by Lux Zakari
Stunned, James glanced at her and bit his lip. It wasn’t like Greer to be so friendly, so forthcoming, and now this, while they were on the brink of a divorce?
As if she could read his thoughts, she cleared her throat and stood. “Where’s that kid of yours? I told him to be quick.” She peered over the railing and choked out a stunned laugh. “Noah! Are you pooping?”
James sprung from the lounge chair and arrived at Greer’s side to see his son squatting near one of his mother’s prized flower beds, giggling nervously with his pants around his ankles.
“Well, he didn’t get that from me,” James said.
“Pooping in my poop! Pooping in my poop!” Amie continued to sing as she entwined herself around a pool noodle.
Greer held up one hand and covered her mouth with the other as she coughed, visibly trying not to laugh. “Your brother does not need your advice right now, Amie.”
“Mom?” Noah whimpered. “I need toilet paper.”
James’ gaze met Greer’s, and sudden affection rushed through him. It felt good to have a partner-in-crime, only one other person in the world who identified with him when it came to these two kids.
He cleared his throat. “How about I get you a drink? You look like you could use one.”
“How about this—I get the drink.” She danced her fingers on his chest. “You get the toilet paper.”
The party dwindled down to core nuclear family—and E.Y.—five hours later. Even Greer still lingered, setting the kids up with the Wii and a few games she’d brought in the event of the children’s inevitable boredom with physical activity. After their disaster with Noah’s back-to-nature bathroom mishap earlier, James had spent the majority of the day avoiding Greer, confused by his feelings for her and the moment they’d had. Could it even be called ‘a moment’? If it was, what was he doing having one with someone who was in the process of leaving him?
Through the purpling twilight and the intermittent yellow flickers of lightning bugs, he trekked across the sprawling backyard toward one of the lounge chairs his friend and his brother had occupied earlier. Actually, as he neared, he realized the devious duo were still there. This time they were both snoozing and sawing logs. Now that he thought about it, the only time he saw Wade awake at all that day was around two, when Wade ate three burgers and two hotdogs and finished off the last two-liter of Pepsi, which really peeved off their father. It was a moment typical of Venora family get-togethers.
James sighed and changed direction, veering further into the darkness toward his childhood tree house, which his family still had balanced up in the branches of a maple. His mom had insisted it remain for when he had kids, but no one had used it in years. He wouldn’t even let Amie or Noah up there without their tetanus shots. Still, he felt a rush of nostalgia as he tested the plank rungs nailed to the tree’s trunk and used them to hoist himself into the wooden shelter, which seemed so much smaller now. He wished he’d brought a light to see. James brushed his hands over the floor, heard the rustle of dried leaves, and cursed his spontaneous sentimentality. Who knew what was living in those leaves—maybe rats or worse. Could rats even climb trees? Worse certainly could.
A beam of light bounced over the lawn and paused at the bottom of the tree. “Want company?” came the sound of Greer’s voice.
“Yeah, come on up.” Inexplicable happiness fluttered in his stomach as she climbed the planks, the flashlight wedged and shining between her breasts, encased in a sundress.
“Sorry to disturb you. I just always wanted to come up here but never got the chance.” She plucked the flashlight from her cleavage, which he hadn’t failed to notice looked quite smashing today. “Wow, I can’t believe I’m in the legendary tree house. Tell me all about it.”
He waved his hand over the now illuminated area. “You want the grand tour?”
“Sure.” She settled at the edge of the tree house, letting her legs dangle over the side as she used the flashlight to sweep some of the leaves to the ground below.
“All right, shortest episode of ‘MTV Cribs’ ever. First, where you’re sitting right now is the spot where Wade fell out of the tree house.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me in the least? Actually, what would surprise me is if you said he only fell out of here once.” Her flashlight flicked around the wooden space. “Get to the good stuff. Where’s the make-out corner?”
“Where isn’t the make-out corner?” he joked. “Seriously, though, this used to be a girl-free zone.”
“Did you ever jerk off up here?”
“Greer! Don’t hold back now.” Truth was, he liked the way she was talking to him.
“Tell the truth.”
“Maybe once or twice—a day.” He laughed.
“Who would you think about? Jennifer Aniston? Cameron Diaz?”
“More like Jennifer Aniston with Cameron Diaz.”
“Nice.”
Things were going so well that James couldn’t help but test them. “Where’s Pierce? You should’ve brought him. I wanted to get to know the guy.”
She gave him a strange look. “Why would I bring Pierce to your mom’s? That’s just weird.”
“Well, you’re family, and if he’s going to be family…” He shrugged haphazardly, not quite sure what he was trying to do. Why did he want to hurt himself anymore? But he needed her to say something, something preferably painful to snap him out of this sudden want for her.
Greer laughed. “Pierce is not going to be family.”
“You’re living with him.”
“Not for too much longer. Now stop talking about it.”
“Fine.” Immense relief swelled inside him, making him almost giddy. He was glad it was dark and that she was shining the flashlight at the leafy canopy above them. He didn’t want her to see the relieved smile on his face.
But then she grabbed his upper thigh and squeezed. “Quit it.”
“Quit what?” He pried her hand off him, his heart twisting at how good it felt in his.
“I can hear you grinning from over here. Knock it off.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, grinning all the more.
“Uh huh.” She tugged her fingers from his. “Well, if you’re thinking of getting high off my misfortune, forget it.”
“I don’t want to get high off your misfortune. I don’t even want you to have misfortune.”
“Good.” She balanced the bottom of the flashlight on the floor of the tree house like the world’s smallest, most ineffectual campfire. “Anyway, back to your hopes of a Cameron Diaz-James Venora-Jennifer Aniston sandwich. Who were your other celebrity crushes?”
“The usuals: Kate Winslet, Claire Danes, you know… Wait, I never told you any of this?”
“No way. I would’ve remembered.”
For a moment, James became uncomfortable. Granted, maybe not everyone knew who was in their significant other’s mental masturbation file growing up, but what else didn’t they know about each other?
He forced himself not to over-think it. She wasn’t a stranger, she was Greer, and right now, he was having a great time talking to her. It was simple as that.
“What about you?” he asked. “Who was on your bedroom walls?”
“Leo, of course.”
“Of course,” he said dryly. “Is that it?”
Greer smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“That’s why I’m asking.”
Her smirk faded and her brow creased. “Well—”
“James!” The urgency in his mother’s voice shattered the peace of the night. “Greer! Where are you?”
They looked at each other with wide eyes and bemused smiles.
“I feel like a bad kid all of a sudden,” Greer said with a giggle.
“You are a bad kid.” James started down the ladder albeit with reluctance. “Although I’ll bet you anything this is about one of our bad kids.”
“You’re probably right.” She followed him, nearly
missing the last few planks, and he had to catch her. The warmth of her body beneath her dress sent a shock through him, and he was grateful for the night hiding his blush. A sudden need to wrap his arms around her waist and hide his face in her hair blazed through him, but she was already marching toward the house’s back porch lights. And he had no right to do anything of the sort anymore.
Her silhouette tossed a look back at him. “Come on. I don’t want to face your mother’s wrath alone.”
“I don’t blame you,” he said, his voice cracking. It was hard to deny the spark he felt whenever she smiled at him, teased him, or spoke about something that reminded him of how much they’d been through together. He wished he knew what it meant—and what difference it made.
His mother stood on the back porch, one hand on her hip and the other clutching one of the cigarettes she still smoked in secret, pretending that her husband still pretended not to know. “Your son…” She shook her head. “He peed.”
James sighed. “Last time I checked, kids do that, Mom.”
She gave him a sharp look. “On the dining room table?”
“Oh my God.” Greer gasped. “I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t get it,” James said, bewildered. “He’s toilet-trained. Why is—”
“I think it’s the stress from the…from everything that’s happening.” Greer flushed as she led the way inside, where a puddle of urine on the table greeted them. “All right, let’s just tackle this.”
“I, um, don’t really know the proper way to clean this up,” James said.
“I don’t exactly carry Hazmat uniforms myself.” She smiled. “But you’re not getting out of this one. Let’s just pretend we know what we’re doing.”
“The cleaning supplies are under the sink,” his mother called from the back porch through the screen door, her cigarette smoke floating inside along with her voice.
This wasn’t exactly what James had been hoping for when thinking about taking it inside. Not that there was anything to take inside. They were separated now. Greer wanted a divorce.
Loss swelled in his chest as he glanced at her and met her gaze, and she smiled back and shook her head, as if to say, Our son, right? This is how it would be from now on, these friendly exchanges on behalf of the children. There was nothing else left. The opportunity was gone.
Blame James (blame_james) wrote,
@ 2012-08-12 17:55:45
Venora Underground
E.Y.: I discovered a new reason to hate the Venora Underground website. I saw a secret about how writing fan fic is a waste of time and implies you’re a shitty writer, and someone wrote, “If you’re writing AU fic, then what’s the point?” To that I say, the point is plentiful, considering some “real” writers use fan fic to get people to read their writing, which might otherwise go undiscovered.
CLAUDIA: Those incestuous Venora ones can go undiscovered, if you ask me.
E.Y.: Well, I didn’t. Anyway, I’m riled up about how the secret read, “It’s offensive to real writers to write AU Venora fic.” Lady, it ain’t offensive to anyone so sit down, especially when the male lead characters are totally different from real-life Venora guys.
CLAUDIA: Right, like how some writers take creative liberties and cast James as masculine and cool.
E.Y.: I’m also disgusted that someone posted a comment that said, “If you want to be creative, why don’t you write stories about your own original characters?” Allow me to just scale my soap box for a moment. First, even stories that do involve “original” characters are appallingly, nauseatingly uncreative. As a work-from-home editor who wades through the slush of the acquisitions pile on a daily basis, I can attest to this. Second, since most of the writers don’t know James personally, and essentially all he is in these particular stories is a name and a face, he technically is an original character. It’s so removed from real life, it’s not even a question.
CLAUDIA: I think the real issue that you’ve failed to mention is who gives a shit about Venora Underground? I never go there and the fans who do are dorks. True statement.
E.Y.: You’re right. Why should I care about the annoying opinions of people who submit the most boring and redundant “secrets”? The majority of the site’s content is like, “Say what you will—Venora’s music saved me!” Where’s the scandal in that?
CLAUDIA: Some secrets do try to be scandalous. Those are the ones that don’t say much of anything, though, like, “I know something about James Venora. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, even though it’s true, so I won’t tell you what it is, but just know that I know, and believe me—you wouldn’t want to.”
E.Y.: I wish some of the secrets were downright filthy awesome lies. Like, mine would be, “I had James’ pee-pee in my mouth.”
CLAUDIA: You’d be my hero if you submitted that. Now I want to make one that’s halfway believable, like, “James is addicted to killing and making snuff films” or “James and I smoked a bowl after one of his shows and he told me he’s gay.”
E.Y.: I should make one about the size of his junk, or about how I overheard Greer muttering to herself about ruining James’ life while she sharpened an axe blade. Or that he impregnated me by staring at me and humping his piano.
CLAUDIA: This might be one of the most hilarious ideas you’ve ever had.
E.Y.: Perhaps, but I actually don’t want to contribute anything to the lameness that is Venora Underground. Instead, I want to spite everyone by writing James Venora fan fic! I’ve been reading a shit ton of it lately, and now I’m very inspired to pen some of my own. Unfortch, I have no idea what I want to write about. Suggestions?
CLAUDIA: How about this: James gets laid a whole four times in his entire life. Hilarity ensues.
E.Y.: I’m leaning toward something more dramatic.
CLAUDIA: James is found dead in the conservatory with the lead pipe lying nearby, and no one knows whodunit. Drama ensues.
E.Y.: No, horrible.
CLAUDIA: Here’s a premise: James is gay. Very, very gay. Gayness ensues.
E.Y.: Be serious!
CLAUDIA: I couldn’t be any more serious!
E.Y.: You’re lucky we compose all these entries over instant messaging, or else I’d throttle you.
CLAUDIA: That’s why we compose all these entries over instant messaging. It’s another win for technology. And now you’re not talking to me, which means this also is a win for myself. This day is coming along nicely.
Chapter Eight
A week drifted by, turned into two. The passage of time did not go unnoticed by James. He realized his pain stemmed from the act of waiting, but waiting for what? At first he couldn’t pinpoint the reason for his anxious feelings, then charted them back to Greer. He’d been waiting for her to call him, and she’d had, of course, but to talk about the kids. She never said anything more revealing than how Amie wanted to paint her face every day, first like a clown and then like a tiger, and Noah had squirted Cheez Whiz in his hair and allowed a neighbor’s dog to lick it out. At least she’d stopped asking when he was going to sign the divorce papers. Still, not mentioning the inevitable was hardly a true victory.
Craving a cup of coffee that he still hadn’t mastered the art of making, James visited a local diner for a mug of their home brew. He also got an order of pancakes, which he poked at while thinking all his morose thoughts.
Then his brother and E.Y. put in a surprise appearance, materializing before him like annoying ghosts.
“Oh, look, James pouting,” Wade said, following E.Y. as they slid into the booth opposite James. “Something new and different.”
James pushed his cold food aside and rolled his eyes at his brother. “You guys are out of your cave? Let me guess—you’re out of smokes, you’re out of food, or it’s the end of the world.”
“Try all three.” E.Y. plucked James’ mug from his hands and made a face as she took a sip. “I didn’t realize they sold cream with two coffees in it.”
“Give me that.�
� James snatched back his drink.
“So why do you look like the most pitiful person on the planet?” Wade asked. “Usually you hide it so well.”
James leaned forward with his head in his hands. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“That totally means he wants to talk about it,” Wade said to E.Y.
“I bet he misses Greer and wants her back,” E.Y. replied.
Wade winced and visibly cringed. “Shit, you’re falling in love with your wife? Bummer. You do have problems.” He shook his head. “James, bro, you can’t lose sight of your goals now. You need to get back in that saddle and make some more bad decisions. Do you want readership to drop?”
James cast his brother an exasperated glance. “Don’t you have some place to be?”
“Fine.” Wade stood with a miffed sneer. “I can tell when I’m not wanted.”
“So most of the time you just hang around anyway?”
“That’s some rapier wit you’ve developed there, James. Obviously you’ve been abducted by body snatchers.” With that, Wade made his way to the counter.
E.Y. paused before leaving. “So was I right? You want her back?”
James opened his mouth to reply, but found he didn’t know the answer. He realized then that he’d deliberately avoided even thinking about the possibility; whatever conclusion he could come to would likely be a painful one, regardless of the decision. He met E.Y.’s eyes and frowned. “I have no idea.”
“Hmm.” E.Y. stroked her chin, studying him. “Well, at any rate, I’ve got something I think you should see. Drop by my place around seven if you’re curious.” She winked and stood. “And you definitely should be.” Then she left him with his stomach in knots.
James arrived at E.Y.’s apartment that evening to find her making coffee and wearing only a tattered Sex Pistols T-shirt and striped underwear. “Oh, hey,” she mumbled, a clove cigarette dangling from her lip.
He shut the door behind him and gestured to her attire. “This better not be what you have to show me.”
“You should be so lucky. Now shut up and take a seat.” E.Y. ashed her cigarette in the sink and switched on the coffee machine. “I have to warn you though. What you’re about to see will destroy every fiber of your being and turn the world on its ass.” She sat opposite him with a short stack of papers and a mug featuring Santa in a flying red Cadillac. “I don’t think you’ll ever be truly ready for what I’m about to show you. This here’s a game changer.”