The Payoff (139)

PSI-2

Calliope was sitting cross-legged on the floor and drawing with charcoal. He sat up and blinked at her.

“I’m sorry, babe. Did I wake you up?”

Two. He couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t want her to feel bad about it. He liked waking up like this.

“I’m sorry,” she said, regardless. “I was just messing around.” She picked up the drawing and handed it to him.

It was him, sort of. He wasn’t put together like it was really him. He was lying asleep with his mouth open a little. He looked sort of sad. He had dark circles under his eyes and it looked like a few days worth of stubble. He had some stuff for that so he didn’t have to shave every day, but he hadn’t done anything to himself in a while. He really needed to fix his face for Ann. She’d look weird in the mirror like this. His hair was a mess too. He touched it self-consciously. It felt like cotton candy.

“Cin caught me trying to pose you and she said ‘cut it out,’” she told him. “But I thought it’d be okay just drawing you.”

He smiled at her and shook his head. You can pose me, Calliope. I’ll be however you want.

She sat on the bed beside him and examined the sketch, frowning. He froze. She didn’t notice.

“It’s too bad about the bruises. They’re fading already. I mean, I don’t like you to hit your head on things and get lost all night, but it made you look interesting. Kinda tragical. It was a nice contrast. I should’ve made an ad for perfume out of you.” She lifted her hand and mentally positioned the ad copy above him, “Milo Rose’s Concussion.”

Calliope, if you want to draw me with bruises some more, I will hit my head right now. You just say.

Now she was looking at him, assessing him. He couldn’t look at her so she had to have him in profile. “You’re sort of angelic with no glasses and no bruises. And your hair down. Classical-looking. It’d be fun to do you with a toga and cherry blossoms like Lady Victory.”

I wonder where I can get a toga? Costume shop? Maybe they have one at the club…

She touched his hair, just a few strands of it, with her thumb and forefinger.

Okay, that’s it. I’m dead. Am I dead? Pretty sure I’m dead. He didn’t seem to be able to breathe. Maybe he didn’t need to!

“It’s too bad. It looks nice with the bruises like this, but if you’re gonna be an angel, you need some help. Does it still hurt? We didn’t want to try fixing it yet because it hurt.”

He looked at her, wide-eyed, and shook his head. No, ma’am, that does not hurt at all. Please do that forever.

She breathed a small laugh and smiled at him. “Aw, Milo. You’re looking at me.”

Am I? Oh, gods, I think I am! I don’t think I can stop!

She had freckles and she was smiling and she was shrugging her shoulders a little like she was shy. And she had nice brown eyes. She had very nice brown eyes. She was wearing that shapeless green sweater with the holes and he could not care less about it!

“I don’t have parsley in my teeth or anything, do I?” She grinned.

He rapidly shook his head.

She laughed and nodded. “Yeah. You’re super cute,” she said. Now she dropped her head and she twined her fingers in her hair. “I kinda thought you ran off on me, you know? I was just being dumb. I know you wouldn’t do that.”

Milo wasn’t sure whether to shake his head more or nod. He wouldn’t run off, but she wasn’t dumb either. He reached out and… he didn’t quite dare touch. He diverted and tugged on the ragged edge of one of the sweater holes instead. Then when she looked up at him he shook his head. Please don’t look that way. Look, I’m happy. He tried smiling. Because it was incredibly important he really needed to get it right of course he didn’t. He felt the corner of his mouth twitching and he covered it with a hand.

She smiled anyway. “Yeah. I know. Here, can I see something?” She reached toward him, and when he didn’t pull away she worked her fingers gently into the hair at both sides of his head and… well, she couldn’t quite ruffle it, but she moved her hands so that it pulled a little. “Is that really okay?” She frowned and tilted her head to the side. “Be straight with me, Milo, yeah? I think you fake like it’s all right sometimes… and it’s really really not.”

He nodded, smiling. He nodded like he didn’t want to go to the hospital. That’s so all right. That’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” She took her hands back and she left him. He watched her go. He didn’t even know if she was wearing pants or a skirt. He keeled over sideways on the bed and curled up with his knees to his chest.

Milo, please be very careful about her…

Oh, Ann! I’ll be so careful! I wouldn’t hurt Calliope anymore for anything!

Milo, you’re not listening. That isn’t what I’m saying.

Calliope returned with a dark spray bottle holding a mysterious substance. She retrieved Milo’s (and Ann’s) hairbrush from the dresser and gave it a liberal dampening. It smelled sweet, but not like flowers. Maybe like sandalwood. Maybe a little like Maggie hugging him.

“Glorie uses this for Maggie’s braids,” Calliope said, confirming it. “She had a look at you when you got back, and she gave it to me and said, ‘For gods’ sakes, use this!’ I’ve been saving it so it wouldn’t hurt.” She showed him the bottle and let him hold it close so he could read. It said, ‘No Tangles, No Tears.’

He nodded eagerly to her. Calliope, that’s just so unbelievably nice of you.

“It’s got magic in it, so I guess it’ll work all right, but you tell me if it hurts. Grab me or something, okay?”

Okay. Sure.

Before he could process that he was incapable of doing such a thing, she sat beside him on the bed and began brushing his hair.

He didn’t know what he thought she was going to do. All signs pointed to the fact that she intended to brush his hair for him, and he certainly needed the help with it. It was just that when she actually started doing it his brain went dead like an overloaded circuit. His eyes widened and his expression went slack. Fortunately, she was behind him and she couldn’t see enough to be concerned. She just thought he was holding still for her, and she took it as an indication that she wasn’t hurting him. She continued to brush.

He faded back slowly, like a distant radio station. The first thing he felt was a thin sort of pleasure, like when he was working on something and everything was clicking together just right. Except, this was more than that. This was like that perfect pair of shoes being available in the right size and on sale. Except, it was physical, so maybe like wearing those shoes, only if they were pretty and comfortable, which was not a thing that existed.

What’s happening to me?

Calliope Marshmallow Otis is brushing my hair.

And then, because he was getting better, the inevitable panic.

I’m not smiling. Why am I not smiling? This is a thing that people feel when they are smiling! I need to be smiling!

He pressed both hands over his mouth and felt it not smiling. Not even a twitch. Oh, no. Come on. Please. Be normal. Do something that lets her know I like this! Where’s that damn hamster?

The hamster, apparently, had zero concern over matters of the heart, only about straitjackets and metal beds and charts.

“Milo?” she asked him. She could see what he was doing with his hands. “Hey, does this hurt?”

He couldn’t shake his head. No, it doesn’t hurt, just wasn’t enough, no matter how hard he did it. It’s the most wonderful thing. I love it. I love you, might’ve been a little closer, but the words were too much and he would do them wrong. She would stop if he did the words wrong, even if he said he didn’t want her to. She would hate him. He had already said words wrong to Calliope (Ann said them, but they were his words) and she had been so mad… And so hurt. He couldn’t do that to her again. He couldn’t have words.

He needed better than words.

“Mm,” Milo said softly.

“Whoa,” Calliope said. She had stopped.

Milo began to rock gently back and forth. He hummed. He hummed ‘Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes’ because they had the record and she knew the words.

“You’re singing,” she said.

He couldn’t laugh, but he wanted to. A small smile flickered into place and he kept humming. That wasn’t real singing, but Calliope was like Rosemary.

She regarded the brush. “Okay. Fixing Milo’s hair makes him sing.” Well, she didn’t know what that meant, exactly, but it couldn’t be bad. She applied the brush again.

He moved less so she could brush better, but the smile and the hum continued.

She laughed a little. “That’s kinda neat.”

She brushed his hair. He rocked and sang. He didn’t know how many choruses he did. You didn’t have to stop ‘Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes.’ You could loop it forever if you did it right. But eventually, Calliope laid the brush aside and said, “Milo? Babe, this magic stuff’s already taken all the wave out of your hair. If I keep this up, I think you’re going to go bald.”

Milo reached back and touched his hair. Oh, it felt weird. Slick. He pushed out of bed and regarded himself in the mirror. He still had some pretty good bruises going, but they were thin and purple and yellowing around the edges. His eyes were winced narrow trying to see, like Ann knew how not to do. His hair hung limply to either side of his head, straight down like falling water. It was shiny. Not just burnished-looking, which was about the best he could do with a brush, but like varnished furniture. Like there was something chemical going on there. Shellac, maybe.

Wow. Ann could have hair like this too?

He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t worried so much about it now. He wanted to look at his hair.

He tucked it behind one ear and pulled it all over the opposite shoulder.

“Like it?” Calliope said behind him.

He smiled and nodded. He saw himself do it.

He frowned and leaned in towards his reflection. What the hell? Do I have a faulty wire there? Can I get in there and tighten a connection?

Yeah, he could. He already had. He had a setting where everything worked and he called it ‘Ann.’

Ann grinned back at him from the mirror (oh, no, she really did look weird like this) and could barely suppress laughter. I’m sorry, Milo. I know it’s so hard for you, but it really is a little bit funny. I wish you could see it.

He drew a breath and covered his face. Not in front of Calliope. Not looking like this.

“Milo? Babe?”

No more mirror. He couldn’t get into a conversation with Ann now. He turned away with his face still covered and when he couldn’t see the mirror anymore, then he took down his hands. Calliope looked worried about him. He didn’t have fingers for ‘thank you’ and he couldn’t rely on his faulty smile. He took a step back shyly, then he spread his arms.

Hug?

Calliope laughed at him, but not like she was going to be mean. “Really?” she said. “Okay.” She wrapped her arms around his middle and pressed her cheek to his shoulder.

Calliope Marshmallow Otis is hugging me.

For a moment, for just a moment, he forgot to hug back. He realized it with a start and felt panic that might bring on a collapse of the whole system.

Cascade failure, he thought. Cascade failure…

But she didn’t stop hugging him and she didn’t pull away like he was wrong. It was only for a moment, and sometimes Calliope didn’t pay very good attention to things. He brought his arms around, first mechanically — Arms go here, like this — and then something happened.

It felt good to be holding her. He wanted more of that. He chased it, like trying to get that distant radio station tuned in properly. Like this is better, like this is even better. He softened, he adjusted, he relaxed. Now that feels best of all.

He rested his cheek on top of her head. Her hair was soft and it smelled really good. He sighed.

“Wow, Milo, not bad,” Calliope said. “Could you always do that or did something get knocked into place?”

He didn’t stop hugging, but he shrugged. She could probably feel it. Maybe he smiled?

Calliope Marshmallow Otis, I don’t know and I don’t care.

———

“Ah! Gods! Hyacinth!” cried Mordecai, hands over his ears. “What fresh hell is this?”

“It’s that bubblegum pop station Milo likes so much!” cried Hyacinth.

“Is it louder?”

“What?”

“Is it louder? Has he made the damn thing louder?”

“I don’t know!”

“Is he feeling better or has he finally snapped?”

“I don’t know!”

“What?”

“I don’t know!”

“I’m going to go play in the park!” Mordecai howled.

“What?”

“In the park!” The noises of an old man and a young child bugging out of the house with a violin in tow were overlaid by the Lemon Pipers joyfully shrieking that they were just about to play their green tambourine.

Hyacinth finally breached the basement. Either she was used to braving loud music on humanitarian missions or she was the only one left in the house. Even Barnaby and Room 101 might’ve gone under these circumstances.

“Milo, can we have a little less radio?” she cried.

Milo looked up from the worktable, grinning, and cupped one hand to his ear.

“LESS RADIO, MILO!”

Oh! Right! He gave her a thumbs up and he cranked the volume down.

“Oh, my gods!” said Hyacinth. She collapsed on the staircase and buried her head in her hands.

Milo continued to work on his schematic, bopping visibly to the music.

“Milo! Have…” She stopped and adjusted her own volume. “Milo, have you given any thought to some headphones?”

Headphones! What a good idea! He nodded with one finger raised for time. Just give him a second and he’d add it to the list. He put it right under, Toaster with three slots for club sandwiches? and Coffee that tastes as good as it smells? That was the Holy Grail, right there, but headphones would be nice too.

“What are you doing down here?” Hyacinth said.

He picked up what he was doing and walked it over to her. Look, Hyacinth! I am mathematically expressing the ideal hug! As affection approaches infinity, so does duration and warmth! But you have to add limits for the comfort of both parties or they will fuse into a new star! Isn’t that wonderful? Also, he had drawn some flowers and paisleys. He had colored pencils!

Hyacinth touched the paper and drew it nearer. “Milo, this kind of looks like you’re intending to burn the world.”

He shrugged and bobbed a noncommittal nod. Only incidentally, Cin!

“Milo, how is your head?”

Double thumbs up for that. So much better, thank you. Amazing. Have you seen my hair? He combed his fingers through it.

“Yeah. That looks… different.” It kind of looked like David had got after it with way too much magic. Also, since when did Milo wear his hair down? And didn’t he need glasses?

Hyacinth staggered back a pace. Have Ann and Milo hybridized?

No, it seemed entirely more likely that he’d had some kind of stroke.

“Hey, Milo, did we win the war?”

He shook his head, smiling.

“Do you know what day it… Oh, no, wait, I can’t ask that…”

Milo put up both hands and gestured. No, no. Wait. I’ve got this. Colored pencils! He found the perfect shade of green and held it up. Thor’s Day! Green silk dress!

“Okay. Yeah. Well, there you go,” Hyacinth allowed. “Milo, did something happen?”

He just hugged his own shoulders and smiled.

———

Calliope was in the kitchen warming a bottle in a glass pot. Lucy was snuggled against her shoulder while the Lu-ambulator waited obediently in its customary place on the wall. Calliope was bouncing lightly and singing to the child, “Love grows, mm-mm-mm-mm-mm-mmm… No more music?” she asked Hyacinth without looking over.

“No, thank the gods,” Hyacinth said.

“Lucy likes it.”

“Does she?”

“I guess. I mean, she likes music. She has to like a lot of music. It doesn’t seem like she hates it.”

Lucy picked up her head and beamed at Hyacinth. “Daiee! A-ba-ma-ma-ma!”

Calliope waved and translated for her, “‘Hi, Cin! Hi! No more music, huh? That’s cool. I get it.’”

Hyacinth waved reluctantly but refused to be drawn into a conversation with Lucy, “Calliope, have you done something to Milo?”

“I fixed his hair?” she said.

———

“I have found Milo!” Barnaby declared, laying both hands on the kitchen table.

Milo, who was having a grilled cheese sandwich at said table, froze with one corner of it in his mouth. They had taken him to get new glasses today. The bruises had faded. He looked almost normal again, but he was still wearing his hair down.

“Have you?” Hyacinth said.

“He is sleeping in a cardboard box between two trash cans behind the Calf’s Head Pub!”

“Right,” said Hyacinth.

Mordecai glanced at Erik. Well, he was right about that cardboard box.

Barnaby paused, leaned forward, and discovered Milo. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“A grilled cheese sandwich,” Hyacinth said. “If you’d like to stop staring at him so he can finish.”

“Put him back!” said Barnaby.

“No,” said Hyacinth. She got up and pushed her own sandwich aside. Barnaby might need to be physically prevented from attempting to put Milo back. She took him gently by the arm and began leading him back towards his room. “Come on, Barnaby. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but… Wait just a damn minute.” She stopped and frowned at him. That was suspiciously accurate and useful information, even if it was a bit late. “Barnaby, where did you find Milo?”

Barnaby glanced heavenwards and tapped his fingers together. “I don’t know.”

“Did you open something?”

“…Nooo.”

“Damn it, Barnaby!”

“Oh! Wait! Now I remember! It was his horoscope! Milo isn’t a Libra but he should be!”

“We’re going to go and find it,” Hyacinth said, dragging him.

Barnaby resisted her. He pointed heavenwards, which would do for either the reclusive woman or the flying eagle, “I don’t know why that damn woman is allowed to kill as many pigeons as she wants but I can’t open one!”

“Because she eats them, Barnaby,” Hyacinth replied through clenched teeth. “You file yours.”

“I need them for reference!” he cried.

“We’re going to go and find it,” Hyacinth said.

“I don’t have it! I have disposed of it properly! You will find nothing!”

“I’m going to find it eventually, Barnaby. It’s just a matter of how pissed off I’m going to be at you when I do.”

“You’ve never found the mice,” Barnaby said.

“Mice?”

“What mice?” Barnaby said.

“Milo,” said Hyacinth. “Can you draw a dead pigeon like you draw a watch? I mean, exactly? All the pieces?”

Milo removed his grilled-cheese sandwich; the corner was still intact. He nodded.

Hyacinth pointed a finger at Barnaby. “We’re going to go and find it, Milo is going to draw it, and you are going to file that, do you have me, Barnaby?”

“I suppose,” Barnaby allowed.

“And then we are going to find the mice!” said Hyacinth.

“What mice?” said Barnaby.

Calliope raised one hand and asked politely, “May I draw the dead pigeon also, please? I think I’d like to do it in oil pastels.”

———

Ann made an early appearance in the kitchen the next morning. She was well put together and wearing her red dress — maybe a little bit ragged and uncertain, but that was more attitude than appearance. She hadn’t been out for a long time, and for some of it she had just been gone, knocked out of Milo by his pain and confusion. They might’ve gone back to being one for a little while, she wasn’t certain. She had been worried about him, but they had both been too hurt and confused for her to really do anything about that. When he started to ask her for help again, she had sorted herself out quickly, but she was still a bit worried. About him and her.

She was afraid she might go back to being just Milo in a dress again. Not forever, she didn’t think he’d lose her, but she might be a bit unstable. She didn’t want to wait and find that out later, possibly when she was in the middle of a show. So she put on today’s dress and she did her hair and makeup and she sort of tested herself out like a healing sprain.

Calliope wandered into the kitchen first, bleary-eyed and holding a crying Lucy. She’d apparently forgotten the Lu-ambulator or set it to something other than ‘follow’ without the aid of her reading glasses. “Oh. Hey, Ann.”

Milo wanted to hug her again. Ann knew that Calliope did not require hugging at the moment. She took Lucy and held her against one shoulder and began to get a bottle ready for the child, so that Calliope could have breakfast. Calliope experienced brief, muddled confusion as to who was going to do the bottle and who was going to have the breakfast, but when Ann sat her down at the table and put cereal in front of her, she ate and then smiled. “Thanks, Ann. You’re really great. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Calliope. Thank you so much for helping to take care of Milo.”

“Milo is really great too,” Calliope said seriously, and Milo died of joy. “Tell him I’ve got some more dead pigeons to show him when he gets back, okay?”

“Um, okay,” Ann managed faintly. It was difficult maintaining composure with dead Milo wrapped around her heart. Did Calliope say dead pigeons?

“Dead pigeons are pretty great,” Calliope said. “I think I’m gonna do a whole series.” She ate cereal with her eyes closed.

Ann fed Lucy and burped her, then delivered both Lucy and Calliope back to their bedroom for further sleep. There were several drawings of dead, eviscerated pigeons in bright, cheerful colors tacked up on the walls, and one in progress on the tilted table. Milo…

Milo was still dead.

Ann went back to the kitchen and did some dishes. She dabbed lightly at the spit-up on her shoulder with a paper towel, but she wasn’t too bothered about it. If she couldn’t wash it out, she’d get a new dress. She liked shopping for new dresses!

Erik and Maggie and Hyacinth came in one right after the other and distributed hugs and greetings and excitement. Ann thanked them all and assured them she was all right. Erik wanted to make her breakfast. She had already eaten cereal, but that was a couple hours ago, and she thought she could manage a few pancakes for politeness’ sake. With minor assistance, Erik made pretty good pancakes. Maggie had to go back upstairs for lessons after she’d eaten hers, but Erik and Hyacinth stayed and chatted and enlightened her about the dead pigeons.

They were still there, and Erik was sitting in her lap, when the pancake smell drew Mordecai in a bit earlier than his accustomed non-brunch Sigurd’s Day meal. He said, “Oh,” and took a step backwards, but it wasn’t intolerably awkward if it wasn’t just the two of them. He smiled and attempted, “Hello, Ann.”

“Hello, Mordecai,” she said. She set Erik gently on the floor and stood. “Would you two mind giving us just a few minutes?”

Erik looked back and forth between them. He nodded gravely and took Hyacinth’s hand. “Come on, Auntie Hyacinth. I’ll play some violin for you.”

“I’d rather sit upside-down with my head in a chamber pot,” Hyacinth said, but she did go with him.

Now it was intolerably awkward, and a bit scary, and Mordecai did not attempt pancakes or come any farther into the kitchen. But he did not run off either.

Ann approached and stood near, with her head bowed and her hands folded. “Em, I want to thank you,” she said.

Mordecai twitched a small smile. Em. He hadn’t been Em to Ann in too long.

“You were so kind to Milo, and you were so careful with him. Everyone was. But you…” She looked up at him. Her eyes were damp. “I never had to worry when you were there. You always knew just what to do for him, even if he couldn’t ask. Em, I… I can’t forgive you for what happened, but I think I trust you again. I think I probably should’ve started trusting you again a long time ago. I’m sorry for not letting us be friends.”

“Are we friends again, Ann?” Mordecai asked.

“If you still want to be, dear,” Ann said damply. She sniffed and then sobbed.

He took both her hands, then he embraced her. “I never wanted to stop being friends, Ann, but it’s my fault it happened. I promise I won’t let it happen again.”

“I know, my love. I know. I believe you.” She held him tightly. She even picked him up a couple of inches, but not so he couldn’t keep his feet on the floor. “You’ve been very careful about it ever since. You always have them in Calliope’s room. I’ve heard you whispering about them. Milo thinks you’re in there drinking brandy alexanders, he noticed the chocolate.” She drew back from him with a puzzled expression. “She… likes drugs too, doesn’t she?” She had a great deal of difficulty putting ‘likes’ and ‘drugs’ together in the same breath, or even as a concept.

“Well…” said Mordecai. “Sometimes she likes them. Like you like a glass of wine sometimes.”

Ann nodded. She took a few steps away, then she sat down at the kitchen table. When she spoke again, she did not look over, “You… It’s not like that for you, is it, dear? You… You get very unhappy sometimes, don’t you?”

He sighed and dropped his head. “I do.”

Ann turned and looked pained at him, “Does it help?”

He nodded.

Ann sighed. “It helped Milo. He was happier, for a little while, and not so afraid. He liked it, when he didn’t know what it was. I think it might be good for him if he could do it, but he can’t. It hurts him, Em. It’s… It’s like the shipwreck sandwiches! Do you understand that?”

“I do, Ann. Very much.” He paused. “Do you want to talk about what happened that hurt him that way?” And maybe the metal beds and the straitjacket or at least why he’s afraid of toast?

Ann opened her mouth. It moved mutely for a few words, but Mordecai couldn’t read them. She closed it again and shook her head. “Em, I trust you and I believe you’d help him, I truly do, but Milo doesn’t trust anybody. Not with that. I think if I told you, he’d leave here and never come back. He needs to be here, and maybe… maybe he’ll come to it in his own time.”

He came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. “I understand. Not all of it, but I don’t have to. I’m going to keep trying to help him. I might still screw it up sometimes, but I’ll be as careful as I can.”

She covered his hand with her own, and smiled. “Thank you for that too, Em.”

———

Milo returned to the factory after three weeks and handed them a card.

“Are you going to sue us?” the foreman asked him.

Milo shook his head

The foreman shook his hand. “Welcome back to work, Mr. Rose!”