This chapter is a little different from the previous ones, mainly because it has a part that's not really about the twins (gasp!). Since this story has mostly focused on Zack and Cody (obviously), I decided to add in a section about Carey—a person who is very significant to the both of them. I wanted to give her "life" so to speak because, this far, she's been little more than a cardboard cutout.
Aside from that, Bailey arrives in this chapter! You guys may have been wondering when she was going to show up. She's here now. :)
Also, anyone who likes dirty jokes will find this chapter most gratifying. :) You all might think I have a dirty mind after reading this chapter (while remembering the receptionist girl in the last chapter), but I promise that all I write is for a reason.
I hope you like it! And, of course, please review if you'd like.
Carey Martin ogled intently at her reflection in the mirror of room 2330's bathroom. Apart from her make-up and hot pink strapless dress, she looked sullen and frail. Her eyes were rimmed with red and her cheeks were flushed. She'd been crying. Again. She'd promised herself that she wouldn't do it anymore—it couldn't be healthy to cry this much. She wanted her son and ex-husband to at least think she was pulling through..even if it wasn't true. She was perfectly alright with them just assuming it. She didn't want them to be worried about her; there was already enough of that to spare for Cody.
Cody, she thought. Sweet Cody. My Cody. There's nothing worse than when a mother finds out that she doesn't even know her own child. I suppose I don't know you, Cody. I suppose you became a stranger somehow. Because the Cody I knew would never have done the things that you've done.
Her mind had been a jumbled mess ever since she, Zack, and Kurt had left Fairoaks and came back to the Tipton, after they had visited Cody. Of course, her mind had been a mess beforehand as well. But seeing Cody somehow had worsened it. Exacerbated it. He'd looked so pallid and sickly. So neglected. The moment her eyes had caught a glimpse of him, her heart broke—a second time. Then again, perhaps it had been a third time. She couldn't even remember anymore.
I don't even know how broken my heart is. It's probably just a mass of scar tissue by now.
Carey rubbed her lips together, reminding herself that she was not going to think about that. She leaned closer to the mirror, inspecting her lipstick's shade of red. Deciding that it was the wrong one. She bent down, opened the cabinet door beneath the sink, and tore off a perforated segment of paper towel. Diligently, she dabbed her lips with it, pausing between each wipe to look at the blotches of red that were made. Yep, definitely not the right shade. She picked up her make-up purse, which she kept sitting on the bathroom counter behind the sink, and began rummaging through it. She fumbled with the contents until she found another lipstick—a lighter shade of red that was almost a cross between red and tan. That should do the trick, she told herself, and carefully applied it. Her focus turned back to her reflection in the mirror. She smacked her lips. Perfect.
Except for her morose disposition, she was stunning. That was acceptable. Nobody would be looking too closely at her, anyway. They'd be far more engrossed in her singing than in the finer details of her appearance.
She couldn't believe that she was going to sing for the first time since Cody's dilemma. She wasn't entirely sure if she should do it—and was even less sure if she could it do—but she figured she had to. She needed the money, and she could not put her life on hold forever. Depressed or not, she had to carry on.
And who knows? Maybe, it'll be good for me. Maybe what I need is to get back out there and start doing my thing.
She'd convinced herself that that was the case. Besides, she reasoned, the longer she waited, the harder it would be. That's usually how it went.
Carey walked out of the bathroom, breathing intensely. Her son Zack was standing right outside the door, waiting for her to come out. "Zack?" she said. "Whatcha doin'?"
"I need to take a shower," he replied.
She managed a smile—the most authentic smile she could give, taking into account what she was feeling. It was rather funny that he was taking a shower. Well, funny to her anyway. When he was a child, he used to never take showers. In fact, he once went a whole month without one—which, unfortunately, had been after he'd started puberty. The stench had nearly killed her.
He's grown up, she mentally stated. He's a man now. A young man. And still my baby, but…old enough to take care of himself.
It was rather surprising that he'd turned out the way he did. It was a relief to some degree. As much as she hated to admit it, she'd often feared that he would not grow up to be very successful. He'd never really put forth much effort into things—least of all, into things that mattered. He'd been more concerned about following his hormones and chasing attractive girls. Whenever he'd talked about his future—which was seldom—he'd say that he would eventually find a way to get paid for doing practically nothing. As though that would actually work. Not that it was totally impossible, but usually jobs like that consisted of desk work and required many years of college education. And College hadn't exactly been on Zack's to-do list. His to-do list had been quite short. Besides the essentials, such as eating and sleeping, the only item on it was dating.
Cody, as fate would have it, had been dramatically different. He'd often worried about Zack—worried that Zack would pursue a life of crime. And there were times, dare she own up to them, that Carey had worried about that exact same thing. Zack had loved to scheme, and to manipulate, and to drive people up the walls. Especially authoritative people. There was something about it that seemed to thrill him.
Cody had been the intellect. The perky, studious, ever-so-optimistic boy who'd exploded with ideas and energy. The one who was sensitive, yet not afraid to stand up for what he believed in. He was the idealist. The one who'd had the most hope. The most faith in people.
And yet, he's in a nut house and Zack is the one standing before me…about to take a shower. How things change. How things change without warning, and without your approval. Without reference to your sanity or your wishes.
All of a sudden, Carey felt her eyes moisten. This was the worst time to cry. She was wearing mascara, and she didn't want it to run. Not in front of Zack.
Zack could tell that she was stifling her tears. For his sake. And for the sake of not having to redo her make-up. "Hey, it's okay," he whispered softly. "It's okay. Don't hold it in."
Carey sniffled and breathed unsteadily, still trying to be brave.
"Mom, don't hold it in."
She couldn't keep it at bay anymore. Her eyes looked down toward the floor as the tears spilled over, creating trails of mascara on her cheeks. She let out a whimper. Small, but still perceptible. "I'm sorry," she said pathetically. "I shouldn't do this." She ran her fingers over the skin of her cheeks and wiped away the black tracks. Then grimaced when she saw the mess on her fingers. "I bet I look horrible now."
"You look beautiful," Zack said, slowly pulling her into a tender embrace.
"No. No, I don't."
"Yes, you do. You've always looked beautiful, Mom. Always."
"Don't lie to me, Zack. I look terrible and we both know it. And it's not just the mascara. I look worn out, and exhausted…I look like I'm sagging. I don't look alive anymore."
Zack turned his head and kissed her on the cheek, an inch or two in front of her ear. "That's not true. You're gorgeous. You're the most beautiful woman in the world, and you know why? Cause you're my mom. You'll always be the most beautiful woman to me. Sagginess and mascara messes included."
Carey wrapped her arms around Zack's shoulders and squeezed him against her. "Oh God Zack, I love you! I love you, baby. I love you so much!"
"I know. I love you too…Mommy." It was strange to call her that after so many years. Strange to hear it come from a man's voice rather than a child's. But he did not care in the slightest. He said it with pride.
Zack pulled away from his mother even more gradually than he had embraced her, and then stared at her affectionately. Observing her. Carey kept her gaze firmly on the floor, overcome with discomfort. "I can't go out now," she remarked. "Not looking like this. Moseby would fire me on the spot."
Zack shook his head, choosing to humor her.
Then Carey's whimpers transformed into sobs. "What am I going to tell him? I promised him I would sing today."
"I'm sure he'll understand," Zack told her.
"I don't know," Carey muttered hesitantly, wiping at her tear-streaked face. More mascara had ventured down her cheeks.
"I do know. Moseby knows you, Mom. You've worked for him for years, and he knows how you are. He'll understand, trust me."
At first, Carey still looked unsure. But when Zack repeated himself, she finally gave in and nodded. "Okay," she concurred. "Okay, let's go tell him."
Zack and Carey both left the room to walk down to the front desk, intent on informing Mr. Moseby that Carey wasn't able to sing that day. Zack kept his arm wrapped around her shoulders, wanting to support her as well reassure her of his presence. He kept it there the whole time.
While they were in the elevator, Carey wiped away the remaining traces of mascara from her cheeks and pulled herself together. Alright. It's going to be alright. What's one more day of missing work? It shouldn't be anything to fall apart over. I'm just not ready for this yet. I'm not ready to resume life.
When the elevator doors opened, she was feeling much more confident. More ready to break the news to her boss. But when she and her son stepped out into the lobby, they were both stopped in their tracks by the presence of a familiar girl standing just inside the hotel's doors. She was holding the handle of a wheeled duffle bag in one hand and the strap of a backpack that was slumped over her shoulder in the other. Her dirty blonde hair was unmistakable, even though it had been cut short. Her eyes and her face were the same, as was everything else about her. She was dressed in a beige shirt and denim jacket, and tattered jeans that had a hole in the left knee. She stood motionless as stone, staring at the wide open space of the lobby before her. Staring back was Mr. Moseby behind the front desk, looking happy to see her, yet sympathetic towards her reason for coming.
Zack and Carey maintained blank expressions, neither of them knowing what to do. Both had been aware her arrival but had not known when she would be showing up. And now, here she was…right when everyone had been too absorbed in their emotions to think much about her.
Finally, Zack figured that someone better speak, so he made a feeble attempt at a warm smile and said, "Hey Bailey. Welcome to the Tipton."
…
George and Cody occupied themselves with jokes during the time they spent in their room. How else were they supposed to entertain themselves? There was nothing in the room except two beds and a barred window, meaning there was nothing else to do but sleep or look outside…which they often did. Cody loved taking in the appearance of the world outside of Fairoaks, even if he only observed a portion of it through a ten-inch by twelve-inch hole in the wall. It was better than staring at the bricks all the time.
Judging by the window in their room, it looked like it was going to rain today. The sky was overcast and there was a breeze that howled as it forced itself through the leaves of the trees. It was melancholy weather. Weather that caused gloomy attitudes. There was crying and shouting coming from some of the rooms down the hall, along with the voices of nurses trying to console them.
To keep from feeling bummed, as well as becoming bored, George and Cody decided to sit on their beds and tell jokes that they'd learned when they were younger. "How about this one?" George said. "A young man goes to the doctor's office for a physical examination, right? When he gets into the room, he takes off all his clothes. Well, this nurse standing by notices that he's got a dick the size of a kid's pinky finger and she starts cracking up. The young man turns to her and gives her this really stern look, and he says, 'You really shouldn't laugh. It's been swollen like that for weeks!'"
"Oh God," Cody said, chuckling.
"Okay, you're turn now."
Cody had never been a jokester in his younger years. All the jokes he'd ever heard in his life were either from his brother Zack, or from someone at school who he happened to overhear while they were telling the joke. Cody remembered a few of those; some he'd even written down because he found them humorous. He told one of them now: "Okay, so this guy named Bud who lives in a small, country town dies in a fire and gets badly burned. The morgue needs someone to identify him so they send for his two best friends, Daryl and Gomer. Daryl goes in first, and when the mortician pulls back the sheet, Daryl says, 'Well, I'll be damned. He's burnt up pretty good there, ain't he? Turn him over.' The mortician doesn't know why he's been asked to do this, but he does it anyway. When Daryl sees the body's backside, he says, 'Nope. He ain't Bud.' Then he leaves. The mortician thinks that was weird, but he doesn't say anything. He just sends for Gomer to come in. When Gomer comes in and takes a look at the body, he says, 'Holy cow! He's been burnt to a crisp, hasn't he? Turn him over.' The mortician does what he's told, and when Gomer sees the body's backside, he says, 'Nah, this ain't Bud.' Finally, she mortician's curious and he asks, 'How can you tell?' And Gomer replies, 'Bud had two assholes.' The mortician's really confused; he's like, 'What? Two assholes?' And Gomer looks at him and says, 'Yep. Everybody in town knew he had two assholes. Every time the three of us went out, they'd all point and say, 'Look, here comes Bud with them two assholes!'"
George smiled. "Not bad," he said. "But personally, I think mine was better."
Cody shrugged. "It's the best I could do."
"Do you know any dirty jokes?"
Cody thought back. He remembered one that he thought was rather raunchy. "Okay, okay, how about this one? It's kinda short but…I thought it was pretty dirty. This husband comes home and tells his wife that he's going to get a hundred-dollar bill tattooed on his dick. When his wife asks him why he would do a stupid thing like that, he says, 'Well, because I like to play with my money, I like to see it grow, and if you ever feel like you need to blow a hundred dollars, you won't have to go to the mall.'"
George laughed. "Now that's the shit right there," he commented. "Short, but fuckin' sweet."
Cody and George both laughed at themselves.
"You know what?" George said, "We should tell one of those jokes to the nurses when they come in here. I wonder how they'll react. Especially the ones who're all stiff-upper-lip. God, I hate those. We should definitely tell 'em one of those jokes. Get 'em to laugh for once."
"Maybe we should," agreed Cody. "Then again, I'd wonder what they'd do."
"Probably just give us a stern lecture about being respectful."
Right at that moment, a nurse walked in to give George his Depakote. George told her he had a joke that she should hear, and then proceeded to tell her the one about the man wanting to get the tattoo on his dick. By the end of it, the nurse was blushing and George was cracking up.
"That's, uh, some joke there," the nurse commented awkwardly.
"Yep," George agreed. "Compliments of Cody Martin over there." He gestured toward Cody.
The nurse seemed somewhat astonished that the joke had come from Cody. "Is it?" she asked, looking at him to verify it. Her expression looked as if to say, "Honestly, I would have expected a joke like that from George…but you, Cody?"
"I didn't come up with it," Cody reassured her. "I heard it at school once when I was a kid."
"I see." The nurse took a step closer to him. "Well, you know, it's not really respectful to tell jokes like that to staff. Quite frankly, I'd appreciate it if you kept the jokes clean…especially around us."
"Why?" George interjected, impertinently. "Afraid the dirty ones might turn you on?"
"No," the nurse said seriously. "It's just a matter of taking people's feelings into regard. I dare say, most of the workers here would rather not hear ridiculous stories about men's genitals from the patients."
George smiled widely. Defiantly. "Cause you deal with those on I daily basis, I bet."
"What is that supposed to mean?" The nurse was becoming very indignant by his attitude, taking it as insolence. Cody knew that George was only encouraged by this. Her annoyance delighted him.
He just feels obligated to piss her off. Cheeky little bastard. Cody clenched his lips together tightly, holding in a chuckle. He shouldn't have been feeling the urge to laugh at this, but he couldn't help himself.
"Oh, come on!" George exclaimed, looking as though the answer to the nurse's question was obvious. "The patients here are nuts. They're out of the blessed fuckin' minds! Especially us guys. We make out with the doors, and jack off into the toilets, and show our cocks to random girls in the hallways—we do it cause we need to. We totally fuckin' need to! It gives us a sense of purpose in this crazy-ass place. I mean, it's not like we can just fuck on our own accord, you know? We can't do that anymore cause you guys won't let us. We don't have free will in this place cause we're insane. Cause we can't hold our own, right? Can't live in society, you lose your rights as a citizen…including your right to fuck. And your right to tell a nasty joke to someone…"
"George, stop!" The nurse looked more than a little annoyed now.
But, of course, George didn't stop. "You know us guys. We're horny as hell. If we can't fuck every once in a while, we go crazy. You nurses and doctors are so stupid cause you think it's the other way around—you think we don't fuck cause we're crazy, when really we're crazy cause we don't fuck. We totally lose it when we go too long without gettin' some, and then you wind up with a bunch o' assholes on your hands. Needy assholes."
The nurse didn't say anything. Instead, she stared at George with eyes that—if he revered her—would have frozen him stiff. Eyes that held hatred. Coldness.
"I bet it ain't easy for you either," George continued. "Not nearly as bad as it is for us, but definitely not easy. Working here eight hours a day, every day, seeing some men you wanna touch but can't cause you'd lose your job. Right now, just by looking at you, I can tell that you're confused. You don't know which you want to do more—slap me silly or jump my bones. But you don't have to guts to do either cause you follow the rules."
The woman still did not say anything, but George could tell that she had had enough. Eventually, after staring callously at him for long minute, she turned away and walked out of the room, slamming the metal door shut behind her. The clanging of metal against metal rung in Cody's ears.
Just then, George began to snicker.
"What's so funny?" Cody questioned.
George looked at him. "Men's genitals—that's what she said. She said she didn't want to hear ridiculous stories about 'men's genitals.' Oh my God, why do nurses have to be so fuckin' formal? Why don't they just call it a 'dick' or a 'cock' like everyone else?"
Cody shrugged. "They're taught to."
"Yeah, I guess they are. It's still funny though."
Cody just shook his head. What's funny is how that whole discussion on men and sex got started from one little harmless joke.
…
Lunch time was the usual. Cody and George got a table near the back of the cafeteria and sat next to each other. George started to eat like a starving caveman, while Cody took small bites here and there, afraid of food poisoning and improperly cooked meat (they were having chicken breasts).
Doris spotted them and came over to their table. Cody beamed at her when he initially saw her face, but then changed his expression to one of concern when he saw that she was crying. When she sat down, she wiped at her eyes and sniffled, trying to gather herself up and not bring Cody down. "Sorry about this," she said.
Cody didn't bother telling her not to apologize. He was too worried about what was going on. "What's wrong, Doris?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.
Doris sniffled again. "My mom and my brother came to visit me the other day. Usually my dad's with them, but this time, he wasn't. He and my mom had a fight recently—they've been fighting for a while now. For years. But, apparently, they had a really bad argument a week or so ago…and, my dad moved out. He just packed his stuff and left." More tears slid down her face and she broke out into a sob. "My brother…Elvis…he begged him not to leave. He even jumped in front of his car as it was pulling out of the driveway."
"Oh my God," Cody said. "Was he okay?"
"Yeah, he was fine. It's just…when I saw him, he was so sad. He and my mom both were. My mom told me that she was going to file for a divorce as soon as possible."
"I'm so sorry."
George, who had been listening in, leaned over the table and looked at her. "That doesn't really affect you too much, though, does it?" he seemed curious. "I mean, besides the fact that your dad might not be able to visit you as often as he used to, it shouldn't be that big of a big deal. Whether your parents are married or not, you're still stuck in here."
"That's true," Doris granted. "But still…it's just so unfair to Elvis. He's so young, and he looks up to our dad. But at the same time, he doesn't want to leave our mom either. She'd be devastated if he did that. He's all either of them have left at this point, and that's too much for him to have to deal with. He shouldn't have that burden."
George understood that. "Poor little guy."
Doris tried wiping her eyes again, but it was pointless because each tear that was dabbed away was replaced by another. "God, I wished this never happened," she muttered pitifully.
"I know how you feel," Cody said. The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. Typically, he didn't like bringing up his parent's divorce; but right now, he was determined to identify with Doris. To show her that she was not alone. "My parents are divorced. They've been divorced since me and my brother were little."
George gaped at him. "You never told me that," he criticized. "How did you and your brother take it?"
Cody didn't have to think before answering. He remembered his parents' divorce almost as though it had merely happened the day previously. It was caught in his mind, stuck between other memories…like a knife that was never pulled out. "It sucked majorly for a long time," he confessed. "Me and Zack—we didn't know what to feel. So many emotions were coming at us at once, you know? It was impossible to sort through them all. Our parents kept telling us they loved us, but we were afraid they were only saying that to make us feel better—cause they didn't want traumatized kids on their hands."
Doris' sobs became more severe. "Oh Cody, I'm so sorry that happened to you!"
Cody shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. Not wanting Doris to feel worse than she already did. "It happens a lot. Zack and I didn't have it as bad as some other kids. Our dad still saw us from time to time, and things turned out okay."
"Still…you shouldn't have had to go through that. It was so unfair to you."
Cody didn't know what else to say. She was right; it had been unfair to him. It's always unfair to children when their parents leave each other and break the family unit apart. Children need both parents. That is a known fact. When they're young, family is all they know. It's their strength. When they lose that, they lose their stability. Their sense of safety comes crashing down. Cody had endured that, as did his brother Zack. But unlike Doris' brother Elvis, they'd had each other to find comfort in. Elvis had no one except a sister who was in a mental institution. And who was in there for cutting herself.
Cody rubbed her back and kept telling her that everything would be okay. Eventually, Doris' sobs died down and she became silent.
"I'm sure your dad misses you guys," George said to her, finishing up the last bit of food on his tray. He wasn't exactly proficient at comforting people due to his lack of emotional display, but it was easy to tell that he felt for Doris. If even a tiny amount, feelings of empathy were there.
Wow, George, I'm impressed. I feel like I should write this down in a calendar.
"You think so?" Doris asked George, rather doubtfully.
George met her eyes. "Well, if he doesn't than he's crazy. If he doesn't, he belongs in a place like this."