One Thing Leads To Another
Tom Sez: This is it, folks. The big finish. End of the line. Last roundup. Curtains. Show's over; nothing more to see. Don't forget to take all belongings with you. Please pass your trash to the attendant. Down the aisle and left for the exit, right for the restrooms; concession stands are closed, sorry for the inconvenience. Hope you enjoyed your stay - come back and see us real soon. Blue skies, green lights. You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here. We know you have a choice when you travel - thanks for flying with us today. And remember, wherever you go, there you are.
Tom Also Sez: All y'all - yeah, alls y'alls - are cordially invited to get yer freak on in the VIP lounge/post-script. That's right - an after-party where the guest list includes you, O Kind Reader! Announcements in there, plus a live DJ to assist you in shaking your various groove thangs (subject to availability; management not responsible for accidents or injuries; no refunds or exchanges), and a no-cover cash bar (prohibited in all Earth-bound areas due to multiple zoning regulations)!
Now let's get rockin'...
Claimer-dis-ay: GA. Not mine. Never will be.
TEN
George cringed a little as he crossed the threshold into the ballroom, Callie on his arm, and not just because of the awkward drum cadence in the CoverBoyz mangling of 'Freeze Frame'. He'd put his foot down just right - or maybe that was just wrong - and his shin reacted by reminding him once more that he really shouldn't have done it like that. He tried to cover his pain, but his voice was nothing but a squeak as he asked, "So how did you find me?"
Callie noticed the tone, and the hitch in George's giddy-up, and his tightened jaw. "Burke," she replied, then said, "Something's wrong," her eyes searching his.
"No," he literally lied through his teeth.
Her eyelids turned to slits. "Sit," she commanded, pointing to one of the cushy folding chairs that seemed so conveniently placed.
"You look amazing," he said as he lowered himself into the chair, and finally had a chance to take in her dress - crushed black velvet, off the shoulder with a satin silver trim across the top of her bustline, likely designed to highlight her voluptuousness. And it was working on George O'Malley. Boy, was it ever. I mean, mission freakin' accomplished.
"Roll up your pant leg," she said. He followed orders. She rolled her hips a bit as she adjusted her dress to take a knee without scuffing the skirt, and studied his purpled shin. That bit of action made his pulse jump a couple beats. "Holy cats, O'Malley," she whistled. "How'd you manage this?"
As he watched her parse the bruised skin and bone, he realized that she'd changed from Callie, Regular Woman, into Doctor Torres, Ortho Resident Extraordinaire, right before his eyes. It was really rather hot. "I was frustrated at someone," he said.
"Stevens?" she asked, absently. She looked up at him. "I heard she ditched you."
George frowned. Callie had just poured a bucket full of ice onto his ardor. "Uh, yeah. Who - "
Callie snorted. "Karev. Yang. Grey. You know, the usual suspects." She shook her head as she looked back down at his injury. "You should have an ice pack on it. Stay off your feet." She looked up again and gave him a smirk, one that said that she was thinking of a couple different and delicious ways to accomplish that.
"That's what he should have done," a familiar voice piped. "But nooooo..."
George looked up to see Jillian - stunning in shapely black satin, but a bit unsteady on her feet - behind Callie. "Oh, boy," he mumbled to himself. He could tell by the expression on the old flame's face that this was not going to be a pleasant conversation.
Izzie caught a few disbelieving glances. A couple of smiles. One sad head shake. And none of it matter a whit to her. This was perfection. She felt a plume of joyful anticipation mushrooming through her. Tonight was the night she redeemed herself in George's eyes. Tonight, she was balancing the scales in their friendship. Tonight, he'd see. They'd all see.
She caught herself about to hop from the sheer force of the adrenaline shooting through her, and had to grab on to the elevator hand rail to keep earthbound. She was all giggly and nervous and her insides felt all - what was that ten-dollar word for 'bubbly'? George'd know, she thought.
Effervescent, the George-voice in her brain revealed. Like champagne. And he was right.
The elevator dinged again, and people exchanged positions...some off, some on...
This car had stopped every floor...and she was beginning to see in her mind's eye that the numbers behind her had grown...
They weren't getting off...and there was nervous conversation going on behind her...growing chatter, in whispered tones...the occasional puffs of asthma inhalers...
Izzie began to sense the cold shiver of paranoia creeping up on her...feeling eyes on her...beady, squinty, laser-focused eyes on her...
...and that's when she felt the tap on her shoulder...
"Hey..." an adenoidal voice said.
Izzie didn't look. "Yes?"
"You're George O'Malley's girfriend, right?"
She felt a bark escape her throat, like she was consciously trying to deny something that she subconsciously knew to be true. That disturbed her a little. "No," she said. "Not his girlfriend. Just his friend."
"Oh." The voice was disappointed. "You know what we're gonna call you?"
Oh, God, Izzie thought...that's where she recognized those eyes from...they'd stared at her all last night...the half-dozen of them...
...the Nickname Boys...
...and she was surrounded...
CoverBoyz started to ruin everyone's fond memories of 'Ballroom Blitz' as George tried to roll down his pant leg as quickly as he could without feeling too much of a groan from his battered shin. "Jillian Martin," George started as he hoisted himself from the chair, "this is - "
"Callie," Jillian finished.
"Yeah...how - " Callie said.
"So you're the lucky one," Jillian said.
"Sorry?"
Jillian's limbs seemed a bit loose and swung at her sides. "He dedicated The Song to you," she said with a wavering smirk.
"The Song?" Callie turned to George for help.
George wore a sickly smile. "Please don't ask."
"He dedicated it to me once too. On prom night," she said, wiggling a finger wave to him. "Remember, Georgie? It means he really likes you. Likes you-likes you. You know?"
Callie's eyebrows arched a bit. "Riiigghht..."
"'Cause he liked me-liked me. And I pretty much blew that all to hell." Jillian's face darkened and brightened in the middle of the same thought. "And since the lovely blonde Doctor Izzie is only - izzieizzonlyizzonlyizzieonly - ha! Makes my mouth all tingly..."
"Jillian?" George asked.
"George," she replied. "Where was I? Oh, yeah. Since. She. Izzzzz. Only. His close, personal friend. Just like I was...once upon a mattress...or was it twice...no! It was three times. And a half. Not his fault, by the way...he just wore me out..."
George O'Malley had never really wished for his own swift and terrible death until this moment...but he'd never really needed to...
"...and since she's not here - right, Georgie?"
Please be done talking, he thought, as he felt more sweat beads forming on his hairline. "Uh - mm - yes."
"Then you win the O'Malley lottery," Jillian said, giving Callie a chuck on the shoulder that seemed a bit less than friendly. "Congratulations, enjoy your prize. And I mean enjoy." She winked. "I'm not eligible anymore. Engaged. To a millionaire. But - Callie - may I call you Callie? It's such a pretty name. For a - " She stopped for a second and took a long look at Callie. "Wow - you really are gorgeous. I can see why George likes having sex with you."
"Jillian?" George asked, his voice up a few notes.
"Yes, love?" she replied. "And he is a love, isn't he? Does he do that thing with you where he swirls - "
"Jillian!" George snapped, noticing Callie's eyes turning to daggers.
She looked startled for a moment, then giggled. "Oh. I guess that means no, huh?"
George hooked a hand under Jillian's elbow and ushered her away from Callie, just in the nick of time.
"Are you okay?" the pinched voice continued. "You seem all jittery."
Oh, God, she thought, she was jittery. George had warned her...'get away...get away quickly'...but there was nowhere to go except deep into a corner. She fixed her eyes on the elevator buttons. "Not - no. I mean, yes. I'm okay."
"Good. 'Cause I get nervous myself in elevators. Sometimes I pass out. Not all the time - "
Another voice interrupted. More condescending, this one. "Settle down, Woody. Hey, you wanna guess what we're gonna call you?"
She swallowed hard. "No," she said, trying to laugh but finding it nearly impossible.
"Guess," he said. "Guess what we're gonna call you."
"No," Izzie repeated, trying to remain polite. "I'm no good at that kind of stuff."
"Go on," the one called Woody replied. "It's okay."
Izzie felt her jaw tighten. "Why don't you just tell me? Just tell me."
A long silence. Then, from Mister Condescension: "Guess."
"I don't know," Izzie groaned.
"Come on, guess..." Woody whined.
"I don't want to guess," she hissed. "I don't want to."
Another long silence. Then just as Izzie was centering herself again, a "please?" was whispered way too close to her ear.
"No!" She spun on them, her being aflame. She turned her eyes on all of them. "Listen. Fellas." She was spitting fire. "Tell me. Just tell me what you're gonna call me and let's get it over with."
The sextet was in a silent shock, cringing and cowering just a bit, which was perhaps a defense mechanism, or, more likely, a total lack thereof. Either way, they were clinging to life by their fingernails.
She took them all in. These were awkward men, who had previously been awkward boys. One of them appeared to be dressed as a character from "The Matrix", another wore what appeared to be full Star Trek dress uniform. She glowered at them, then turned back around.
Woody found his voice again. "Well," he huffed. "We were gonna call you Doctor Nice-n-Hot, 'cause you we thought you were nice and - um - you're also hot...but now...no..."
"Yeah," the Condesecender said. "Now we're gonna call you...uh..."
Much whispering was followed by Woody calling out "Grumpzie..."
...which was matched almost immediately by Condescender's shouted "Grizzie..."
Woody sounded ticked. "No, no...Grizzie? That sounds like 'grizzly', and that's our mascot, Goofus."
Condescender's tone was...well... "Yeah, like anyone's gonna confuse her with the mascot."
Soon the group was split fairly evenly, and the voices were cacophonous. It didn't matter who was speaking, they were all just voices pinging around the atmosphere of their own world. "It doesn't make any sense...and here he goes again...oh, and Grumpzie's perfectly logical...that's too many hoops to jump through...you gotta think too much about it...hey, look, it's been a few years, I'm kinda rusty...kinda? You're King Rusty...His Royal Rustiness...the Fifteenth Arch-Duke of Rusty...Arch-Duke? What the hell?"
Izzie now wished that she had simply guessed, been wrong, and gotten it over with. But at least she'd distracted them. She pushed the button for the next floor down, and the elevator slowed, then stopped.
As the doors opened, and she stepped off, she heard someone say, "See, jerk? You scared her off."
And then someone else said, as the doors closed, "Cool dress, though."
That made Izzie perk up once again. Now if she could just find the stairs...
Jillian was oblivious, and indeed, having a ball. "If we keep going, there a janitor's closet down that way," she whispered. "I won't tell if you won't."
He stopped her when they were out of most people's earshot. "What's going on? You're plastered!"
"The mini-bar, George. Yours looked good, so I decided to raid mine." Her eyes danced. "Blueberry schnapps and mini-muffins, at fourteen bucks? Who in their right mind can turn down such value?"
He ran a hand through his hair, pasting it together with the sweat of his brow. "Jillie..."
"Georgie..." she replied. "Can't we at least give it one more shot - for old times?"
"No," George said. "Why are we even talking about this anymore? I thought this was over."
"It probably is. But I'm a bit fuzzy on the details." She noticed George's eyes catching a well-heeled duo watching them from down the hall, and she grinned. "Awww, your face is all kinds of cute when you're embarrassed." She reached out and gripped his cheeks between her palms, squishing them together like she was kneading bread dough. "All cuddly. No wonder you were number one in the poll."
George gripped her hands to remove them. "Number - what? What poll?"
"The secret senior poll, remember?" She put her hands on her hips.
"Vaguely," he replied.
Jillian seemed to know it by heart. "Question six: 'Which boy would you like to make into a man?'"
George's eyes widened at the recollection of the giggles when he would walk down a hall, or into a classroom, or pass a cafeteria table at lunch time. Lots of girls hiding their notebooks. Lots and lots of them. "I was number one?"
"Mm-hm! Numero uno with the girls." She thought for a moment. "And number eight with the guys!"
"Number eight with the - ?" George stammered. "Who beat - oh, Christ, I can't believe the thought just crossed my mind..."
Jillian laughed. "Neither can I, and I'm drunk!"
Then her eyes left him for a moment, and George wondered what she was looking at, and then he felt a hard tap on his shoulder. He knew that tap. It was the kind of tap that made George feel sicker.
Jillian on the other hand... "Hey, Dar, darling...darling Dar..." she sang.
Izzie found the stairwell, but by the time she arrived, she was having to walk fairly gingerly. She'd realized too late that she'd picked up the wrong shoes for the evening, ones that were simply too tight. Her toes were pinched in her pumps, and because she was trying to move as quickly as she could in them, her feet were really beginning to hurt. She finally had to stop on a landing, and as she was sitting down and leaning over herself to pry them loose, her clutch purse started buzzing.
She withdrew her cell phone, and took a look at the read-out. "Meredith?" she asked the air, as she flipped the phone open. "Hello?"
The caller was indeed the name on the caller ID. "Iz, where are you?" Meredith's voice suddenly began to sound like she was a thousand miles away, standing next to a raging tornado. "We...oin...a...an..."
Izzie tugged one shoe off. "Wait a second," she said, her voice bouncing off the cold steel and concrete. Another tug on the other heel, and the second shoe clunked to the ground. She then pushed herself through a door and was back into another quiet hallway. "What?" she asked. "Is there an emergency?"
The sound improved instantly. "I said, we're going to a movie and - "
"Oh. We? What we?" Izzie asked.
"The - some - of us."
"Who?"
"Just some," Meredith replied. "Where are you? We thought you'd like to go."
"I can't," Izzie said with a mixture of smile and grimace as she flexed her sore toes. "Something came up."
"What something? You have no life."
"I do so!" Izzie protested.
"No, you - hey, wait a second. You didn't - " Meredith's voice was choking with amazement.
"Yes, I did," Izzie responded with a grin. Her pain was gone, just like that.
"Well, all right!" Meredith sounded genuinely pleased. "Good for you! And for George, too."
"Yeah," Izzie replied, tapping the call button for the elevator. Nickname Boys or not, she decided, her feet were killing her, and another four flights of stairs wasn't going to help. "I gotta get going - the formal's already started."
"That's right, the formal," Meredith said. "Hey, where'd you find a gown?"
"Around," Izzie said.
"Around?" Meredith fell silent and found her voice again in the same sudden fashion. "No. Way."
Izzie grinned as the elevator doors opened to an empty car. Her luck was improving. "Way," she replied. "See you tomorrow." Then she stepped on and the doors closed behind her.
George spun around to catch Dar's eyes. He glared at George for a second before casting a warmer gaze at Jillian. "Jillie, you look ravishing...and ravished."
"Thank you, kind sir. Nice tux."
"It oughta be, all the stuff I put up..." He pretended to be surprised. "Oh, and this must be your late grandfather...hello, sir - welcome back to the land of the living...oh, dang it. It's George. I didn't recognize you, since you're a grownup and all."
"Dar..." George said. "I'm sorry."
"You're not sorry," Dar frowned. "You think I'm a joke."
George's eyes narrowed. "What?"
"I'm a joke to you. An old, bad joke." Dar sighed. "You're embarrassed by me. Embarrassed by the music, embarrassed by the past, embarrassed about everything."
"Oh, yeah..." Jillian said, "...sucks about your band..."
"Thanks, Jillie. At least somebody cares."
"I care, Dar..." George started to protest.
"Yeah, sure. And you show it by never calling me or having me come over to your house or coming to see us play - we did a festival in Portland and blew the doors off the dump." Dar briefly smiled at the memory, then added, "Granted, the place was literally a dump - an industrial landfill - but it was being buried the next day, and we kicked ass, so there."
Jillian smiled. It was as crooked as her stance. "Hey, dear Dar...I always wondered...why Foreigner?"
Dar squinted, as if he didn't understand the question and had to translate the words he could pick out. "'Cause we like Foreigner," he finally replied. "Plus it's a hook: we don't sound like the other bands."
"Not now...a few years ago, though..." George said.
"You do not get to talk. Doctor...Jerk...face." Dar grimaced at himself. "That's all I got right now. If I had one of the Nickname Boys around though, whoo-boy, you'd have a tag that you'd never be free of, you...grownup." He tried to make it sound crushing, but knew it had failed. So he turned his sights on the hapless Wendy and her single-piloted meet-and-greet table. "Now if you'll excuse me, Jillian, I have to vent my frustrations on a member of the committee that shafted me...and not in a fun way." He started stalking towards poor Wendy, who, once she noticed him, tried in vain to pack up and disappear.
"Should I stop him?" George asked, starting to follow.
Jillian shrugged, clutching his arm. "I'm so hammered. Hammmmmered. Sounds like hamburger. Hammmburger hammmmmer...oooooh...I'm feeling a bit queasy..."
Please don't throw up, pleaseohplease, George begged her in the silence of his head as he tried to approach a rampaging Dar, already in full voice.
"'Too narrowly focused'? 'Too narrowly focused'?!" Dar shouted over the band's slaughtering of 'Is This Love', as Wendy stood before him, a trembling fawn in his Mack-truck headlights. "CoverBoyz beat us because we were 'too narrowly focused'?! If anyone achieves their goal of doing something 'too narrowly', it's them. And they 'too narrowly' suck!" He turned an eye toward the ballroom as he was speaking. "I am disgusted, I am appalled, I am - ooh..."
George's eyes followed Dar's attentions - which had fallen on a clearly displeased Callie Torres. "Aw, crap..." he groaned, wanting to run to block Dar's approach, but being held back by a woozy Jillian.
"I thought we were headed for the janitor's closet..." she mumbled.
"Shhh!" George hissed.
"Oh, it's a secret. Okey-dokey..."
"Callie," Dar said, extending his hand just as George dove between them, the weight of Jillian on his hip threatening to cause a multi-body pile-up.
Callie was stunned at Dar. "Yeah. How - "
"Because you're drop-dead gorgeous, you have a confident posture, and you're standing next to - " He shifted his gaze with a flourish. " - that guy." Dar shook his head as he looked at the half-peeved and all-confused Callie and the virtually unconscious Jillian, then back at George. "They're all for you, aren't they? No one else can have one. You're like some kind of - " He looked at Callie again. "Is he gifted? Sexually, I mean? Because they all pine for him. Not a few of them. All of them! It's like he's the chief rooster and they're all broody hens, plopped on their drumsticks, waiting for the Big Co - "
"Who the hell are you?" Callie asked.
He grinned, but very little of it was out of happiness. "Dar Torvald. Oop. Darrin to George, because he wants us to be grownups. Can you believe that?"
Callie was very unamused. "What the hell is going on here?"
George exhaled and looked his old friend in the eye. "This is Darrin Torvald, Callie. My best friend in high school. He's a genius."
At that, Dar's angry grin vanished. His entire visage softened, in fact.
"Him?" Callie asked, gesturing toward the other man.
"Certified," George said. "The real deal. Card-carrying member of Mensa, graduated Harvard Business School in three years, ranked first in his class. And not just because he's savvy and ethical and much, much smarter than you would ever suspect. See, Darrin - " George stopped for a moment, smiled at his friend, then continued, " - Dar - he doesn't just have a head for numbers, he gets them - their rhythms, their tones, their subtle shades. And how does he do that? I don't know. Neither does he. But I do know that when he was two years old, he walked up to a piano - something he'd seen played exactly once before in his entire life - sat down at it and played a song he'd just heard on the radio. And he didn't just plink out the notes or get lucky while he was smacking the keys. He played the song. Both hands, in tempo with the original - not a hair faster or slower. I know this because his parents still have the old reel-to-reel recording of it, and I've heard it at least a hundred times. And it always, always astonishes me, and delights me, and makes me proud that I ever knew him." George's voice was filled with genuine amazement. "Numbers are music to him. And music - music's what makes Dar a genius."
Dar's lips pursed and his eyes flashed. He smiled at George. Then he tapped his foot against George's shin.
"Ow!" George said, returning the favor with a light punch against Dar's bicep.
"Errrgh..." Dar groaned. And grinned.
And that was that. Callie frowned. "Boys," she muttered.
Then from out of the blue, a plucking bass. A familiar rhythm and snare drum.
"Gaahh!" Dar cried. "I'm standing right here, you posers!" He zipped across the room, ruffling dresses. He jumped on to the bandstand and tackled a couple of CoverBoyz.
"What in the - " Callie started to ask.
"I can't believe they had the balls," George said, shock tinging his voice as he limped in Dar's footsteps. "Smug bastards!" he called out. "You've murdered us all!"
"What?"
"'Urgent', Callie. They're - kinda - playing his song." George made his way onto the bandstand, where Dar was tearing apart the CoverBoyz rhythm section. When he hit the stage, hands up in a gesture of peace, a few of the Boyz took him as a threat and began circling him.
Callie couldn't stand back. She took after George. "Playing his song...what does that mean?"
Jillian reappeared at Callie's side, her head swimming a bit. "Dar gets a bit terririri...terrrrri...teeeehh...protective when it comes to Foreigner songs being played to mock him."
"Why?"
"He just likes Foreigner a lot. Plus that's what his band plays. They're quite good. Played a dump last year."
"Why doesn't somebody just call security? Get him kicked out?"
Jillian shrugged. "Well, I 'spose somebody could, but that might be kinda rude, seein' how this is his hotel."
Callie froze. "His what?"
"Mm-hm," Jillian said, still walking. "He owns it, plus four others. Runs this one, 'cause Seattle's home." She stopped, noticing that Callie was not next to her. Up on stage, George was calling for peace while Dar had the CoverBoyz bassist in a headlock. Jillian smiled, and turned back to the other woman. "Those two, huh? Some boys never...say, Callie, do you like Izzie?"
Callie was taken aback. "I...uh..."
Jillian grinned. "So you don't."
"Well...I..."
"It's okay. I don't like her, either...or you, for that matter..." Her attention went back to the stage, where George was trying to keep the synth player from taking a shot at a suddenly prone Dar. "Don't hit him in the face, Georgie! You'll hurt those wonderful, wonderful hands of yours."
Callie squared her jaw. "You don't even know me."
"Don't need to. I saw him first, Callie. He's mine. Dibs, triple-stamp, no erasies. And Izzie gets him when I die." She cringed as the high-hat crashed to the floor. "And it'll be in my will that way, so don't go tryin' nothin'..."
Finally, Callie had heard enough. She came to the edge of the stage and began unstacking the bodies. "George! Everybody, stop it! George!"
She found him, finally, using his knee to pin the rhythm guitarist against the floor. "Callie, please..." he said.
"Dammit, George...see this dress? I maxed out my MasterCard to buy this dress - for you!"
Dar, wrenching the lead singer's arm, blinked at her. "I think it probably looks better on you."
George grimaced. "Dar..."
"Shh. I'm helping."
"No, you're not!"
"I had my nails done, my hair...I bought new underwear!" she blurted.
"New?" George asked.
"Yes, George. Very sexy, very, very expensive - and very, very, very not me, George!" She fired a withering gaze at him. "And I bought them - and am wearing them - for you!"
"Me?"
Callie was fuming. "I had plans for you tonight...big plans..."
"Plans? Sounds mischievious," Dar smirked.
"Shut up, Dar..." George grimaced.
"...and now, those plans are..." she said.
Dar let the other man go - after he cried 'uncle', of course. "Did the plans involve our Georgie-boy seeing the new unmentionables?"
"Yes. Yes, Dar. But not anymore."
"May I see them?" Dar smirked.
"I'm going to pretend that you did not just say that," Callie spat. "Because if I don't, I'll snap your spine like a toothpick."
"And she could," George said.
"Pipe down, you," she replied.
He started coming off the stage, his eyes searching the crowd. "Callie, I'm sorry. I just...I...I..." And like that George's words were gone. It was as if he'd lost the power of speech.
Callie noticed his sudden stillness. And she realized that everyone else on the bandstand was the same. She turned to see what they were staring at.
And right in the middle of the parted crowd, all alone, stood Izzie Stevens. Big as life, with an even bigger smile, wearing a dress that can be described in exactly two words:
Neon.
Orange.
Dar's face was bright as the promise of a new day. He hooked an arm around the still-stunned George. "What did I say, my boy? What did I say?" he laughed. Then he grabbed the microphone. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN...I GIVE YOU...IZZIE!"
And the crowd went wild - cheering, applauding, chanting her name...
George's eyes were a-light, and he strode past Callie - like he didn't even see her - to find Izzie in the middle of the maelstrom.
Jillian again materialized at Callie's side. "That's why I'm out of the running," she said, a little sadness trickling into her voice. "I can't compete with that one."
Callie frowned. She had a lot of reasons to frown, but mainly because, tonight anyway, she couldn't compete either.
George met Izzie deep in the center of the ballroom, surrounded by the still-crazed throng. He looked her up and down. "I thought you burned this," he said, wearing an ear-to-ear grin.
"I tried," she replied. "Turns out that just makes it more orange."
"I - I can't - " George said, impulsively embracing her, feeling the rush that always seemed to come when he had her close. "Thank you. Thank you for coming back."
She was beaming as she put her arms around him. "Wherever, whenever...right?"
Suddenly, Dar was at their side, microphone in hand. "Look at these kids, just look at 'em. Aren't they adorable?" And as the crowd roared again, Dar caught George's elbow, and whispered something in his ear. Then he stood back and nodded, with an expanding, silly smile.
Izzie caught a bit of it as Dar went back to working the crowd, and looked at George's slightly disbelieving expression. "What?" she asked. "What'd he say?"
"Nothing," George fizzed. "Just...just...'once and future, Georgie-boy...once and future...'"
Izzie smiled and laid her blonde head on his shoulder.
"Look at this couple...look at you..." Dar said. "You're not shy. You get around."
George laughed out loud...and so did Izzie.
"You wanna fly - don't want your feet on the ground," Dar said, running to the stage, where his band and CoverBoyz had assembled, all wounds healed. "You stay up, you won't come down; you wanna live, you wanna move to the sound..."
Then that bass line kicked in...and the beat was dead-on...and Dar stripped off his jacket and tore open his shirt, a rock star reborn.
Woody approached them cautiously, tapped Izzie on the shoulder, which made her turn. "Um," he said, shifting uncomfortably in her gaze. "We of the Nickname Boys wish to apologize for whatever emotional harm we may have caused you, Izzie. Our nicknames are only to be used for good, and never for evil."
"Okay," she said..
He brightened. "In that spirit, we wanted you to know what your nickname is now." His expression sparkled a bit. "We've decided to call you...Kool-Aid."
"What?" she asked.
"Because you are orange...and you are refreshing and cool...and you aid your friends...even if they aren't your boyfriend...which - uh -gives the rest of us a lot of hope..." he said, blushing.
Izzie smiled. "Thank you."
"Don't do that," George whispered. "It's like feeding a stray cat...they'll never leave you alone."
And indeed, Woody wasn't finished. "We've also figured out what we're going to call the two of you. Guys?"
...three of the six shouted "Gizzie!"...
...while the other three cried "O'Stevens!"...
Woody looked like he was about to rupture. "Aww, come on! I thought we went over this, for cryin' out loud!"
And while he went to battle with his compatriots, George led Izzie to the stage, where Dar was waiting with an alto sax and a happy smile.
"Excuse me, ma'am," George said. "But I think these boys need...a sax machine."
Then, on impulse, he gave her a quick peck on the lips. Izzie was a bit stunned by it.
And frankly, so was he.
But it wasn't a bad stun. Not in the slightest.
Dar shouted from the stage, "What did I say, Georgie-boy? Your future begins tonight!"
And Jillian appeared next to Izzie, a screwy smile on her face. "Lucky," she said.
The End
Tom Also Sez Also: Thanks to all of my Kind Readers, here and all over the Net...I'd never have finished this - or started it -without you. What a fun trip this has been for me, and I hope all of you feel the same.
There may be even more with Dar and Jillian...I've got a couple great ideas, and anything's possible, so long as the hamster keeps turning the wheel...
More George and Izzie coming incredibly soon...I promise...and if you're at LJ, you know what that means...plus there will be much more here...my second chapter of Hysteria...my third chapter of I'm Dead...trust me, I'm not done with in the slightest...I really love writing here...
I gotta run...enjoy the house music...or whatever the hell that thumping noise is...