And If That Diamond Ring Turns Brass (Tinseltown)

[The Count]

*Evil grin. *Disappears to work on listings. *In Bugs Bunny voice: You're kiiiilliiiing meeee!

 

[RedPiggy]

Warning: Lots of innuendos in this chapter.
Author’s Note: Bare Necessities is a Disney song.
Samson awoke to the sounds of glass breaking. He bolted out of bed, put on his blue robe with a small black ivy print on it, and ran down to the kitchen. It was dark, as it was supposed to be at this time of night. Even so, he heard an angry grunting noise and saw the shadow, glinting somewhat in the moonlight coming in from the window, coming straight toward him.

He ducked.

The bottle of Shiraz smashed behind him, soaking his hooves. “What the?"

He clicked on the light.

Bobby, disheveled and somewhat musty, stumbled over pots and pans on the floor. “Why bother doing anything, huh?" he slurred. He wobbled some as he approached a stunned Samson. “You – you provide, you nurture, you broaden the kid’s horizons so he doesn’t end up some hick loser from some God-awful cesspool like Bogen County or something. And for what?"

Samson could only stare at Bobby wide-eyed, unable to say a word.

“Huh?" Bobby continued angrily. “You take the little rugrat the humans throw away … and you expect some ‘Bare Necessities’-type musical thing … but oh no! Heaven forbid the kid have an atypical upbringing. How is it fair for wolves or gorillas to take care of kids … but the rest of us can’t?"

Samson raised his hooved hands. “We’ll get this straightened out," he commented softly. “I promise.” He scratched his head. “We’ll move to Canada.”

“HA!" Bobby retorted, his voice clearing (and his head). “Canada? Let’s just say our definitions of ‘Canadian bacon’ differ somewhat.”

“Spain?"

Bobby lowered a single eyelid and put his hands on his hips. “Spain?" he asked dryly. “You don’t strike me as the type who enjoys getting rushed by throngs of humans down narrow streets, only to be stabbed repeatedly so they can prove some macho thing.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully, with a playful smile. “Hmmm….”

Samson rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Never mind.” He sighed. “Come to bed. Well, take a shower, and then come to bed. We’ll look at our options in the morning.”

“I don’t wanna," Bobby grumbled, looking away.

Samson nodded. “Fine. You can just stagger to the mayor’s office in the middle of the night and magically expect to be treated like normal.”

Bobby glared at Samson. “News flash, Burger Boy – I’m not normal!"

Samson clenched his jaw and glared back. “Don’t … call … me … Burger … Boy.”

Bobby scoffed. “Or you’ll do what? Gore me and turn me into sausage?"

“That can be arranged.”

“You’re assuming I wouldn’t like it!"

“You’re assuming --.”

Bobby pushed his way past Samson. “You know what? As amusingly vile as this conversation is bound to go, I’ve got to get some decent shut-eye. See ya tomorrow.”

Samson looked at the clock on the stove. 3AM. He sat at the kitchen table for an hour, just staring out the window silently. He could hear Bobby snoring upstairs. He finally got up and grabbed his cell phone and pushed Lena’s number on speed dial.

“Yes? Sammy, what is it?" asked a tired quasi-French-accented voice.

He didn’t speak for a few seconds. Suddenly, he sighed. “I need you to come over. We need to talk."

<><><><><><>

Lena was a pale Caucasian woman with bags under her eyes. She was thin and had short dark scruffy hair. She wore red silk pajamas under a white silk robe. “What is zis all about, Sammy?" she asked as she cleaned up the spilled wine.

Samson rested his head against the kitchen table. “Did Bobby stay over at your place?"

Lena rolled her eyes. “I said no ze first sev’ral times you asked me zat, Sammy.”

“I just don’t know what to do.”

Lena stopped, dropped the sopping rag, and went over and placed her arm around his broad shoulders. “Look, Sammy – Hollywood drops fads more often than anyone else on ze planet, you know? You two aren’t the only ones affected by a bunch of stuck-up goodie-goodies.”

“Yeah, Foster’s life is pretty much ruined, too.”

“Foster’s eighteen, yeah? Wasn’t he going to be moving out anyway?"

“That’s not the point. Besides, he wanted to stick around so he could afford college.”

Lena smiled and sat down beside him. “Oh, zat’s so sweet of you!" She shook her head. “Most parents would not be so kind.”

Samson smiled finally. He looked at her, his eyes pleading. “Why can’t anyone else see that? I mean, I was shocked with him drinking beer – even if it was light beer – and everything, hon, but I don’t see how Foster’s upbringing was all that different from millions of other children.”

Lena patted him on the back. “Zey are jealous, Sammy. Zose other children are more zan disgusting, and ze only thing ze parents can do is blame someone else for zeir own problems.” She shrugged. “No one wants to take responsibility for zeir own lives anymore. It’s so sad.” She lifted his snout and forced him to look at her. “Now, how is Foster?"

Samson calmed a little. Even though he no longer loved her that way, Lena was an amazing woman. “You know teenagers," he told her with a half-hearted smile, “they have difficulty adjusting sometimes.”

Lena frowned. “Oh? He is not getting along with his mother?"

Samson shook his head and pulled away slightly. “Jenny’s nice and all, but she’s a little too traditional for Foster’s taste. I suggested taking him over to that theater Jenny likes to work with, but she says he doesn’t want to do anything with her. She’s taking it kinda personally. I tried offering some links to some teen psychobabble stuff, but Jenny said she could take care of it herself. She said she knows people – whatever that means.” He glanced at his former wife. “Lena, is it wrong to want two things at once?"

“Sammy ….”

“I mean, I want Foster to learn to like, or even love, his mother, but I also want him to come home.”

“Oh.”

“What should I do?"

Lena shrugged. “I dunno, Sammy. I was never into ze whole ‘kid’ thing, personally. You and Bobby are definitely braver zan I am about zat.”

 

[The Count]

*Huggles! That line about the wolves and gorillas made me laugh, and that's cause I know what you're referencing. Rully like how Lena's been brought into the picture. She offers a good counterpoint from outside the relationship. Keep it coming!

 

[RedPiggy]

I like taking digs at Disney. The broadway musical mentioned in flashback in a previous chapter referenced Beauty and the Beast (which is why Bobby said Samson looked more the part). Yes, I actually look up real-world things to help with dates. I find it endlessly fascinating how we can all be raised on fairy tales, Disney or Grimm or otherwise, where people are always having to learn to love/care for/whatever non-humans or disfigured humans ... and yet in reality those lessons aren't applied. I mean, I got it as a kid. That's why I don't mind being around people who are different. It just kinda bugs me.

 

[RedPiggy]

Author’s Note: I still don’t own any of the characters, not even the one being introduced here.

Foster walked into the hospital lobby, a giant room overlooking a huge garden out front. It had been his idea to go there. He didn’t like his mother’s friends, all of whom would just like to cheer him up.

He didn’t want to be cheered up.

The hospital was filled with people (and other beings) who were down on their luck. They were suffering from everything running from the common cold to severe, life-threatening injury. These were people who knew what it felt like to be ruined.

And so, he had decided to volunteer.

Yesterday he came across a thirties-ish Caucasian woman with a gaunt face and stringy black hair falling unceremoniously past her shoulders. She did not speak to anyone, did not acknowledge anyone … ever. There were whisperings of domestic abuse. She didn’t even have a name.

Foster spotted her as she sat in her wheelchair in the lobby near the large glass windows, staring at the children playing outside. Her facial expression was still that of fatigued apathy, like she was a beaten dog.

He smiled and sat next to her in a nearby chair. “Hey, how’s it going?” he asked, cheerfully, but in that “I feel like a mess, too” type of way.

She didn’t respond, breathing ever so slowly.

He followed her gaze. “Doesn’t it just get under your skin, the way they flaunt their happiness like that?” he asked a bit more seriously. “They don’t have a single care in the world.”

“Child,” she croaked finally.

Foster’s eyes lit up in shock. “Whoa … you can talk now? That’s … that’s … great! This is the first time I’ve heard your voice!” He chuckled nervously. “I … uh … guess all that physical therapy and stuff is goin’ pretty good, huh?”

“Child,” she repeated bitterly.

Foster leaned back. “Are you talking about those kids or me?” he asked. He waited for a response for several moments. “Look, I can leave if you want.”

She glanced at him briefly. He had never seen her look at anyone. A small smirk appeared on her face. “Child,” she said again, though this time with a more forceful voice.

“My name’s Foster, actually,” he told her. He sighed. “I’d wish you could say more than that, but that’d be rude. It’s none of my business if you can talk or not.”

“Drowning,” she said. “Dreaming … drowning … dying.”

Foster perked up. “You’ve been dreaming you were drowning?”

She nodded.

“That sucks,” he told her. He wanted to slap himself in the face. What kind of response was that? “I’m from California. We tend to be more jumpy around mudslides and wildfires around that part of the country, y’know?” He stared at her. “You from around here?”

She shook her head and shrugged slightly, staring back out at the garden.

“I’m not really into New York,” he told her, as if she’d been his confidant for ages. “I don’t belong here. I’m just along for the ride, y’know?” He glanced at her. “I’ve lost my family … that’s how I got stuck here. What about you?”

For several minutes, she didn’t respond. Foster saw her clutch her gown. She frowned. “Dead,” she told him.

Foster stared at her, unable to think of anything to say. After awhile, he finally muttered, “Your family’s dead?”

She nodded, gritting her teeth.

Foster hung his head. “I … I’m sorry, lady. I had no idea.” He felt his muscles tensing. He wanted to leave. He wanted to stay. He couldn’t figure out the right thing to say, now that he had opened a big can of “whoops” into the conversation.

The woman watched with faint amusement. She wanted to see how this boy’s presence would play out. She didn’t want to acknowledge a lot of her history … it seemed so far away, in another lifetime, in another universe somewhere. She could remember a few of the details, but right now, she was just some woman in the hospital, with no identity. It had been taken from her forcefully. Still, just watching this young boy made her feel something again. She inhaled, letting her breath take shape from a small light growing imperceptibly within her:

“The lungfish mocked
In wat’ry home,
‘Til rain was blocked,
All left was loam.

The lungfish’s lungs
Did bring it air,
But though hope was sprung,
Could the lungfish care?”

Foster gawked at her. He could see her more … alive … than she was before. “That was … uh … a, uh … nice poem,” he said finally. “Dark, but nice.”

The woman smiled. She glanced over at him invitingly. “Lunch?” she offered.

Foster cocked an eyebrow. He smiled. “Sure,” he told her, shrugging, “why not?”

 

[The Count]

*Lifts head up off of desk where it wearily rests. Thank... You... 4... Updating. *Collapses.

 

[RedPiggy]

Get some rest The boys at Tinseltown'll be here when you need 'em

 

[The Count]

Thanks. What I need is a good melting from KG, but that one's currently indisposed. BTW: If you choose to include her, the new AM monster that appeared in that Scrubs episode is named... Wait for it... Ex Ray.

 

[RedPiggy]

LOL ... Ex Ray.

I won't be mentioning that monster, as I've determined to parallel Foster's problem with this lady's. The more they get along, the more she'll remember ...

 

[RedPiggy]

Samson yawned as his cell phone rang. He activated the loudspeaker function and kept his eyes closed. “Hello?” he asked wearily.

“Samson? It’s Foster. Are you on speaker?”

Samson jumped up in bed and rubbed his eyes. “Uh, yeah, but I’m the only one here.” He cringed as he realized how that just sounded.

Several minutes passed. Samson feared he had been right. Suddenly, “I met this really cool lady over here.”

“That’s great!” Samson exclaimed, relieved that Foster wasn’t pressing what, to him, was becoming an issue. “What’s she like?”

“She’s a patient at a hospital. I started volunteering there a month ago. She’s really cool, though. We get along great.”

“That’s wonderful,” Samson said warmly. “I’m so glad you’ve been able to get out and socialize more.”

“Yeah.”

“Well?” Samson asked.

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to tell me what she’s like?”

“I did.”

“Translate it from teen-speak-as-few-words-as-possible, please?”

Foster sighed with disgust. Wasn’t “cool” enough of a description? “She totally has no idea who she is. All she remembers is having an argument with her family. She keeps having these messed-up dreams about drowning. She doesn’t even know how she got to the hospital. The more I stay there, the more she talks. She wasn’t even doing that before I showed up, from what the nurses say.”

“How old is she?”

“I dunno. She says time is relative and stuff like that … but I’d guess around thirty. I don’t think she’s had any work done. If she is older than that, she ages real well.”

“So, you two are hitting it off?” Samson was happy for Foster, so long as the conversation didn’t start retreating to --.

“How’s Bobby?” Foster asked curtly.

Samson tried to withhold a sigh. “He’s fine. He’s been missing you a lot. Well, I mean, I have too, y’know,” he added quickly, “but we both miss you a lot.”

“Um … yeah,” Foster replied skeptically. “I didn’t ask if you guys missed me. I’m not five. You know very well what I mean.”

Samson finally sighed. His voice got lower and softer. “He’s having trouble accepting certain things,” he told his son. “You know Bobby: he always wants to avoid the issues.”

Foster grunted. “You’re having one of those pot-kettle moments, aren’t you?”

Samson’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “What did you say?”

Foster rolled his eyes. “You two deserve each other. You’re just alike! He runs off and you don’t make him stay. Neither of you can take confrontation.”

Samson clenched his jaw. “Feel free to live your own life, Foster. You’re eighteen, after all.”

“I am,” Foster shot back. “You think I hang around Mom like some schoolkid? I don’t need her. I found a place where I’m happy … where I can be myself. I hang out at the hospital more than I do at her place. This passive-aggressive crap won’t work on me. I know you both too much to fall for it. If you’re tired of the new status quo – work it out, for God’s sake!” He bit his lip. “Family isn’t some sort of experiment. It either is or it isn’t. You guys took the plunge, hooked up, and now all you both want to do is sit down and moan about it getting taken away.” His voice kept rising. “You didn’t have that piece of paper when you met – why let him leave now that it’s gone?”

“This doesn’t sound like you,” Samson gasped softly.

“It’s called adulthood, Samson,” Foster retorted angrily. “I want to come back! I want to be a family! I hate New York, right? If it weren’t for this woman I met … I’d be long gone, road-tripping my way back to sanity. She gets me. You two aren’t bachelors anymore. You’re partners. Act like it!”

“Adulthood also means realizing some things aren’t always meant to be,” Samson replied sadly, staring at the floor. “Letting go can be very therapeutic.”

“So can resolving the issue.”