Fenny emerged from the bathroom, the last to have changed and cleaned off the stench of beer as much as possible without actually getting into the shower, and found the others in the back yard. She joined Gina a few feet away from the barbecue, which was situated on the patio and being discussed at great length by Paul and Brad.

“Has Brad adopted a foolish accent and demanded shrimp on the barbie yet?” Fenny asked.

“No, they’re too occupied trying to figure out how to light the thing,” Gina shrugged. “They claim it’s because it’s a barbecue they’ve never used before. I think it’s because they’re a pair of goofs. I get the feeling the whole neighborhood might go up either way.”

“Why is it the women do all the cooking three hundred and sixty two days out of the year, but the few times the barbecue’s dragged out, the men insist on trying things on their own?”

“It’s got to be a testosterone thing. The thrill of raw meat on an open flame.”

“The threat of third degree burns and salmonella.”

“The countless opportunities to stuff things up, and the freedom to burp out of doors.”

“We can hear you, you know,” Brad huffed.

“So how’s it going then?” Gina asked.

As if on cue, there was a startling roar of flame and the barbecue suddenly went up. “Going great, hon,” Paul perked, choking on smoke as the fire died down a bit.

“I’m going back inside to see about fixing side dishes,” Gina declared and escaped to the sanctity of the kitchen.

“Should we call the emergency room now to warn them?” Fenny chuckled as she followed.

Vicki gingerly popped her head over the fence to peek the neighbors’ yard to see just what it was they were doing with her barbecue. It seemed relatively normal: Paul was poking at bits of meat on the grill with an inordinate amount of manly pride while Brad, unfortunately fully clothed, watched on with a beer in his hand trying desperately to look useful, and the two women set up a small spread of bowls with what she could see to be vegetables, potato salad, things of the normal sort. Granted all four of them seemed to have bits of what could probably be shredded cabbage stuck to them, which wasn’t quite so normal and made them look even more foolish when they started singing along with the radio that had been brought out.

“Look at the sky and spot the planes, where would I go on holidays,” Brad and the woman who Vicki couldn’t remember being introduced to sang gleefully.

“Obviously here to complicate our lives,” Paul teased.

“Roll with the punches down the aisles, down the street the weeks roll by

My friends are completely fucked, but they’re such fun to have around,” they all belted out with big cheeky smiles.

“Banana chairs out on the concrete, telling stories to the stars

How Geminis love wooden dragons and how down the street the weeks roll by.”

“Scott,” Vicki called as she slipped back in the house, “the neighbors have actually gone completely and utterly mad.”

“Sex on the lawn again?” he asked, not looking up from the television.

“No, I could handle that. Now they’re singing into their dinners about how, well, fucked they all are. And they’ve got cabbage on them.”

“Oh, right. Speaking of which, when’s dinner?”

“Has anyone ever actually thought of asking a Gemini if they have an attraction to wooden dragons?” Paul asked curiously as he plopped a dollop of potato salad on his plate.

“What, people or the cars?” Brad asked with a stupid smirk as everyone settled themselves in the banana chairs in the back yard,

“I thought the Cars was a mediocre 80s new wave group,” Fenny pointed out.

“I like them,” Brad pouted.

“Do they like wooden dragons?” Gina asked.

“Are they Geminis?” Paul countered.

They looked at each other. “No idea,” Brad shrugged, and with a few giggles the topic was dropped in favor of tucking into their dinner.

“I think it’s a pity there aren’t many Australian bands that’re popular in the States,” Fenny mused after a few minutes, breaking the pleased silence, the Whitlams still playing in the background. “I mean we’ve got all sorts of crappy English groups and the occasional Nordic band or Latin heartthrob, but not since AC/DC has there been a real smash Aussie group in the US.”

“Different musical tastes,” Paul shrugged. “Like the difference between Yank humor and Aussie humor and English humor.”

“They’re spelled differently,” Brad smirked. “Humor and humour, with the u…”

“See, Australians just don’t find that funny,” Gina jeered.

“Neither do Americans,” Fenny sighed. “Honey, give me that beer, you’ve gone all stupid with the alcohol again.”

“What’s his excuse for being stupid the rest of the time?” Paul teased.

“Hanging around you too much,” Fenny countered.

Brad shrugged and handed over his empty bottle. “The biggest difference I can see, that I saw when I was working in England,” he announced, continuing with the discussion of cultural differences, “is that America likes witty humor as well as physical. The English humor really isn’t as physical.”

Gina, Paul and Fenny all glanced at each other. “What do you mean, mate?” Paul asked.

“Well in England it’s more, I dunno, cerebral. They like literary jokes.”

“There’s a ton of physical comedians in England,” Gina chided. “Monty Python is a prime example. Ministry of Silly Walks, that sort of thing.”

“The Goodies, Kenny Everett,” Paul added.

“Rowan Atkinson,” Fenny pointed out.

“Lenny Henry,” Gina said, counting them on her fingers.

“Well no, I was just saying, that the English aren’t as impressed with stupid antics,” Brad argued, but was interrupted by Paul.

“Lee Evans. Benny Hill.”

“Tony Slattery even counts I think,” Fenny shrugged.

“Whose side are you on, Fen,” Brad whined.

“Just ‘cause I married you doesn’t mean I have to agree with your marginally flawed theories of international comedy.”

“Really Brad, you couldn’t be more wrong if you tried,” Gina snickered.

“Well that’s not what I mean, anyway,” he huffed.

“What did you mean?” Paul asked.

“You guys don’t even care, you just want to gang up on me ‘cause I’m the stupid Yank.”

“I’m a Yank and I’m on their side,” Fenny said.

“You spend too much time with Australians,” Brad grumbled. “If I’m gonna be the odd one out I’ll just go to bed and you can find something else to make fun of.” And with that, he struggled to his feet and stomped inside in a snit that would have put Lilly to shame.

“You think we can’t make fun of you without you around?” Gina laughed after him. “It’s more fun if you’re not in the room anyway.”

“In the yard, actually,” Paul amended, “we’re not actually in a room.”

Fenny closed her eyes and shook her head. “Sorry about him,” she sighed. “Too many beers I think. I’ll give him some time to cool down and fall into a coma.”

“Such a loving and attentive wife you are, Fenella,” Gina chided playfully.

Fenny stuck her tongue out and twisted her wedding band around her finger.

“We should all probably be getting to bed sometime soon,” Gina said, leaning back to look up at the stars. “Paul’s got things to do in the morning.”

“Bloody ‘Am I Good In Bed’,” he grumbled.

“The things we do for the sake of our careers, huh?” Fenny mused.

“Yeah, like voluntarily sitting in the same room as Freya and her ‘continuing early storms’ blouse and ‘sunny afternoon’ skirt,” Gina groaned.

“So what about you Fen, how’s your career been moving along?” Paul asked.

“Oh, my new gig teaching has been pretty cool, or was before I skipped the country. Poor students, I’m the second teacher to bail on ‘em like this. But hey, it was a necessary evil,” Fenny smiled.

“You never did give me the details about hot nude models you promised me,” Gina pointed out.

“Oh, well, there’s this one, Josh, really great guy, an actor, I helped him get a role in a play. Actually if I knew exactly where my book was, I think I’ve got some sketches.” She glanced around idly for her sketchbook for a moment.

“No, thanks, I think that can wait,” Paul chuckled, “I don’t need you flaunting drawings of taut, chiseled naked men in front of me.”

“Aww,” Fenny pouted, “and to think, I was going to ask your advice on how to properly represent male genitalia.”

“Oh god,” Gina breathed.

“I’d love to get Paul into my class, seriously,” Fenny defended.

“Not as a model,” he said firmly.

“God no. No, I’m quite happy having you as the one person in our little circle of friends I’ve yet to see naked, I really don’t need that trauma. No, I just think it’d be good to see some studies from you. It’d be interesting.”

“He’d frighten your students with skeletal people and freaky monsters,” Gina chuckled.

“Oh, I don’t know, I’ve seen some beautifully rendered things Paul’s done,” Fenny countered. “Granted they were portraits of you, but—”

“You what?” Paul gasped as Gina raised a questioning eyebrow at him. “How did you know that?”

“Um, the sketchbook, under your bed,” Fenny breathed, suddenly afraid she’d done something drastically wrong.

“You weren’t to know about that, the only way you could have found – oh Fen, tell me you didn’t,” Paul said, sounding rather disappointed.

“What’s this about a sketchbook?” Gina asked, a bit concerned there were drawings of her floating around she didn’t know about.

“Later,” Paul sighed. “What ’s important here is that our dear Fenny has been screwing around with our dear Danny again.”

Gina looked at her sternly. “What?” Fenny yelped. “You practically told me to.”

“I did not,” Gina protested. “I told you that it was your decision to make.”

“Yes, but you implied that Danny and I have something worth trying and that I’d hate myself if I didn’t try it, so I figured I’d try it.”

“By having a good root in my bed,” Paul grumbled. “Really Fen, that’s not trying a relationship, that’s just supporting Australia’s condom industry.”

“What do you propose I do then?” Fenny groused.

“Don’t you ever get tired of us doing all your thinking for you, Fen?” Gina asked.

“No,” she peeped.

“Fen,” Paul sighed.

“Well it’s not like I’m any good at it on my own, I’ve proven that much, haven’t I?”

“Well our advice hasn’t done you a load of good either, has it?” Gina countered.

“If I’m left to my own devices I’m just going to move to Austria and become a nun,” Fenny declared resolutely. “Then I’ll take a vow of chastity which would probably be fantastic for my psyche, and I think a vow of silence would probably be a good idea as well. Well, better than learning Austrian. Is that what they speak? And then I’ll sit around making rosaries all day and hope no one notices I’m an agnostic.”

Gina and Paul shared a pointed look. “She’d never make it,” Gina sighed. “The vow of chastity would kill her.”

“I reckon she’d accidentally impale herself on her beading needle first,” Paul said.

“Thanks guys,” Fenny grumbled. “No, really.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier and more fulfilling if you just found whatever spine you’ve got left and made a decision for once in your life?” Paul demanded.

“Easier said than done,” Fenny mumbled.

“You make this out like it’s such a hardship on you,” Gina groused, “like the gods have smote you and—”

“Smote?” Fenny asked.

“Smited? Smitten? Don’t change the subject. You act like the world has it against you so it isn’t your fault you’ve gotten yourself in this shit. But no one can tell you what you need to do with your life, because if you keep following other people’s advice, you’re going to hate yourself and end up strangling yourself with those Austrian rosaries. Seriously Fen, you’ve got to work out things on your own.”

“I’ll tell you this much,” Paul said, “I don’t approve of you rolling around on my floor with any man if it means you snooping around my personal items.”

“Point taken,” Fenny sighed, a frown wrinkling her forehead. “Um, look, you guys mind if I head on off to bed now?”

“Sure,” Gina breathed. “Night.”

“Night Fen,” Paul chimed.

“See you in the morning.” She shot them a weak smile and headed inside to quickly change into her pajamas and slide into bed next to loudly snoring Brad.

“We should probably get to bed too,” Gina smiled lazily at Paul.

“We probably should,” he agreed with a yawn, but made no move to get up. Gina slipped off her chair and moved next to him. “What, now?” he asked, looking up innocently.

“C’mon,” she urged, holding out her hands to help him up. Paul tried to pull her down into his lap, but she was prepared for that and used his own actions as leverage to pull him upright. “That wasn’t fair,” he pouted.

“I know,” she smirked and handed him a few empty stubbies to take inside. “So are you going to tell me about these drawings no one’s supposed to know about?” Gina asked casually.

“Well, you know,” Paul cleared his throat as he blushed and headed for the kitchen while she locked the back door, flipped off the light and followed him, “just a few little sketches.”

“Fen says they’re beautiful. And she recognized them as me.”

He shrugged and turned to face her with a half hidden smile. “What, a man’s not allowed to have a muse anymore?”

“You mean that?” Gina asked breathily as she moved closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. He looked down at her questioningly. “I’m your muse?”

“No, Troy’s my muse,” he said with a sarcastic roll of his eyes. “Of course you are, Genie.”

She gave him a gentle kiss. “That’s so sweet,” she smiled.

“It’s true,” he murmured as he leaned in for another kiss, holding her closer to him and backing her towards the bedroom.

“I thought you didn’t want to go to bed yet,” she pointed out between kisses as they made it to the end of the hall.

“I just remembered that I’ve got research to do.”

“Research?”

“Well I’m filming ‘Am I Good In Bed’ tomorrow,” he prompted, pulling her onto the bed with him.

“I thought you were already judged once before.”

“I want a recount.”

Gina shrugged and slid both hands up his chest under his shirt, which he promptly stripped off. “I can deal with that.”

The next morning found Paul, annoyed at being woken by Gina’s alarm clock, sitting dejectedly at the dining room table trying to remember how to sleep upright, while Gina worked at getting him a nice dose of caffeine to perk him up. Fenny and Brad were still asleep, and while he’d considered waking them up just so they could share in his misery, he decided he didn’t need to cope with them at this early hour.

He absently checked his watch. 9:47. Too early for him. “I don’t want to go,” Paul grumbled into his mug of tea. “It’s too early and it’s gonna be boring and we’ve done it all already.”

“Then why do you have to go in this morning?” Gina asked. “I mean the show isn’t until later tonight, right?”

“Something about being ‘displeased with the unsatisfactory level of actual rehearsal cooperation’ or something.”

“So in other words you messed about and didn’t get any real rehearsing done during all the other times you’ve gone to the studio,” she sighed.

“It’s Mieke’s fault,” he pouted.

“Of course it is,” she soothed.

“I’ve got thirteen minu—eleven minutes,” he amended, giving his watch another check, “before my taxi gets here. If I don’t go, do you think they’ll be angry?”

“I’m sure Mikey would come here, throw you over his shoulder and drag you kicking and screaming all the way to the studio,” Gina declared.

“I’d like to see him try.” Paul folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair in a sulk.

“This is why I don’t need children,” she sighed. “You’ll go and you’ll behave yourself, young man.”

“I feel I should make a snide remark to that but I’m too tired.”

“Should make an interesting show then,” Gina laughed as the sound of a horn honking out front made Paul jump. He reluctantly stood and took another gulp of tea, finishing off the mug.

“Have a good show,” Gina chirped, reflexively straightening his tie and giving him a goodbye kiss. “And be good. Or try at least. Just don’t get fired.”

“Bye hon,” he nodded, grabbed his bag and blearily headed out. He opened the front door and headed out to his taxi, only to see two figures stepping out of the vehicle.

“No,” he groaned as he recognized one. “God no, please. I don’t need this, not now.”

“Hey McDermott,” Greg called chipperly. “Come on you lazy bastard, help us with our bags.”

“What are you doing here, Proops,” he groaned, wandering towards the taxi but in no mood to actually encourage the moving of baggage into his house.

“We thought two fucked up Yanks weren’t enough for you and the wife to deal with, thought you needed a real challenge. So tada! Two more even worse Yanks.” Greg thrust a small mauve suitcase at him and for the first time, Paul looked up at the woman who had arrived with him. It wasn’t Greg’s wife as he’d assumed, it was – no. “Jenna,” he gasped, closing his eyes in a desperate attempt to make her vanish.

“Hi Pauly,” she cooed. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Um, uh, hold on a sec,” he breathed, and fled back into the house, slamming the door behind him.

“Paul?” Gina called from the kitchen, “I thought you left already.” She wandered into the room with a dishrag in her hand and cocked her head at him. “Why the suitcase?”

He’d forgotten he was holding it, and promptly dropped it. “Remember how I said we’d be fine so long as no more ex-lovers showed up at our door? Well…”

“Speccy,” Gina laughed as he wandered in and peeked his head over Paul’s shoulder. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“My life turned to shit so I decided to follow the Fenny model and come unload my problems on the McDermotts.”

“Well Fenny doesn’t bring along strange women,” Gina pointed out as she noticed Paul begrudgingly helping a blonde with a couple suitcases in the entryway.

“No, she meets strange men and sucks them into her little eddies of despair. No, this is Jenna, Fenny’s neighbor. Her life is probably shittier than mine.”

Fenny wandered into the living room in her pajamas, groggily rubbing her eyes behind her glasses. “What’s going on out—Greg,” she gasped as she finally noticed him. Greg gave a cheeky little wave and nodded towards Jenna as she entered the room. “Jenna? No, never mind, I’m going back to bed now.”

“I’m going to work,” Paul nodded, agreeing with Fenny’s theories for a change.

“But your ride’s not here and Greg’s taxi just left,” Gina pointed out.

“I don’t care. I’ll walk.”

They watched as Paul wandered back outside, just as they heard a car pull up. “He’s happy to see you,” Gina smirked. “Really. You two want some tea or coffee or psychoanalysis or breakfast or something?”