The rest of that day and the next passed in a blissful haze. They were taking a temporary and unspoken break from physical intimacy to allow her body to heal and Lydia spent this time reading the entire Forbidden Blood series, which Betelgeuse procured for her in braille. It was filthy garbage but she loved it, and he wasn't complaining either. Madame Reinold had to scold her when she caught her reading the filth when she was supposed to be focusing on her lessons, but Lydia simply couldn't help herself.

Come midweek, she had read it all and her sexually awakened mind was a-buzz with ideas. However, she had eternity and forever to have wild kinky sex with her husband. Who knew when Ginger freaking Rogers would ever offer her a spot on her stage again? It didn't take much pleading with Betelgeuse at all to get him to make the arrangements. A grumble and a call later and that was that. Ginger was coming for brunch.

Lydia awoke at the crack of dawn‒ or what passed for dawn in the Neitherworld. After fighting to escape the obstacle of her husband's heavy sleep-laden arms and the coffin lid, she went right to work getting things ready. Betelgeuse tried to help, and she allowed him to lend his magical assistance in certain regards, but for the most part she wanted to do this all by herself. This was her first time playing hostess as his wife, entertaining a guest in their shared home under their shared invitation. Madame Reinold didn't count.

This was novel and exciting. Lydia could hardly contain her high energy as she swept about the kitchen preparing beautifully cut little finger sandwiches and a raspberry tart.

"Beej!" She cried out from where she stood in front of a cabinet, running her fingers along different boxes filled with sweet-smelling dried leaves. Everything in their pantry was labeled in braille, all for her benefit. It struck Lydia every time the lengths he went to for her comfort.

"What's Ginger's favorite tea?"

"Nothin' peppermint, spiders hate that shit." He was lounging in the doorway, smoking and watching her flit around the kitchen. "Can't remember if it's all mint or just peppermint but yer gonna wanna avoid those."

Pushing off the door frame to come closer and lean against the counter next to her, he eyed the selection of teas.

"Dark teas are usually a safe bet… but then I always preferred bitter dark tea. S'why I think I like coffee now."

He could feel the excitement vibrating off of her. She was so happy to be hosting brunch… for fucks sakes… they were hosting brunch in his house. She hadn't even been around for a year yet and she had made him so soft. The thought didn't bother him as much as it used to but it still rankled.

"Coulda had all this done for ya… ya didn't have t'rush around n' put all this together."

Not that he was complaining. Except he was. Still, something about her in that apron had him itching to pull her away from what she was doing and have his way. He knew that wasn't an option. Had she asked for his help, though, he could have talked her into a little more time in the coffin this morning… Jesus fuckin' Hell. So soft. Shaking himself, he watched her arrange everything onto a tray using touch to guide her motions.

"Where we entertainin' at? Garden? Parlor?"

Spider? What the Hell was he talking about?

Lydia was well and truly lost by his logic, levelling a singularly puzzled expression at the selection of teas before settling on a delicate white peach blend.

"What do spiders have to do with anything?"

He was a silly man, her husband, and she brushed a kiss to the underside of his jaw as she passed, charmed by his odd idiosyncrasies.

"You're so cute." She meant it, too. The genuine, sweet little smile on her lips saying so.

"Definitely the garden. Definitely." The entire house was a monument of beauty in Lydia's opinion, despite her innate inability to take in every detail, but she knew that the garden was by far the most impressive space.

"But we might move to the music room later, it depends on the vibe. If Ginger wants me to play, I'm gonna play for her. Oh! What if she wants to play for us? Oh, Beej, that would be amazing."

Lydia was floating on air, moving from one corner to the next in her excitement to make everything perfect for their guest.

Ding-Dong!

"She's here!"

"Whad'ya mean 'what's that got ta do with anythin'?' It's got everythin' ta do with it." He was frowning down at her when she brushed one of the little kisses to his jaw, leaving him senseless for a moment.

With a wave of his hand, he sent the tray of food and tea service out to the lounge area in the garden. If the women moved up to the music room he was going to ditch. He was sure Ginger had some choice words for him for leaving the club so quickly the other night. Not that he fucking cared. He would make an effort since Lydia was so excited over nothing.

He heard the doorbell and his wife's happy call as she skipped from the room. A snap of his fingers removed her apron and made sure her dress and hair were in order before he followed her out into the main hall. Leaning against the banister of the main stairs he let the wards down enough to allow Lydia to invite their guest inside.

Under ordinary circumstances, a protective and perpetual sandstorm raged in a constant flurry around the manor at all times. Today, the sands were still, allowing for Lydia to actually open the front door for the first time in her half a year living there.

"Miss Rogers!" Lydia greeted with a beaming smile at the brush of that flamboyant magenta aura, stepping aside to let her in. "I'm so happy to have you, we both are." What a filthy lie. "Please, come in."

Four sets of heels clacked past Lydia's ears as Ginger gave her greeting. Before, at the club, Lydia hadn't been able to isolate that sound and realize that Ginger was the only one making it. Suddenly, she understood with dire importance exactly why spiders did indeed have everything to do with it.

"Well, hello ta you too, Gawgeous. How's the big bully treatin' ya?"

Oblivious to the hostess' sudden embarrassing revelation, Ginger took in the surroundings with a cocked brow that she knew only Betelgeuse would see. It had been a number of years since Ginger last stepped foot here and she thought she never would again‒ until her number one fan called and invited her for tea and sandwiches. It was so clean. Was that a bowl of mints on the table? And there! That was a vase of living freshwater lilies!

Lydia tittered at what she saw as a joke and gestured for Ginger to follow her down the hall toward the garden.

"Betelgeuse is a wonderful husband," Lydia corrected genially with all the grace and tact of a proper trophy wife. The cocked brow the spider had aimed at the poltergeist soared higher.

"Is he now? Who'da thunk it."

The look on Lydia's face when Ginger strolled in had him confused until it clicked. Oh. He did tell her that Ginger was a spider, right? She met Ginger at the club, she had to know what Ginger looked like‒ oh shit. Flicking his cigarette away, he crossed his as he gave Ginger a sarcastic grimace. It was worth her shitty comment to watch her take in the house. The last time Ginger graced his doorstep, the house… well. It was beautiful now. He knew Lydia couldn't really see how everything looked but he put time and energy into it to make it worthy of her. He needed something to do when she slept and remodeling the house seemed the best option, considering her situation.

"Is he now? Who'da thunk it."

He gave Ginger a dirty look and an eye roll at her raised brow, then fell into step behind them on the way to the garden. Again, the look of surprise on the spider's face made all her snotty bullshit worth it. Lydia's song bird fluttered down to greet her mistress and trill for them. He needed to get her a snake still, one that wouldn't get too big or try to eat her birds.

"Whatsa matter, Ging? Ya look like ya seen a ghost." He gave her a sleazy grin as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

Jaw agape as she took in the luxe and classy surroundings, the impeccable decor, Ginger followed her hosts through the house to the piece d' resistance, the sunroom. This was not at all what she expected. She thought she would find his home the same hovel as always and his wife the same meek, fearful thing Ginger met at Arachnophobia.

Instead, she was getting exactly what she told she would get over the phone; a nice brunch with friends. What the fuck?

"Whatsa matter, Ging? Ya look like ya seen a ghost."

Smarmy bastard. "Just wonderin' where all yer centerfolds went is all. It was an impressive collection."

They used to be plastered crookedly about the walls in every room like a skeevy dive bar or a frat house. Now, there were only paintings and photographs, many featuring the girl, Lydia, in various states of finery, famous monuments and settings from the living realm playing a backdrop to the subject of her. These romantic shots couldn't have been taken by Betelgeuse. Those couldn't be dates the couple had been on. Couldn't be.

"I have to confess something," Lydia spoke up, addressing Ginger and breaking the tension to which she was clearly oblivious to.

"When we met at your club, and when we spoke on the phone, I didn't… uhm… I didn't know about… gosh, how do I say this…"

"The legs?" Ginger laughed and Lydia breathed a sigh of relief. "Don't sweat it, doll. Tell ya what, I'll make sure ya get a signed photo before I leave today. That way if no one believes you, the proof is in the puddin'."

His steps slowed at the mentions of the centerfolds. What had he done with them? They must have been done away with when he fixed the wall paper. He didn't even try to save any of them. Huh. He preferred the photos of Lydia from their topside dates. He also enjoyed the start of Lydia's collection of off-color classical paintings.

"Ya know, that's a real good question…"

Betelgeuse slumped onto the lounge on the far side so that Lydia could sit at the end nearest Ginger. He listened to his wife admit that she hadn't realized the form Ginger now inhabited. Oops. Maybe he should have made sure she understood. Stretching out his legs, he pulled a cigarette out of the air, head leaned back, eyes shut. He wasn't truly interested in the women's conversation, but since he went through all the trouble to cancel lessons with the Madame, he was going to spend the day as close to his little wife as possible.

The women were fast friends. For the better part of the next hour, Lydia lathed Ginger with praise over her myriad of performances she grew up listening to, and Ginger returned her praise with juicy anecdotes and gossip about old movie stars. A fair amount of time was spent with Lydia drilling Ginger for any information she could get about Vincent Price before she eventually giggled and apologized, excusing herself as a superfan.

"How did you and Beej meet?"

This was one of the questions Lydia had been dying to ask. Her husband never lied to her, not to her knowledge, but he didn't quite tell the truth either. It was common for the queries he didn't feel like answering to go brushed off or for him to just distract her with sex or tickles or other shenanigans until she got the point.

"Did he not tell ya?"

Ginger was highly suspect of the ghoul and his motivations with this girl. Why was he doing any of this? If it was just for freedom, the reason every other ghoul on record that wedded a mortal did it, then why was he bothering with the domestic charade? It couldn't possibly be what it looked like.

"BJ here is a huge fanboy. Heard I kicked the bucket n' thought he might shmooze up t'me n' get lucky. Joke was on him when he found out I wasn't exactly his type."

Too many heels clacked, proving Ginger's point. Lydia was charmed. No wonder he wouldn't tell her.

"Aww! Beej, did you have a crush?"

As soon as the words left Lydia's mouth his body snapped to attention and he gave Ginger a dirty look. Eyes narrowed, he flicked away his cigarette, seething. He never thought about how much he didn't want Lydia to know how he was before. Until now, he didn't quite realize how differently he thought and behaved now that he had just a touch of soul. The last century or so was mostly a blur up until he found Lydia, his thought process having been so degraded by power and rage and lust.

"Babe… what's it matter?"

"Aww! Beej, did you have a crush?"

There was a definite tick in his cheek, and he made a small exasperated sound before looking between the two women, irritation clear on his face. Lydia couldn't see it and Ginger had an uncanny ability to read him even if he schooled his emotions.

"I wouldn't say it was a crush…" This came out thick with irritation. Leaning back into the lounge, he crossed his arms, staring daggers at their guest.

"Ain't that ya ain't my type." He gave Ginger a sleazy look. "I just wasn't interested in findin' out if ya ate yer lovers afterwards."

Lydia was mortified that he would say something so crass about THE Ginger Rogers, but they seemed to have an amicable enough relationship for him to get away with it. Sandwiches and tea turned into wine and music for the women. That turned into even more wine and dinner. After that, they had bonbons and played an old Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire movie in the home theater. Lydia passed out a third of the way through, and this is when the spider crept out to search for the Host with the Most.

Ginger had come there with a purpose. It was to rip her good friend Betelgeuse's balls off for the crime of subjecting that poor, sweet thing to his disgusting self and lifestyle. As it was, it looked like Lydia had already beaten her to it. He catered to the girl. The gossipers on the outside had it all wrong, didn't know shit, herself included.

Ginger knew well enough to know that this was a carefully orchestrated ruse by him. He couldn't let the rest of the savage afterlife know how valuable his mortal breakable wife really was to him. It flattered her that he would let her get close enough to get in on the secret.

"Why Betel H. Juice, I nevah thought I'd see the day," she drawled thick with amusement after finding him lurking pouting in his study. "You're in love with that girl."

Ginger came all the way into the room, settling all eight legs comfortably on the chair across from his desk.

"Sweet thing fell asleep to Flyin' Down to Rio. Don't worry, she got her autograph. And her schedule."

Betelgeuse glanced up from one of Lydia's romance novels as Ginger spoke. The girl had gone through them so quickly he hadn't really had a chance to ask her about what she had learned, so now he was trying to play catchup. The page was dogeared, the book disappeared into his desk, and he set the cigar he had been puffing on in the heavy crystal ashtray on his desk top.

"She's my wife. Why wouldn't I be?"

He gave the spider a bland look and shifted in his chair so he was sitting more upright. Pushing to his feet, he made his way to the side board, taking a decanter to pour two snifters of brandy, one for them each. Once he was settled again, drinks distributed, he picked the cigar back up and puffed at it.

"She can keep coming to the club but we'll havta come in so she can map the floor plan. N' I don't want no one grabbin' her t'help her move around, puts her off balance. No bright lights on her on th'stage. She ain't fully blind n' it bothers her eyes."

He leveled a serious look at her. Then, a grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. This was probably the calmest and most sound of mind she ever got to experience him. The more he thought about how he was before Lydia, before he was stuck in that house, the more he realized how much of himself he lost over the centuries. Traded for power and dark abilities. Now he could use it to take care of his wife and the rest didn't really matter.

"M'glad she likes ya so much. She was getting lonely with just me n' her tutor."

So that's what she was doing there. The spider had a hunch. Betelgeuse never let her stay in his house this long, no matter how much she wanted to show off her new routines. About halfway through the day, though she was definitely enjoying herself, Ginger had started to get the feeling that she was on a playdate. Her lips pursed.

"Hmph. I never was too big on babysitting."

This was both a crack at Lydia's too-young age and Betelgeuse's assumption that he could just appoint her to be his wife's friend without further discussion.

"... but I think I could make an exception this time. She's way too good for you. Did you know that she thinks you're, and I quote, 'just the sweetest.'"

It physically pained Ginger to both recite and listen to this egregious lie.

"Don't worry. I'll look out fuh her at the club. Staff will too. She sure charmed 'em all with that show, everybody wants a piece o' her. I've been gettin' requests and call-ins nonstop askin' me to book her again. She's a star, instant overnight celebrity. If I didn't like her so much, I might be jealous. What the Hell were those breathuhs doin' with her that she didn't have an agent? Sure glad ya nabbed her."

If the Ginger she was twelve hours ago could hear what she was about to say, all eight of her legs would curl in and she would die again.

"Whenevuh ya get around ta cuttin' the apron strings, let her come ovuh ta my place fuh a sleepovuh. She told me she's nevah had one. Every girl needs t'have a sleepovuh with girlfriends."

Betelgeuse rolled his eyes at the babysitting crack. He was honestly expecting more from Ginger than a passing joke but he would take it if this was all she had to say on the matter.

"Fuuuckin' really? I'll havta talk ta her 'bout that, she's gonna ruin my reputation." He and Ginger both knew that anyone who really knew him would know he was most definitely not the sweetest, even if the little lady said so. He still needed to make sure Lydia understood the rules of what she could and couldn't say around others.

The remains of his cigar were stubbed out while the spider informed him of Lydia's stardom. He wasn't surprised. She was talented, beautiful, and charming. Why wouldn't everyone else fall in love with her at first sight? He did. This realization brought back all the irritation from the night of her performance. He was ready to destroy something.

"What the Hell were those breathuhs doin' with her that she didn't have an agent? Sure glad ya nabbed her."

"Don't ya know, Ging?" He hissed sarcastically. "She's blind. Defective. They ignored her more than they ignored the newlydeads…" He rapped his long fingernails against the vast polished surface of his desk. He could feel Lydia asleep in the home theater. The knowledge that she wouldn't hear him allowed him to be candid with his view of her parents.

"Only time I ever saw 'em talk to her was when they decided she'd done somethin' wrong. Doubt they even knew she could sing."

He should have finished doing what he wanted with Red and then made ole Chuck understand what a gift Lydia was. At the time, he assumed that Lydia would never forgive him for hurting Chuck. Now, he wasn't so sure. She forgave so many of his transgressions, things she shouldn't have… so maybe… well, it didn't matter now. She was here with him and they could fuck off.

The look he laid on Ginger when she casually suggested Lydia going to her place for a sleepover was full of contempt. The tick in his cheek started up again.

"That ain't happenin'. Didn't ya just get done tellin' me ya ain't a babysitter but ya want my wife t'come over so ya can sit up all night n' giggle n' do each other's hair?"

After having been called upon a number of times to many a sleepover by those stupid ouija boards during his time as a bio-exorcist, Betelgeuse had a warped idea of what they were supposed to be. It was going to take a lot more than Ginger saying Lydia never got to experience one to sway him.

"Don't ya got a bar ya need t'be lookin' after?"

He was tired of sharing his space with the spider. Even if it made Lydia happy, there was still only so much he was willing to share. He also very much wanted to get Lydia tucked into their coffin. Rarely did he allow her to sleep anywhere else in the house besides there. If she didn't sleep in their room in their bed, he would have to spend the rest of the night sitting in the theater keeping an eye on her to make sure she wouldn't wake disoriented and hurt herself.

"Do I need ya show ya out?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know where the door is. It's a good thing she's so polite. Between the two o' ya, somebody needs ta have some mannuhs." She turned to leave with a sassy sway of her thorax, but before disappearing entirely, she imparted;

"N' I'm gettin' my sleepovuh. Me n' Lydia already talked aaaallll about it, she's real excited. She may be fooled, but I'm not. I know who's really runnin' the show around here. Tea n' finguh sandwiches, BJ?"

With that and a gale of mocking feminine laughter, Ginger popped away, leaving an explosion of fine shimmering pink glitter as she left. After the many, many times he had left her bar a mess in the wake of an affair or fight or two or three, Ginger felt entitled to a little fun ribbing.

Tucked cozy in a blanket on one of the loveseats in the home theater on the bottom most floor of the house slept Lydia, blissfully ignorant to the negotiations of her social life being made by the ghouls above. A lot of fun was had chatting and hanging out with Ginger, but introverted as she was, all the socializing had left her exhausted. By the time Betelgeuse found her, the screen had dimmed to a stark white glow denoting the reel was all run out, the only sounds in the room the low hum of the still-running projector and his wife's gentle snores.

His presence woke her before his touch did, blonde lashes fluttering with sleep.

"Beej," she yawned through his name, leaning thoughtlessly into his hand once it found her sleep-warmed cheek, "where did Ginger go? I didn't mean to fall asleep…"

Disappointment with herself was clear even through that dreamy, half-awake timbre.

When she brought up the sleepover again he downed the remaining liquor in his glass and chucked it at Ginger just as she disappeared. The glass hit the wall in the hallway and exploded. He stood with a growl and with a wave of his hand, the mess cleaned itself and the glass, whole and clean, returned to its spot on the sideboard. He knew Ginger was just trying to get under his skin but it worked. Then there was that Lydia was making plans without consulting him… again. He was going to have to remind her of her manners.

Betelgeuse rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck in irritation before striding off through the house in search of his little wife. He found her snuggled up under one of the big fuzzy blankets in the theater room. Kneeling next to the loveseat, he cupped her soft cheek gently, thumb caressing warm skin.

"Dontcha worry, sweetheart. Ging had a real good time. She needed t'get back t'the club n' didn't wanna bother ya." His fingers threaded up through her hair, gathering as much as he could into his fist before lifting her face up from the cushions. "But what's this I'm hearin' 'bout ya wantin' ta go spend the night away from me?"

He could see and feel her tangible shock. He wasn't usually this rough with her, but that bit of instinctive fright was worth it. This felt almost as good as getting a real scare out of someone. His eyes glowed in the dim theater room. He grinned, mouth full of razor sharp teeth. In one of her heartbeats he was seated on the loveseat with her draped across his lap. He pulled up the flirty skirt that had been driving him nuts all day, one claw slipping up under the fabric of her panties, slicing the thin cloth so her cheeks were bare to him. A large cool hand pressed to her bare ass, and with one swift movement, he brought his hand down across her plush snowy skin.

Lydia was shocked when he threaded his fist through her nape, still in the process of shaking off dream dust when she next found herself draped over his lap; confused, sleepy, muscles too weak and languid to put up any kind of real struggle. When she spoke, her voice cracked from disuse and she rubbed at the sand that had gathered in her eyes.

"Wh… what?"

In her dreaminess, she had no earthly idea what he was talking about or why he was upset‒ or was he? His eyes had beamed through the dark enough for her to makeout a vicious smile but that didn't necessarily mean he was mad. She understood what he meant to do with her as soon as she heard the rrriiippp of her panties under his claws. The pain of his first smack was clarifying.

Spending the night away… the sleepover with Ginger! He didn't want her to go? But why?!

"I don't want to spend the night away from you," she whined once she was given reprieve, after a third light smack. In truth, all of his smacks were pretty lenient but he was learning that Lydia was just particularly sensitive to this brand of punishment. She was always eager to please, to keep him happy. It seemed, to her, a spanking she didn't ask for was proof that she was failing at that.

"I just‒ pillowfights and‒ and Ginger said they were fun and she would introduce me to Elizabeth Taylor..."

Betelgeuse's large grubby mitt was fisted in her hair again. Not truly pulling, just adjusting the angle of her face so he could look down at her, adding just enough pressure that she had to bow her back to keep it from really starting to hurt. His other hand was creeping up the inside of her thigh, claws leaving raised welts as they skidded across her creamy skin. Eyes aglow, he leaned in until their faces nearly touched, the scent of cigars and brandy thick on him.

"I get everything all set up, n' yer lessons canceled so ya could spend the day with Ginger… an' that ain't enough? No… yer makin' plans t'go n' abandon me with them ol' broads?"

His lips brushed hers as he spoke, speech coming out more of a growl than fully formed words. A frustrated sound escaped him and her hands snapped up behind her back held by his cool electric energy. The fingers crawling up her thigh dug in. There would definitely be bruises. One of his cool knuckles pressed against her folds, grinding softly, a rough fingertip reaching up to glide over her clit.

"Makes a guy feel unwanted." He whispered against her, before he pressed a rough kiss to her rose bud mouth, his sharp teeth catching her pouty lower lip.

Lydia was caught somewhere between indignation, guilt, and sublime horniness. This was such a turn on but at the same time it didn't make any sense to her at all that she shouldn't be allowed to go to a sleepover. Still, he clearly saw her desire for girlish fun as a rejection of sorts. That made her frown up at him when he eventually released her from that possessive kiss, declaring that he felt "unwanted."

"I never don't want you."

Sleepovers were probably overrated. Ginger's house probably wasn't that much fun. It wasn't as though she couldn't invite her over here and go see her at the club whenever‒ though Ginger had given a hard "no" at the prospect of spending the night there on Betelgeuse's turf. "Too creepy" she said, following it up with "no offense."

None was taken.

"I just wanted…" She swallowed. Her brows furrowed and frown deepened before the girl evaded his gaze as best she could the way he had her tangled up and pressed to his face.

"It doesn't matter. I'll cancel…"