| |
The Night of the White Shirt
by Allthinky
The Night of the White Shirt
Kelly dropped his wallet on the table, and Scotty, stretched out on his bed with a Steinbeck novel, flinched. What the hell? Scotty didn't flinch - Scotty could move lightning-fast, yes, of course, but flinch? Oh-ho! Now he could see it: Scotty was embarrassed.
Kelly took the easy road: play it cool.
"So, my man, how was your evening with the beautiful Yvette?"
"Well, you know, it was beautiful, man. Beautiful night, beautiful Rome, beautiful Yvette. Lady doesn't know too much about Rome, though."
He hadn't looked up from the book. So. Not only was Scotty also playing it cool, he was playing it a bit sly.
"Yeah? So, being a natural-born teacher, yourself, you must have felt called upon to offer the beautiful Yvette many lessons on the wonderfulness of Rome at night. And in doing so, did the lovely young lady, at any point, perhaps ... push you off a bench? Smack you in the mouth with her handbag? I mean, did she go bad in any way?"
Scotty pouted, and looked up from the book.
"No, man, of course not. You are a Philistine. Unlike you, I have never given a young lady cause to get either violent or rude with me."
"Not since the 8th grade, if I recall correctly."
"Yes, well, leave it to you to remember that."
Kelly began to loosen his tie.
"Naturally. So, then, with all of the wonderfulness, I can't help but wonder why you had, just a moment ago, a look about the mouth and face that suggested just a trace of, I dunno, canary feathers, or something. As if you had - wait a minute. What are you wearing?"
"What do you mean, what am I wearing? I'm wearing a sweatshirt, what does it look like I'm wearing?"
"It looks exactly like a sweatshirt, which is why I am led to ask, good sir, what have you done with my shirt?"
"What? Your shirt? It's in the laundry! Did you think I'd just hand it back to you, with the detritus of my lovely evening all stuck to it and everything? Wanted to make sure it was clean and crisp for you next time you wanted to wear it."
"Yeah? Well that stinks! You have never once, in the whole history of you stealing my shirts for dates, had the decency to have one laundered. And so, by induction, I have reason to believe that you are not having my best white shirt laundered tonight, either. So, what have you done with my shirt? You know I can make you talk."
Kelly ducked into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Red wine, garlic, and cigarettes was a fine combination in one's mouth, until it wasn't. Then it needed to be gotten rid of. Quickly.
Scotty followed him to the bathroom door, continuing to defend his honor.
"Hey, man, that's a rotten thing to say. People can change, you know. You are so out of line ... you know what I'm gonna do, man? I'm not even gonna return your shirt when it's done. I'm just going to buy you a brand new, bright white shirt, Italian cut, Egyptian cotton - your whole history of complaining is just going to be old news. 'Cuz I'm sick of it."
Rinse. Spit. Turn.
"Scotty, what happened to my shirt?"
"Um, it fell in a fountain. After it got some blood on it."
"No, really? Hey, man, are you okay? You didn't hurt yourself now, did you?"
Since Scotty was standing before him, apparently whole, he let his tone slide toward the sarcastic.
"Didn't say it was my blood."
Scotty's tone had slid toward the sullen.
"No, huh? Well let me get this straight, if you will. You were wearing my white shirt, it got some blood on it, and then it fell in a fountain?"
"Yep. Trevi fountain."
"Trevi fountain. Really. With the horses and the - but then, can I ask, were you actually inside the shirt when it found itself covered in blood, in the Trevi fountain?"
Now Scotty looked down.
"Sort of," he offered, even more sullenly.
"Sort of. How do you 'sort of' wear a blood-covered shirt while falling into La Fontana di Trevi?"
Kelly let his obnoxious faux-Italian accent out to annoy his partner.
"Well, cuz it was halfway off me when Pietro and Herv pushed me in."
"Pietro and --" Kelly's French accent wasn't nearly as serviceable as his Italian one. He didn't even try. "Who are they?"
"Yvette's boyfriend, and her brother."
Kelly let his face reflect surprise, then consternation.
"Look, man, instead of me pulling it out of you piece by piece, why don't you just tell me what happened?"
"Well, I think you've got it all, now, man. There I was, explaining to Yvette about the water-taming and the three roads, and stuff, and I just, you know, put my arm around her and told her some of the secrets of the Trevi Fountain."
"There are secrets?"
"Yeah, there are, man, so I had to whisper them in her ear."
"Oh, I bet you did. And how did she like those secrets, Romeo?"
"I couldn't really tell you, Kel, because the next thing I knew, Herv had hold of my arm and was yanking me away from her, and then Pietro tried to hit me in the mouth."
"Uh huh. So that's why there's blood on my shirt?"
"No. There's blood on your shirt because Pietro missed me, but I hit him in the nose, which then proceeded to bleed. A lot. And when he head-butted me in the chest, he got even more blood on your shirt."
"Right. And the head-butt pushed you in the fountain?"
"Nope. Herv did. But I had a hold of Pietro by the necktie, so he came, too."
"So, there were two of you, swimming around, and bleeding in the Trevi Fountain."
"Three, actually. Because, actually, it was Yvette who had pushed Herv, who sort of ran into me on the way in. Hard, too, man. Girl's got some arms on her."
"And so there's three of you in the fountain?"
"Uh huh. And your shirt."
"My shirt. With the blood all over it."
"Yep. And by now - well, Trevi's not that clean on a good day, Kel."
"And this was not a good day."
"Well, not for me or the other two guys, but things are looking up for Yvette."
"Yeah? How so?"
"Well, the way I figure it, she didn't toss three coins in the fountain, she tossed three men in the fountain."
"Or caused them to be thusly tossed."
"Exactly. Men have to be more significant than a few lousy coins, man. And so she's definitely assured herself of a return trip to Rome, you see."
"According to legend."
"Yep. According to legend."
"So when do I get my shirt?"
"Are you kidding, man? Were you just listening to me? There I was, set upon by two large angry men, with no one but Yvette to defend me, my partner having gone for himself much earlier in the evening. Got myself beat up and almost drowned in the most famous fountain in the Western world, and you want to know when you're going to get a shirt?"
" Yes, sir. A brand-new, bright white, Italian-cut, Egyptian cotton shirt. As promised."
"You are wrong, man, just wrong. Wait til my mom hears about this."
"She gonna hear all of it, Jack? Cuz I bet your mom doesn't know all of the secrets that there are to know about the Trevi fountain. Like, who's been swimming in there, and why."
"You know what, man? Just don't talk to me. You are not my friend - and you smell like a low-class tavern."
With that, Scotty returned to his bed with great dignity, and opened his book again.
"Well, if that's how you're gonna be, man ..."
Kelly loitered a bit as he made for the shower, in case further comment was forthcoming, but it didn't appear to be. He couldn't help grinning like a madman, though, thinking about how handy this whole shirt debacle was going to be for the next week or so. He didn't even feel bad about it; Scotty wasn't exactly prone to letting Kelly's own romantic mishaps go without repeated comment. Life, just then, was sweet, and he even felt a little guilty for assignments and a cover that allowed him to life in relative comfort, with regular showers, when so many of their fellow agents had it so much worse. He knew that he and Scotty were the envy of a lot of their colleagues. Just tonight, it felt like maybe that envy was justified.
When he emerged from the bathroom, Scotty had turned in, so Kel felt his way to his own bed and slipped beneath the covers. Reclining with a contented sigh, he caught a disorienting whiff of algae, and before he could stop, the side of his face made contact with a unexpectedly damp, undeniably foul surface. Disgusted, he floundered around to escape the repulsive muck, and a button poked him in the eye.
Twisting up with a grunt, he wadded the shirt into a ball and flung it at his partner's bed.
"Take that, Stanley! You rotten, lousy, spy!"
The overhead light came on to reveal a disgustingly smug Scotty standing safely near the door, one hand on the light switch. The offending shirt had landed more or less in the middle of Scotty's bed, where he, naturally, was not. He looked disappointed in a way that only Scotty could.
"I dunno, Kel. I don't like the way your skills have deteriorated."
Moving casually to the bed, Scotty plucked up the offending item, shoved it in a plastic bag, and then tossed it out into the hallway.
Nudging the door shut with one foot, Scotty flipped off the light switch, but not before Kelly caught sight of an insufferable grin. Not for the first time, Kelly wished he'd grown up with a brother or two.
Flipping his pillow over to the dry side, he lay back down, folding his hands beneath his head.
"Make sure you don't get such a big neck size this time, man. You know I hate it when the neck bunches up under my tie."
From the other bed, a patently false snore faded into the darkness.
END
Please post a comment on this story.
Notes: The het is all part of the cover.
|
|
|
