Shoes (108)

PSI-2

Hyacinth responded to the sound of knocking with her usual deference, “It’s open, damn it!” A few moments later, she looked up from a young man with tonsillitis to see a young man holding a pair of black patent leather knee-high boots with five-inch spiked heels.

“Is Milo Rose here?” he said.

This, with the shoes, was momentarily disorienting. Could this possibly be some kind of delivery?

She shrugged. “Well, I mean, that’s kind of complicated, I guess he could be here. Does he have to sign or…?” She considered the young man. He was fair-haired with dark eyes and reasonably fashionable, in her ignorant estimation. She had to picture him in a bathrobe with wet hair before it clicked. “You’re, um, one of those from the Slaughterhouse, aren’t you?”

“Sean Addison,” he said, nodding.

“Oh, the murderer!” She pointed at him. “Yeah. I’m sorry. Ann has about a million friends and they don’t usually show up at the house. Hang on a second. Okay, aspirin for the swelling and gargle with warm salt water. You want that written down?”

“No, thank you,” said her patient, hoarsely.

She walked past him and into the dining room, still speaking, “If it doesn’t improve in, like, a week, you’re gonna want to hit up the free clinic and see if a real doctor wants to take those out. Or I can do it, but you’ll end up with a gold-coated throat… Hey, Ann! Is it still you?”

Ann popped her head out of Calliope’s room, “Cin, do you need shopping?” She was a bit softer, due to Erik and Lucy’s proximity, and it wasn’t all that difficult to hear.

Hyacinth pulled Sean out of the kitchen. “Company,” she said, before abandoning him in the empty dining room. He smiled, a bit uncertainly but quite fetchingly. He had a small mole under his left eye which added to his dramatic appeal, but had yet to get him any roles in what you might call a respectable establishment. The Slaughterhouse was quite fond of him for sympathetic-type parts, usually a victim, but once an ice-pick-murderer.

“Sean!” cried Ann, approaching at all speed. She embraced him. “Oh, it’s been ages! How’ve you been? How is everyone?”

“Oh, I’ve been all right. I’ve got a new job! And I’ve just seen Roger, he’s doing the electrical, it’s a panto, for Yule…”

A small woman with straight dark hair and a paint-spattered shirt had followed after Ann, and a green boy in a somewhat smudged condition was shyly hiding behind her.

“Sean, you must meet Calliope,” Ann said. “This is my dear friend, Calliope. She is an artist! Calliope, this is my dear friend Sean. He killed me with an ice pick!” Ann put Calliope’s hand in Sean’s.

Calliope’s grip instantly tightened, and she gave Sean’s rather limp and surprised hand a damn good throttling. “Hey. Was that before or after the musical number?”

“After,” Sean said. He retrieved his hand and checked it for paint. There was a little and he held it away from him. This was his good suit. He frowned at the woman. “Not a girlfriend?” he asked Milo… Ann, he corrected himself, noting the dress. Milo always introduced everyone as dear friends, even prop guys he barely knew.

Ann laughed. “Oh, dear me, no. A friend-friend. We’ve been painting! Well, mainly Calliope. She likes us to pose for her.”

Sean smiled at Calliope and bowed, still somewhat wary of his painted hand. “I am very pleased to meet you, Calliope.”

“Nice shoes, Sean,” Calliope said.

He blinked at them and held them up. “Oh, yes. Milo, love — Ann, I need…”

“And this is Erik, you know Erik, of course.”

Erik nodded at the ice pick man and did not quite dare to say, “Hi.” He knew he had met this person, but that wasn’t the same as friends. He wasn’t like Ann.

Sean smiled at him. “I promise, no murdering.”

“Yeah…”

Ann crouched down and put hands on Erik’s shoulders. She planted a kiss on his forehead, which had a small effect on the concerned wrinkles there. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, sweetheart. We’ll be all right.”

Calliope considered Erik, Ann, Sean, and shoes. “Yeah, Erik. Come on. I don’t like to leave Lucy alone too long, and I can put in some work on your eye while Ann’s talking.”

Erik nodded gravely and followed Calliope back to her room. “I can take it out if you want,” he offered her.

“Lucy is Calliope’s daughter,” Ann was saying, while clasping Sean’s hand. “Two months old. Brown hair, brown eyes, she’s the sweetest little thing… You simply must meet her!”

Sean dragged her back by the hand and touched it lightly to his lips. “In a moment, Annie, my love. I do sort of have a bit of an emergency…”

Ann beamed at him. “You don’t need me for a part, do you, dear?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” He held up the shoes again and looked sheepish. “But I suppose, in a manner of speaking…”

———

The problem was the heels. Sean had landed a role in a pantomime, which were seasonal entertainment around Yule. Puss in Boots, but cross-cast… and not so much in a theater as in a club with a stage, and some signs discouraging the audience from touching the dancers. But anyway, it was twelve shows and it paid well. He was the Principal Boy. (Ann, who was not well-versed in traditional theatrics, required some clarification as to how a boy as the Principal Boy was cross-cast.) Naturally, boots and a cat ( a cross-cast scantily-clad girl cat) were required. Sean had done some disreputable things in his young life, even some dancing, but never in heels.

“My goodness, they’ve dropped you direct into the boiling oil with these,” Ann noted, examining the shoes. They were sharp enough to stab a man to death. “I suppose you didn’t mention you might have a bit of trouble with them?” Like she didn’t mention she might have an issue doing her lines in a male voice.

Sean shook his head. “It’s only two days’ rehearsal, and that’s this weekend. I’ve got to look like I know what I’m doing. I’ve talked the wardrobe lady into letting me borrow them so I could practice. I tried it on my own, but I damn near broke my ankle. I have to go down stairs,” he added, gesturing at the sweeping staircase.

“Surely not that many,” Ann said.

“No, but it’s a set and I don’t imagine they’ll be as stable as those.” He sighed and looked down at his entirely-more-sensible shoes. “I need the work, Milo.”

Ann patted him. “I don’t have any shows until Frig’s Day, and Milo doesn’t have to be in early tomorrow. Do you want to make a start of it right now?”

Sean shot to his feet. “Oh, please, yes, thank you!”

———

Sean was wearing a pair of tan and black chequered socks, a close-fitting wool gabardine suit in pale tan, and Ann’s marabou-edged slippers, which had a kitten heel and fit him reasonably well, despite lacking a strap in the back. He was at the top of the stairs and Ann was at the bottom. (Hyacinth was peeking out of the kitchen, interested in the potential disaster. Sean had already fallen a couple of times without stairs. She had to bandage his knee.)

“I think you’d better hang on to the banister, dear,” Ann called up. Sean had his arms out for balance and looked as if he were contemplating suicide.

“I won’t be able to for the show,” he replied. “I have to carry the cat!”

“Both hands?” Ann asked.

He considered, shifting his position a few times. “I mean, I don’t think there’s a way to do it sexy with just one… What if I put her over my shoulder?” He turned, approximating it.

“I’m not certain,” Ann said, one hand to her mouth. “I suppose it would give the audience quite a good look at her rear.”

Sean smiled at her. “Milo, may I carry you?”

“I think it would be better to start with a sack of potatoes and work your way up,” Ann said. Sean was quite a bit smaller than her, though proportionately muscular. “What if you try it with one hand on the banister just to start, darling?”

Sean reluctantly laid a hand on the banister. “What about that girl, Calliope?”

Ann frowned. “You’re not going downstairs with any girls until you get down at least once on your own.”

———

“You want a stitch or a merger?” Hyacinth asked him.

“Oo, right there in my lower lip?” Sean asked, removing the ice bag from his cheek. “Is it centered? Is there a mirror? Gold or silver?”

“Whichever you’ve got the money for,” Hyacinth replied with a smirk.

“Oh,” Sean said. “Um, I think I had better have a stitch, Miss Hyacinth.”

“And I think we had better quit for today, sweetheart,” Ann put in. “One tends to be a little unsteady after a head injury.”

“She said I’m not concussed!” Sean said brightly.

“Not for lack of trying,” Hyacinth muttered. “Stop talking, please.”

“Mm,” Sean said. He winced.

“Petroleum jelly is our friend, and stay away from spicy foods and acidic things unless you have a thing for pain, which I am beginning to suspect you do,” said Hyacinth.

“Milo, can we try again tomorrow?” Sean said.

“Ann,” said Hyacinth.

“I’m sorry. Ann?”

Ann looked pained. “Well, I suppose we can if you really want to, Sean, my love. I’m not sure I would if it were me…”

Sean crossed a leg over his lap and displayed the one slipper that had managed to stay on. “I think it’s just that they’re loose in the back. I’m bound to get better at it!” He smiled, which made him wince again.

Ann put up both hands as if to prevent him from further damaging himself. “All right, dear. Milo…” She caught herself that time, though she didn’t always. She shook her head and straightened, laying one hand on her chest. “I… I… I will be home by six-thirty. Would you like to come by for dinner at seven?”

“Dinner?” Sean straightened as well. “Oh, you must let me pay for it, Milo. You’re doing so much for me…”

“Well, I… I suppose, if you really want to, but you mustn’t trouble yourself…”

“It’s no trouble at all! I’ll see you at seven!” Another smile, and another wince.

“Ann, doesn’t he know…?” said Hyacinth, aside.

Ann shook her head. She waited until she heard Sean successfully navigate the porch steps before she replied, “Most of them don’t, Cin. It’s… I’m kind of hard to explain.”

“You told Auntie Enora.”

“Yes, Cin. I told the god that lived in our kitchen for two weeks, where Milo needed to go to get food. Not the people I know from a play eight months ago and hardly ever see.”

“You know, Ann, when you call people your friends…”

“There are levels,” Ann said, rather coldly.

Hyacinth broke off for a time and had a look at the opposite wall. “So does he just think you’re gay or something?”

Ann blinked at her. “Why would he think that?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Hyacinth said to the man in the dress. Hell, the more she thought about it, why would a man in a dress be gay? A man with a feather duster wasn’t an ostrich, was he?

My experiences are warping my brain, thought Hyacinth. I’ve got Barnaby’s problem, but backwards. I can’t tell anything about people from looking at them. Oh, the colored guy? No, he couldn’t magic his way out of a paper bag. Watch out for the cute little girl in the blue dress, though, she’ll blow your head clean off. And the crossdresser? No, no. Two completely different people sharing a body, of course. Why? What’d you think it was?

“I’m just not totally sure he thinks he’s going to sit down and have dinner with all of us,” Hyacinth said. She frowned and wandered back into the kitchen, “And I’m not sure I have enough chairs…”

———

“Ann-Annie-Ann-Ann,” Sean said. “You naughty girl. When you said we’d go out and get dinner, I did not picture walking home in the snow with sandwiches in bags.”

“I’m sorry, dear, but Lucy isn’t really suited for restaurants yet, and Cin simply can’t leave Barnaby and Room 101.”

“What’s the matter with the person in 101?” He had a fairly good idea what was the matter with Barnaby, merely by reputation. To hear Hyacinth talk, the man was a cartoon character.

“I don’t really know, and I’m not entirely certain it’s a person — but it does eat sandwiches!” She bravely lifted the bag.

Sean offered her a somewhat mystified and subdued smile.

Ann was aware it was necessary for him to dim his smiles with the split lip, but she nevertheless inquired, “It wasn’t too expensive, was it, darling?”

“It was terrifyingly within my budget, dear heart,” Sean replied. “I must admit I am a bit suspicious of the mayonnaise.” He had decided to go with the chicken salad, with no oil and vinegar or tomatoes. In summer, he wouldn’t have dared. Probably he would’ve gone with lettuce on a bun.

“Milo and I have never gotten sick from the delicatessen,” Ann said, smiling. “But don’t ask Hyacinth about that kebab place on the corner!”

He snickered at her. “Yes. ‘Sean and I’ had rather a bad experience with prawns purchased out of the back of a van with the engine running. I mean, we are right on the ocean, you wouldn’t think they’d have time to go bad…”

Milo had stopped walking and was standing a few paces behind him. “Dear?” Sean said.

“I’m sorry,” Ann said. “I thought… I thought I saw this woman I know who pushes around a bucket in a pram. Did I ever tell you about her?”

“I don’t think so, love.”

“Oh, do let me! It was dreadful!”

———

There were not quite enough chairs for everyone, but Ann was willing to keep Sean company in the nice chairs in the front room. (There was not enough room to drag one of those into the kitchen, there was barely enough room to walk in the kitchen when everyone was sitting down.) Sandwiches were easily consumed without the aid of the table, although Sean had to stop one bite into his.

“Ah! Oh, gods! It’s got curry in it! Ow! Ow! What kind of a deli is this?”

Ann made him a bowl of cereal.

After dinner, the majority of the household gathered in the front room to watch the poor man fall down some more. The General refused to be diverted from her crossword puzzle and Mordecai remained in the kitchen, perusing the entertainment section, because Ann still wasn’t exactly fond of him. Erik felt torn, but he decided that out in the front room with Maggie and fun was better than in the kitchen with his uncle and fear. Besides, it seemed like the ice pick man was going to keep coming back to the house, so maybe it was better to get used to him.

Ann had decided to cut out the middleman and go direct to the acrophobic shoes which laced up and had a better chance of staying on. Sean was able to manage them while standing perfectly still, with a somewhat splayed stance as if he were trying to remain upright while walking between train cars. His current ensemble was not as overtly ridiculous as Ann’s slippers and his best suit, but it was a great deal more surreal, like a gentleman with a fetish who’d had a bit of an accident in a dark closet. (This was Sean’s second best suit.) Ann circled him, critiquing his posture. “Shoulders back, dear. You’ve got to look confident in these.”

“Seeming is being!” Sean said bravely. He straightened and squared his shoulders.

“High heels are all about sex,” Ann said. “They change your whole body. They are bad for you,” she added, smiling, “like chocolates. You are being pushed forward, so you must compensate by leaning back. Tighten your stomach, your core muscles are holding you in this ridiculous position, your legs and ankles have enough to do. The horrible posture should feel natural. It’s balanced.”

“You know, you say that…” Sean said, wobbling.

“These are up to the knee, so you’ve got a bit more support, but if anything below the knee fails, the whole system is going to collapse. Pay attention to your calves and your ankles, Sean.”

“What about the broken tile?”

“Yes, do give that a notice as well. All right.” She spread her arms and beckoned him forward. “Small steps. The higher the heel, the smaller the step. Walk, don’t stride.”

Jittering like an overfull teacup, Sean managed several tiny steps in Ann’s direction before collapsing into her arms. “Hey, I did it!” he said.

Maggie and Hyacinth broke into applause, though Hyacinth was a bit sarcastic. Erik joined them. Calliope, who was feeding Lucy in one of the nice chairs, could not, but she offered them an, “Awesomesauce!”

Ann smiled. “That’s very good, dear.” She set him upright and backed off a few more steps. Ann did not have any difficulty with her own heels or the broken tile. “Now let’s try it from three feet away…”

———

By Thor’s Day, Sean was all out of suits. He had even worn the synthetic one. He considered a departure to khaki trousers and an unmatched sportcoat to be politic before cycling back through his nicer clothes again, giving everyone an opportunity to pretend they had forgotten the composition of his wardrobe.

After another disastrous attempt at the staircase, Ann had come up with an intermediate challenge on level ground — dancing!

“Please pick something slow, sweetheart,” Sean pleaded.

Calliope had brought her record player into the front room, and she was in charge of it. Mordecai was looking after Lucy. Ann was not about to ask him to play violin, and Erik was not really that great at it yet.

Ann was more than a bit concerned about Calliope’s idea of ‘slow.’ Also of ‘music.’ She spoke up, “I think we’d better have one of Mi… My… my… Oh, dear…” Sean didn’t know, and Calliope didn’t know he didn’t know, and Ann didn’t want either of them to know.

“I like this one,” Erik said, selecting a record. Erik already knew everything, days ago.

Calliope engaged the needle and ‘Knock Three Times’ by Tony Orlando and Dawn emerged in glorious mono from the small speaker, without too much popping and crackling.

Someone said, “Oh, my gods!” behind the door of 103, presumably Mordecai. Lucy’s voice wouldn’t be that deep.

There was brief confusion as to optimal hand positions.

“Let me lead, Sean. I’m taller. I can see.” Which was approximately true, though she refused to wear Milo’s glasses.

Sean consented to attempting a simple box step backwards and in high heels. “Don’t kill me, Annie,” he said. There was an open basement somewhere he couldn’t see behind him, and he was looking right at a large terracotta pot with scrap wood burning in it, like a trash can fire for homeless people.

“Relax, darling, I do this for a living,” Ann said.

“Teach cute awkward boys how to be graceful in cruel shoes?”

“Make them happy,” Ann said with a smile. It became strained. “That is my foot, Sean, dear.”

He stumbled, and one of the stilettos scraped sideways on the floor. “I am so dreadfully sorry. I can’t feel my toes.”

“If some of them should happen to fall off, you can have even tinier shoes!” Ann said.

Calliope graciously and perhaps suicidally asked for the next dance. Sean had improved with practice, plus he got to lead and he was being extra careful and Calliope’s feet offered much smaller targets. “You’re not too bad at this,” she remarked.

“You should see me in flats!” he said. He lifted her hand and spun her.

Maggie wanted the next one. Sean allowed her to stand on the toes of his shoes, since he couldn’t feel them anyway. Then Erik wanted to dance. This required a further adjustment of technique.

“Sean, please be very careful,” Ann said. She cast a nervous glance towards Room 103. Any mention of dropping Erik would get Mordecai out of there fast, while shouting.

“As if he were my own brother,” Sean said. He executed a slow spin with Erik and then dipped him dramatically. “Besides, Annie, I do have to carry the cat!”

Erik giggled and waved a hand at her, upside-down.

“Not one foot on the stairs, Sean,” Ann said.

“Never!”

“Ann, will you dance with me?” Maggie asked.

Ann laughed. “Well, all right, dear, but both feet on the floor.” Ann was rather fond of her shoes.

Calliope paired up with Hyacinth, and a grin. Hyacinth led.

“Tell me, Erik, does Milo like boys?” Sean asked softly.

Erik nodded. “And girls,” he replied, quite logically.

Sean laughed and twirled with him. “Well, good for Milo!”

———

Sean achieved the full distance of the sweeping staircase, gracefully, while carrying a sack of bottles and tin cans (they didn’t have enough potatoes to make up much weight) on Frig’s Day with an hour to spare before Ann had to leave for the club.

“Oh, it’s a good thing too,” Ann said. “I could’ve taken you with me, but I wouldn’t have had much time for lessons.”

“I would like to come anyway, Annie,” Sean said. He was doing much better with the names now too. Everyone in the house kept correcting him when he slipped up.

“I suppose you’d get quite a lot of attention with those shoes and that suit,” Ann said. Sean was back in his best suit. He had added a top hat to it, for a touch of whimsy. It went quite nicely with the overcoat, though the snow had a tendency to stain. “Do you need to be up early for your rehearsals tomorrow?”

“Oh, not too terribly early,” Sean replied.

“When are the shows?” she asked him eagerly.

“Ah, I don’t think you’d like to come, Annie,” he said. “They’re quite late at night, and it’s rather far south.” The farther down you followed South Hollister, the seedier it got. Theaters and galleries and supper clubs at the top end, nightclubs and the Slaughterhouse in the middle, and the end of it was uncomfortably near Candlewood Park.

“Sean, dear, the Black Orchid is practically in the ocean,” Ann said. They kept most of their clothes on, but they were still a drag club, which seemed to be extra risque for some reason. “And I’m not really bothered about getting home late at night on my own. I’ve a very nice hatpin in my purse!”

“I wouldn’t like to be responsible, Annie,” he protested. He turned his head aside. “And I think I’d be embarrassed for you to see me.”

Ann frowned and folded her arms across her chest. Sean was not embarrassed for anyone to see anything. “There isn’t a show, is there, Sean?”

“There is!” he cried. “Roger is doing the electrical for it!” He dropped his head and knotted his hands together. His shoes clicked on the tile floor. “I… I’m just not in it.”

“And the shoes?”

“Thrift store,” Sean said.

“Sean, for gods’ sakes why?” Ann said.

“I was sort of lonesome,” he said. “And I remembered you said where you lived at your birthday party.”

“You fell down our stairs a dozen times! How lonely are you?”

He sat down on the stairs… and he undid the laces on the shoes. They were killing him. “I just… I had this friend… Living with me… For over a year…” He shook his head, looking down. “Now he doesn’t anymore.”

Ann sighed and sat down on the stairs as well. “Oh, I see.”

“He said I wasn’t serious about it,” Sean said. He still didn’t look over. “I mean, I… I’m not old, Annie. He wasn’t either.” He shut his eyes. “But I liked him.”

Ann put a hand on his shoulder. “I suppose I know how it is… I don’t like to think what he… what I… what it would’ve been like after a year.”

Sean lifted his head and looked at her. “Recently?”

“It still hurts,” Ann said.

Sean put his hand on hers. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… This was unfair of me. I don’t know what… Well, I know what I was trying to do, but I wasn’t thinking about it.”

“It’s really hard to give someone a chance to say no,” Ann said. Now she was looking away. “I know it hurts to hear. Sean, I… I haven’t been exactly truthful with you myself. I, um… I’m not Milo. You’ve never met Milo.”

“You, um…” Sean folded his hands in his lap. “But… Aren’t you the same person, Annie?”

Ann flinched, as if she had been expecting a blow. It wasn’t as hard a one as it might’ve been, but it could always get worse. “No. I’m me, and he’s him. And I’m the one in the dress.”

“It’s an act,” Sean said.

“No,” Ann said. “I’m really me. I’m not Milo at all. This is me. And this isn’t him.”

“You’re two…” He considered. “Personalities?”

“Yes.”

“Like in a pulp novel?” Sean said weakly. He was thinking of the one where the lady had twelve personalities, one of them a nymphomaniac, and one, as it turned out, a murderer.

“I don’t read a lot of pulp novels,” Ann said. She and Milo preferred romances, with very little murdering. “But I’m not… We’re not…” She didn’t want to say ‘crazy,’ although that was what she was tiptoeing around. She wasn’t sure they weren’t crazy, not really. “We’re not dangerous. We’re not unstable.” She laughed faintly. “We function quite well, once you understand how we work. We do make sense.”

“Is it… I mean… Are you damaged?” The lady in the pulp novel used to get locked in a dirt cellar with rats by her grandmother. “Is this how you cope?”

Ann stiffened and withdrew. “We are all damaged, Sean. I prefer not to discuss such things.”

Sean could not help picturing Milo… Ann… or possibly Milo, in a dark cellar with rats. It did not have a horrifying fascination like the novel. It was different with a real person. It was like he’d put his hand on a hot stove. No, I don’t want to do that. “So, you’re Ann,” he managed, after a pause. “Only Ann?”

“Milo is here.” She lightly touched the back of her head. “But he isn’t always paying attention.” She smiled. “Sometimes he’s thinking about shoes.” He was not doing that at the moment, however. He was quite concerned about Ann potentially losing such a nice friend.

“Oh, Milo likes shoes too?” Sean said.

“We’re not the same person, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be alike,” Ann said. “Would you like to meet him?”

Milo did not under any circumstances want to meet people. Not even Ann’s nice friend. Certainly not right now!

She ignored him.

Sean sat forward, “Would he like to meet me?”

Ann looked pained. “Er… I don’t know if ‘like’ is exactly the right word we ought to use there. Milo has a hard time with people. He doesn’t speak and he doesn’t like to be touched or stared at.” She frowned. “Or teased.”

“You’re fooling,” Sean said.

“No,” Ann said. “Sometimes I hide him or protect him, but I’d never lie about what he needs to be safe.”

The lady in the pulp novel had one like that! Although Sean thought he recalled it was supposed to be a four-year-old. My gods, I never knew the people who wrote those things actually did research! “How old is Milo?”

“Um, twenty-three,” Ann said cautiously. What an incredibly weird question. Sean had been at her birthday. “Because, ah…” She gestured and looked down at herself. “Because we used to be twenty-two, but we’re not twenty-four… yet.”

Well, that made Sean feel rather stupid. “I’m sorry. I guess I don’t really know much about either of you.”

“But that’s my fault,” Ann said gently. “I’d like… I’d like to be a better friend than that.”

“I’d like to meet Milo,” Sean said. “And I won’t tease him.”

Sean waited at the bottom of the stairs and Ann went up them to get changed.

It didn’t take long. They had to get on the bus to the club and Milo was aware of the time constraint. If he put on a dress, Ann would just take it off and put on pants, and they couldn’t be doing that all night. She’d really put him on the spot with this. He was hoping that Sean Addison would accept a wave hello and then go away, but he did a couple of cards just in case that didn’t happen.

Ann addressed him from the mirror as he hesitated with his hand on the doorknob, Milo, it’s all right. I think it’s going to be okay.

But we never know, Ann, he thought. He sighed and he opened the door.

Sean beheld a young pale man with glasses who was dressed in dark trousers and a gray shirt and not smiling.

No makeup, Sean thought, but that wasn’t the only thing. No rouge or lipstick was the least of things. If not for the previous conversation, he would’ve suspected a twin. The whole person was different. The posture, the expression. The gorgeous red hair which had been tied back and hidden somehow. It’s not a wig, is it? he wondered. He’d had both hands in it during the murdering and it certainly didn’t feel like a wig. He’d quite liked Milo’s dark red hair. Evidently, Milo felt differently about it.

“Milo?” he asked, rising. It certainly wasn’t Ann. (Although he was not entirely ruling out twelve alternate personalities and one of them a murderer.)

Milo nodded. He tried waving.

“Do you know who I am?” Sean asked.

Milo nodded. He mimed a couple overhanded stabs with an ice pick.

“You don’t speak at all?” Sean said.

Milo handed him a card, one of the usual ones from his shirt pocket.

“Does that happen a lot?” Sean asked. “People just grab you and try to take you home?”

Milo bobbed a noncommittal nod. It used to. That was why he put it in the cards. Well, home or the police station. Or occasionally a hospital, which he really hated.

“I suppose I might do that if I thought I could get away with it,” Sean said, smiling. Milo was different, but still awfully cute.

Milo shook his head and turned away, holding himself.

“I’m sorry,” Sean said. He reached out, but then he dropped his hand. Ann said no teasing and no touching too. “I don’t mean to tease you. I was just trying to be funny. But I’m not, really, am I?” Nevertheless, he looked hopeful.

Milo made a seesaw gesture with one hand. Sean laughed but Milo didn’t.

“Do you… like me, Milo?” Sean said.

Milo nodded. Sean had always been very nice to Ann, and it wasn’t his fault he messed up their names.

“Does Ann?”

Milo nodded, but rather a lot faster.

“But… You wouldn’t like to come and live with me in a nice furnished room in SoHo with a double bed, would you?” He still looked hopeful, but less so. More sad.

Milo glanced up at him, then he looked away and shook his head, but apologetically.

No wonder she’s such a good actress, Sean thought. Look what he has to do. I should tape my mouth shut for a few days and try to get by. It’s cheaper than a workshop!

“If we split the rent, we could buy lots and lots of pretty shoes,” Sean said, which was not quite teasing.

Milo shook his head again, but Sean thought he detected a half-second of hesitation, and possibly the ghost of a smile.

“Hey!” Sean accused, pointing. “You’re wearing flats! Men’s flats!”

Milo gestured quite eloquently. Half of his mouth twisted, he picked up his pant leg, turned and pointed his shoe, and he flung one hand at it. Sean understood the words as if they were spoken: I mean, come on! These things are just practical!

Sean stepped out of his unlaced stiletto heels. “Well, I shan’t have these a second longer. I refuse to suffer alone!”

Milo shrugged and waved dismissively. He brought his heels together and struck a pose, the best approximation he could make of the stilted posture Ann had recommended while standing on his toes. He indicated his increased sex appeal with one hand, especially around the butt area.

“Well, maybe I’ll save them for the club,” Sean allowed, collecting them. “Do you need to get changed again? Do you have enough time?”

Milo shook his head. And he put up his hands, indicating that this was not a problem. They knew him at the club. Not every person knew everything about him, but Cerise understood him, and she was working tonight. Ann had a full wardrobe there for her shows. He did, however, excuse himself momentarily to grab her purse off the dresser. He wanted the hatpin. He also had occasional need of the hatpin. That this might’ve been because he was a young man wandering around near a drag club in the small hours carrying a purse had yet to occur to him.

Sean also did not consider the purse worth remarking on, not after everything else. He was sitting at the bottom of the stairs and lacing up his less-masochistic shoes, and Milo was attempting to negotiate himself into an overcoat while holding a purse, when Calliope peeked out of Room 103.

She had left them a little while ago to try to catch some sleep while Lucy was doing the same, which had only increased Sean’s desire to get down the stairs properly, without dropping things. “Oh, my dear, did we wake you?” he said. He felt a little bit disingenuous about the ‘my dear.’ He was aware that he got about seventy-five-percent less precious when he wasn’t talking to someone who was also that way, but Calliope had never heard him without Ann in the room, and he didn’t want her to think he was putting her on. He just… He just instinctively played to his audience, that was all.

(He was pretty sure his brothers had no idea he was in any way odd, but his mother had figured him out somehow. Sean? Yeah, Mom? You’re gay, aren’t you? Um, yeah, Mom. Oh. Well, that’s all right, then.)

Anyway, Calliope is a dear person, he decided. He did not have time to decide much else, because Milo unceremoniously dropped his purse on top of the whimsical silk top hat and put a rather large dent in it. Sean thought that was sort of funny, but Milo had gone somehow paler and looked as if he were about to pass out. Since it was not permitted to collect Milo, Sean collected the hat and attempted to straighten it, “No, no, it’s quite all right. It’s not even a real one. I stole it from wardrobe!”

“I’m sorry,” Calliope said. “I just thought it might be Milo, because it was only you talking.”

Milo was looking fixedly down and away, and holding himself.

“Are you going to the club?” Calliope asked him.

Milo nodded.

Calliope smiled weakly. “Will you come say hi when you get back? I’ll probably be up. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Milo nodded.

The smile grew a little warmer. “Thanks, Milo.” She offered Sean a small wave, “See ya, Sean,” and closed the door again.

“…That’s your broken relationship that still hurts, isn’t it?” Sean said softly. “Not Ann’s. Yours.”

Milo did not nod. But he curled over more tightly and he didn’t shake his head either.

Sean put it bluntly: “That sucks.”

Milo nodded to that.

“Is Lucy yours?” Sean asked, concerned.

Milo shook his head. His expression grew more pained, and he turned away. She could’ve been, but now she wouldn’t be ever.

Sean did not consider it prudent to say cheerfully vicious things about Calliope. He wasn’t at that stage yet himself. If he heard someone insult Quincy, he’d deck that person, and probably hurt his hand doing it.

“I like my hat now,” Sean said. He put it on. “What do you think?” It wasn’t dented, but it also lacked the structural integrity to pop back to its previous proud stance. It was slumped sideways like a stack of pancakes.

One corner of Milo’s mouth twitched. He flushed embarrassment, then he managed a shrug.

“I must look like a happy hobo,” Sean said. When you were getting the applause, it was best to stay in the moment. “I need some fingerless gloves and a bottle in a brown paper bag! Shall we ditch Ann’s act at the club and go hop trains all night? We’ll be the cutest boys in the boxcar!”

Milo covered his mouth with both hands, which was not really a smile, but at least prevented people from looking at him funny when he wanted to do it and messed it up. He ducked his head and shook it.

“I suppose we’d better make our way to the bus then,” Sean said. He collected his own overcoat, and the shoes.

Milo considered the cards from his pants pocket, the ones he had done before coming down. He had three. I’m sorry. You don’t ever have to see me again, did not seem appropriate and he shuffled it to the back. He presented Sean with, Do you still want to be friends with Ann?

Sean read the smudged pencil and then smiled. “Yes. Can I be friends with you too?”

Milo blinked. A friend for me?

That was being stupid. He had friends. It wasn’t like he didn’t have friends, but the people at the house knew him and understood him a lot better. He guessed maybe Cerise at the club liked him okay, but she never said anything about being friends, and she was a lot more comfortable with Ann.

He glanced up and Sean was still smiling at him.

He nodded.

“Top drawer!” Sean said. He was still sort of feeling the hobo persona, but he guessed in his best suit he’d be a classy one. Maybe with a monocle. “We shall depart for the Big Rock Candy Mountain forthwith! Mulligan stew and stiletto heels for the both of us!”

Milo nodded. He was pretty sure this was teasing, and of a friendly sort, but if Sean did not appear to be making for the bus stop when they got out of the yard, he intended to raise an objection.

He paused at the bottom of the porch stairs and tapped Sean on the shoulder. He presented another card.

Sean laughed and pocketed the card. He indicated his split lip, which had faded to a thin red scar. “Milo, do you think I would do this to my face on purpose? I am not one of those crazy method people!”

Milo nodded.

“Now I get a question,” Sean said. “Was Ann dancing me backwards around the front room when she really needed glasses to see?”

Milo nodded.

Sean emitted an airy shriek and clapped both hands over his face. “Ah! That rotten shallow peacock of a woman! You’re not like that, are you, Milo?”

Milo frowned and shrugged, then he waggled a hand.

“Well, at least you are honest,” Sean said.

Milo nodded.

The two liars turned left at the plywood gate and headed for the bus.