Pete was a goddamn existential alchemist, the one person in Mike's whole freaked out universe who had always been able distill something resembling sense from life when chaos was reigning supreme. Which is why Mike was mightily disappointed to hear Davy's voice on the other end of the phone.
"Pete's gone to get more beer. Him, Mick and meself are having a little planning party, y'know, after what Bob said. We're seeing about hatching a plot."
"Good. Kirshner needs some plotting. I'm in."
"Somethin' else, actually. And you're better out of it."
Mike almost slammed the phone down, but instead sniped, "Oh, right. Gotta give Bob a break." He could hear Davy's hiss of exasperation.
"No, you wanker, I guess you were too busy getting wound up to hear that they've settled it, we're just trying to figure out how to get her in without making her life harder. She's earned it."
"That's what I mean! She belongs at the table with all of us and I don't understand why she's not raising hell."
"That's not what you mean, and you know it. You mean you're going spare because she isn't raising hell because you call that 'selling out'. Stop expecting her to be like you, 'cos she can't. We got our job and she has hers, and hers doesn't include punching holes in the bloody walls when she thinks things should be different. Shit, Mike, we all know things should be different sometimes but other times you just have to take what's there and get on with it. Did you go for a drive, let her air out her head?"
"No, we did not 'go for a drive'. We got home and she went batshit crazy on me, and jumped into my Pontiac and burned enough rubber to reach from here to Seattle."
"Let me guess... you tried to get her to raise a little hell and she did. Just not where you expected."
Just then there was a confusion of noise, and Micky's voice replaced Davy's.
"Look, Mr. Gimme Everything Yesterday or Gimme Death, I don't need to hear the whole thing to know when you're screwing up. Again. Christ, what is WRONG with you two? There are people who'd kill to have what you've got. You have a fat paycheck, more cars than Detroit, and you're shacked up with a fairly foxy successful older chick who can't keep her hands off the Nine Iron."
"WHAT?"
"Hey, word gets around. Anyway, she has a fat paycheck, your fancy house, and first dibs on the guitar god who has chicks lined up around the block just begging to be screwed and abandoned. And what do you guys do with all of this wall-to-wall grooviness?"
Silence for a moment, then Mike said, "Well I expect you're about to tell me."
"That's right. We all work in the same circus, right? So do you think that if the clown lived with the ringmaster..."
"Associate ringmaster."
"Who cares? Do you think after a bummer day when they get home they argue over how many to cram into the car tomorrow?"
"Look, man, I just called to talk to Peter."
"Peter? You'd have to listen to fifteen minutes of zen before he cut the chase, which is: why don't you do what millions of other people do after a shitty day. Just lay down a little 'poor baby', and let it go."
Mike shook his head and stared at the receiver. "Mick, you clearly have us confused with two normal people."
Suddenly the humor went out of Micky's voice.
"Joke's over, man. Everything you have is yours to lose. And if you lose it all again, it's gonna be a lot longer road back than it was the first time. Oh, hey, Peter's back. Hey Pete! Mike's on the phone. He's fucking up again."
Mike rapped the receiver against his forehead, and rolled his eyes.
"Mike? What's going on? You and Bonnie wanna come over, we're gonna have a little party later, to balance out all that bad karma from today."
God bless Peter. Maybe it was as simple as that. Or maybe it was like Mick and Davy said, too. Well how would he know, if she shut down again like she used to do? Mike could hide behind his shades when he wanted to but Bonnie, she could hide in plain sight and never hear you knocking.
"She took off, man. She grabbed the keys to the GTO and took off like a bat outta hell, after tellin' me off for trying to get her to see things my way."
Peter's sigh was deafening. "Gee, you mean it didn't work? My mind is blown."
When Mike didn't answer Peter added, "Look, man, just relax. Everybody fights, you said so yourself, you do it plenty. You just stay mad at what you're fighting about."
"Yeah except it's looking like this time it's me."
"Wow, that does suck. Well just do what you always do."
"Forgive me if I don't recall..."
"Get through the day and start over tomorrow. Kinda like what Bonnie does with Bob. Except they do it without all the mindbending sex."
"WHAT?"
"Hey, word gets around. Back lacerations, love bites... makeup girls see everything. Don't worry, Mike, she'll be back soon, GTO and all."
"Yeah, because I own the title."
"No, dumbass, because she loves you. For once just be her old man, and let her be your old lady, and leave it to us to outwit the PTB, okay?"
"Why do the words 'we're doomed' come to mind?"
"I'm hanging up now."
Click.
Mike hung up the phone and sat for a minute. Okay, they were right, all of them. Him and Bonnie, they wasted a whole lot of time on stuff that didn't have to ride home with them. What do regular people do when the day sucks? One talks,the other listens, one sympathizes, and the other sulks a little. Or so he'd heard. Then, like Pete said, they start over tomorrow. A smile crept over his face. And a little mindbending sex wouldn't be bad, either.
With no idea when Bonnie would be back, or in what frame of mind, Mike decided to go to the one place where he could shut out everything in the world and focus only on what was in front of his eyes. He stripped out of his t shirt and jeans, pulled on a set of coveralls and swapped his boots for sneakers.
"Buick needs an oil change and the brakes are a mess," he announced aloud, then headed downstairs and out to the garage.
"D'you think they've finally gone over the edge this time?" Davy asked after taking another toke from the hookah and washing it down with a swill of beer.
"Nah," Micky said. "Just think it's the first time the argument got real, y'know? I mean, the show and stuff, we all agree on what we want and how it could work, but they're never gonna be in in the same groove about how to get there. Today's probably the first time it was all Bonnie's thing, by invitation only, and Mike wasn't invited."
"Yeah, well, she's older in't she?" Davy observed. "I mean like, more experience in some stuff, perspective-like. And Mike, well y'know how he is, if he can't have it now, gotta know why, and when he's told why he'll tell you why not. Must be hard to find the middle, let alone meet there."
Peter was ruminating in silence, sprawled on one the dozens of floor pillows that littered his living room, letting the smoke run in his head for a bit. Suddenly he sat upright.
"Men, I have a plan. Bonnie can't come to the Emmy's as production staff, so... we figure out some other job title."
Davy was shaking his head sadly. "No way, mate. She can't carry a tune in a pail, can't sew a bleedin' button on a costume, can't even hit a note on a kazoo."
"A triple threat," Micky mused from his own pillow-slouch, then snickered. "Poor Bon-Bon, loving the art but stuck with the paperwork."
"Guys, paperwork, that's it!" Peter exclaimed. He crawled off his pillow, in search of the phone. "Gotta call Bob."
Micky waved his hand. "Bad idea, man. Scotch on the way home, and all that."
"Oh, right."
They were a little wifty themselves, by now.
"Well we got a week, we can catch him in time to figure it out." Peter described his fiendishly simple plan to the others.
"Sounds groovy. But you'd better write it down, could get lost in the party," Davy warned. At that moment the doorbell rang. "Hey, the birds are here..."
"Hey c'mon in Lucy, Robin, Annie, welcome," Peter called out as the trio of girls from the makeup department entered. "Beer's in the fridge, munchies on the table, party in progress."
A fourth girl trailed the others. "Where's Mike?" she asked, looking around the room as the guys looked at each other in surprise.
Annie explained, "Well, I know he's kind of living with Bonnie, but Laura here said she'd heard from one of the costume girls he's always ready to party,and he's a real fine time." The way she said "time" made it sound like quite a different four-letter word.
"Sometimes the word gets around too late," Micky muttered to Davy, who turned his most winning smile on the disappointed Laura and invited,
"Don't be sad luv, he's not your type anyway. Very dark and moody, right boys? We'll get someone who's better at smiling. Pete, give Chip a call will ya? Now, who feels like dancing?"