“Listen to that time signature, man!” Jim slowly curved his arms apart in the air. “Drums go one way and the guitar blasts off in another, and then every few measures they meet up perfectly, like it was always meant to be-” Jim stopped and became racked with uncontrollable giggles.
“Coleman,” said Serge. “His eyes are all bloodshot. What did you do to him?”
“Nothing. We were all just sitting around the table, and he suddenly started acting weird.”
Serge looked over at the table. In front of Jim’s chair was a serving plate full of gingerbread crumbs. “Coleman, please tell me you didn’t give him the gingerbread house. It’s got pot in the walls.”
“You just said to feed him. It’s all we had.”
“Baby Jesus! What’s Martha going to say when she finds him in this condition?”
“Maybe we can get him into bed before she finds out, and he can sleep it off.”
“Good thinking.” Serge bent down and grabbed Jim under one of his arms. “Help me get him up.”
Coleman grabbed the other. “He’s heavy.”
“Jim,” said Serge. “Time to be getting home, big boy.”
Jim pointed back at the stereo as they guided him toward the door. “But ‘Stairway to Heaven’…”
Serge helped him crawl under the Christmas tree. “I’m afraid right now they’re playing ‘Stairway to Your Bedroom.’ ”
The pair steadied Jim as they walked him across Triggerfish Lane. Jim’s head lolled to the left. “I know you. You’re Serge.”
“Just keep on the way you’re going, one foot in front of the other.”
Jim looked ahead. “That’s a big house. And I own it. There are a lot of electrical wires in the attic connecting everything. Far out.”
“He’s completely baked,” said Coleman.
“Don’t think we’re not talking about this later.”
They made it up the steps. “Get his keys.”
“They’re in this pocket,” said Coleman.
Serge quietly opened the door and peeked inside.
“Why are you worried?” asked Coleman. “Martha’s not home.”
“But Nicole might be.” Serge tugged Jim forward and tiptoed. “She can’t see her dad like this. On the other hand, I did help her with the tattoo, so she might play ball.”
“There are the stairs,” said Coleman.
It was slow going, but they finally made it to the landing.
“What’s that music?” asked Coleman.
“Coming from behind that closed door,” said Serge. “Must be Nicole’s room. We’re in luck. Let’s hurry and get him under the covers.”
They hustled Jim into the master bedroom.
“Just lie down.” Serge began taking off Jim’s shoes.
Jim sat up. “But I don’t want to. Music… I heard music…”
Serge pushed him back onto the mattress and pulled off his socks. “You’ve had a big day.”
“Let’s go,” said Coleman.
“Husbands don’t sleep in street clothes,” said Serge. “Martha will know something’s up. What do you think he wears to bed?”
“I don’t know. His underwear?”
“Good enough.”
They undressed Jim down to his skivvies and tucked him under the sheets. He snuggled the pillow and closed his eyes. Serge stood and took a deep breath. “Whew, that was fun-tastic. Let’s get moving before Martha gets back.”
They returned to their rental house. City and Country were dancing in the living room to Madonna.
“… Respect yourself… Hey, hey!..”
“Yo, Serge.” Country passed City a joint. “What got into Jim?”
“Like you don’t know. And turn down that music! Want all the neighbors to call the cops?”
Coleman stood at the front window. “They may call them anyway.”
“Why?” said Serge. “What’s going on?”
“See for yourself.”
Serge looked outside at Jim standing in the middle of the street in his underwear. “Shit, we got to get him back inside!”
They ran toward the road. “Jim, what the hell are you doing?”
Jim swayed and stared straight up. “Look at all the stars. We’re so insignificant.”
“Coleman, grab his other arm.”
Coleman glanced down. “Serge, I think he has a hard-on.”
“Just let’s get him back in bed.”
Minutes later, Jim was under the covers again with eyes closed. “Time to split,” said Serge. “And hope the Happy Wanderer stays put.”
They ran back across the street.
Coleman got on his hands and knees in front of the Christmas tree. “Serge, aren’t you coming?”
“Just a minute.” He stood and faced the house across the street. “I want to make sure he remains down this time.”
They watched and waited.
“Dammit,” said Serge. “A light just came on.”
“Where?”
“I think it’s the kitchen.”
“Maybe it’s Nicole.”
“We should be that lucky.” Serge took off.
No stealth this round, galloping through the front door. Serge’s feet hit the brakes in the kitchen doorway. “Jim, dear God, look at you!”
Coleman tapped his shoulder. “Serge…”
“Not now.” Serge swatted his hand away. “Jim, I know it’s not your fault, but you’ve got to pull it together.”
A tap on his shoulder. “Serge…”
“Stop it, Coleman… Jim, look alive! Martha’s going to be home any minute.”
Another tap. “Serge…”
“What!”
“She is home.”
Serge’s eyes darted toward the front door. Keys jingling. “Coleman, quick. We need to find the back way out.”
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
The knob began turning.
“No time,” said Serge. “This way!..”
They dashed out of sight just as the front door opened. Martha flicked on the lights. “Jim?… Jim, I’m sorry we had a fight
…” Walking through the living room. “Jim? Are you still up?” She reached the kitchen doorway…
“What in the name of… Jim?… I… you… Jim? …”
Jim looked up with a silly smile. Sitting on the kitchen floor in his underwear. In front of an open refrigerator. Eating leftovers with his bare hands.
“Martha, did I ever tell you you’re the best cook in the entire world?”
Nicole came running down the stairs. “Mom, I heard you yell. Is everything okay?”
“No! Look at your father!”
Nicole’s mouth fell open. She looked at the drumsticks in each hand, then his eyes. She covered her mouth. “Oh my God! Daddy’s…”
