.one – and he makes a mistake
"Give us a little love, Georgie."
"Please please please please please, pretty pretty please with lots of lovely shiny things on top?"
"Do you not speak the language of no? Should I try hell no or over your even more dead and slightly damaged body, instead?"
"No need to be snippity about it."
"I'm not snippity and you're drunk. You're so drunk that I'm starting to feel drunk by proximity. This can't go anywhere good."
"The Mason train always takes you good places, love. All tickets stubs come with a one hundred percent satisfaction guarantee."
An uncomfortably pregnant pause.
"Okay. Ugh. I need to go drink a six pack of beer and destroy the mental image I formed of the Mason train. You are going to sleep on this couch. Here. Blanket, pillow, and here's some garlic for good measure. You're good to go."
"But I need my Georgie to keep me warm."
Mason wasn't sure, but he thought if he listened carefully, he could almost hear George's eyes as they rolled at him.
"Mason. I'm not your Daisy cure. Go bark up someone else's panties."
She was gone.
"…Daisy was my supposed to be my Georgie cure."
.two – and she accepts that he will always make mistakes
"Rube's going to kill us."
"And when has that ever stopped you, hmm?"
"Well. That's not the point. I think."
"Exactly, love. There is no point, except the wee little point of me not having enough to cover my rent. Which is why we need to relieve Mr. Eisenberg here of some of his earthly burdens."
"You really think taking his DVD player and TV will cover your rent?"
"First, we'll have a little nip into his liquor cabinet, and then we'll wiggle our fingers through the family jewels."
"What makes you think this guy has jewels?"
"Well. Doesn't he?"
"Why are you asking me? I thought you were the one who scoped him out."
"Right, and he's got a swanky place and two of those fluffy little dogs only rich people have."
"We're going to try and steal jewels from a man who lives alone with two Pomeranians? What, you think he keeps sapphire-studded collars for his pets?"
"If I were rich, my toilet seat would be gold and all the doorknobs would be giant rubies."
"Let's go home."
"But the little doggies—"
"I'll cover you. Come on, let's get some waffles."
.three – and now it's her turn to fuck up
"Shit. Shitshitshitshit. SHIT!"
A very rumpled Mason stumbled into the room.
"Georgie. What's wrong?"
"I don't think your pillow makes a very good conversation mate. Why not try me out, eh?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Ah, but you are already are, love. And since you've started you may as well finish, as I always say."
"I thought you always say it's better never to start—"
"—smoking. Really, Georgie, don't you pay attention?"
"Smoking. And since when have you had a problem with smoking?"
"Since something made you cry and I'll say anything to make you stop."
A comfortable pause.
"I wrote my dad an angry letter."
"Well, now. That's not so bad, is it? As long as you don't… oh."
"Where is it now?"
"How am I supposed to know? I put the fucking thing in the mailbox, that was that."
"Hearst and Tenth. What are you going to…?"
"Don't you worry about it. You get yourself a nice bottle of rum and forget the whole thing ever happened."
"Kiss for luck."
She shook her head as he ran off, pressing two fingers to her smiling lips.
.four – and they reach an understanding
"You think those pigeons go to Heaven?"
"I think they're bloody scary little buggers, they are."
"How can pigeons be scary?"
"Their eyes, George. Black beady little evil things. They'll peck yours out first chance they get."
"Have you ever actually seen this happen?"
"They're too smart to let you see what they're up to."
"Or maybe they just like to eat stale breadcrumbs and pizza crusts. You have that in common with them."
"I'm telling you, Georgie. You let down your guard for one second—"
Mason got a mouthful of soda-pop fizzy George. Their afternoon lunch somehow tasted twenty times better in her mouth, he soon discovered.
"I think pigeons go to heaven," she said, falling back on the grass.
"If I agree will you kiss me again?"
"Don't push your luck."
"What about puppy heaven? Seal heaven? I bet platypuses—platypi?—platypusomousi go to heaven. Wouldn't that be a fun pet to have up in heaven, Georgie?"
"If we ever get there."
"We will," he said with the utter conviction only possessed by the insane or insanely wise, sliding his fingers through hers.
Blue above, green below, and them, caught between.
.five – and it all reaches epic proportions
"Let me up!"
"Would you mind moving you knee away from the family jewels, love?"
"Yeah, yeah. Here—" An unceremonious shove which gets limbs disentangled, "get up."
Some re-arranging of hair and sundry body parts later, Mason's lighter flicks into life.
"What are you doing prowling around out here in the middle of the night?"
"I don't see how that's any of your business."
"Were you stealing something? I knew I should have listened to Daisy when she said—"
"Georgie. So little faith in me?"
"Well, no. That's why I said you could stay here. So why are you up?"
"Well, if you must know, Daisy invited me to her room."
A sound falling between a giggle and a snort cracked the air.
"Well. I'll be off now, thank you for your concern—"
"No, wait. You're not serious?"
"As a drill to the head, love."
"This can't be right."
"Well. Um. Daisy invited me to her room. Tonight."
The sound that emitted from Mason's mouth couldn't be classified as human.
"Well," he said, voice cracking. "Let's get on with it then, shall we?"