins to call him every day to remind him that he's late. Seriously, what a dick.

Money has become less of a problem for Martin, but at the same time his comedy career as he knew it has all but evaporated. Without Herb and The Glorious Hole, he realized that he was a nobody. He wasn't a famous comedian. He was just a club regular, and that sucked. It wasn't good enough.

So instead of working to get gigs at other places, he moved in with his parents, but only temporarily, that's what he told himself. His parents didn't allow alcohol in the house. This made getting himself righted and back to living in the city remarkably urgent. Martin had been able to score a miniscule bag of pot from a wannabe white gangster up the street, but in the end he had paid too much for a product that didn't live up to its description.

Now he was neither high nor drunk, just staring at the different documents and websites open on his screen. Martin had managed to grab several freelance comedy writing jobs that paid very little but were highly rewarding in terms of exposure. Coupling this meager income with most of his expenses removed by parental housing and a strict alcohol policy, it was pretty easy for Martin to make rent these days. He had even chipped in a few bucks toward paying back Michelle, though they had begun to talk less and less after he escaped the city.

The third ghost that had haunted him all the way from the city was Tess trying to apologize and tell him that she wouldn't follow him around anymore, but he said very little back to her and what he did say was harsh. Landon never came to her defense.

"Martin, what do you want for dinner?" Martin's father yells up the stairs, and though most people say his dad looks like Morgan Freeman, he certainly doesn't sound like him. This dinner question is the nightly struggle, even though his mother usually has something planned. His father is too meek to remind her of this, however, so he asks Martin for a suggestion.

"I'll just eat whatever Mom's making!" Martin yells back, and he can hear his Dad trudge away from the stairs. Whether or not this answer is satisfactory is beyond Martin's scope of knowledge. It's certainly satisfactory to Martin. His mother has been in the kitchen all her life, inheriting generation after generation of recipes and techniques from a proud line of Southern black women. In short: when you eat a meal of hers, it stays eaten.

In a few minutes, Martin's polished off another small article, and this means another paycheck. Glorious. He's also under the impression that having fans on the Internet isn't such a bad thing. Maybe he can get a proper turnout when he's on stage now.

Dinner ends up being another of his mother's extravagant feasts set out for twenty people despite a guest list of three. Martin watches his parents eating silently as he takes a couple of bites of everything. It's all delicious, but it's too rich for his skinny frame.

"So Martin," his Dad starts, "how's the writing going?" Okay, maybe he does look a little like Morgan Freeman, but his eyes are too sad. Martin's father looks like a weathered man, like a coastal rock face that's had the ocean bearing down on it for as long as it can remember, and while it may not look different to you, you're certain it's changed.

"Just finished another piece, actually," says Martin. "I'm hoping I can get a few more done this week. If I can get some more regular publication then I'll probably head back into town and try writing from there."

"No need to feel rushed," says his Mom. "You can stay here as long as you'd like."

"No, I know. I just want to get back there at some point. Might as well have a goal." He wants to say his Mom looks like an older Queen Latifah, but for some reason that seems racist to Martin. He really has no idea where to draw the line. Martin is reminded of Kiefo for a moment, an odd memory to be cropping up now, but hey, the guy's black.

"Maybe you should write a book," his Dad says, just like he's said every day since Martin told him he was trying out written comedy.

"Yeah, maybe."

"Or you could try writing for the newspaper," his Mom suggests. It's more practical, but it still has nothing to do with his writing.

"That's true. I'm probably just going to do more stand-up, though."

"When do you think we could come to one of your shows?" asks his Mom, and Martin is choked by the guilt. They always ask when they can go to one of his shows, but he doesn't like the idea of swearing and talking about sex in front of his parents. Martin can see the shame and anger they'd feel after he accidentally makes some fantastically racist joke just before remembering that they're in the audience. They've raised him and given him a home. He doesn't need to remind them that they're a different ethnicity. "Your sister must go to your shows sometimes, right?"

"Michelle? Yeah, she goes every once in a while, but I don't really tell her when the shows are. It's really not a big deal, y'know. Just a hobby."

"I'd still like to go sometime."

"Alright, well I'll try to let you know when I've got something good coming up after I get back to the city. Maybe I can get a good time slot in a grocery store parking lot." When his parents laugh, Martin feels a lot better. If he focuses on his goals, everything is right in the world.

"Oh, I read about your book," says his dad. "Saw it in the paper."

"What?" Martin's father can be a bit...forgetful sometimes, but this is confusing in that it sounds like a new topic. "What book?"

"The one about you," says his father. Martin sits up straight. "By someone named Jess something."

Martin had assumed. He had made an ass out of him and himself. When Tess stopped bothering him, that should have been the end of it. She didn't pay him anymore, she didn't follow him, and there was nothing to write. What could she have written?

"Tess," his mother corrects.

"Oh right, Tess. She called us a while after you moved back here, asked us some things about how you were growing up."

"No," Martin says, standing up. She had sidestepped him completely, and his parents were much, much too kind.

"Well the book's about 'Marcus Ivory', but we'll know it's you," says his Dad, still happily eating.

"Excuse me," says Martin, and he runs upstairs to his computer, quickly typing in the fake name along with Tess's. The book is simply titled The Comedian. Not bad so far. Martin looks for the synopsis, but he's distracted by a video that automatically plays on the book's website.

"We're here with Tess Carter, author of the new novel The Comedian. Hi, Tess."

"Hi."

"This book is fairly remarkable just for some of the stories you've come up with, but I'd say that disbelief gets ratcheted up a notch when you say that this is all true, that's it's about someone you know."

"It is, though. The names have all been changed--"

"Except yours."

"Well right, except mine and Landon's."

"Landon's, yeah."

"But I was there for a lot of this or I talked directly to people who were there, so I'm willing to go out on a limb and say this is at least ninety-nine percent true."

"That's bold." The interviewer and Tess both laugh.

"It's pretty close."

"And your main character, Marcus, he's an interesting guy. A young white boy and his sister are adopted by a black family, then he moves to the city and lives under the radar as a mildly successful stand-up comic."

"Right."

"And you say a number of times in the book, well, excuse my language, folks, but he's an asshole."

"He is, and he'd admit it."

"And you also say he admits it because that's the reputation he wants."

"Exactly, see, this whole experience started when I just thought he was an interesting person. I wanted inspiration for my art, normally paintings, and he seemed to stir up something in me that I can't quite elaborate on. I figured it would be worth my time to learn more about him, and in doing so I found out that he's quite different than how he appears most of the time."

"He's a good guy, you mean?"

"More or less." Oh no.

"Like this one time he repossessed his friend's car and then borrowed money to get it back for her?" Oh no.

"Yes! I couldn't believe that when I first heard it. Everything about him seemed to rub the wrong way, and yet people loved him. I knew there was something about him I wasn't seeing."

"And he's generally a sensitive guy?" Oh no.

"I don't know if that's the right word. He's a human being, I guess. That's more obvious with some people than it is with others. He hides it well, or at least he distracted me from it for a long time. This is a man, though, who grew up without his biological parents, then he and his sister graduated near the top of their classes in high school. He graduated Summa Cum Laude from an Ivy League school after she graduated from a prestigious business school. Then he decided that his best bet was to follow his dreams and be a stand-up comic. His sister works in the financial district. In some ways, I think that's the thing I find most inspirational about him. He followed certain societal expectations for a long time in his life, but when it came time to actually make a living, he did exactly what he wanted. He lives in a cheap house with a roommate, he drinks too much, and he can seem very heartless sometimes, but I think that in the midst of all that he is still a great person, not in the sense that he's good for everybody else, just in the sense that he is exactly who he wants to be." Oh fuck.

Martin pauses the video and stares wide-eyed at Tess's stupid face. She knows everything. He needs to get back there, back in the city to clean this all up. Martin had a reputation, after all, a small one, but it was growing and growing exactly how he wanted. Tess is set to nuke that reputation with a poorly masked tell-all that has no reason to exist except for her own idiotic whims.

Martin grabs his phone and flips through his contacts.

"Hello?"

"Hey, this is Martin. I need you to get ready for my homecoming, because you and I have some serious brainstorming to do, okay?"

"I'll set out some bowls of lightning and clouds. Maybe some cats and dogs or something." Ah, "brainstorming". And "raining cats and dogs".

"Wait wait. I thought you didn't like animals."

Ian snorts into the phone. "Just the ones that come out of my brain, dude."

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.”