I'll Have a Bluth Christmas
Gob Bluth is confused. This isn't an unfamiliar state of mind, but it's a new kind of confusing. After three months of fucking a guy, the gay (or whatever) thing is definitely less confusing, but there's also the "do gay people actually have relationships?" thing and the overwhelming dread that all the Bluths are going to find out and Mom and Dad will spend the entire time arguing about whose fault it is that he's gay and Michael will pretend to be encouraging and approving and ugh.
The relationship thing is a big one. A big scary one. Much like your first penis of someone else's during fooling around, it is a big scary living thing that is a lot of work and threatens to explode at any moment and make a huge mess. He's never been good at relationships even before there were penises besides his involved. And politics, and other terrible things.
He grimaces in the mirror as he preens. Lindsay is going to be the worst, he decides, as usual.
"Hey," Tony says cheerfully as he pops his head into the bathroom to check in on him. "How's it going? I found your ugly Christmas sweaters. You want to wear them out?"
Gob pauses. "I have ugly Christmas sweaters? Whatever, fine." He pauses again. "Out? Out where?"
"Christmas in SanFran, Gob," Tony reminds him, and moves behind him to wrap his arms around Gob's middle. He kisses Gob's cheek. "Remember? There's the sexy Santa contest at The Bulge."
"Oh, right, that," Gob laughs off, then just keeps talking so he can get it out. "Uh, my family's... thing. Party. It's today. Tonight. Something. We usually just show up whenever, it's not like Mom hasn't already started drinking no matter when we show up."
"Party doesn't start until Mom's loaded, right?" Tony jokes, and leans his head on Gob's shoulder. "You okay?"
"I didn't prepare an illusion for Bluth Christmas this year," Gob admits reluctantly. He couldn't find a pair of matching legs available on the right date, so it would have to wait for the company party.
Tony makes a face. "Well. I have one or two lying around. It's not a big deal."
Gob makes a face, too. "You said we're not competing."
"We're not," Tony says quickly.
They so are, Gob concludes. He'll have to come up with something quick. If he can find Tony's illusions, maybe he can steal one of them? "Anyway, the party." He looks in the mirror, at him and Tony comfortably together, and balks. "I thought maybe we could..."
Tony looks shocked before he even gets anything out. "You want me to...?"
"Well if you don't want to that's fine, I mean, I don't even want to go," he lies.
"But that'd be kind of like..." Tony hesitates, and it's more than a little dramatic. "Coming out."
"But you've already come out," Gob points out, joking, and laughs, panickedly. "I mean, come on! Everyone knows you're gay."
"Exactly," Tony says. "If I come with you, everyone will know that you're gay, too."
Yeah, that's probably what Tony meant in the first place. Gob's face falls. "Well you don't have to come with me," he starts.
"Yeah, I guess you don't want to come out, I mean, your sister," Tony interrupts.
"Who cares about my sister and her stupid politics, I don't," Gob interrupts him. "It's not like we're boyfriend and boyfriend or - "
"Of course we're boyfriends," Tony says, and Gob's breath catches in his throat. Tony's looking at him the way that women always used to, expectant and happy or something. Gob turns to kiss him, then, to make him stop, and that swell of whatever rises in his chest even after the kiss ends and they linger.
"You want to come with me? It'll be terrible," Gob says, "but - I mean, we couldn't possibly make it worse."
"Don't say that," Tony warns him, with a hint of a smile. "You'll jinx it."
Gob laughs, then has to ask, "Are my Christmas sweaters ugly, really?"
"Hideous," Tony tells him, then kisses him to soften the blow. "I have some business to do before the party - maybe around five we can meet at Balboa Towers?"
"Sounds good," Gob says, and something in his chest flutters when Tony smiles back at him. Maybe he should go to the hospital, it might be something cardiac or something.
"Of course I'm getting a new suit, I mean, come on," Gob says to Michael over the phone while the tailor's measuring him. "It's Christmas, it's the season of giving."
"Not to yourself," Michael says. "You realize that, right? It's not the season of giving to yourself. Also - "
"Don't be a douchebag, Michael," Gob says. "Besides, if you're not gonna give to yourself, who are you going to give to, right? Right?"
"Family?" Michael says. "Girlfriends? Someone besides yourself?"
"I got you a gift," Gob says, annoyed, "there's no need to be a Scrooge. You're so selfish."
Michael sighs. "Is it a gift or is it a trick?"
Gob sighs in response. "They're not tricks, Michael, they're - "
"Illusions, I know," Michael interrupts him. "Is it an illusion?"
"Can't shake your presents, Mikey," Gob says, cheerfully, as the tailor finishes measuring him. "I'll see you at the party. Do you know, has Dad done the booze run yet? I want to know if I have to pick up wine coolers for me and Tony."
There's a long pause, then Michael repeats, "For you and - "
Horror strikes Gob in that instant, inexplicably. "Toni! My girlfriend," he interrupts quickly. "She's coming. She's an actress, she's great."
"Ooookay," Michael agrees. "I'll be glad to meet her. If she wants into the movie, it's definitely possible."
"Not all women want me for my money and famous last name, Michael," Gob says, annoyed again.
"Infamous," Michael corrects. "You meant infamous."
"What's the difference?" The tailor ushers Gob towards the register, and he sticks the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he goes for the company credit card. "Booze run, Mike. Has Dad done it yet?"
"Yeah, Mom sent him out with Buster," Michael says, that irritating weary tone creeping into his voice again. "Can't your girlfriend handle real liquor?" he asks, jokingly.
"My girlfriend, what," Gob laughs off, then upon realizing adds, "no, she can handle her liquor, we just gotta pace ourselves, you know, don't want her too drunk to have a lot of heterosexual sex later tonight, you know?"
There's an even longer pause. "Right," Michael says again. "I'm going to go."
"Merry Chri - " Michael's hung up on him. "Screw you, too," he tells the phone, and looks up at the lady at the register as he pockets it. "Hi, thanks, great suits, by the way, I'm gay, I would know."
"Right," the lady says, completely ignoring that. "Here's your ticket. Your suit should be ready by tomorrow."
He stares at her. "Tomorrow? COME ON. It's a three thousand dollar suit!"
"That's why you'll have it by tomorrow," she says, patiently. "We pride ourselves on craftsmanship."
"How much money do I have to give you to get it to me by tonight?" Gob asks her urgently.
"We close at five," the lady says, eyeing him. "You can come in and check to see how far he's got before we close. Otherwise, you can pick it up tomorrow."
"And even if I give you money you can't guarantee it by five?" It has just occurred to Gob that coming out of the closet unstylishly may be the worst possible scenario.
"I don't take bribes on credit," the lady says. "We have other customers."
"Five," Gob says to her, pointing a finger at her in order to point out the urgency here, and pockets the credit card and receipt. There's wine coolers to buy, and on the way he calls Tony. The phone rings again, and again, and again, and Gob recalls the last time he's waited on the phone for someone he's fucking to finally answer. It had been... the last one, ignoring him because of some kind of family thing.
It is not a pleasant thought.
But he's my boyfriend! He hangs up before it prompts him to leave a voicemail and calls again. Then, again.
He buys a hell of a lot of wine coolers once he's at the liquor store.
Tony is not answering, so Gob goes into emergency mode. There's only one thing he can do when people expect him to show up with a date, and that involves finding a pimp. He calls his former posse members until one of them answers with a What do you want, Getaway? and gets directed to a number in Balboa Towers.
Weird, Gob thinks, but he calls it anyway.
"This is Ms. F of Plan A Escort Service," a woman's voice answers. "How can we service you today?"
Gob pauses. His brain is working, which has always been an uncomfortable feeling, then he puts it all together. "Maeby?"
"No need to sell yourself short, I'm sure we'll be able to help you," Maeby goes on, cheerfully. "First off I'm going to need a name and your credit card number."
It's probably not a good idea to press that he's her uncle or something at this point. If she's actually the head of an escort service, who cares? Better that she doesn't know he dabbles in this kind of thing, because she's like sixteen or something. "My name's G - John... Luth, and I need an escort this afternoon, and let me get that number for you," he says, fumbling for the card.
"Right," Maeby says, obviously amused at something. "Whenever you're ready."
"Also, I'm gay," Gob says, practically compulsively at this point, "so it's not like I'm going to have sex with her or anything."
"Right," Maeby repeats.
"So that means I don't have to pay, right?"
"No," Maeby says. "Whenever you're ready."
Gob looks down at the credit card, appropriately shamed, and starts reading.
The suit is ready. Mostly. He has pants and a jacket, at least, and the vest is stupid, so he's just not going to pay for it. Either way, it's a Christmas miracle, or whatever those Jesus freaks call it. Gob feels great and awesome and totally gay, which is a problem because his boyfriend is basically missing. On the one hand, it's terrifying and he's probably not going to get to come out at all today, on the other, it means it's way easier to steal one of the illusions Tony's been hiding for use at the Christmas party.
The escort meets him outside of Balboa Towers, and he awkwardly shakes her hand as he introduces himself. "Kristi, with an i," she introduces herself, with a thick New York accent you could spread on bagels. "What kind of name is Gob, anyway?"
"It's my name," Gob says, defensive. "Anyway, your name's not Kristi with an i for the next few hours, okay? You're Toni."
"Like a guy in a dress?" Kristi asks.
"No, not like a guy in a dress," Gob says, annoyed. "Like a woman with a pussy."
"But Ms. F said you were gay," Kristi says. "You in the closet or something?"
Gob eyes her with irritation. "Am I paying you to talk?"
"Apparently, you're not paying me to suck cock," Kristi retorts. "Is there an open bar at this thing?"
"Oh, yeah," Gob says. "And I bought wine coolers." He kicks at the box he set down upon greeting her.
"You really are gay," Kristi says. "Come on, let's go upstairs. Are there going to be hors d'oeuvres?"
"I thought you guys called yourselves escorts," Gob says, not really listening, as he picks up the box.
The trip upstairs is awkward until Gob asks her how her day's been, and then Kristi starts to complain about some old guy crashing into her car. She heard a kid crying in the old guy's car before he took off, though, so she figures that Grandpa probably had to take the kid to the hospital. "My car's fucking wrecked, though," she explains, "so I gotta file an insurance claim. They should take away people's licenses when they get too old, right?"
"Right," Gob agrees, and texts Tony for maybe the twentieth time. you ok? No answers. Tony's ditched him. Fine. At least he has a hooker, right? (Maybe she has a dick and he can still be gay.)
Outside of the apartment he tells Kristi to introduce herself around, that she's an actress, she's Toni, and to distract everyone while he sets up his illusion. It mostly works; Lindsay is being loudly annoyingly political as usual, wearing her Politician Pantsuit, and he ignores Michael and Dad in favor of prepping the illusion.
The Mexican guys are in place, and Gob's in Buster's room putting the tape into the boombox when Tobias comes out of the closet.
Gob practically jumps out of his skin. "GOD," he swears. "How long have you been in there?"
"All day," Tobias says, as cheerful as ever. "It's very comfortable! All those sweaters." It's at this point that it registers in Gob's brain that for some reason Tobias is dressed as Elvis Presley. "What do you think, am I a hunk, a hunk of burning love?" He gestures broadly, and does jazz hands.
"God," Gob repeats, really not mentally prepared to try to parse this. Then he snaps out of it. "Were you even invited?"
"No," Tobias says, but ignores that happily. "I thought I'd surprise Lindsay and Maeby! 'I'll have a Bluuuuuuth Christ – " he starts to sing.
"SHH," Gob urges him, and shoves him out of the door. "Yes! Go sing for them. Distract them. Great. Bye!"
"Can I help you with your," Tobias gets out before Gob shuts the door in his face.
Gob sneaks out while Tobias is crooning about having a "Bluuuuu-hoo-hoo-hoo-th Christmas," but trips over a huge wrapped gift in a box about the size of a large dog and swears. "COME ON."
Michael hands Gob a drink as he rubs his knee and complains about wrinkling his three thousand dollar suit. Kristi's over by Maeby, talking urgently and seriously. Gob doesn't like the look of that, but he gets distracted by seeing Buster doing some weird arts and crafts. He's cutting up what looks like paperwork and gluing it all together to make something that looks like a dog ate someone's homework and threw it up on construction paper. "What the hell is that?" he asks Buster.
"You don't get to be mean to me today," Buster says. "I'm on cognitive rest."
Gob is skeptical. "You're on what?"
"He got a concussion," Lucille says broadly, obviously already completely drunk, with a full glass of Christmas spirits in her hand. There's even a reindeer cocktail mixer in there. "Your father doesn't know how to drive."
"I know how to drive, it's just that your son was in my way," George shoots back. "Singing Christmas carols and flailing around like a moron - "
"George!" Lucille cuts him off, appalled. "Don't you talk about my baby that way! He's on cognitive rest! Besides, you know how awful he is on car trips. It's why I've given up on Motherboy forever. What a waste. Buster!" She waves him over and breathes her cigarette smoke into his mouth so he can ferry it over to the door. "Poor thing," she says, more in disappointment than concern.
"Isn't he always on 'cognitive rest'?" Gob says to Michael, but shrinks back on getting a dangerous glare from Lucille.
"Are those children's books?" Michael dares ask, and Gob spots books in a pile thinner than an assistant's legs on the floor by Buster.
"Mother looked on the internet," Buster says, importantly. "I have to do simple things today."
"Okay," Michael says, obviously ready to move on to the bar. "Let's... has anyone seen George Michael?"
"He's busy," Maeby speaks up. "Fake-Block board meeting's running late, he said. Have you all met John - I mean, Gob's girlfriend, Toni?" She grins, broadly, and Gob glares across the room at her. "With an i," she adds importantly.
"Hi," Kristi chirps, and waves.
"She's very sweet," Michael says to Gob. "You're lucky to be having a lot of very heterosexual sex with a woman like her."
"Shut up," Gob warns Michael.
"It's a compliment," Michael says, surprised.
"How do you know Maeby so well?" Lindsay asks, staring at Kristi with a look that reminds Gob entirely too much of her (adoptive) mother. "You two seem... well-acquainted."
"I'm an actress," Kristi says. "I act."
"I bet you do," Lindsay says. "What else do you do?"
"Mom," Maeby interrupts, "why don't you have another drink?"
"A good idea," Lucille says. "Some empty calories would be good for you and your campaign! Either that pantsuit is unflattering and you're gaining weight, or it's just unflattering. Mrs. Claus is here, at least! Ho, ho, h - "
"Mom," Lindsay complains.
"That woman is clearly not an actress," Lucille says to Lindsay, her voice in the closest thing she gets to a stage-whisper. "She's as much an actress as you are a runway model. Gob always has to ruin Christmas with these tacky gestures, doesn't he?"
"Mom," Gob complains, loudly. "I have an illusion to do tonight, it's my gift to all of you."
"HA, I told you," George says to Lucille, triumphant, and gestures a plain gimme. "You owe me ten bucks."
"Take it off the company credit card," Lucille says, blasé . "Or use it for Gob's 'girlfriend,' I'm sure she's turning tricks - "
"They're not tricks, Mrs. Bluth," Kristi interrupts her. "They're - "
"Woah," Maeby cuts in. "Hey, how about some Christmas carols?"
"We need to be quiet," Buster says, testy. "I'm on cognitive rest."
"Well, we need to get in the spirit, obviously!" Maeby says brightly. "Come on, everyone, let's have some food! And more drinks!"
"Is she a hooker?" Lindsay whispers to Gob.
"No!" Gob protests.
"Yes," Michael says. "Yes, she is."
"What's Toni short for?" Lucille asks her, sweetly.
"Nothing," Kristi answers. "Just thought it was a cute name, y'know?"
"A stage name, right?" Maeby prompts Kristi. "Because you're an actress."
"Yeah," Kristi agrees. "I'm an actress, I said that before." She eyes George from across the room.
"You keep dating actresses, Uncle Gob," Maeby says slowly.
"Well, you know, LA," Gob explains away nervously.
"You ever wonder why he keeps bringing actresses to our parties?" Maeby asks Lindsay.
There's a thunk and the sound of tearing wrapping paper and then Tony bursts out of the box Gob tripped over with glitter and confetti flying out around from around him and declares, "Did somebody say 'Wonder'?"
There is dead silence, and Michael says, slowly, "Tony."
"Um," Gob says, hastily, by way of explanation, but Tony is coming over to him. "Hi!"
"Hi," Tony answers, and kisses him. The stunned silence in the room stretches even longer, and then Tony holds up Gob's hand and says, "We're gay!"
"You're gay?" Lindsay repeats, astounded.
"Come on, are you actually surprised?" Michael asks her in an undertone.
"A little," Lindsay says.
"I knew I recognized you," Kristi says, glaring at George. "You wrecked my car!"
"No shouting," Buster chides her.
"And you're the kid!" Kristi points at him, accusing. "How old are you, anyway?"
"Older than you," Buster says, haughtily.
"Oh my god," Michael mutters, pressing his face into his hands.
George gets up, edges past Buster, and goes over to Kristi. "How much money is it gonna cost me to have you not put me back in jail?" he asks in an urgent whisper.
"You can't buy me out!" Kristi argues.
"Like we're gonna believe that," Lucille deadpans, and laughs.
Gob pulls Tony away from the crowd, just slightly, and hisses, "You didn't answer your phone!"
"I couldn't! Elbows," Tony explains, with a helpful gesture. "No room."
"Seriously?" Gob asks. "I was panicking!"
"I can tell," Tony says dryly. Gob feels a pang of something that he vaguely thinks might be guilt. "It's okay," Tony goes on, and kisses him again. "It's Christmas."
"It's Christmas," Gob agrees, and, for once, that doesn't necessarily mean everything is going to be terrible. He holds onto Tony's hand and turns to face the family. "Bluths!" he declares. "In honor of Christmas, Tony and I have an illusion for you - it's going to be a White Christmas!"
"You stole my illusion," Tony whispers to him.
"I'll make it up to you," Gob whispers back, and then he triggers the illusion by turning up the boombox to the highest volume setting to blast "Let It Snow". The Mexican guys in the vents above open the grate and drop the pipe right above the boombox to funnel the snow from the box in the apartment below into Mom's apartment. While everyone is swearing and coughing, Gob and Tony bow and then escape into Buster's room, laughing, kissing, and victorious in a successful illusion's entertainment.
There's a knock at the door, and Maeby opens it without waiting for an indication while they're still making out. "Your credit card was declined," she says to Gob. "You owe me three hundred dollars."
Gob reaches into his pocket and literally throws money at Maeby, who picks it up happily, and he goes back to kissing his boyfriend. No matter what Mom or Dad will say, no matter how Bluth the Christmas, it doesn't have to be a blue one.