“No, look Lil, what about a nice pretty green like this one.”

“I like yellow.”

“I don’t.”

“It’s my room,” Lilly pouted.

“Yeah, in my home, and that yellow hurts my eyes,” Fenny declared.

“I want the yellow.”

“You’re not gonna get the yellow. They shouldn’t even make paint that color. How about a yellow green, a compromise? If we’re gonna keep living together, we’re going to have to get very good at the art of compromise very quickly.” She flipped through the book of paint samples and found an adequate soft yellow-tinted green. “How’s that?”

Lilly folded her arms across her chest and flumped down in the cart amongst the brushes, rollers, tape and sheets of plastic. “I don’t like it.”

Fenny sighed and tried to remind herself that going two aisles down to where the hammers and pneumatic nail guns were located would probably not be smiled upon by Brad when Lilly was brought home full of holes. “Look, if we agree on a paint color I’ll take you to get some ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” Lilly perked.

“Absolutely. If you agree with this color.”

“Yeah, ice cream!”

“Cloudy Meadow Green it is then.”

Paul woke up to find himself alone in bed, and it took a moment for him to remind himself that Gina really was back and he had no reason to be waking up alone. She was probably doing more cleaning, which gave him a good excuse to go back to sleep. If that damn light wasn’t shining in his eyes making it nearly impossible. He finally got around to opening his eyes and then noticed he was in Gina’s apartment. The alarm clock declared it was almost ten o’clock, and he figured he might as well get up, and after a bit of searching for his hastily discarded clothes from the night before, he pulled on his boxers and wandered out of the bedroom.

“I hate your curtains,” he declared sleepily as he found her hunched over her computer.

“Good morning to you too.”

“The sunlight comes in and burns holes through my retinas when I’m trying to get my beauty sleep.”

Gina looked up at him dryly. “I think you’re past any amount of beauty sleep being helpful, darling.”

“I just opened myself up for that one, didn’t I?”

“Only reason I said it, I thought you were asking for it.”

He scratched his stomach and wandered over to glance over her shoulder. “What’re you doing?”

“Applying for jobs.”

“With the computer?”

“The internet is a miraculous thing.”

“Oh. Right. Where are you applying? Not the paper I hope.”

“God no, I wouldn’t work in the same office block as Freya if they offered me all the money in the world.”

“That’s encouraging to hear,” he breathed, knowing from experience that Freya and Gina in the same office for any amount of time was a recipe for disaster that could bring down the whole of modern civilization.

“Sent my resume to a couple television networks.”

“What, you’re gonna be a newsreader?” Paul chuckled behind a yawn.

“Yeah? So?” Gina looked up at him blankly.

“Oh, that’s great Genie, really, hope you get the job.”

Gina raised an eyebrow at him but smiled as he rubbed his eyes tiredly. “We’re going to the hardware shop to pick up things for the new house.”

“We are?”

“Yep.”

“Great,” he yawned unenthusiastically, heading for the bathroom.

“Or we could just move in as it is, chipped paint, suicidal tiles, moldy fixtures and all,” Gina suggested as she went back to the computer.

“Right, let’s go shopping,” he agreed with a tad more enthusiasm as he shut the door and started the shower.

Greg shuffled through the magazines in the reception area, trying to find that issue of National Geographic with the Mongolian goat story, half intending to tear out the article to mail to Gina. “Found this while waiting to discuss what my therapist calls my ‘compulsive desire to be next to your friend’s wife’ and I thought it was like a sign, so I stole it. That’ll give Judy something other than you and my ‘less than productive attitudes’ to discuss.” But he was forced to give up the hunt when he was prompted by the receptionist to enter Judy’s office.

He was bound and determined to make this session last at least twenty minutes. He was, after all, paying by the hour, and for some reason fifteen minutes didn’t cost one fourth the exorbitant hourly fee, it cost the whole exorbitant hourly fee, and he was determined to get his money’s worth. Even if it was by messing with the woman’s head.

“Greg, good to see you,” Judy perked as she glanced up from her notes at the sound of him entering her office. “Have a seat.” He did as he was told and perched on the couch as she situated herself in her armchair. “How have things been going since I last saw you?”

“Oh, the usual: meetings, getting ready to go to Vegas for work with my friends and at least one illegitimate child, my wife refused to let me put her in a showgirl outfit, Gina emailed me reminding me of all the kinky things she’s done to me. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Judy shook her head. “And where should we start today, hmm? The running from your problems, your rejection of children, your one sided fantasy fulfillment, or the continuing mutually destructive attachment to Gina?”

“Oh, I just remembered, I had this dream last night, it was really…harrowing.”

“Harrowing?” the therapist echoed.

“Harrowing,” he enthused. “Smuffy came back.”

“Smuffy.”

“Yeah. Beloved first childhood pet. Died when I was eight.”

“Oh? And it came to you in your dream?”

“Yeah, poor little thing, he just kept running and running and I was calling him but he never got to me. Then he just fell over, I don’t know if he was dead or if it was just the desert heat that got to him.”

“You were in a desert?” Judy asked, ready to pull out her volumes on Freudian dream analysis

“Well yeah, I grew up in Arizona, the whole place is desert. Not a great place for domesticated pets.”

“Just how did Smuffy die?” Judy probed gently, her voice suddenly smooth and careful.

“What does it matter, he’s gone now,” Greg huffed, pulling off his glasses and dropping his head in his hands.

“The loss of a first pet is always a difficult thing for a young person to go through, and I sense that maybe you weren’t prepared, or it wasn’t discussed properly with you at the time.”

Greg shrugged carelessly, running his hands through his hair, never taking his eyes from the tacky oriental rug.

“Maybe this is where your fear of intimacy came in, you associate with people who you can benefit from intellectually or physically but not emotionally because you fear that loss that was spurned from Smuffy’s death.” Judy paused for a minute or two, writing hurried notes, thinking maybe they were on the verge of a breakthrough, surprised and encouraged by the fact that Greg wasn’t interrupting her with snide remarks or witty comments. “Tell me Greg, how did you feel when you lost your beloved pet?”

He looked up at her, slipped his glasses back on his face and regarded her carefully. “Well, Judy, had it actually happened I’m sure it would have broken my little heart and traumatized my young soul for life.”

“What, you…” Greg smiled cheekily at her. “Gregory!” she admonished. Both leaning against the matching furniture, they regarded each other stonily. “That’s our time for the day.” She got up and marched back to her desk.

“Just when we were starting to make progress,” Greg mused with a shrug and sauntered to the door. With a glance at his watch he let out a sigh. “Shit, only eighteen minutes. So close.” He stepped out into the hall and closed the door quietly behind himself with a quick smile at Judy who paid him no heed.

“I hate actors,” she grumbled under her breath, tearing the sheet of notes she’d been scribbling from the pad and tossing it into the trash.

Fenny watched as Lilly all but inhaled her strawberry ice cream with hot fudge, marshmallow and pineapple mixins, wondering how on earth such a concoction could actually taste as good as Lilly made it out to be. Fenny was quite content with her chocolate ice cream and Oreo. “So, Lilly, when we get home, your Dad and I are going to paint your room, which means you’re going to the sitter.”

“But I wanna help,” Lilly whined, dropping a dollop of fudge down the front of her shirt that Fenny knew would never come out.

“You can’t help.”

“How come?”

“Because painting is for big people. It’s really hard and it smells bad and it’s really messy. I think you’ve already made enough of a mess for one day. I knew a guy when I was in college that had a beard like that.” With a smile she handed Lilly a napkin so she could wipe off some of the strawberry/chocolate from around her mouth before it had a chance to drip off her chin. All she managed to do was smear it around more.

“Fen, is that you?”

She jumped at the voice and looked up to see Josh, her old college friend and one-time improve troupe member, glaring down at her a bit surprised. “Oh, hi, long time no see.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” he scorned. There was no misunderstanding the implied message of “Since you up and left us for that idiot of a husband of yours and your uppity life in LA” that she got from most of the Harmless Hitchhikers. “What’s this?” he asked, gesturing to Lilly.

“It’s a child, Joshua. Surely you’ve seen one before?”

“Oh. I never knew you…well…”

“Yes, that’s right. Since the last time I saw you I managed to pop out a four-year-old. It’s not mine.”

“Whose is she then?”

“Brad’s.”

Josh let out a hearty laugh. “Guess all’s not well in Fennyland, huh? You couldn’t cut it as an improv comic, couldn’t cut it as a Hollywood bride by the looks of things. Sherwood not the golden boy you thought he was?”

“Hate to interrupt your little diatribe,” Fenny declared, “but we’ve got to get going. Brad’s going to be home soon and we’ve got things to do. After you finish telling the guys what a fu—messed up life I have, tell them I say hi, huh? Come on Lil.” She wiped off Lilly’s face and hands and led her back to her car, wishing Lilly wasn’t around so she could scream at no one about what a bunch of arrogant morons her former colleagues had turned into.

“I thought you said I wasn’t ’posed to eat in your car,” Lilly pointed out as Fenny buckled her in.

“It’s a special occasion,” Fenny said.

“Who was that man?” Lilly asked around a spoonful of ice cream.

“Someone I used to work with who doesn’t particularly like the fact that I married your Daddy.”

“I don’t like that man,” Lilly declared resolutely.

Fenny smiled a bit as she closed Lilly’s door and moved around the car to slide into the driver’s seat. “Thanks, neither do I,” she said, and started the engine.

Gina looked down the list she’d made of things they needed to make the house safe to move in to, and tried to check the items she’d crossed out against the items in the cart, but Paul was riding the shopping trolley up and down the aisle like an eight year old on amphetamines. She assumed it was because he was bored and possibly running off too little sleep, gauging from when they’d been looking at tiles for the shower and he had declared, “This is boring, they’re just tiles, I don’t really care. I know, let’s take a selection to the sprinkler department, get ‘em wet, and see how each feels against your back as a basis for comparison.”

“Paul, we did decide on a showerhead, didn’t we?” she called as he whizzed past her.

“Yup,” he called back, leaning over the handle to investigate the contents of the cart. “A fancy shmancy massager—fuck!” His trolley collided with another filled with bits of plywood being pushed by a rather intimidating hulk of a man.

Gina sauntered over, rolling her eyes. “I’m sorry sir, but he’s got a day pass from the home and he misses his chainsaw. He’s due for another round of medication, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

The man glared at them warily as Paul smiled wickedly at him from his position halfway leaning over his cart before quickly scampering away. “How come whenever we meet strangers you tell them I’ve come from a mental institution?” Paul mused.

“Because you should,” Gina countered. “Let’s see, new tiles for the bathroom, new hardware for the kitchen, new showerhead, painting supplies, new knobs…”

“Knob,” Paul giggled.

Gina looked up at him with a raised eyebrow but chose to let it go. “We need paint.”

“Then let’s get paint.” Paul rode his shopping trolley towards the paint department with Gina following behind at a socially safe distance. She found him hunched over a book of paint chips of the most atrocious shades of orange she had ever seen.

“What do you think, Spicy Pomegranate or Autumn Lick? Oh, sorry, that’s Lake.”

“If you painted a room that color it would look like it’d been painted in blood. Could be good for your studio, actually…”

Paul flipped forward a few pages to the more subtle colors. “Ooh, Nipple Pink, can we paint the bathroom Nipple Pink?” he pleaded.

“It’s Natural Pink,” Gina sighed, “put your glasses on, idiot.”

“Oh,” he said, squinting at the lettering and pulling his glasses from his pocket. “You’re right. I’m guessing then that—” He flipped a few pages back. “Oh, it was Duck Feathers. I thought that was some sort of genetic abnormality there for a minute, and a weird one to name an enamel paint after.”

“Look Paul, lawn decorations,” Gina perked, pointing to a display at the end of the aisle. He enthusiastically hurried into the sea of pink flamingos, little windmills and plastic herbivores to leave Gina to pick out a few colors to get them started with the most important parts of the house.

Crossing paint off her list, she began wondering where it would be most cost efficient to buy a new shower curtain and if it would be worth taking Paul along.

“Genie, look what I found,” Paul perked as he appeared by her side cradling a garden gnome in his arms. “Can we keep him?”

“You can’t be serious, Paul,” Gina said, trying not to laugh.

“Of course I am. Look into those eyes and tell him no.” He held the plaster monstrosity out at arms length about six inches from her face.

“No.”

He clutched the gnome to his chest and gasped at her.

“Of course I said no to Troy’s eyes and look how far that got me,” she sighed.

Paul’s eyes lit up. “Does that mean we can take him home?”

“Whatever makes you happy.”

“Thanks Genie,” he chirped, pecking her on the cheek on his way back to the cart, where he carefully situated the garden gnome in the child seat. “What next?”

“We get you back to the home,” she chuckled.

Brad opened the front door cautiously and paused, waiting for screams, threats, crying, or things being thrown. What greeted him was even more frightening – calm. As he wandered inside he heard the faint sounds of Fenny’s favorite radio station playing from Lilly’s room. He stuck his head inside and found the few pieces of furniture had been pushed to the center of the room, sheets of plastic taped along the floorboards to protect the floor, and Fenny taping off the molding around the window while singing along to the radio in hushed tones.

“Hey Fen,” he chirped, and she jumped nearly out of her skin.

“God, don’t sneak up on me like that,” she said as she turned on him.

“How did shopping with Lilly go?”

“Well I bribed her with ice cream to get her to pick a color that wouldn’t cause permanent corneal damage.”

“So you didn’t stick with the fire and brimstone color scheme?” Brad chuckled, regarding the buckets of paint on the floor.

“Nope, a nice soothing green.”

“Three cans, isn’t that a lot of paint?”

“I had to get extra, I have a feeling her destructive bent isn’t over and she might just decide to redo the room in yellow, and I wanted to keep some paint around to fix any redecorating she might do.”

“Where is Lil, by the way?”

“She’s at Jenna’s. figured we’d do better getting the place painted if she wasn’t around.”

“You mean I put myself at your mercy for the entire afternoon, we haven’t had any time alone together in practically a month, and you want to spend the time painting?”

“You have a better idea?” Fenny asked, stepping closer to him.

“I’m sure if we put our heads together we could think of something,” Brad chuckled as he pulled her towards him in a fiery kiss.

“I like that idea,” she smiled against his lips as he leaned her against Lilly’s dresser. “Mmm, just not in here.” With two hands against his chest she pushed him straight back, out the bedroom door and against the wall of the corridor.

“Where?” Brad managed as Fenny ran her fingers up his chest under his t-shirt. “Bedroom, living room, kitchen, here…?”

“E, all of the above,” Fenny suggested.

“I’ll give it a shot,” he laughed.

Brad swallowed hard as Fenny peppered his neck and chest with soft kisses. He caressed her back, holding her closer to him. “I thought I was never getting sex from you again,” he said breathily.

“It’s a little late to bring that up, don’t you think?” Fenny countered with a smile. “You wanna stop?”

“God no, not until you’ve worn me out.”

“So what, five minutes then?”

Brad’s best argument against that was a passionate kiss. It seemed like so long since they’d last had the chance to be alone and uninterrupted. His eyes opened at the thought, and noticing how dark the room was getting, he broke the kiss.

“Lil’s gonna be crushed that we haven’t done her room,” he panted. “We’ll be up till all hours finishing it tonight. And Jenna probably has the poor kid modeling nail polish and henna tattoos and color coordinated scarves.” Fenny’s mouth went back to his chest; he swallowed and took a deep breath. “Maybe we should start on her room?”

“Let’s do it in the shower.”

“Already there.”

Paul sat in the café tapping his fingers as he waited. He was glad Gina had headed towards their new place to start cleaning, almost insisting that he go home and “catch up on his sleep,” obviously a code for “keep out of my way.” He hated sneaking around, but he’d agreed to the meeting before Gina had gotten back from Europe, so he couldn’t very well just back out, no matter how much he may have wanted to.

He took another gulp of his tea and noticed over the lip of his cup Freya wander in. She spotted him instantly and hurried over. “I’m sorry I’m late Paul, but I got hung up at the hairdresser’s, I spent a full thirty minutes in that chair before I realized they’d used the wrong curlers, when I made them take them out I looked like some sort of poodle, it was just so bad! So they had to wash my hair again and start all over, it was maddening.”

“I’ll bet,” Paul agreed.

“I mean these people are supposed to be professionals, they’re supposed to go to school for this, I don’t see how they could make such a mistake…”

Paul leaned his chin against his fist, trying halfheartedly to look interested, nodding every few seconds. His mind began to wander as he tuned out Freya’s voice and the soft music of the radio playing through the café caught his attention.

I was listening to this conversation

Noticing my daydream stimulated me more

I was crumbling with anticipation

You better send me home before I tumble down to the floor

You’re so beautiful but oh so boring

I’m wondering what am I doing here

So beautiful but oh so boring

I’m wondering if anyone out there really cares

About the curlers in your hair

My little golden baby

Where have all your birds flown now

“Paul?”

The sound of his own name grabbed his attention. “Yeah, what?”

“About that money you said I could borrow? I don’t know if that’s going to be enough actually, something’s come up, remember how I had to go to Scotland not long ago, of course you do, you were there, weren’t you!” Freya let out a little cackle as she went into some unnecessary story or explanation or poetry recital and Paul’s attention wandered again.

I’ve never known a one who’d make me suicidal before

She was so beautiful but oh so boring

I’m wondering what was I doing there

So beautiful but oh so boring

I’m wondering if anyone out there really cares