Todd certainly had to agree.
*~*~*
The weeks seemed to fly by. Todd's job weighed on him more heavily than ever, but he knew that at least four nights out of the week he would see Barry. That made the constant stream of complaints more bearable. He mentally blessed those rare callers who were not complaining, who merely wanted information, recipe help, or cooking tips. One man called asking if Todd thought a blender was a suitable gift for a first anniversary. Todd advised him that, good as a blender was, something more romantic would be better received. "Why not open the box, take out the blender, put a dozen long-stemmed roses into it, and a handmade "gift certificate" saying something like 'Good for one dinner out on the night of your choice at the restaurant of your choice'? That way you have a good kitchen gift and romance. She'll appreciate that."
Another non-complainer was the woman who called to say her meatloaf always came out bland and uninteresting, and did the Electro-Supreme customer service center have any suggestions? Being a reasonably good cook, Todd wasn't at all stumped by the question and suggested an assortment of herbs and a dash of cayenne pepper. "Oregano, basil, thyme, and rosemary," he advised the caller, "and go easy on the cayenne unless your family really likes hot and spicy foods. Oh, and don't use ground round or sirloin. Use chuck. I know the other cuts are more heart-healthy, but trust me, you need that extra fat to make a better meatloaf."
The woman was very appreciative and thanked him effusively prior to ending the call. Todd, who enjoyed talking about cooking and, even more, was enjoying a caller who wasn't a complainer, asked the woman if there was anything else he could help her with, hoping to prolong the conversation. But she thanked him and said, "You've been quite helpful already. I really appreciate it," leaving Todd with no option but to say, "Good luck, enjoy the meatloaf, and have a great afternoon," and then hang up.
The next caller, of course, had a complaint, and to make matters worse she was none too civil about it. Todd sighed and tried to defuse her temper tantrum, but she was bound and determined to rail at the Electro-Supreme company for what, it turned out, was—no surprise here—a case of customer misuse of the merchandise. Even when Todd calmly and patiently explained the proper usage of the appliance to her, the woman wasn't mollified, demanding to know why this information wasn't printed in the instruction manual.
"Look at the bottom of page three," Todd said wearily.
"I don't have my reading glasses on. Read it to me," the customer demanded.
Although Todd was not eager to prolong the call, he complied with the customer's request, but even then she still was not satisfied. She still blamed the company for what, it was clear to Todd, was her own fault, her own stupidity. Todd looked at his watch. How long till this shift ends? How long till I can be with Barry, doing much more pleasant things?
Indeed, it seemed that whatever he did with Barry was enjoyable. Not only had they found that they were sexually very compatible, but outside of the bedroom they were an astoundingly well-matched pair too. They enjoyed many of the same activities, had complementary personalities, were both easygoing people who shunned arguments, and were equally happy just being together, engaged in their respective pursuits, as they were when they were actively doing something together.
In fact, the last time they had seen each other, Barry had broached the topic of their possibly living together. It had been late, post-sex and just pre-sleep, and neither of them had been wide awake enough to pursue the conversation at the time. The suggestion hung there, nevertheless. It was enticing, and Todd was looking forward to their exploring it further when they got together that night.
He didn't walk right in and bring it up, however. When Barry greeted him at the door with an extravagant, enthusiastic kiss, his first question was, "How was your day?" and Todd told him.
"I want to complain about the complaint department," Todd said, trying to keep it light. He then proceeded with a litany of the most particularly objectionable callers he had had, ending with, "I hope your day was better?"
"It was okay," Barry answered with a shrug. "Nothing special, nothing awful. Pleasant but unexciting."
"I'll trade you," Todd said.
Barry then launched into a description of one particularly difficult client he had had to deal with and was still telling that story when the phone rang. "Excuse me," he said, reaching for it. "Hello?"
Todd's eyes remained fixed on his beloved's face, which he saw deepen in color while Barry's body stiffened with tension. Todd wondered who was upsetting Barry.
"Yes—okay—F-Friday. Mama Rosalie's. Uh—okay—six, six o'clock."
Todd recognized the name of an Italian restaurant. Who was Barry meeting there that had him so flustered?
When Barry disconnected and turned to face Todd, his eyes were wide. "That was Colin," he said.
His former boyfriend.
"He's back in town and wants to get together for dinner. I didn't want to be impolite and say no. Dinner seems harmless enough."
A lead weight grew exponentially in Todd's stomach. Was Colin back for more than just a visit? Did he want to pick up where he and Barry had left off? Was the best thing that had happened to Todd in a long time about to come to an abrupt end?
The whole rest of the evening was colored by a grey pall. Even their lovemaking lacked its usual fervor. And they both seemed to be avoiding any further talk about their moving in together.
Saturday morning, as Todd was tending his plants, the doorbell rang. When he answered it, to his amazement he found Barry there. Barry gave him a quick kiss and said, "May I come in? We need to talk."
Todd's heart sank to his feet as he ushered Barry into the living room. Todd sank to the sofa woodenly. Barry remained standing. Without preamble, Barry blurted out, "I'm a mess. I didn't sleep an hour last night. Colin's moved back and he says I'm the main reason. He missed me badly and wants to get back together. He's being very insistent. I don't know what to do. I love you. I love you very much. But I don't know if I ever stopped loving him. I'm so messed up."
Todd just sat there, listening. He didn't know what to say. A heavy weight settled in his chest as he groped for the right words. He could hardly say, "Don't go back to Colin!" even though that was what his mind was screaming. For what seemed an eternity, Barry sat in silence as well. Finally, Todd said, "You know I love you." It was a simple statement but a profound truth.
"You know I love you, too," said Barry, looking miserable. "But I don't think I'm over Colin, and now that he's back and being so insistent..." His voice trailed off.
Finally, not knowing what else to say, Todd said, "Do you want to take a break? See Colin and sort out your feelings and then let me know where we stand?"
Barry pondered the suggestion and finally assented. "I won't call you. Not till I've got it all straight in my head. It would only confuse me more."
So this guy Colin gets to move in on my territory, be with the man I love, and I don't even get a chance to play defense, Todd thought, but he said nothing but a reluctant, "All right."
"Thanks for being understanding," Barry said. He kissed Todd on the forehead and left.
The days dragged by for Todd. He even welcomed going to his job and listening to the complainers. At least they temporarily took his mind off his own troubles. Even the nasty complainers were a diversion. One, a man whose anniversary gift to his wife, a mixer, didn't work, was particularly abusive. "What kind of goddam crap is your company making over there anyhow?" he thundered. "You ruined our anniversary for my wife!"
"I'm sorry, and we'll replace it, of course, but didn't you think of giving her something more personal?" Todd asked. "A mixer is hardly a romantic gift." He knew he was skating on thin ice. That was definitely not what to say to a customer, and he knew the calls were monitored.
"What are you—the company Romeo?" the man snarled. The question hit Todd particularly hard.
At first he hoped to hear quickly from Barry. Maybe he would call and say Colin
was too late to rekindle the spark. But that call never came. Then Todd waited in vain for a call that Barry had seen Colin a few times, but it just wasn't working out. But that call never came either. With each day that passed, Todd's hopes sank lower and lower. It was an effort to get out of bed each morning, it was an effort to be nice to the customers who called with a complaint, and by the second week, it was an effort to be nice to anyone. Todd was depressed, his nerves were on edge, and not even his plants brought him much pleasure anymore.
Now it was nearly three weeks and still there was no call. Todd morosely wondered if Barry was not going to call at all, if he and Colin were living blissfully together and he, Todd, was all but forgotten, a brief footnote in Barry's personal history.
It was Saturday morning, and Todd was running the vacuum. Turning it off, he heard an insistent knocking that hadn't been audible over the machine's roar. He went to the door and found Barry, who was wearing a look Todd could only describe as sheepish. "May I come in?" he asked. Todd's heart ached when he realized Barry hadn't kissed him.
"Of course," he said, standing aside so Barry could enter.
"Will you take me back?" Barry asked without preamble, not even sitting down.
Todd's heart soared. Of course he wanted to know more, but the conversation was certainly off to a good start.
"I went out with Colin for ten days or so," Barry began, "but I was conflicted and confused. It was good to be with him, and yet I missed you. Finally I decided that the best thing to do was not see either of you and try to get my head straight about what my heart wanted. I think that's a mixed metaphor, but you understand."
Todd nodded.
"For the next ten days I kept to myself. I missed Colin, but I missed you more. Much more," he added emphatically.
"I've missed you, too, something awful!" Todd blurted.
"So it's clear to me that you're my future, not Colin, and if you'll have me back, I'd like to revisit the subject I brought up the next-to-last time we were together. I have it all figured out. You're renting. I own my place, and besides I have my office there. Move in with me. Quit your job and open that plant store. I'll be your safety net. If for any reason it doesn't work out, you won't be out on the street. You'll always have a home with me."
Todd pounced on the word—six little letters with a world of meaning. "Always?"
"Always," Barry promised, moving in for a kiss.
When they broke apart, Barry said, "There's a store for rent in a high-traffic shopping center not far from my house. I copied down the landlord's number from the sign." He fished in his pocket, then handed the piece of paper over to Todd. "I hope you don't mind my taking the initiative."
"No complaints," Todd answered. "The complaint department is closed."
"Here's to your new enterprise, and our new life together."
"Together," Todd echoed.
"Forever," Barry added.
"Forever," Todd echoed with finality.
Then they kissed again.
"You want to stick around? I have a few more chores to do, but then—"
Barry interrupted him. "I have chores too. And it's not like we won't be together a lot after this. Give your thirty days' notice to the landlord and move in any time you're ready."
"You'll be surprised how quickly I can get ready," Todd said with a laugh.
"Good," said Barry, laughing along with him. "No complaints."
FAIR WEATHER FOR AIRSTRIKES
Mina MacLeod
"Excuse me, are you busy?"
"No," Marco Reyes wants to say. "Not at all. I am pushing this heavy dolly of laundry detergent because it amuses me."
Sellmart management tends to frown upon sarcasm aimed at clients, though. So instead Marco says, "Not at all. How can I help you?" He pulls the dolly to a stop and turns to face the woman directly. His bright orange vest is adorned with a clashing blue pin that reads in bold, white text: It's my pleasure to serve you in: English, Français, Español.
The woman is a bubbly brunette with round cheeks. "I was wondering if you could watch my son for a few minutes." She gestures to the squirming child who is trying to pull out of her grip.
Marco tries not to gape. "I'm sorry?"
"Just for a few minutes," the woman reiterates. The boy starts emitting a high-pitched whine, trying to tug their linked hands apart. Marco winces against the noise, which appears to be the universal shrill declaration of don't-want used by toddlers the world over. "He's not being very good today," the woman goes on. "If you could just keep an eye on him for a bit while I grab what I need, that would help me a lot."
This time, Marco does gape. "Look, ma'am—I just work in Housewares. Unless you need some information deciding how to unclog your sink, I can't help you."
The unhappy child is attracting some attention now. Other shoppers are giving them strange looks, and the people walking by give them a wide berth. A flash of annoyance crosses the woman's face, and Marco has a feeling this day is only going to get worse.
Then it does—but for completely different reasons.
The crash comes from the ceiling, shattering through cement and wood. Marco and everyone around him scatter to avoid falling debris. Marco is dimly aware of the brunette and her son following him down another aisle. Once the crashing is over, the hum of confused shoppers becomes a drone throughout the second floor. Marco checks on his charges, finding them okay but shaken up.
"Stay here," he orders, and waits until she nods her understanding.
Leaving them by the curtains and blinds, Marco creeps back out to the throughway. He keeps an eye above, watching for more falling foundation. He hopes no one got hurt.
Then he gets to the end of the aisle, and his stomach drops. Oh, goddamn it. He recognizes all three of them instantly from the news.
Slashia, armed with her twin scimitars, was probably the one responsible for breaking through the ceiling. Her face is hidden with an emerald green cowl and face mask, but Marco can see a strip of onyx skin between her nose and her eyes. Her mask matches her harem pants, tucked into sturdy gold boots. Her belt and cuirass are also gold, as are the circlets decorating the muscles of her dark arms.
On her left is Negative Space with his unnerving, empty black eyes. His silver hair is loose and unkempt, spilling down onto his shoulders. His black outfit hugs his form, and his matching cape has a high collar. The cape has a silver lining, and there are silver accent lines running down Negative Space's sleeves and around his waist.
On Slashia's right is Tempo Crescendo, sporting one of the most ostentatious costumes Marco has ever seen. He's wearing a tunic, feathered cap, and cape like a bard out of stories. The entire getup is rainbow-themed, with a matching domino mask.
Marco shrinks back behind some shelving. What does the Guild of Chaos want with a Sellmart?
"Attention, shoppers!" Tempo Crescendo uses his power to amplify his voice and send it rippling throughout the store. It's smooth and sonorous; Marco can't help but hang on to every word. "If you could be so kind as to leave your belongings on the floor and exit in an orderly fashion."
It's a perfectly reasonable request. Marco reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He doesn't know what the Guild will do with the thirteen dollars he has to his name, but he's sure they'll find a use for it. He drops the worn leather to the floor and starts walking.
No sooner is he visible does Slashia call out to him. "Hey, Orange! Hold up a sec."
Marco pauses, torn between the thrall of Tempo's spell and Slashia bringing him back to reality. "What—?" Around him, shoppers are milling out in a daze. Marco spots the round brunette and her son, both of whom appear considerably calmer.
Slashia appears beside him, and Marco almost jumps out of his skin. She stops him with an arm around his shoulders. "Hola, my dark Latino friend. Maybe you can help us with something."
Marco tries pulling out of her grip, but it's like iron. He's free of Tempo's compelling voice now, and quickly finds his own.
"What do you want? You realize this is a Sellmart, right? You aren't going to find any diamonds here. You'll be lucky if there're any plastic diamonds left in the Toy aisle."
"You're cute," Slashia says. She ruffles his short brown hair so hard that it hurts. "But it takes more than being cute to impress me, so do what you're told and maybe I won't rearrange your face. We clear?"
"Crystal," Marco mutters, wondering how on earth this is his life.
Slashia smirks; it's an eerie sight. She starts heading back to her comrades, pulling Marco along with ease. Negative Space and Tempo have already started throwing purses and wallets into a burlap sack.
Marco can't believe it. "Does that thing have a dollar sign on it?" He winces when Slashia pulls his hair. "What? You didn't tell me I couldn't talk."
Negative Space turns his solid black eyes on Marco. Marco finds himself shrinking back. "You work here?" His voice isn't what Marco expected. It's soft and young, almost comforting. When Marco nods, Negative Space asks, "Where do you keep your cyanide?"
Marco blinks. "Our what?"
"Cyanide. You know, the chemical with—"
"I know what cyanide is," Marco says. "I just can't believe you think we keep it in stock. We don't carry poison." He glances at Tempo, who is starting to look annoyed. "Did you miss the part where I mentioned Sellmart?"
"I don't like him," Tempo says, stroking the feather in his cap. "Can we kill him?"
Then it occurs to Marco that murder is a serious possibility. He struggles in Slashia's grip, but she holds firm. "What about Drainox?" she asks. "It could probably work with Drainox. That stuff is toxic."
"What—" Marco strains against Slashia's hold, "—What are you trying to do?"
"Splash poison in Avalanche's face," Tempo says simply.
"She should be here any minute, actually," Slashia says. "I still owe her from our jaunt out to Ultropolis." Her grip on Marco tightens, making him wince. "When I get my hands on her, I'll use her as a pin cushion."
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