A/N: They reformated the big text box inserting things...nifty, in an annoying way. Errrr.....this chapter took so long to get up, and you can imagine how much longer the next chapter of WSL is going to take seeing as how I...um...ahe...haven't even started it yet...ahem.
Thanks to the reviewers:
RavenForever: Yeah...the dance was extremely corny. But it's good to be soft...right? And I always just want to hug TJ anyways, angsty, happy cheerful; he seems like he'd be fun to hug. As usual, don't ask.
xXxSarahxXx: Yup. I know what it feels like to write a really impressive review and then lose it. It really sucks. Just write a really long review for this chapter (grin!). You love Shawn, huh? Yup, you and every other girl who was a teenager when the show first came out. 'Cept maybe me. I was in love with Eric (Will Friedle).
SteffieWitter96: It was long enough, but write a longer one this time just to see if you can...hehe...j/k, write what you want, and I will read it and revel in it, and long for more. And yes, I am insane. The flashbacks are my favorite part to write, because Spinelli's still alive in them, which means everybody's not unhappy and miserable and angsty; I get to work with more of a range of emotions. Not to mention, fluffy scenes between TJ and Spin. God...I don't remember when I first started watching Boy Meets World...jeez, that was a long time ago...
TNPD: u
DAGL: hehe...we are tigers! Yeah, I don't much care for the cereal either. Didn't offend you, did I?
iluvdanbyrd: She was married to TJ, she had to go. I don't what else to say...besides, thanks for leaving WSL for a slight moment and reading this story!
Soul-of-Camida: Why does everyone poke me? Is it because I'm so touchy about it? Is it because I'm large and my fat rolls like a bowl full of jell-o? I exaggerated that last bit...my you are a multi-tasker...I can barely talk on the phone...period. I am a humble master of emotions, keep reading and reviewing, and I'll keep reading. And when do you plan on posting your own Recess fics, because if there's one thing there can never be enough of, it's Recess fanfics.
Aww...my father is threatening me right now...something having to do with napkins in the bathroom...long story. Um...yeah, I've been having trouble with writing motivation. No writer's block, well actually, in the case of WSL, yes I do have a slight bit of writer's block, but no need to worry. Just as soon as I start writing it, everything will flow out. My mind's just skyrocketed to other things, like my next fanfic projects, and homework that I should more or less be doing. I have essays to write for anthropology...extra-credit paper in Philosophy...I'm failing philosophy (I think...)
Mmm...I guess I'm going to promise a little twist in story-telling in the last chapter of this...yup, a twist. Betcha can't wait. Check out my bio to see my upcoming projects, if you dare...no really, go check 'em out. I want you to get excited, or bored, or something...I spend a good deal of time writing stuff there so...
Monkman says wrap it up, SD, so...ENJOY!
Chapter 8: With Flowers Come Buds
Mikey knew why they were all there. His father, his friends, Gretchen, Vince, and Gus, his agent Lucille, his manager Manny, Carlos Svaldi a director friend, and the woman Mikey didn't know, who was introduced as Dr. Sylvia Moreno. They were all gathered in his living room wearing exceptionally somber faces. He knew what they all wanted, but he didn't want to say it. He wanted them to say it, to give their little speech about how they loved and cared for him; because maybe then, he would feel their words, and feel that it was true, and he would suddenly be healed.
"What are you all doing here?" he grinned. He'd had a little something to drink before they had arrived. Just a few shots of tequila, three bourbons, and he was holding a bottle of Bacardi in his hand when they walked in. Sure it was the middle of the day, but in the Michael Blumberg estate, it was never too early to crack open a bottle of booze. He usually accompanied the alcohol with a small fix, but his agent has confiscated all his "stash", and he'd only just gotten off the phone with his feel good "doctor"
"Mikey," Gretchen began, and Mikey's grin widened. He knew things were serious when Gretchen spoke for the group. "We're all here because we're very worried about you. Because we love you, and care about what happens to you."
"That's very touching," Mikey hiccupped, tipping back his drink, letting it slide down his throat. Wouldn't want the buzz to end, no sir-e. "Was that all? I love and care about all of you too. Now that that's settled..."
"It's not settled," Vince gritted, and Mikey's grin faltered slightly. They're not supposed to be angry. That's not how it works. They're supposed to be supportive and heart wrenching. Not angry. Didn't they know how this was supposed to work?
"Now, Mr. LaSalle..." Dr. Moreno stepped in and Mikey's grin resumed its place. The doctor knows how this works, "He needs you to not be angry. Explain your feelings calmly."
"Alright...Mikey, I feel like yelling and calling you an idiot," Vince said his voice somewhat shaky, but steady, "You're ruining your life Mikey, and frankly, it's slipping into ruining our lives."
"Sorry if my problems got in the way of your happiness, Vince," Mikey mumbled, now staring sadly at the ground. Nope. They weren't doing things right.
"Your problems are my problems, Mikey!" Vince cried, receiving a disapproving glower from Dr. Moreno.
"What Vince means is that you are a part of us, Mikey," Gretchen stepped in. Good ol' Gretchen, always covering the bumbling steps of the rest of the gang, "That...what happens to you directly affects all of us. When you...get drunk...or - is stoned the appropriate word? - in any case, it's as though you're doing it to all of us, and not just yourself."
"When you get hurt, Mikey," Mr. Blumberg spoke up, "We all feel it." Mikey frowned. His father wasn't looking at him. He was looking anywhere but.
"Hun..." Mikey crossed the room, his back to the group, "So this is the turnout of all those who love and care for me. I'd say it looks like a few people are missing...but I'm sure they have their reasons."
"Michael, you need help," Lucille mumbled, "There's this...this hospital that you can go to. They have a great rehab program and..."
"But what about my acting career?" Mikey demanded, spinning on them, splashing some of his beverage across the floor, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Those things can be put on hold," Lucille argued, "It's still going to be there when you get out. It'll only be a short while...until you're better."
"But I'm fine," Mikey argued, "I told you, at the hospital, that I would never touch that stuff again. That I would be okay."
"Stuff?" Gus nearly choked on the word, "What about the 'stuff' you're holding in your hand? You reek of alcohol, buddy, and who were you on the phone with before...Lucille said you were calling someone, talking to someone. Who was that?"
"I...uh..." Mikey looked to the floor, "I can handle things."
"No, you can't," Gretchen spat, "Here are seven people, seven people who love you, with very compelling stories that say otherwise."
"I won't give it up! I don't have a problem!" Mikey screamed, "Get out of my house!"
"No," Mr. Blumberg said firmly, "No. You'll listen to us, because you have no other choice. Because you owe us that."
"For how long have you been doing this to yourself, Mikey?" Carlos whispered.
"I..."
"How long?"
"I was clean...I thought I was clean..." Mikey mumbled, "Three years...I think...about."
"For three years you've been lying to us?" Gus snarled, "Three years of broken promises, of late night incoherent phone calls, of excuse after excuse? What are you thinking, Mikey?"
"Maybe I wasn't thinking at all," Mikey shot back, "I can get away with anything, Gus, I've got money. I'm a big movie star..."
"That gives you no right..." Gretchen started.
"Oh, it gives me plenty of right to live however I goddamn well please," Mikey growled, smirking, "You all care so much about me, and I'm very touched. But you see, I'm disappointed too. None of you read your manuals, none of you read the how to have an intervention book, maybe you should of bought them Interventions for Dummies, doc, because they're no good at this."
"I know what it's like, son," Mr. Blumberg broke in, "I know what addiction feels like. It starts out as just a party thing, just a little shot up your arm, or a hit off the old pipe. I know what it feels like, crawling back time after time, to the party, where everyone knows your name. You have a bad trip, and swear off the 'stuff', but it calls you back again. You can't fight it...you feel as though you're head will explode if you don't escape a five-minute dry spell. Time gets shorter, and you need more. Soon, soon you won't be able to leave home without a quick fix; you can't go by another minute without a sniff or taste of the 'stuff'. I know what it feels like, Mikey. And it saddens me that now you know what it feels like."
"Dad..."
"And I know what it feels like to be in denial. To deny you have a problem, to claim you can quit anytime you want and believe it fully, because you can't believe otherwise or you'll lose that high."
"You don't get it, dad."
"Oh, but I do..."
"No, you don't. I know that I can't stop, and I don't want to," Mikey told them, scathingly, "I need this, because without it...without it...I'm nothing. I can't be happy, I can't act like I'm happy; I'm not that great an actor. This is all the people in the world who can claim to care about me...here in this room? It's odd...how nothing you can say matters as much as the absence of those I would have expected to see amongst you. I guess they didn't care as much." He pushed his way through to the front door, "If you guys won't leave, then I will." He flung the door open, and stepped back, his mouth dropping slightly. Eyes of hollow bore into him, shining with unshed tears and misery. He stepped back as the man stepped forward, shutting the door, eyes never leaving one another. A scowl played on that man's dry lips, his hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets.
"TJ...?" Gretchen whispered, stunned. The room stared blankly at the young man with curiosity and shock.
"I don't want to..." Mikey began, blubbering.
"Sit down, Mikey," TJ commanded, and Mikey obeyed, plopping onto a chair, "It's time we talked."
-0-0-0-0-----------------June 2003-------------------0-0-0-0-
TJ stared up at the small one-story flat, then looked to Spinelli who stood surveying the same building. A grin spread across his face. She had her hands on her hips, was squinting, frowning. He knew what she was seeing. Crap. A piece of crap. But he knew what he saw as well. Potential. This small house had the potential to be something more. It was, after all, the first house he would share with his wife, if, that is, all went according to plan.
"So...what do you think?" he finally broke the silence. She scowled slightly, looking to him and meeting his eyes.
"I don't know, Teej...it's kind of..." she glanced back to the house searching for a subtle word that stood for 'crap', "Shabby..." TJ just grinned, grabbing her hand and dragging her up the walkway to the door.
"You just have to see the inside. It's bigger than it looks. And the outside...well we can work on the outside. A paint job, a little attention to the front lawn. It's close to the school, and to work," TJ went on while he stopped at the porch, producing a key from his pocket and opening the front door. He had to push as there was some debris blocking the entrance, "The inside will take a little work too..." he said sheepishly.
"Nothing's settled yet, though, right?" Spinelli questioned, peering through the doorway into the small entryway that led directly to a large empty room. Light shone in, falling against the worn carpet and faded tile. There was a stiff smell in the air, as though the house hadn't been occupied in centuries. TJ frowned.
"I really like this place," he pouted, "I mean...it's not much to look at now, but with a little work. And...I mean, it's better then the apartments we've been looking at, and that dorm room. We can't keep living there, Spin, you know that."
"A little work?"
"Well...it's a good neighborhood, Spinelli. I know, I checked into it. I brought you here to look into the foundation, the structural integrity, the electrical, the gas...you know, the stuff you're good at." TJ tugged at her arm, dragging her through the house, "There's two bedrooms...two bathrooms, one in the hallway, one in the master bedroom. You know, if we have a guest stay over or something...there's a kitchen, a nice kitchen," TJ dragged her through to said rooms, "The kitchen has a stove, a dishwasher, an oven, a refrigerator. Not much...but it keeps food cold. There's a garage...I know that you want a place to do your thing, and with a garage you'll have more than enough space. There's a washer and dryer, too." Spinelli stopped, which dragged TJ to a halt as well. She wrapped her arms about his waist, looking up at him with a weary gaze.
"You really like this place?" she asked.
"I really like this place," TJ confirmed. She smiled slightly.
"Alright...let's look at the wiring," she sighed, reluctantly letting him tug her to the garage, and more specifically, the electrical conduit. TJ waited patiently, watching as she opened the conduit and examined the different wires, sighing every now and then, lifting an eyebrow, and pushing the wires about.
"Well?" TJ finally spoke up. Spinelli frowned.
"It seems to be set up right..." she walked to the large metal tube that was the heater giving it a slight kick with her foot, before studying it more closely.
"Careful," a brusque man's voice boomed into the garage. They hadn't noticed him enter, the sprat, greasy man that practically pranced down into the garage, "That thing can get pretty darned hot, you might burn yourself there, little lady." Spinelli straightened tersely, taking a position beside TJ and setting a glower upon that man, who was, of course, the realtor Jerry Valmont.
"Mr. Valmont," TJ greeted, shaking hands with the greasy man.
"Mr. Dettweiler," the man acknowledged, then looking to Spinelli, "This must be the missus. And how are you today? My, you are pretty. You've caught yourself a real beauty here, Mr. Dettweiler, I'll give you that much. Have you shown her the kitchen?"
"I've seen the kitchen, thank you very much," Spinelli spat sourly.
"Ah...it's nice, big," Mr. Valmont said, his chest swelling, "A fine woman like yourself could make some awfully nice meals in there. I bet your husband here is quite fond of his hot food, don't doubt a man like him eats good big meals," he laughed, slapping TJ playfully on the shoulder. TJ chuckled slightly, awkwardly. Spinelli refused to crack so much as a pleasant smile. Mr. Valmont leaned back, lacing his thumbs in the belt loops of his pants, "Course, there's also the washer and dryer here, too. Nice and big there as well. The master bedroom is also fairly well equipped with a large closet space...place for a lot of shoes and nice clothes. Then there's the bathroom, which I'm certain you're interested in seeing as well, Mrs. Dettweiler. Then there's the backyard, nice space for a garden, a flower garden really, I knew the moment I saw you, now there's a woman like's her flowers..." Spinelli tapped her booted foot impatiently.
"Actually, Mr. Valmont, sir, I brought my wife here to run a standard maintenance checkup on the house," TJ cut in.
"Maintenance checkup..." Mr. Valmont mumbled, trying to piece it together, "Now why would a fair young woman like her bother with the maintenance checkup...I showed you the house, Mr. Dettweiler, and surely you could see that it was sound and safe, and all in working order," he broke into a hearty chuckle there, slapping TJ on the shoulder again, "I can see you're a real handy man, son, no doubt you like using your hands..."
"Actually, my wife is the handy one in the house hold. If she doesn't give the house an okay, I don't buy," TJ said, his tone taking a serious and subtly threatening note. Mr. Valmont frowned. Then, a smirk played across his lips. Obviously, he wasn't comprehending the statement to it's fullest, and felt he'd found a couple to dupe.
"Well, little lady," he clucked, "What do you think? A sturdy house, built in the late 70's, early 80's. Wiring's all up to code, foundation is unshakeable..."
"To be honest," Spinelli said, an equally amused smirk playing across her lips, "I'm a little concerned with the heater. You see, it's shot, and I'm thinking that you undoubtedly, just forgot to mention that to my cute, loveable, and oft times naïve husband. But, I don't think for one minute you won't hesitate to rectify that little mistake by maybe convincing your seller to drop a few hundred off the asking price."
"Excuse me..." Mr. Valmont stammered, "Heater...shot...how do you...?"
"What about the wiring, babe?" TJ asked, wrapping an arm about Spinelli's shoulders and giving her his full attention.
"It's decent, far as I can tell. I'll have to call Guido, have him come down, take a look at the plumbing but other than that..."
"Who's Guido?" Mr. Valmont butted in, a bit nervously.
"Her cousin," TJ explained, "Great plumber."
"A professional?" Mr. Valmont mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.
"As a hobby, yeah," Spinelli answered, looking about the garage, "I should probably call Joey too...to come look at the place himself. He'll want to, as it is."
"Who's Joey?" Mr. Valmont questioned, looking paler by the moment.
"Her brother," TJ explained with a shrug, "Great guy. Got us a wedding gift, only one in her immediate family to do so. Of course, Vitto was on a cross country motorcycle trip, so he didn't exactly receive word until he'd reached Reno."
"Who's Vitto, and more importantly, what's he coming to look at?" Mr. Valmont stuttered.
"My other brother," Spinelli shrugged, "And he's not exactly in town, so there's no way I could get him down here. Course, he may hop a plane and surprise us, show up on the doorstep to give the place a general rundown."
"Her brothers are pretty overprotective," TJ chuckled, "You should have seen them when she went to buy her first car."
"Oh, and maybe you could get your Uncle Sal down here to look around the house..." Spinelli suggested.
"Who's Uncle Sal?"
"He's an exterminator, can't be too careful," TJ shrugged.
"Okay, that's enough!" Mr. Valmont cried out in exasperation, "There's a little problem with the gas valve, a shortage in the hallway electrical circuit; yes, the heater is shot, I can get the seller to drop the asking price five hundred but that's all, and there's a small termite problem to the side of the house, but if you promise no uncles, no aunts, no cousins, no siblings, no relatives whatsoever, I will pay for that little problem to be fixed out of my own pocket!"
"What do you say to that Spinelli?" TJ turned to his wife.
"Now, I might mention before this discussion goes any further," Mr. Valmont interjected, "That, I have been having trouble selling this house, but I do have another interested buyer. I really like you two, so I'll tell you what..."
"Why don't 'ya shut up and let me think?" Spinelli snapped, and TJ smirked.
"Don't you just love her?" he grinned at Mr. Valmont who was frowning.
"She's a real...spitfire...that one," Mr. Valmont seethed.
"You really like this place, Teej?" Spinelli whispered, looking to her husband with skepticism.
"Yeah, I do, but if you don't think we should..." TJ mumbled eyeing her sheepishly. She sighed, kissing his cheek before turning back to Mr. Valmont with a scowl.
"Alright, let's talk about buying," she muttered and a smile wormed it's way back across Mr. Valmont's face.
"To the kitchen then..." he said, opening the door and ushering the couple into the house.
-0-0-
Mikey leaned against the window, watching as the world past. Home, it was so close now, he could almost smell the sweet fresh air, almost taste the Kelso's milkshake he was going to be downing in mere moments, almost feel the arms of his friends around him in a tight embrace. Home.
There was a slight jerk as the shuttle came to a halt, and someone brushed against Mikey. He sighed. He'd spent the last year and a half in New Orleans shooting for his first movie. His debut. It was exciting, to say the least, but he missed home. He waited as other passengers pushed their way past, picking up his duffel bag and shuffling out.
"There's the movie star!" he heard an excited squeal and a grin spread across his face. Arms flung about him and he caught a glimpse of red hair, quickly returning the hug.
"I missed you, Gretch," he whispered into her shoulder, feeling relief wash over him. Mikey glimpsed Vince walking over, a great grin spread across his face.
"How's it going, man?" Vince greeted, gently patting Mikey's shoulder. Gretchen pulled away, smiling up at him.
"Better, now that I'm home," Mikey said, sharing a quick embrace with Vince.
"My car's over this way," Vince said, leading them into the parking lot, "We're heading over to TJ and Spinelli's house."
"House?"
"Yup, they bought a house, can you believe it?" Gretchen explained, linking arms with Mikey, "Where's the rest of your bags?"
"Oh, I had them shipped home," Mikey told her, "Get back to the part where TJ and Spinelli bought a house, and why they didn't call and tell me?"
"They wanted us all to see it together. Gus is on his way home too. We're picking him up from the airport on our way over, do you mind?" Gretchen said.
"Not at all. But why couldn't they tell me over the phone?"
"It was supposed to be a surprise," Vince spoke up, "We only found out a day or so ago."
"They've been making plans," Gretchen shrugged, as they stopped outside of Vince's car and slipping inside of the vehicle. "We've been volunteered to help with the fixing up."
"Really?" Mikey muttered, not exactly surprised.
"Well, you can tell us all about your movie making experience while we spend hours in the sun painting their new house," Vince laughed, pulling out of the parking lot, "Tell us you have good stories."
"Yeah, I have plenty of good stories," Mikey replied, "But not as good as you guys probably have. I want to hear all the news, everything I missed while I was away."
"We told you everything on the phone..." Gretchen smiled.
"Well, I want to hear it all again. I missed you guys," Mikey laughed.
"You missed us, Mikey? You were off having the time of your life, getting your career off the ground. We missed you," Gretchen said, taking his hand in her own.
"It's so good to be home," Mikey sighed, grinning despite himself.
-0-0-
TJ leaned over the kitchen counter, smiling down at his wife sitting on the floor in the living room sorting through the box in front of her. She'd been up early that morning. She put the finishing touches on the living room, which they'd painted the night before, and had directed the movers when they'd arrived. The yelling had woken TJ up. She was stressed, TJ could tell, and it was a stressful period in their lives. They'd had a little trouble with the loan, what with no co-signers with better credit, until, that is, Vince's parents, the LaSalles stepped in. Spinelli had spent the better half of a week replacing the heater in the garage, which hadn't been easy with their small budget. She'd had to pull strings; a cousin of hers was the owner of a hardware store in Philadelphia and was more than happy to help her out.
"You need any help?" TJ asked. He'd been cleaning the kitchen out, a grueling task. There was a giant stain spanning over several tiles on the floor, and TJ was beginning to feel the urge to rip up the entire floor tile and replace them with new ones.
"No," she muttered, wiping her brow heatedly, and falling back on the floor, her eyes rolling to meet his, "I'm tired of working." She grinned slyly, "The others aren't due here for another hour..."
"Spin...we have things to get done before they get here, you know that..." TJ argued, miserably holding her gaze. She was wearing an old flannel shirt that had a habit of coming unbuttoned at the top, jeans fraying at the bottom from worn use, barefoot. Which only made her suggestion all the more tantalizing.
"I'm tired of working, TJ!" she whined, "I got no love last night..."
"You past out on the bed, Spinelli, before I even got in!"
"You're working me like a dog and you're holdin' out on me?" she whimpered, rolling onto her side, make out with me..."
"No," TJ moaned, turning back into the kitchen.
"I'm gonna cheat on you!"
"So long as we get this done." He frowned at the tile with its stain, turned, and walked to the living room, slumping on the floor beside Spinelli. "I'm tired of working, too."
"My poor baby," Spinelli mumbled, wrapping her fingers in his collar and dragging him down into a kiss.
"You still gonna cheat on me?"
"Depends..." she smiled, "The guy would have to be a lot cuter than you..."
"Which we both know has been scientifically proven impossible..."
"Or better in bed..."
"Which you'd only find out if you actually went through with cheating on me in the first place, which takes us back to the first condition, which, as we've already concluded, is impossible," TJ deduced, casually working at the buttons of Spinelli's shirt.
"Ah, but there is the rumor mill," Spinelli grinned, squirming beneath his touch and accepting another kiss.
"Shouldn't we be going to our room?" he murmured against her neck.
"What for?"
"You want to do this here?"
"Why not?"
"I could think of a few reasons..." Spinelli pulled him into another kiss, deepening it ever so slightly, "But none as good as that..." Her hands slipped beneath TJ's shirt, tugging it over his head, just as the doorbell rang. They sighed, falling back disappointed.
"I'm killing whoever's at that door," Spinelli seethed, pulling herself up and heading for the entryway as TJ pulled his shirt back on. She frowned at the four bright and smiling faces standing on the porch, "You're early," she informed them through gritted teeth.
"Oh, yeah...I took an earlier flight," Gus chuckled, "Couldn't wait to get here. It's great being home, back with the gang."
"Spinelli," Gretchen whispered, as the boys pushed past to find TJ, "Were you going to take a shower before we got here? I mean, what with us being early, we must have thrown off your schedule...you are a little dirty."
"Not as dirty as I was gonna be in a few minutes," Spinelli muttered, closing the door as Gretchen walked past.
"You guys have trouble finding the place?" TJ asked, wrapping his arms about Spinelli as she joined him.
"No, but then, we do know this neighborhood like the back of our hands," Vince shrugged, glancing around the room, "So, this is the place?"
"Yup," TJ grinned.
"I like it," Mikey announced, "With a little elbow grease it'll be quite cozy, your own little nook. I like the layout..."
"It's quite a vision," Gretchen agreed, "I know that if two people can make it a home, it's you two."
"Thanks, Gretch, Mikey," TJ nodded to them.
"How much did you pay for it?" Vince asked, surveying the living room with a wary eye. His gaze fell on the kitchen, "Now that's a nice stove." He waltzed in, flicking one of the switches and igniting one of the burners, "Gas range, not messing around with that electric crap...four burners, and a broiler. Big oven space, come Thanksgiving you can fit a twenty-five, thirty pound turkey in there...this come with the house?"
"Uh...yeah..." TJ mumbled, then with hopeful eyes, "Does that mean you'll be coming cooking over at our place often?"
"I like it too," Gus spoke up, not wanting to be left out of the praising, "It's very...very...homely." He received blank stares. "What?" They broke into laughter and hugs were immediately exchanged.
"You look great, Mikey," Spinelli said, accepting the man's embrace.
"I missed you," he said, "All of you." He went on, pulling from the hug and beaming at everyone. They were silent, reverent of the reunion, until finally Vince clapped his hands together.
"So, what's our first task?" he questioned.
"Well, there's a grill outside, and hotdogs in the fridge, if you don't mind starting with that?" TJ suggested.
"Can do," Vince said, crossing into the kitchen. Within moments they had settled in the backyard on the old plastic chairs scattered along the porch while TJ and Vince stood frowning over the barbeque. They were holding cans of soda, Spinelli and Mikey having selected bottles of beer being the only real drinkers in the group, and were gathered in a small circle chatting and laughing.
"Anyways, when we weren't on the set, we were out at this one club in particular," Mikey was saying, regaling them with tales of his movie-making experience, "There was dancing, and drinking, and the music...you won't believe the music. I thought I'd heard jazz and the blues, but I really hadn't..."
"I don't know if I could approve of the drinking, Mikey, you're barely twenty-one," Gretchen interrupted.
"Oh, get off that damn high horse, Gretch," Spinelli chuckled, "You used to get just as wasted when you were in high school as the rest of us."
"Really? And do you happen to recall under whose encouragement this wasting was done?" Gretchen snorted lightly, then turning her attention back to Mikey, "But I'm serious. I'm interning at the hospital, and you have no idea how many kids we get in that have been out partying, drinking, getting wasted, and they..."
"This isn't lecture time, Gretchen," Vince scolded, coming over to sit with them, "TJ's burning the hotdogs just fine on his own," he explained when they gave him those questioning glances.
"I'm not burning the hotdogs," TJ snapped from the grill.
"Oh, Mikey, we forgot, you're a vegetarian now," Spinelli sputtered, "We really don't have anything decent to..."
"Forget about it, Spin, I've given up on that," Mikey shrugged, "I mean, when you're wrapping up a fourteen hour shoot, with thirty-six takes, haven't eaten since you woke up at five that morning, and are staring down the juiciest Cajun style chicken breast you ever did see, you kind of throw away preconceived morals and just chow down."
"That sounds rather...um...pleasant," Gretchen shifted slightly, "Very poetically spoken."
"Sorry," Mikey settled back into the chair, crossing his legs and taking a good drawl from his beer bottle, "But about this club. Me and this other guy, Sammy, who was really just my personal assistant on the set but I didn't have the heart to boss him around, well, we went to this club pretty much every night. It was finally this one really rowdy night that this woman asked us if we were a part of the movie that was being shot. Sammy laughed and told her he was the star of the whole movie, of course she believed him, which I felt bad about. She asked him for his autograph, which he gave her, and then she asked me for mine. Then the local band got word of us...and they actually invited us on stage...can you believe that?"
"What happened? Did you sing?" Spinelli questioned, as TJ joined them, squatting behind her and wrapping his arms around her neck.
"No, I was too scared...but you should have seen Sammy. He got up on stage and tore the place up, dancing like a wild animal. Now he'd had a few drinks before, so I can't vouch for his frame of mind at that point in time, but all I can say is that when the director walked in and saw it, he said maybe Sammy should have been the star of the film. We all laughed pretty hard at that."
"Food's ready," TJ announced, brushing his lips against Spinelli's neck before heading into the kitchen for paper plates.
-0-0-
The gang sat together late in the night staring up at the stars. TJ was talking with Vince about how he wanted to set things up the next morning. Gretchen and Spinelli lay next to one another on the patio swing, a blanket laid over them, staring up at the stars. Mikey was next to them in a plastic chair and Gus was trying to listen to Vince and TJ but really didn't seem interested.
"What if the movie doesn't do so well?" Mikey asked from where he sat, staring at his empty beer bottle.
"Not gonna effect you," Spinelli answered, "You'll still find work, because you're a great actor. If not in movies, then television or theatre."
"Actually," Mikey perked up slightly, "I was thinking of auditioning for a Broadway production that's opening..."
"Great, then go for it," Spinelli said, shifting slightly to get comfortable.
"Well...I was thinking that you might...maybe...audition with me."
"What?" Spinelli sat up, "Are you kidding? I don't think so, Mikey."
"Please, Spinelli...I won't do it alone, I refuse. You're the only person I'll dance with," Mikey begged.
"No way, Mikey," Spinelli spat, "I'm sorry, but this gal ain't singing and dancing for no one on the big stage."
"TJ, help me out here," Mikey called and TJ glanced to them with curiosity, making his way over and squeezing his way in next to Spinelli.
"Sorry Gretch," he mumbled as she shifted disgruntled.
"Tell Spinelli to do this with me," Mikey pleaded.
"Spin, do it with him," TJ said, his arm slipping around his wife.
"You don't even know what he wants me to do," Spinelli growled, then turning to Mikey, "I can't sing."
"Oh, you have a beautiful singing voice," Mikey argued.
"Oo...Mikey, don't encourage her to sing," TJ interrupted, making a mock sour face and shaking his head. Spinelli elbowed him in the stomach. "Ow! What? I'm agreeing with you!"
"You're not supposed to agree with me on the bad stuff," Spinelli spat, "I'll think about it, alright Mikey?"
"Thank you!"
"But that's no guarantee I'll do it," Spinelli snorted, snuggling against TJ and poking him hard in the ribs, "And you, you're supposed to come to my rescue, not Mikey's."
"So we got everything set up for tomorrow?" Vince asked, coming to stand over them and frowning at Gretchen, half-asleep.
"Yeah, we'll have to probably stop at the hardware store, maybe once tomorrow, but everything else is ready. We can get started working as early as you get here," TJ told them.
"Great, I'll be here somewhere around dinnertime," Gus joked.
"Oh, is that what you think?" Spinelli snarled, waving her fist in the air.
"Um..." Gus gulped, "Crack of dawn is good for me."
"Try not to make it too early," Spinelli said, patting TJ's stomach, "My husband here may be in for a rough night." The others chuckled, before beginning their good-byes, and heading for the door. Vince lifted Gretchen in his arms, carrying her to the car as she slept soundly.
"Go easy on him, Spin," Vince joked, "TJ's going to be doing a great deal of hard labor tomorrow."
-0-0-
Mikey smiled at the small room, dusty and unfurnished. He laid his bag on the ground, turned when the door opened and Spinelli walked in holding blankets. He looked to his feet, frowning slightly.
"You guys don't have to put me up for the night," Mikey said for perhaps the hundredth time that night, "I can always go to a hotel, or something."
"You want to go to a hotel?" Spinelli demanded, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Well, I know I'm in your way...I know that you and TJ would like to have privacy and..."
"Oh, we can do that anyways, so long as the door is closed," Spinelli shrugged, handing the blankets over, "There is the whole bed thing, though, I'm sure you want a bed."
"No, this is fine," Mikey reassured her, "Reminds me of old times...sleepovers, that kind of thing."
"Yeah," Spinelli smiled, looking to the ground, "How are you doing?"
"I guess I'm alright," Mikey mumbled, laying the blankets across the floor.
"Why don't you go home? I'm sure your dad would be more than happy to have you stay over," Spinelli questioned.
"I know...it's just that...ever since my mother passed...I just..." Mikey trailed off, focusing his attention entirely on spreading out the blankets in a comfortable fashion.
"Oh, I understand," Spinelli murmured, gently touching his shoulder, "It's been nearly two years, Mikey...are you...are you sure you're alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Mikey assured her once more, going to his bag. He heard Spinelli close the door, assumed she'd left.
"I wanted to talk to you, Mikey," she hadn't, left that is, and Mikey nearly jumped when he heard her soft whisper.
"What about?"
"You know what about."
"I've stopped, Spinelli, you were there, remember?" Mikey sighed, turning to face her, "You can check my bags, you can check me. I'll go down for a blood test now, if you want. I'm clean." She looked to be considering doing just as he'd suggested, but then looked to her feet. He stood up, placing his hands on her shoulders, "You were there for me, Spinelli, and I know that you're here for me now. I won't start again, so long as I have you."
"I'm just scared for you is all," Spinelli mumbled, occupying herself with the wrinkles in her shirt.
"You amaze me, you know," Mikey whispered softly, brushing the hair from Spinelli's eyes, "How you can put on such a tough act, and still be so caring."
"Don't let that get out," she threatened jokingly, "I got a rep to protect."
"Gotcha," Mikey smiled, then frowning slightly, "I know I don't have to ask but the others..."
"They don't know, not even TJ. I didn't tell them. Do you need any help setting up for bed? Or do you need anything? Like a drink...bedtime story maybe?" Spinelli grinned.
"No, I'm fine," Mikey chuckled. They were silent and Mikey looked to the floor sheepishly, "I love you, Spinelli."
"I love you, too, Mikey," she replied almost automatically, and Mikey sighed, giving the impression it wasn't the answer he wanted, and gently kissed her forehead.
"Right."
"Um...I got to go," Spinelli murmured, stepping back towards the door, "TJ's waiting."
"Right, TJ, you're husband...my best friend...TJ," Mikey stuttered, downcast, blushing, almost shame-faced.
"That's right, Mikey, my husband," Spinelli said slowly, unsure, "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yup, I'm just tired is all," he grinned at her, "Which is why I should go to bed. I'll see you in the morning."
"Yeah, alright. Night," Spinelli called over her shoulder, shutting the door quietly behind her. Mikey sighed, slumping to the floor and mess of blankets, staring unblinkingly at his bag.
"Her husband...right..." he mumbled beneath his breath, "Husband..."
-0-0-
Spinelli slipped into the dark of the room she shared with TJ, crossing through the mess of sealed boxes, and discarded trinkets to the bed where he lay. She crawled onto that bed, maneuvering under the covers, and brushing her lips against his. He stirred slightly, eyes opening.
"What's wrong?" TJ mumbled, wrapping his arms around her.
"Mikey was acting strange," Spinelli explained.
"Mikey always acts strange," TJ retorted, trailing kisses along her cheek and neck.
"Mmm...I guess so..." she murmured, eyes closed, happily accepting his touch and attention, which she gladly returned, "We gonna do this?" she whispered, trailing a finger along his collar bone.
"I didn't know we were in any kind of rush?" TJ mumbled mock defensively.
"No interruptions?"
"Not if I can help it," TJ assured her, gently laying her against the pillow and taking her lips in a deep kiss. To say it had been a long time since they'd been intimate wouldn't be altogether the truth. It had been a few days, maybe, but to them it was an eternity.
-0-0-
It was late in the afternoon, the sun was high, and it was a tad hot outdoors. The boys were outside, shirts discarded, and the sounds of construction work drifted into the house where Spinelli and Gretchen were busy painting the kitchen and hallways.
"So, how is your marriage going anyways?" Gretchen asked from where she stood. They'd been silent most of the morning, as both girls were a bit groggy from the late night.
"Fine," Spinelli muttered, smoothing the brick red paint along the wall. TJ hadn't had much to say in the decorating of the house, leaving it entirely up to Spinelli, and she had plenty of ideas.
"That sounds a little dissuasive," Gretchen noted, "What's wrong?"
"I don't know," Spinelli shrugged, slumping to the newspaper covered floor with a heavy sigh, "It's like...we've hardly had any intimate time together, and we finally had that chance last night, and then TJ decides he can't go through with it because Mikey's in the other room."
"He's simply being courteous," Gretchen shrugged, trying to excuse TJ's behavior, "I don't doubt he's realized how awkward it can be for the rest of us, when you two are...well, don't get me wrong, I love how you two are together. And we're all happy that you're married and settling down in a house, and everything. I just...I've noticed that Mikey and Gus, and even sometimes Vince have a little difficulty dealing with you two being intimate."
"Well, this is a hell of a time to tell me that," Spinelli grumbled, "It's not like we ask them to watch, or tell them in wonderfully graphic detail all about it."
"We shouldn't be talking about this," Gretchen stated meekly, "I can't speak for the others, and I refuse to. Can we just move on to something else? Other than the lack of sexual relations, how is your marriage doing?"
"He's driving me insane," Spinelli finally said.
"Oh, how so?"
"He's outside right now with no shirt on, working with his hands, getting all hot and sweaty, and we didn't have sex last night." Gretchen sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose in annoyance.
"Let's just paint, alright?" she suggested.
"I'm just saying it's not fair to me! Guys aren't supposed to hold out, that's the woman's job. And even then, it's a difficult task. Guys are supposed to want sex twenty-four seven. They're supposed to be ready to pull..."
"Whoa! Spinelli, that's enough, I get the picture," Gretchen cried, on her feet, "I don't know what to tell you as I've never been in that situation."
"You think I'm an attractive woman, right?" Spinelli demanded, looking up at her good friend, eyes wide, pouting slightly. She looked rather frumpy, with a dabble of red paint smeared across her cheek and hands and arms. She was wearing sweat pants, and an old shirt that smelled vaguely of mothballs.
"You're a very attractive woman, Spinelli," Gretchen unconvincingly conceded between pursed lips. Spinelli frowned, pulling herself to her feet and beginning down the hallway to the front door. "Where are you going?" Gretchen called after her.
"To find my husband, drag him in a closet, and force him to tear my clothes off," Spinelli answered casually, stopping and turning with an impish grin across her face, "Why? Did you want to watch?"
"Ha, ha," Gretchen shook her head, "Get you ass back here!"
"Oh, Gretch, I didn't know you had it in you," Spinelli teased, walking back over, "Does this make me your bitch, now?"
"Boy, I miss our conversations," Gretchen laughed, "Now get back to painting."
"Fine, fine," Spinelli took up her paintbrush again, sighing slightly.
"So," Gretchen started again, slyly, "Do I, perhaps, sense children in the near future?"
"What?" Spinelli snapped, eyes wide, shock riddled across her face. "Children..." she stammered, pale, "We can't have children...we're still in school...and...well, I'm a waitress and TJ's a mailroom boy, we ain't exactly pulling in heavy dough."
"So, no children," Gretchen muttered, dismayed.
"No, definitely not. Not for a long, long, long time. We haven't even talked about the possibility of little sprats, alright, so no, no, no."
"Oh," Gretchen rolled the paint on the wall in a quiet motion, "How are classes going? I heard you're taking a photography class."
"Oh, yeah," Spinelli plucked at the wall with her brush, "They're going well, I suppose. I like photography. The instructor just gives us an assignment and I can take pictures of whatever I want. I really understand it, too. TJ's proud of me."
"I never thought you'd actually be taking college classes, Spin. But then, I never thought you'd be graduating high school either, so..."
"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Gretch," Spinelli snarled.
"But then again, you do like to shock people," Gretchen added, then straightened, admiring her work, "Want to take a break?"
"Sure, let's see what the guys are up to," Spinelli nodded, lifting herself up. They linked arms, making their way down the hall.
-0-0-
TJ leaned over the small mess they'd made, frowning. Cabinets, he assessed from the situation, were not easy to put together. He'd be retiling tomorrow, if he could drag Spinelli to the hardware store, or back as it would be, to look at the various tile designs they sported. Vince came to lean next to TJ, frowning as well and wiping the sweat from his brow. Mikey and Gus paused from what they'd been doing, moving a bathroom sink from the truck, heaving with gasps for breath.
"It's lopsided," TJ finally admitted, frowning at his handiwork, "Maybe Spinelli should have put it together."
"I think we did a fine job," Vince argued, "Is your little woman going to be doing everything for you?"
"I wouldn't call her my little woman to her face, Vince," TJ warned and they both chuckled. TJ was the first to fall silent, frowning once more at the cabinet. "I really do suck at this kind of work, don't I? She's gonna be disappointed."
"It doesn't look that bad, Teej, don't beat yourself up over a cabinet," Vince said, patting TJ's shoulder.
"It's not just the cabinet, is it TJ?" Mikey asked knowingly.
"The past few weeks have been stressful is all," TJ explicated, "I think she's disappointed in the house...and maybe me...it just feels like she's ending up doing all the work. I'm just...I'm useless when it comes to this construction stuff, and she knows it. I should have paid attention when my dad was showing me how to fix the sink..."
"Didn't you're dad break the sink and end up calling a plumber anyways?" Vince reminded him and TJ grinned.
"I guess my entire family is completely incompetent when it comes to this kind of thing," TJ laughed, "It doesn't change the fact that I still feel bad. I'm supposed to be the man in the relationship, and I have to call her in the room to kill a spider."
"That's only because you are a sensitive soul," Mikey told him calmly, "And you could not stand to hurt such a helpless creature as a spider."
"That...and its kind of disgusting when it gets squashed, and those things have so many legs, they're kind of creepy," TJ said.
The boys looked up when the front door opened, Gretchen and Spinelli walking out with a tray full of drinks.
"Lemonade, anyone?" Gretchen said, handing out the drinks. Spinelli took one over to TJ then looked to the fully assembled cabinet.
"It's lopsided," she remarked and TJ gave her a hurt glare, "Oh...it'll be fine," she soothed, handing the glass over. TJ peeked inside the cup warily. "Gretchen made it," Spinelli reassured him, and with that he took a tentative sip, slipping his arm around Spinelli's waist.
"Taking a break, are we boys?" Gretchen noted, looking around at the men just sitting around.
"Well, we've been working real hard and we thought we'd take a little breather. What about you girls? Making lemonade...I'm beginning to think that you really aren't doing much in there aside from painting each other's toenails, doing one another's hair, and having pillow fights," Vince said with a grin.
"Yeah, this lifting stuff is killer," Gus put in, rubbing his biceps gingerly.
"You measured, right?" Spinelli inquired, her gaze still set on the cabinet.
"Yeah, what do you take us for?" TJ retorted.
"You measure twice?" she pressed. Vince snapped his fingers sarcastically.
"I knew we forgot something...everyone knows that you measure twice," he mocked.
"Measure twice, cut once," Spinelli hissed, "Every good carpenter knows that."
"It's a good thing we're not carpenters then, right, men?" TJ shouted, a broad smile across his face.
"Right," the boys cried in unison.
"I'm just saying..." Spinelli muttered.
"Well, let the men take care of that," TJ teased, "Why don't you lady folk go inside and make us some lunch. We men like our sandwiches."
"You men like sleeping on the couches, too, huh?" Spinelli shot back with a slight laugh.
"Oh, no threatening," TJ said, "Tell you what, why don't you fix the cabinet, and we'll go make you two some lunch? And, honey, could you maybe look at the air conditioning system, because it got pretty hot last night."
"We can see who wears the pants in that relationship," Vince commented, snickers from Mikey and Gus.
"We both wear pants," TJ protested, then looking slyly to Spinelli, "Though one of us does look great in a skirt."
"Oh, Teej, I hate to break it to you, but you really don't have the legs for it," she said tartly.
"Now why would you go and say something like that, babe, you know I'm self-conscious?" They broke into laughter as Spinelli and Gretchen moved back towards the house.
"Come on, Gretch, back to our pillow fight," Spinelli called over her shoulder, "Do you want to wear the lacy pink lingerie this time, and I'll wear the black negligee?"
"Oh, definitely, black is your color after all, Spinelli," Gretchen replied as they shut the door behind them leaving the men to their thoughts.
"They're just joking...right?" Gus spoke up, "Because I've been away on base for a long time..."
-0-0-
The gang settled within Spinelli and TJ's living room, gathered around the television. They'd taken occupancy on the couch and stared nervously at the set. They'd done a good job on the house, and it was finally starting to feel like home. They'd worked hard for perhaps two, three weeks. Spinelli had finished unpacking the last box the night before.
"What time did Mikey say it would be on?" Vince asked, flipping through the T.V. Guide. It would be his first television appearance, to talk about his new movie. The talk show was local, and would be live. Spinelli handed out a few snacks before falling into TJ's lap, taking the remote control from him.
"It's just a few minutes, do you have the tape set up?" Spinelli snapped, wrapping her arms about her husband and changing the channel to the correct station.
"Yeah. Poor Mikey, he was so nervous when he left this morning," TJ sighed, "They're going to be taking live phone calls, too. He's not very good at talking to...well...people he doesn't know."
"More like, rabid fans he doesn't know," Gus commented.
"We're being supportive, remember," Gretchen spoke up, gently slapping Gus's arm.
"Well, it's not like he's here," Gus mumbled unhappily.
"Doesn't matter, because I'm here, so watch it with the wise cracks, got it bud?" Spinelli sneered and Gus gulped.
"Will you guys keep it down? The show's starting," Vince snapped, settling between Gretchen and TJ. The camera fixated on a smiling young blonde woman with her hair teased and curled, make-up covering her otherwise beautiful face. She sat on a comfy chair, Mikey beside her looking very awkward and overdone, wearing obvious powder make-up and lipstick. The audience was cheering.
"Ashley A. looks really bad in that lighting," TJ commented, kissing his wife gently.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a truly tres bien treat for you this evening," the talk show host, Ashley, announced, smiling pleasantly at the camera. "Michael Blumberg, the next big thing in Hollywood, is here to give us the first exclusive interview about his new movie, coming out next month." Mikey waved sheepishly to the audience that cheered wildly. "So, why don't you start by telling us a little about yourself? This will be your first movie, correct?"
"Yes, it will," Mikey replied, leaning his chin down, evidently uncertain that his voice would carry to the microphone neatly pinned to his shirt.
"But that's not to say you're new to the acting business. You've been in several theatre productions, haven't you, including the role of Brick Pollitt in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof? Which, if I recall correctly, pulled in rave reviews from all corners of the state, especially for your performance."
"That's correct...though I did feel that my co-star, playing Maggie, was a lot better than I was...more professional as well."
"But enough dredging up the past," Ashley chuckled, gently touching Mikey's knee. She, of course, had been the woman co-staring as Maggie; but she wasn't about ready to mention that. "We are here to talk about your new movie, In The Grandeur of Things. Will you be pulling out that magnificent Southern accent again for this production, as you had in your theatre days?"
"Well, no, actually. I play a...well, a yank, as my character is referred as in the movie, who's down in New Orleans investigating a series of mysterious deaths."
"That sounds frightening," Ashley laughed.
"Well, it's not really a thriller, more so of a contemplative piece, philosophical. It's not really meant to be frightening, though some parts of the movie will put you on the edge of your seat," Mikey chuckled nervously, "My character, Daniel Toole, is a man who's given up on faith and friends. He comes to the Southern town at the request of his grandmother, who's dying, as he's something of a small time detective."
"Well, I guess that takes care of my next question," Ashley chuckled, "Tell us what it was like, working with generally newcomers to the movies, as well as seasoned veterans of the field."
"We became something of a family down there," Mikey started, "At first I was a little shocked at how fast everything had to go, and then how long things seemed to take. But everyone, new or old to movie making, was very professional, which I think helped a lot. We laughed a lot, and the main point was to just have fun, which we did. It was nice having people who knew what they were doing on the set, and they were real nice at telling us, the new kids, what we were doing wrong and politely explaining to us the right way, it was a learning experience and they were good teachers. And as to us new kids, the veterans joked a great deal about the fresh air we brought with us everyday to the set."
"What can we expect from this movie?"
"Well, suspense, of course, as it is a really well written mystery. But I think, you'll find yourself laughing and crying just as much during the film," Mikey looked to his sneakers with careful interest, "It was a real character piece."
"Do you have any new work lined up now that this movie is wrapped?"
"Well, there's a few projects that my agent has ready for me. I'm also thinking of maybe auditioning for a little Broadway production, something that's been my dream for a long time."
"Broadway? Does this mean you'll be taking a break from the hot spotlight of Hollywood for a bit?"
"By no means. I have a movie I plan to start working on in a little less than a week," Mikey said, beginning to loosen up in the comfortable chair he was sitting upon, "I want to keep busy, and nothing is set for Broadway. The auditions are a ways away."
"I think it's about time we went to the phones," Ashley announced, and Mikey immediately straightened, tensing. "Our first phone call is from a girl named Trini. Hello, Trini."
"Hello, Ashley, you're, like, so beautiful and everything. I watch your show every night," an exuberant voice filled the screen.
"Did you have a question for Mr. Blumberg?"
"Yes, I did," Trini cried excitedly, "I read in a magazine article that you like to write poetry. How often do you write it, and can you read us a piece?" Mikey froze, his mouth opening, closing, he looked to his feet, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head.
"He's choking," Spinelli muttered.
"Shut up, Spin, he's fine," TJ mumbled.
"Uh...I..." Mikey stuttered, receiving a deadly glare from Ashley, "Well, I don't...not often...I...no."
"Thank you for that question, Trini," Ashley said tersely, turning to the camera with her plastered smile, "Our next caller is a Mandy, hello Mandy."
"Hi, I just wanted to ask Michael if he would maybe...take his shirt off!" Mikey turned an interesting shade of red.
"I can't watch this," Spinelli groaned, pulling herself up, "Any one want a refill?"
"If you don't mind," Gretchen held out her cup, eyes plastered on the screen. Spinelli took the dish and left towards the kitchen.
"Our next caller is a Laina, hello Laina." Ashley said, her voice taking a quiver of annoyance.
"Hello, Ashley, Michael. I just wanted to ask if there was anywhere else we could find Michael, any other television shows, or movies he might have been in?"
"Um..." Mikey fidgeted with the microphone on his shirt, causing a great deal of static and Ashley to swat at his hands.
"This is actually Michael's debut movie, so no. There was a recording of one of your theatre productions wasn't there...?" Ashley turned a meaningful eye on Mikey.
"Oh...um...for teaching...purposes,"Mikey mumbled.
"So that would be a no," Ashley all but snarled, "Our next caller is Stella. Hello, Stella."
"How's it goin'? I had a couple questions, actually, if ya' don't mind?"
"Shoot," Ashley encouraged.
"So, Mikee...al...ah...Michael, I heard you're single. I like, am so in love with you, and junk, I was wondering what kind of gal you'd be interested in?" Mikey looked thoughtful a moment, his brow furrowed.
"What did you say your name was, again?" Mikey looked up to the camera.
"Stella."
"Oh...I don't know...I've never thought about it..."
"Right, so Mikey, how awesome is this movie going to be?"
"I hope it does well...I have a lot of...what did you just call me?"
"Michael."
"Oh...um...yeah, was there anything else?" TJ raised an eyebrow, looking to the kitchen.
"I'll be right back, guys," he said, pulling himself from the couch and heading the direction Spinelli had taken.
"Just two more questions," Stella's voice drifted from the television set, "Will you marry me, and junk?"
"What?" Mikey stammered, nearly choking on the word. Laughter erupted from the living room.
TJ leaned against the doorway of the kitchen, casually crossing his arms over his chest and smiling down on Spinelli, squatting on the kitchen floor with the phone pressed firmly to her ear.
"What are you doing?" he asked. She looked up.
"Uh oh..." she whispered, waving slightly to him.
"What do you mean, uh oh?" Mikey said, "What uh oh? Are you all right? Ma'am."
"My husband just walked in," Stella said, more laughter.
"Then maybe we should end this and move on," Ashley persisted.
"I only have one more question."
"What?" Ashley demanded, impatiently.
"Ashley A., Halloween is over, when are you gonna take the mask off?" More laughter, and a contortion of faces on Mikey's part before he broke into a grin, shaking his head at the camera.
"Excuse me?" Ashley spat.
"We love you, Mikey," a click and a dial tone. Ashley seemed to be positively fuming, but Mikey clapped his hands together, settling back into the plush chair.
"Who's next?"
TJ crossed the tile over to Spinelli, who looked up at him somewhat sheepishly, lifting herself up and placing the phone back on the counter. Their lips met in a tender kiss for a moment, before they broke apart.
"He was choking," Spinelli mumbled, "I had to do something." TJ grinned.
"Asking him to marry you on national television? Yup, that's something."
"I told you I'd cheat on you if you continued to hold out on me," Spinelli shrugged.
"But with one of my best friends," TJ shook his head, mock dismally, then brightening slightly, "We do have twenty minutes before the show ends. I don't think the gang'll miss us."
"They'll be right there in the living room, Teej," Spinelli made an odd face, "And twenty minutes?"
"Hey, it's better than nothing," TJ shrugged.
"I've had nothing for a very long time, I'll be the judge of what's better or not," Spinelli said, taking his hand and leading him down the hall to their room, "That still doesn't take care of the fact that they are going to be right there in the living room."
"We'll be really quiet, and there's always the door." Spinelli smiled, putting on an air innocence.
"Oh, but in the middle of the day, Mr. Dettweiler? It's unseemly..."
"Do you want to or not? Because I can recede the offer..."
"On the couch tonight you can..."
"There's no need for threats..."
-0-0-0-0-------------------Present Time----------------------0-0-0-0-
The gang stared at their long absent leader for a silent moment. Dr. Moreno stood perfectly still, looking around to those, who didn't seem mesmerized more so than surprised by this newcomer's appearance, for an explanation. Who was this young man, and how did he have such a command over Mikey and the others?
"TJ...I thought you weren't coming," Vince started, gaping. Mikey's face was scrunched, tear-filled.
"Please don't look at me like that, TJ..." he begged, sobbing, "I don't want you to look at me like that..."
"Shut up, Mikey, let me think," TJ murmured, "It's not your time to talk, it's my time." He paced the room a moment, back and forth, one, twice, stopped, turned back to Mikey. No one said a word. "I never thought you, of all people, would be so selfish." Mikey was on his feet in a moment, flushed and flustered.
"Selfish?"
"Yes, selfish. You heard me damnit," TJ snapped and Mikey recoiled at the anger in his voice, "What gives you the right to do something so goddamned stupid? You know what drugs will do to you."
"Kill me," Mikey answered snidely.
"No. Not even close," TJ spat, "They'll rip you apart, emotionally, mentally. You'll stop caring about those around you that you used to care about; treat 'em all like shit. They'll make you say and do things to people you love that otherwise you'd never say or do. They'll hurt everyone around you. They'll tear you're body apart, and take away every purpose you had in life. You'll serve them, the drugs and alcohol, and them alone. Then, and only then, will they kill you."
"Teej..." Mikey moaned, "You don't...you're wrong."
"Am I? You're selfish."
"Sir, we don't want to accuse him, we want to..." Dr. Moreno attempted to step in.
"Look lady," TJ turned on her, "I don't give a rat's ass what you all want to do, because I know exactly what I want to do."
"And what is that, TJ?" Mikey demanded, on the verge of tears, "What is it that you want to do?"
"I want to punch you're fucking lights out," TJ snarled, "But then, I was never one for violence. Never thought it solved anything."
"Not like Spinelli," Mikey mumbled, "Because she was all about violence, it solved everything for her."
"You don't have the right or privilege to say her name right now," TJ seethed, his eyes narrowing on Mikey.
"But that's what this is all about, isn't it? That's what you're here for, isn't it? Making sure we don't talk about her, and say something while you're not around? Making sure I don't blame her for everything? Or maybe you're here for something else," Mikey smirked slightly, the alcohol he'd consumed earlier kicking in full force, "Maybe this is your intervention as well. Maybe it's all of our intervention," he took a serious posture, clasping his hands in front of him, feet together, "We are the masochists of Third Street, and we all have a problem. We're all addicted to the death of our late best friend, Ashley Funicello Spinelli. Not Dettweiler, because let's face it, you're marriage really was a joke."
"Shut up," Vince growled, stepping forward.
"At TJ's side as usual, eh, Vince?" Mikey shot, "Spinelli's gone, so are you taking her job as his defender. He never could fight for himself."
"Now, this is not helping, we need to sit and talk like adults..." Gretchen spoke up meekly, her words choking slightly.
"Like adults?" Mikey strained to keep his voice from a shout, "You're all hardly adults. Sure, you all look like adults, dress like adults, act like adults, talk like adults; but none of you are mature like adults. You're all about as mature as the days when you walked around in diapers."
"And you're so much better than us," TJ hissed, "The biggest baby of us all. Still haven't let go of your mother's apron strings. She's dead, Mikey, it's time to let go."
"It works both ways, TJ," Mikey retorted, "She's dead, TJ, let go! You all look at me like I've done something horrible? I've lost a good friend, someone I truly cared for, not for the first time in my life. The way I see it, I'm better than all of you, I didn't decide to simply glaze over it or confine myself to a house. Maybe I cared about her more..."
"Don't you fucking dare to presume..." TJ started.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Gus demanded, "That we didn't care about her? We all cared about her. It's obvious how much we're all hurting. Just because we tried to get on with our lives, just because we didn't turn to drugs to solve our goddamned problems."
"You don't get it...she was the strong one. She was strong for me," Mikey cried.
"Don't you fucking dare..." TJ growled.
"You should be blaming yourself for her being gone anyways," Mikey hissed.
"What?" TJ fell back one step, losing ground, "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Shut up, Mikey," Vince threatened.
"Haven't you thought about it? Why she was on that plane?" Mikey pressed, "Why was she up so early in the morning, we all know she wasn't a morning person?"
"Don't Mikey," Gretchen moved to his side, pleading, "Will you shut your mouth? Stop it." TJ felt his heart pounding in his chest, stepping back again.
"It's funny really," Mikey chuckled maliciously, "You see, they don't want you to know something...something about Spinelli. They think they're in the right, keeping things from her husband...you see, Spinelli did take an early flight, because she was pregnant, she was pregnant and she was rushing home. They don't think it's something her husband should know, but I don't think it's fair that you don't."
"Mikey, stop it, now," Gretchen screeched, slapping him across the cheek. There was a stunned silence. They turned to TJ, back against the wall, his eyes downcast, silent.
"Is it true?" he whispered. No answer. "Is it true?" he demanded, shouting now.
"She...she was sick the whole time in San Diego," Gretchen sobbed, "So she went to the hospital...the doctor there...he...told her. She wanted to surprise you...she told us not to say anything..."
"Three years...you didn't think that in three years maybe I should have known?" TJ demanded, his voice quavering. Mikey was silent, almost triumphant.
"We didn't want you to know, TJ," Vince explained, "You lost Spinelli, it was bad enough."
"How long?" TJ whispered.
"What?"
"How far along was she?"
"She said that it was less than a month," Gus mumbled, "A little early to be feeling so ill, but she said her mother was the same way. That they...it's a curse really, that's what she said..."
"We didn't want you to know because..." Gretchen trailed off, closing her eyes, "We're sorry."
"Pregnant," TJ repeated, his eyes turned on Mikey, "I suppose you're happy now. This is my fault, everything's my fault..."
"I didn't mean it like that," Mikey stuttered, "I...I didn't mean it to sound like that."
"But you did..." TJ mumbled, "Mean it like that."
"I'm sorry," Mikey stepped forward.
"It's not me you should be apologizing to," TJ sneered, staring up at Mikey, pulling from his pocket his wallet and opening it, "It's her." Mikey stopped, staring at the picture, his heart pounding in his chest. "Stop using her as an excuse, Mikey." He closed the wallet, turning as he pushed it back into his pocket.
"I'm not the only one," Mikey called after him, "I have a problem, TJ, I'm not hiding that. But so do you, so do all of you. I want help...I do...don't get me wrong, but I don't think anyone here can help me. I don't think anyone can help you either. I miss her, TJ, but I miss you too. You came here to talk, maybe we should talk."
"Mikey..." TJ sighed, staring blankly at the door, "Thank you for telling me. I know that if you weren't in the position you were...you would have done it better...but it's good that I know. I do have a problem, Mikey, the woman I love is dead and now so is my unborn child."
"We can help each other, TJ," Mikey whispered, "We could try..."
"Do you really want to try?"
"I do. I want to be better; I want to stop using her as an excuse. I want to...I want to be someone she could be proud of..." Mikey trailed off, looking to the ground, "Someone they could both be proud of." TJ turned slightly, met his eyes.
"Then you can do it on your own, Mikey, you always could. Because you want to," TJ's hand slipped around the doorknob, "I have to deal with this now, Mikey, on my own. But I'll help you, if you need me to. They can help you too. We love you, Mikey." He slipped out the door, leaving them all behind gaping.
END A/N: Hm...very interesting...oh, points to PureEvilOne who somehow figured out why she was on the early flight. I have no idea how she figured that out as I hinted nothing towards it...no foreshadowing whatsoever...and it upset me too...sniffles...my big surprise and she has to ruin it with this adament statement "They know she's pregnant." Bleh. Well, I'm over it. I wasn't so much angry that she figured it out as upset she posted it in the review and possibly ruined the story for anyone who isn't stalking me and reading my notes on the story.
You aren't stalking me, are you, PureEvilOne? Because I'm a very paranoid person...
Oh man. Um...REVIEW.
tHANKS fOR rEADING: and please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.
"Nolite te bastardes carborundorum." - The Handmaid's Tale