“Think it’d hurt Paul’s feelings if we went home without him?” Brad asked.

“Do you care?” Fenny smiled.

“No, not really. Let’s go.”

“Wait,” she countered, grabbing his wrist as he moved to get up. “What if I said I want to see the rest of his show?”

“What if I said I wanted to go back to the hotel and give you a show of my own?” He reached a hand under the table to grope her thigh.

“What kind of a show?” Fenny raised her eyebrows as her voice dipped.

“Oh, a spectacular floor show. Starts with a jar of almonds and a silk scarf, I think you can see where I’m going.”

“Mm, not really, but I might be talked into letting you show me.”

“If you’re trying to get me to beg, it’s not gonna work,” Brad declared, withdrawing his hand to fold his arms across his chest.

“Fine, suit yourself,” she shrugged.

There was a pause as the comic onstage delivered his last punch line and said his goodnights. “Please,” Brad whispered hoarsely into Fenny’s ear, “let me take you back to the hotel and make crazy monkey love to you.”

Paul appeared on stage and Fenny turned to smile at Brad. “Let’s go then,” she said, “at the very least I’ll have a new crotch to think about.”

“Oh, that sounds promising,” Brad chirped.

“Only if you behave,” Fenny said.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he chuckled.

Paul shook his head as he headed backstage after introducing some new comic he’d never actually heard of. “Leaving without me so they can go fuck each other’s brains out. Again.”

“What was that?” Greg asked, and Paul turned to see him reclining in a chair in the cramped backstage area.

“I was wondering if you were gonna show up or if I’d have to stall for you,” Paul smirked. “You can’t hold your liquor like you used to.”

“You weren’t doing too well last night either,” Greg countered. “So, who’s getting fucked?”

“Hey? Oh, Fen and Brad.”

“Brad?” Greg gasped.

“Yeah, he followed us up here looking for Fenny, and ever since they’ve been sneaking off to get laid.”

“I guess I don’t need to ask where Fenny’s ‘Brad hurt me and it’s not worth the pain’ attitude went?”

“Lost it somewhere between fondling each other in the street and having him rip off her clothes with his teeth, I’m guessing,” Paul shrugged.

“Well at least they’re occupied,” Greg smiled. “Better than her whining about how miserable her life is.”

“You make a very good point, for a change.”

“How’d Gina take you coming home late?” Greg smiled wickedly.

“She wasn’t entirely pleased, if that’s what you’re getting at. Dragged me through the Royal Mile and around that damned castle with the mother of all hangovers, and if you tell me ‘I told you so’ I’ll rip out what’s left of your lungs.”

Greg held up his hands defensively. “Hey, don’t let me stop you from pissing off your wife,” he cackled as Boothby snuck up behind them.

“You guys up for another round tonight?” he chimed, putting an elbow on Paul’s shoulder.

“For a while,” Paul nodded.

“A while? Where’s that old McDermott spunk? Oh, I remember now,” Boothby chuckled, “the missus must have forgot to pack it for you!”

“I’d be nice to the host if I were you,” Paul threatened. “I can make a crowd turn on a man like that.” He snapped his fingers and pointed threateningly at Boothby and Greg in turn. “So watch it.” With one last menacing glare, he turned and huffed off.

“Napoleon complex,” Greg announced.

“Definitely,” Boothby nodded in agreement.

“I heard that!” Paul snapped, but Greg and Boothby merely chuckled.

Gina sprawled out on her bed, the television prattling on to provide a bit of background noise as she sorted through the notes she’d scribbled during the performance and the cab ride home afterwards, trying to write a review that managed to convey the satirical element of Jerry Springer – The Musical without conveying the rising feeling of apathy she felt for the actual reviewing process. “So much for draft three,” she mumbled as she crinkled up the sheet of paper she’d been using and tossed it in the general direction of the bin. The clock caught her eye; Paul had said he’d be back an hour ago, yet here she sat, alone and Paul-less and mad at herself for being surprised. It wasn’t worth it, really, this was the way he always had been, there was nothing she could do about it, he wasn’t going to change his habits for her, and she couldn’t really ask him to. It was the Fringe, his time to be with his friends, who was she to deny him his pleasures, asinine as they may be. They’d been apart too long to let something so trivial complicate things.

Gina nodded to herself and tried, once again, to devote herself to her writing.

The barman was beginning to consider the idea of throwing all of them out, but decided that with the tab they were raking up and the money he could make off them, he’d be willing to put up with the sing along. Even if none of them seemed to be singing the same song. They managed to stop at the same time, more or less, so maybe they were singing the same tune, just at varying levels of sobriety and talent…

“This, my friends, is why we are comedians and not musicians,” one of them slurred.

“McDermott sings,” a Yank announced.

“Yeah, but he’s shit when he’s pissed.”

“Me pissed is better than you sober,” the short Australian defended.

“A sick old dog that’s been left in the rain to get pissed is better than you sober.”

There was a rumble of laughter from the table.

“Get fucked.”

“Quiet guys, there’s a lady present!” One of them pointed to a couple across the bar.

“She looks kinda like your wife, doesn’t she Pauly?”

“Nah, his wife’s got a nicer ass.”

“How can you tell, she’s sitting down?”

“My wife! Shit! What time is it?”

“Almost three, mate.”

“Bloody hell. I gotta go. Fuck.”

There was a chorus of “Bye Paul”s and one “Good luck with Gina” as he searched for his jacket and tumbled out into the street to flag down a cab, which he flumped into and instantly began worrying.

Oh, Gina was going to be angry. Livid. Out for blood. She’d probably kill him, and he deserved everything she was plotting. He briefly pondered telling the driver to stop somewhere he could get flowers, chocolates would be better, but decided that would only make him later, and besides, it was three in the morning, where could you buy decent flowers at three in the morning? Oh, Gina was going to be pissed.

He slipped into the room cautiously. It was dark. She was in bed. Was that a good sign?

“Hey,” Gina breathed, opening her eyes as he unbuttoned his shirt.

“Sorry,” Paul gasped.

“Sorry?”

“I’m late.” He perched dejectedly on the end of the bed and pulled off his shirt.

“It’s alright.”

“I’m such a shitty husband.”

“It really doesn’t matter.” Gina turned on the bedside lamp so he could get undressed and into bed.

“Yes it does, I promised to be back early and I wasn’t. I let you down.”

“Paul, it’s no big deal,” she sighed, beginning to get exasperated.

“I should sleep on the floor.”

“I think that’s overreacting.”

“Overreacting, when I’ve upset my wife so deeply?”

“Yeah, I’m crushed.”

“See, I knew it.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“You’re only saying that to make me feel better.”

“Paul, come to bed.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“Yes you do, now get in bed before I get angry.”

“I knew I’d upset you. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m getting upset because you keep bloody apologizing. Stop it and go to sleep.”

“I can’t sleep when I know you’re angry with me.”

“I’m not angry with you!”

“You sound it.”

“Because you won’t shut up about it and go to bed! I forgive you for staying out late, you can do it again tomorrow for all I care. Just shut your face and get in bed.”

“It won’t happen again Genie, I’m so sorry, I feel so bad.”

“Don’t make promises you know you can’t keep, Paul.”

“You’re right, I keep breaking promises, I’m such a horrible person.”

“For fuck’s sake…”

Brad woke to a cacophony of insistent tapping and a dull humming. “Fen?” he groaned, rolling over to face her. She was perched cross-legged on the bed, his shirt pulled over her, her laptop computer positioned before her, and she was obviously looking for something on it. “What’re you doing?”

“Wondering if I’d get sued if I dropped this piece of shit off the balcony and it killed someone.”

He let out a loud yawn and stretched, listening to his vertebrae pop. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, I woke up about two hours ago, and you know how I am, I got one of my post-coital bouts of inspiration, figured I’d get some work done on that poster. Then I realized I don’t have a compressor on this computer, so I’m gonna really piss off my tech by sending the standard files, or I’m gonna piss off Eddie by turning the thing in late.”

“Does pissing off Eddie mean you can stop working now?” Brad asked.

“Yes,” Fenny sighed.

He leaned over and closed the laptop. “Then Eddie can fuck himself.”

“Can he?” she asked. “That’s quite a talent.”

“Why do I put up with you?” Brad chuckled as he lay back in bed, pulling Fenny down with him.

Fenny giggled, letting him capture her in a kiss. “Let’s get up,” she chimed, patting him on the stomach as she pulled away. “More sight seeing. Oh, and see if you can’t disable that timer function while you’re at it,” she giggled, pulling the shirt off over her head as she headed into the bathroom for a shower.

“Only if you let me wash your back,” he called after her hopefully.

“Deal,” she called over her shoulder, and he nearly tripped over the bedding in his hurry to get to the bathroom.

“Proops, man, wake up,” the all-too familiar voice called through the door, punctuated with persistent knocking.

“If you value your life, McDermott, you’ll fucking piss off,” Greg yelled back.

“Come on, we’re taking the kids out sightseeing, and you’re coming.”

“What kids?”

“Fen and Brad.”

Greg pulled the covers over his head. “Why do I have to go?”

“Because it’s your fault I was out too late last night and came home shit faced and apparently spent an hour apologizing to Gina in a drunken haze which I don’t even remember and driving her mental and we didn’t get much sleep and I’m grumpy and I need someone to take it out on. And besides, for some insane reason Gina and Fenny like you, now get your lazy arse out of bed before I break down the door and drag you out.”

“Ha! You couldn’t break your way out of a wet paper bag.”

“Greg, get up,” a new voice chimed from the other side of the door, and although it belonged to a small blonde woman, he was less willing to argue with it.

“Yes ma’am,” Greg grumbled and literally crawled out of bed.

Once cleaned, preened and dressed, Greg stepped out of the elevator into the lobby, wondering why he didn’t have his sunglasses because the light streaming in from the front windows was sending a shooting pain through the frontal lobe of his brain, and it wasn’t a pleasant sensation. He squinted his way through the lobby until he found Gina, Paul and Fenny sitting on a couch.

“Morning Speccy,” Gina chirped.

“Where’s Sherwood?” he demanded.

“Forgot my camera,” Brad announced suddenly from behind, causing Greg to jump a foot into the air, quite an accomplishment with his hangover. He let out a groan and collapsed into a chair.

“Was there a memo I missed or something?” Brad asked with a smile, gesturing at the three on the couch. “Or am I just not cool enough to join the Funny Dresser Society?”

Each wore a long-sleeved t-shirt under a short-sleeved button up, and Brad was a bit concerned by the fact Paul’s looked rather like a boy scout uniform.

“Shit, they’re even dressing each other now,” Greg sighed. “I can’t believe I’m going to be voluntarily seen in public with you people.”

“Come on, let’s go hire a car,” Gina perked, and she and Fenny each grabbed an arm and dragged Greg to his feet.

“Remind me to kill you when I have my strength back,” he groaned.

“…and so then I finally made it onto the plane and I thought my heart was going to explode, and I swear the woman next to me thought I was dead, so I told her,” Brad glanced over at Fenny with a smile that quickly fell to a pout. “…I told her how I was thinking about getting ‘I love Drew’ tattooed across my ass…”

All eyes in the car turned to Fenny, who had her eyes riveted out the window of the rented SUV, sketchpad clutched to her chest in excitement, the rest of the world just an annoying clatter that distracted and was therefore ignored, until she felt she was being prompted. “Yeah, uh huh,” she muttered, giving a weak nod.

“And then when Ryan ran off with Kathy the other day, Chip and Wayne, they started making a flan while Colin was tripping on some acid and thought he could fly.”

Greg, crammed up on the other side of Brad, shook his head as Paul turned to glare at Fenny and Gina giggled at Brad’s tactics.

“Look,” Fenny gasped, pointing out the window. “Stop the car!”

“Fen, I stopped the car at the last pile of rocks, and the one before that, and the little hill you were so interested in, and that stupid house. No one wants to see your arcane little fascinations.”

“I’ll have you know that they’re standing stones and that one was a cromlech,” Fenny announced, “and they happen to be very significant to the culture of this island.”

“I’m not stopping the car until we get to the castle,” Gina declared.

“So evil,” Fenny grumbled.

“Are we there yet?” Greg asked.

“No,” Gina sighed.

“Oh,” Greg shrugged. “Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“Oh. Are we there yet?”

“If I said yes, would you get out of the car?”

“Not if it was moving.”

“Damn, there went that theory,” Paul laughed.

It was a longer ride than any of them had expected, and they had resorted to playing a game of “I Spy” which went disastrously wrong because every turn seemed to go along the lines of, “I spy with my little eye, something…green.” “Scotland.” “You win.”

The castle eventually came into view, which led to a flurry of excitement. (“I spy something small and grey.”) When Gina finally parked near the castle and the five tumbled out, Fenny wasn’t the only one awestruck. It was a beautiful castle, built of grey stone that had begun to collapse, but that had somehow failed to detract from its beauty. Plants were growing up masonry walls, ancient corridors were exposed, the lush heather growing around what had once been the castle grounds, it was all breathtaking and unabashedly romantic.

Even Greg, who had spent the trip over being cranky and irritable from his hangover, wandered around with the others, jaw slack in amazement as they explored. “Shit,” he gasped.

“Leave it to Proops to destroy a perfectly wonderful moment,” Brad grumbled.

“I’m stuck in mud,” Greg growled as he examined his feet.

“You can’t take him anywhere,” Fenny sighed.

“Can too, you brought me here,” Greg countered, snickering in spite of himself.

“And this man makes a living trying to make people laugh,” Paul said, shaking his head. “They’ll laugh at anything in America, won’t they?”

“We’re the nation that has proudly given the world, wait for it,” Brad chuckled, “strip hangman.”

“Once a week on prime time,” Greg grumbled, wiping some of the mud off in the grass, “you can see prime subjects of American wit, intelligence, physique and dignity peeling off articles of clothing for the chance of winning some cash for their team, without realizing that the letter Q will always be accompanied by a U.”

“Next celebrity edition, I wanna see you on,” Gina chuckled.

“Why?” Paul gasped.

“Hey, if he’s so good at strip poker, he should be just as good at strip hangman.”

“I’m getting the feeling I should be glad I arrived when I did,” Brad announced, dropping his backpack to the ground and pulling out his camera. “I don’t want to know how your game of strip poker went.”

“What would you say if I said Fen lost?” Greg asked.

“I’d say I’m not surprised,” Brad chuckled.

“Stop it,” Fenny chided. “You think I’d voluntarily play a game that had the possibility of Greg getting naked?”

“You’ve seen it before,” Greg grinned.

“Which is why I don’t want to see it again.”

“Guys, this is a place of magisterial beauty, look at the ruins, people could have died here. People could still die here if they keep discussing Proops’s penis.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Gina nodded. “Who’s up for a game of hide and go seek?”

“You’re kidding,” Fenny gasped.

“What better way to explore?” Brad asked.

“But, look at it, you don’t play hide and seek at a place like this!” she argued.

“Then you’re It,” Greg laughed, and everyone scurried off.

“You’re not counting!” Paul yelped.

“I’ve got to find new friends,” Fenny sighed, leaning against a tree. “One, two, three…”

Greg dozed off in the high grass as Fenny sat nearby with her ever present pad, sketching and resketching. Brad took a roll of film, the last photo over Fenny’s shoulder, before settling down next to her to reload the camera, the couple talking in hushed tones and giggling as he did so. Gina and Paul had adopted a patch on the other side of the castle, chatting and sharing the occasional kiss. Jane Austen herself couldn’t have envisioned a more idyllic scene.

But, like all good things in the seemingly cursed lives of these five folks, it didn’t last.

“Shit,” Brad hissed

“What’s wrong now?” Greg grumbled groggily.

“Um, guys, this isn’t my bag.”