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Chapter 4 – The Meal
Light and shadows danced madly across the walls of the living room as Jimmy erratically flipped through the channels of the oversized TV. Jerry stood off to side to avoid the pulsating glare of the screen in the dark room as he ran through tasks on his tablet. There was little downtime when he worked at Crystal Entertainment, but after leaving to continue as Jimmy's personal assistant, he found himself needing to kill time with the lack of work that required his attention.
The channel surfing grew increasingly agitated until Jimmy settled on a channel and let out a disgusted groan. Jerry peeked at the TV to find Celeste Cassidy in the midst of an interview with Walter Kilborn as part of a segment dubbed "The Rebirth of Crystal Entertainment."
"Rebirth my ass," Jimmy complained. "I gave her a perfectly good company and she's talking about it like it was on its last leg. Something has to die before it can be reborn."
"This does seem to be quite the exaggeration," Jerry commented.
"I'm not gonna watch this garbage," Jimmy declared. With a frustrated growl, he flipped the channel to an elaborate screensaver of a simulated lightning storm before tossing the remote aside. He didn't care how on the nose it was. It was an accurate reflection of his mood.
It wasn't until the fourth clash of lightning that Jerry looked over his tablet and realized Jimmy was staring at him. He let out a nervous laugh as he became self-conscious under the wolf's watchful eyes.
"Hey Jerry, any new messages?"
Dread started to creep up Jerry's body like he was sinking in quicksand made of the stuff. He went through the motions of switching over to the email tab, knowing there was nothing waiting for him there. The empty inbox confirmed his fears. He considered lying, but lies needed to be maintained, and Jimmy had been lied to enough.
"Nothing since the last few messages from this morning, sir," Jerry admitted.
"Could... could ya read them to me again anyway?"
Something inside Jerry plummeted after hearing that request. His eyes fell back onto the tablet only to find the inbox in the middle of an auto-refresh.
"Oh!" he said. A new email appeared in the inbox. "There's something here after all." He tapped the email without thinking and felt that quicksand pulling him down even faster as he read the message.
"What's it say?"
"It's, um... ah... a message from Lester McCray... from the Majestic." Jerry's eyes flickered back and forth from the tablet to Jimmy as if begging the wolf to let him off the hook. If Jimmy saw, he didn't react.
"Go on."
"He, uh... he says he has a position open... as his new assistant... and it's yours if you want it."
Jimmy's brows dropped in fury. "You tell that blubbery loser that he can assist my foot right up his ass!"
"I'll... let him know you're not interested."
"No!" Jimmy knocked back what was left in his glass, slammed it on the table, and pushed himself off the couch. Soon he was hovering over Jerry. "You tell him exactly what I said!"
Jerry could smell the whiskey on Jimmy's breath as he dictated the message to him. He wasn't satisfied until he saw Jerry send the message. Jimmy poured himself another drink and collapsed onto the couch, robe loose and nearly open, his drink perfectly balanced.
Seeing Jimmy sprawled out on that couch like that sent Jerry's mind into a spin and his heart into a sprint. The intimacy of the situation, that Jimmy was vulnerable and dependent on him. There was also Jimmy's lack of modesty, that the robe was open just enough give Jerry a good idea of what he was—or rather, wasn't—wearing underneath, the fact that Jerry hadn't needed to imagine what was under there since that night Moon seized the theater. The things they could get up to right now if they wanted to...
Jerry shook away the lustful thoughts. He had needs, he had fantasies. But that wasn't what Jimmy needed right now. The wolf was looking for something in that bottle of bourbon he'd never find.
"Have you had dinner yet?" Jerry asked.
Jimmy sloshed the liquid around in his glass. "This is dinner."
Jerry's body reacted before his mind did. He set the tablet down and swiped the glass right out of Jimmy's hand in such a quick, flawless motion that it surprised himself. Jimmy didn't realize what happened until he raised his hand and took a sip of air.
"Why did you do that?" the wolf growled.
"You need food—sustenance. This isn't it. I'll make a meal for you if you'll let me."
After what felt like an eternity, Jimmy said, "All right."
Jerry pulled and tugged at Jimmy's arms until the wolf got up and followed the feline's enthusiastic jog to the bright, expansive and pristine kitchen.
"You have any tuna, sir?"
"Ugh, I can't stand tuna," Jimmy said, and Jerry nearly stumbled hearing that. "I don't have any of the fresh stuff, but there's probably a few cans in the pantry for Porsha."
"Don't worry, sir. You've never had tuna like this!"
Jimmy took a seat on a stool at the kitchen's island. With some direction, Jerry found a sliding stepstool and made his way around the kitchen, gathering all the supplies he needed and setting them on the opposite side of the island. But before he began his culinary magic, he filled a glass with water and gave it to Jimmy. The wolf reluctantly accepted the water, taking it like a scorned teenager.
Jerry went to the other side of the island and started preparing dinner. After dicing some celery and onions, he drained two cans of tuna and added them to a mixing bowl along with mayonnaise. Once he dumped the celery and onion into the bowl, he added some capers and topped it off with parsley and a pinch of chili powder. The confidence and fluidity of Jerry's movements gave Jimmy the impression that he was watching an expert at work.
As Jerry began mixing the ingredients, he realized that, outside of the occasional roar of thunder from the living room, they were blanketed in a thick and awkward silence. Jerry hummed to himself to stave off the persistent silence but was still haunted by an unsettling feeling. He looked across the island to find Jimmy staring at him over the rim of his glass of water.
The mixing bowl wobbled as Jerry became incredibly self-conscious and his actions grew more bumbling. He couldn't bear being the sole focal point in the room. He worked best when everyone forgot he existed. Of course, this wasn't just about his needs. Jimmy needed some engagement, and Jerry decided to strike up a conversation.
"Have you found another therapist yet?"
"That's a dead end," Jimmy replied in a scratchy rumble. "I mean, think about it—what's the point? I don't need a therapist to know that I ain't exactly a good person."
Cleo was right. Jerry didn't fully understand it when she first said it, but alcohol had a detrimental effect on Jimmy's psyche. All the things Jerry admired about him evaporated in the bottle of bourbon, replaced with a subdued version wallowing in self-pity, self-loathing, and a painful self-awareness. Jerry might have walked away if his feelings were anything less than love. This was just proof that Jimmy needed him more than ever.
"Sir, please, don't do that. Don't..." Jerry hesitated and thought better of it. "Never mind."
"Don't what? You've clearly got something you want to say."
"It was a mistake. Nobody ever wants to hear what I have to say."
"Oh, for the love of... Jerry, I am asking you to elaborate."
Jerry set the mixing spoon down and leaned against the island countertop. "Okay, it's just... you shouldn't put yourself in a box like 'good' or 'bad.' Some negative labels are created to make it easier to vilify people and strip them of their worth and their individuality. As soon as you accept that you're a 'bad' person, your feelings, your wants, your needs, and all the circumstances that got you labeled in the first place go out the window. All that matters is that you're 'bad' now, and people like you need to be dealt with."
Jimmy scratched his chin. "Huh..."
"Besides, who are you even comparing yourself to when you think of a good person? Moon?" Jerry wrinkled his nose. "The same guy that almost got several people killed when his theater collapsed after some crazy scheme blew up in his face? The same guy that defrauded you out of millions, put the company in legal jeopardy, seized your theater and used ex-cons to beat up employees just doing their job? All because he felt entitled to doing a show? If you were to ask me what makes someone a good person, I don't think any of those things qualify."
All that babbling and yet Jimmy was still paying attention to him. That made Jerry even more self-conscious about how what he was saying came across. He felt the sudden need to clarify. "A-and I'm not just saying that because it's you, sir! The truth is I don't think there is a such thing as good or bad people, just people with the capacity to do good and bad things. We're all a little too complex and messy to just tick off some binary checkbox."
"That's one of the most profound things I've ever heard you say," Jimmy said with a chuckle. "Where were you hiding that?"
Jerry began mixing the tuna again. "Well, you know... my job doesn't really require my own opinions. Besides, I've been thinking about things like morality a lot after you got, you know... arrested. A lot of people gave me grief for continuing to support you. They didn't understand. They don't want to understand."
Jimmy's eyes wandered the kitchen in thought. Jerry having the attention removed from him felt a bit of a relief. Taking four slices of bread and cheddar cheese, Jerry buttered the outsides of the bread and placed cheese on the inside of each slice, then evenly divided the tuna mix onto the bread and pressed the slices to make two sandwiches. He then made his way over to the stove and turned on one of the burners before setting a skillet on top.
Jerry went to grab the sandwiches from the island while the skillet heated up, but before he did, he fished around the inside of his suit jacket and found a card. He reached up and gave the card to Jimmy.
"Don't give up on therapy, okay?"
Jimmy examined the card, two halves crudely taped back together. He recognized it as the same card Cleo gave him back in Calatonia right before he left her stranded out of spite. A card for Maxine Winters, therapist.
Jimmy fought back a scowl. "Cleo's therapist?"
"Not her therapist, remember? Just the one she wanted for you," Jerry said, taking the plate of sandwiches over to the stove. "Don't you trust her? I'm sure she put a lot of research into finding the right therapist for you."
Jimmy didn't respond as Jerry cooked the sandwiches in the skillet. The pleasant mix of tuna and spices cooking wafted through his sensitive nose. His stomach growled in neediness and anticipation. After all that drinking and wallowing, he didn't realize how hungry he really was.
It wasn't long before Jerry returned with two smoking hot tuna melts, freshly cut down their middles, and set one down in front of Jimmy. He climbed the stool next to the wolf but refused to take a bite out of his sandwich before Jimmy. Jerry was practically quaking with giddiness as he watched Jimmy lift one half of the tuna melt, the gooey cheese stretching from the plate in the process. Jimmy examined the sandwich like a stereotypical food critic before finally taking a bite.
What followed was a flash of surprise, maybe even ecstasy, across Jimmy's face before he regained control. He regarded the feline with a casual glance as he said, "Congrats, Jerry. You got me to tolerate tuna."
Despite his subdued response, Jimmy devoured both halves of his tuna melt before Jerry finished his first. He snapped up Maxine Winters's card from where he left it on the countertop and scanned it over as if the answer to the meaning of life was scrawled on it in invisible ink.
"I'm gonna do it," he said. "Tomorrow, I'll call and set up an appointment."
Jerry responded with a smile. As he finished up his tuna melt, a brazen thought came to him and he decided to float the idea. "So, uh, you know... if that Kilborn interview is still on... we could maybe turn to it and roast Cassidy for a bit."
Jimmy's muzzle curled with a devilish grin.
"Wait for it," Jimmy said, teetering on the edge of the couch as if watching the winning play of a sports game.
Celeste Cassidy was on the TV in a salmon-colored pantsuit. She sat across from Walter Kilborn, the interview staged in the stripped-down office that once belonged to Jimmy. She cited the location as proof to her dedication to Crystal Entertainment's "rebirth." Jimmy waited with bated breath until the camera finally switched over to a wide shot of Cassidy with one leg crossing the other, her feet in clear view.
Jimmy pointed at the screen. "There it is!" he yelled, reaching back to tap Jerry. "Look at those clonkers!"
Something between a cough and gasp flew out of Jerry's mouth. "Oh my gosh, how have I never noticed how huge her feet are?"
"You mean you never noticed you can hear her coming a mile away?"
Jerry shrugged. "I just figured she used to be in a marching band or something."
Jimmy threw himself back into the couch with a howl of laughter, legs kicking the air. His laughing fit was so rowdy Jerry was afraid the wolf might launch him off the couch. It would be worth it just to see Jimmy rescued from that pitiful state he was previously in.
"A one-woman marching band," Jimmy murmured, wiping at one eye.
After they ran out of roasting material and grew increasingly annoyed by Cassidy's narrative about "saving" Crystal Entertainment, Jimmy started flipping through the channels. Sealed and abandoned on the table was the bottle of bourbon next to Jerry's tablet. Jimmy settled on a channel running one of those old black and white movies where the male and female leads start off combative and volatile but are forced to admit their feelings for each other before one of them leaves by the end of the movie. It was a romantic cliché that Jerry loved, and he told himself it was okay to indulge in it because those stories were popular for a reason. It was better to embrace love, even at the last minute, than to let the opportunity slip away.
As the movie went on, Jimmy threw his arms across the couch's back. Eventually, his hand found its way down to Jerry, where he absently massaged the cat's scalp with the finely sharpened tips of his claws. Jerry said nothing, instead melting into the moment while it lasted. Jimmy's claws discovered a swell of flesh on Jerry's left temple. The concussion was mild, but the scar would be everlasting. Thankfully, Jerry's fur did a good job of covering it up.
Jimmy traced the scar a few times before he pulled back and said, "Thanks... for the food, for the art, for sticking around with me."
"Anytime, sir."
"Whenever people do things like that for me, it's because they want something in return. The perils of money and power, huh?"
"I know you're going through hard times. I just wanted to cheer you up."
"You did," Jimmy admitted. "And despite what I said earlier, the tuna melt was actually really delicious. Where'd you learn how to cook like that?"
"I mostly just experiment at home. The best thing about living alone is you can only disappoint yourself with your cooking." Jerry followed up with a quiet chuckle, but Jimmy responded with a disgusted grunt.
"You gotta stop doing that. You keep tearing yourself down. You've got more to offer than you know. You're hardworking, you're dedicated, you're loyal, and you're full of surprises. I especially appreciate the loyalty. Can't trust nobody these days."
Jerry turned to him, his eyes wide and glistening from the light of the TV. "You really mean all that?"
"You think I'd lie about something like that?" Jimmy asked, brows high with a playful grin on his face.
"Well, I... aheh... wow... t-thanks, sir..." Jerry couldn't hide his embarrassment. Jimmy was leaning in too closely and seemed to be relishing in the cat's reaction. Then Jimmy said something that made Jerry's heart nearly leap out of his throat.
"I don't know what I'd do without you."
Jerry wanted to reply in kind, say those same words because he'd thought them many times before, but no sound could escape his mouth. His body was buzzing like a wasp's nest erupted inside him. The movie was reduced to a blur of noise and light. Jimmy was so close Jerry could swear he felt the wolf's body heat through the robe. That grin on Jimmy's face was so open, sincere and charming. There was no cue for the camera, no performance for an audience. It was real, and it was for Jerry.
Just because Jerry's lips refused to talk didn't mean he couldn't speak.
Jerry pushed forward and their lips met, noses pressed together, breath intertwined. Time became a nebulous concept; they were connected like that anywhere from seconds to minutes. When they parted, Jerry's eyes were heavy like he'd awakened from a year-long slumber. He instantly sobered when he noticed the swirl of anger and confusion in Jimmy's eyes; his trip to heaven went straight to hell.
"What did you just do?" Jimmy demanded.
"I thought..."
"You thought? What did you think, exactly? I was up for grabs 'cause I was in a bad place?"
"N-no, sir! You and I... you said... we've already... I felt..."
Jimmy was up and off the couch, a shadow towering against the TV, watching Jerry sputter hopelessly. The feline cringed at the incoming wrath, but what followed stung much worse than any verbal takedown.
"You know the way out," Jimmy said and left the room.
It wasn't until Jerry heard the bedroom doors shut that he slid off the couch and gathered his things. He felt like a zombie, all the warmth and light sucked out of him as he shambled his way to the foyer. The most he could manage was closing the doors to the manor before his emotions caught up with him. He slid back against the door and hugged his knees, the volume of tears streaming down his face surprising even himself as he sobbed under the porchlight.
Cassidy was right: Jimmy would never choose him, but not for the reasons she thought. Even at his lowest, Jimmy was a man that reshaped entertainment and affected countless lives. There were several buildings in Redshore bearing his name. He once had a beautiful wife that bore him a talented daughter. If Mercy Crystal had never died, Jimmy might not even be on the table.
In contrast, Jerry had no accomplishments of his own. All he ever did was bring to fruition the work of others. Jimmy valued his loyalty and support, but that didn't make Jerry worthy of love. It was idiotic to even think Jimmy would reciprocate. They were leagues apart. Jimmy could have just about anyone.
"So why would he ever settle for a worthless loser like me?"
A/N
I struggled a bit with one aspect of this chapter... was it the Jimmy/Jerry interactions? No! That came quite naturally. I scratched my head trying to figure out... what would they eat!
Writing fan fiction can inadvertently expose tears in the seams of the source material in whatever fandom you're part of when you start to explore and elaborate on certain aspects. Sing is strange in that there's very little world building, yet they threw in everything including the kitchen sink when it comes to anthropomorphizing all the fauna they could. The idea that every animal in the Singverse is sapient is actually horrifying on an existential level. Yeah, the spiders and the shrimp can sing, but where do they live, can they hold jobs, do they have rights? These characters are usually relegated to gags or background scenes because using them in any real capacity raises tons of questions about how this universe works. The movies are basically having their cake and eating it too. Where did the milk in the ice cream come from? Do cows come in and get paid to get milked, sitting around and gossiping like they're in a salon? Are there professional milkers? Should you avoid eye contact when milking? Am I ruining this universe for you yet?
Before I ramble too much, what I'm getting at is that I'm putting my foot down in a way. For the sake of this story, the tuna Jerry cooked is just regular tuna. It didn't have dreams or aspirations.
