Where the Sidewalk Ends<\/em> was waiting in my seat on my connecting flight to Honolulu.”<\/p>\n“Do flight attendants always give you books when you fly? Is this their way of avoiding your attempts at conversation?”<\/p>\n
“No, I got the impression that this was someone else’s way of keeping me occupied.”<\/p>\n
“You should thank that person.”<\/p>\n
“You’re right -\u2013 thank you.”<\/p>\n
“Why are you thanking me?”<\/p>\n
“It’s from you.”<\/p>\n
“Is it? I don’t remember sending any children’s books to Hawaii.”<\/p>\n
“Plausible deniability. Do I want to know how you did this?”<\/p>\n
“Probably not.”<\/p>\n
Eames makes a noncommittal noise. “You know kids today just aren’t as tough as they used to be.”<\/p>\n
“They don’t have to be -\u2013 they live in bubbles of indulgence and Play Station.” Arthur carries on with his sorting: Jules and Jim, 8 Women, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Red Cliff. “They’re all winners. They don’t play, they don’t think, they’re given everything -\u2013 it’s all bullshit.”<\/p>\n
“Were you a tough kid?” Eames asks.<\/p>\n
Arthur laughs wryly. “Fuck no. I was a ninety-eight-pound weakling until I was fourteen and hit puberty. And then I was a hundred-and-thirty-pound weakling -\u2013 but I discovered Jujitsu.”<\/p>\n
“And the tormented became the tormentor?”<\/p>\n
“No, the tormented just learned how to run faster.”<\/p>\n
“Shall I find all those mean bullies and teach them a lesson?” Eames asks. His tone is aiming for light and it’s almost there, but there’s something slightly off. A hint of something that might be anger. It’s appreciated in its own way, but Arthur doesn’t need Eames to fight his battles; he can do that all on his own. Most of the time.<\/p>\n
“All the guys I went to school with are now bald, overweight, couldn’t get it up even with Viagra and lead miserable lives with wives who hate them. I think karma taught them a lesson just fine.”<\/p>\n
“I had no idea you were so spiritual.”<\/p>\n
“I’m not \u2013- I’m thirty years old. I’m not a child; what goes around comes around — you just have to give it time.”<\/p>\n
“This is very true. So where does that leave poor Sarah Cynthia Silvia Stout?”<\/p>\n
“Probably in the same boat as little Peggy Ann McKay.”<\/p>\n
“What happened to her?”<\/p>\n
“Read the book and find out.”<\/p>\n
\nArthur likes frayed t-shirts.<\/p>\n
He likes ratty jeans and comfortable hoodies and Ella Fitzgerald, The Strokes, John Legend and Chet Baker.<\/p>\n
He likes fixing the holes in his socks with yellow thread regardless of the color of the sock, and blue popsicles.<\/p>\n
He loves the palm trees in his backyard and the fact that Santa Monica is always ten degrees cooler than the rest of Los Angeles.<\/p>\n
On the rare days when he manages to get most of these things at the same time he’s incredibly pleased. Especially when it’s a Tuesday morning and he doesn’t have to worry about the sounds his neighbors make interrupting his serenity.<\/p>\n
Right now Arthur is sitting on a lounger underneath the grove of palm trees in his backyard. The sun is struggling to cut through the fog from the water and the smog from the city. Currently it’s only mildly successful.<\/p>\n
“Take the A Train” is cascading through the open kitchen window as Arthur alternates between his third blue popsicle of the morning and sewing up the holes in a mismatched pile of socks.<\/p>\n
One of the great joys of being an adult is doing what you want when you want and not having to justify it to anyone.<\/p>\n
“So this is what you get up to when I’m not around to supervise?”<\/p>\n
Arthur’s popsicle drips on one of his heather gray socks. He pulls the sugary treat out of his mouth and looks down at the stain wryly before looking up at Eames.<\/p>\n
“You ruined my sock,” he says by way of greeting.<\/p>\n
Eames is standing by the side of Arthur’s house with a leather valise and a canvas bag at his feet that says Keep Calm and Carry On. “I flew for two days to see you,” Eames counters. “More importantly, your mouth is stained blue \u2013- I hardly think the shock to my system is comparable to a stained sock.”<\/p>\n
Arthur licks his lips. “I think that’s highly debatable,” he says, taking in the unlaced combat boots, the fitted navy jeans, the shirt and cardigans and \u2013- is that a waistcoat?<\/p>\n
“Debate away,” Eames says, sauntering across the lawn, his boots crunching various palm leaves underfoot. “And while you do, please tell me how I’ve never seen you with stubble before? This is a grave oversight on your part and I feel horribly cheated.”<\/p>\n
Arthur finishes the last of his popsicle with a lascivious slurp. Eames comes to a stop at the foot of his lounger as Arthur licks his fingers. “The depths of your cruelty knows no bounds,” Eames says.<\/p>\n
“It’s why you like me.”<\/p>\n
“It must be.”<\/p>\n
“You look nice,” Arthur says thoughtfully.<\/p>\n
“I thought it was the least I could do \u2013- not offend your sartorial sensibilities.”<\/p>\n
“I like your clothes -\u2013 they just wouldn’t work on anybody else.”<\/p>\n
Ella’s singing along with Louis Armstrong. Po-tay-to. Po-tah-to. Eames nudges the chair with his knee and Arthur moves the socks back into the laundry basket.<\/p>\n
Eames drops down beside him, and Arthur rests both of his legs on Eames’ lap. Eames rubs his shins. “This all seems rather anticlimatic, you know.”<\/p>\n
“I wouldn’t want to be too easy,” Arthur says soothingly. “I can go blow up the nearest American Apparel or a Starbucks if it’ll make you feel better. Perhaps fuck a couple of people I don’t care about or sell you to the unhappiest client I can find and then insist I didn’t mean it.”<\/p>\n
Eames frowns. Arthur reaches over and brushes away the lines marring his forehead. “Don’t do that.”<\/p>\n
“Don’t do what? Look pensive and thoughtful?”<\/p>\n
“Is that what you’re aiming for?”<\/p>\n
“It’s better than looking constipated.”<\/p>\n
Arthur barks out a laugh. “Yes, yes it is.”<\/p>\n
Eames grins at him. “You know for someone so buttoned up and precise, you’re all over the place. It’s terribly endearing. I’m afraid I’ve succumbed to your innumerable charms and your blue lips.”<\/p>\n
“This from the man who makes a living charming people.”<\/p>\n
“Yes, I’m supposedly the Whore of Babylon, Bernie Madoff and Houdini all at the same time.”<\/p>\n
“That must get rather tiring.”<\/p>\n
“Well, according to your gossip you’re a tragic figure on par with Oedipus and Montgomery Clift. And you’re a serial monogamist. Or a dirty slut. Or a virgin. Depends on the day of the week.”<\/p>\n
“I heard that about myself, too.” Arthur’s fingers are stroking along the back of the hand Eames is resting on Arthur’s right knee.<\/p>\n
“Clearly what we need is a holiday from all of these great expectations and pejorative rumors,” Eames says solemnly.<\/p>\n
“It works for me.”<\/p>\n
They sit there for several moments, listening to Ella, feeling the breeze coming in from off of the Pacific, doing nothing at all but being<\/em>. Together.<\/p>\nEames picks up Arthur’s hand and turns it over. He traces the lines on Arthur’s palm with the tips of his fingers. It tickles a little; Arthur’s fingers twitch. He watches Eames touch him.<\/p>\n
He looks up to find Eames watching him watch Eames.<\/p>\n
“Did I ever say Happy Anniversary?” Eames asks.<\/p>\n
“We have an anniversary?” Arthur mocks softly.<\/p>\n
“The anniversary of the first job we ever did together.”<\/p>\n
“You remembered.”<\/p>\n
“It’s also the anniversary of the first time you shot me.”<\/p>\n
“Very romantic,” Arthur agrees.<\/p>\n
“The eighth anniversary is supposed to be bronze and pottery, but the bronze vase I wanted to nick for you went missing before I got to steal it from the Getty. I hate it when that happens.”<\/p>\n
“You know the Getty’s been having authentications problems,” Arthur says sagely. “It might’ve been a knock-off.”<\/p>\n
“You mean the gift I’d stolen could’ve been a fake? Does nobody stand by their ill-gotten gains anymore? Shameful.”<\/p>\n
“Isn’t it.”<\/p>\n
“This does, however, only leave me with one present for you.”<\/p>\n
“Which is?”<\/p>\n
“Me.”<\/p>\n
Arthur wrinkles his nose in distaste, and Eames’ face shutters a bit. And then Arthur smiles and tugs Eames forward. He leans in and kisses the right corner of Eames’ mouth. His lower lip. The left corner.<\/p>\n
Eames looses a soft noise and his thumb rubs the week-old stubble at Arthur’s jaw.<\/p>\n
“So what are we doing on this holiday of ours?” he asks, voice low.<\/p>\n
“Nothing,” Arthur says, leaning back against the chaise and tugging Eames with him. “Absolutely nothing at all.”<\/p>\n
Eames shifts around, finally coming to a rest with his back pressed against Arthur’s chest. Both of his hands are clasping Arthur’s hand against his sternum.<\/p>\n
Arthur can feel every inhalation. Every exhalation.<\/p>\n
“So can I use that diamond-encrusted teabag you got me?” Eames says. “It’s PG Tips.”<\/p>\n
“That’s a fourteen-thousand-dollar teabag. If you use it, I’m kicking you out.”<\/p>\n
“Not very practical, is it?”<\/p>\n
“Since when are you practical?”<\/p>\n
Eames laces their fingers together. “We must work on your relationship with tact.”<\/p>\n
“Tact and I get along just fine.”<\/p>\n
“Not when it comes to me.”<\/p>\n
“Tact is reserved for people who need it. You require a heavier touch \u2013 like an anvil.”<\/p>\n
“Very droll,” Eames says; Arthur squeezes his hand. “No complaints about the timing?” he asks.<\/p>\n
“Why? Are we late?”<\/p>\n
Eames chuckles. “No thoughts that we’ve taken too long to get here? No whingeing about waiting on me or me waiting on you?”<\/p>\n
“You get there when you get there.” Arthur kisses the top of Eames’ head. “I think the important thing is that this is happening at all.”<\/p>\n
“There’s no such thing as the right time,” Eames says.<\/p>\n
Arthur agrees. “There’s just right now.”<\/p>\n
-end-<\/p>\n
Bonus: Sesame Street spoofs the Old Spice Guy<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/embed><\/object><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Written by Eames “I feel alarmed.” Arthur squints in the darkness -\u2013 which is ridiculous since he’s on the phone. He can’t see the person he’s talking to. And yet — it’s Eames. Nothing is too ridiculous when it comes to Eames. “Alarmed,” Arthur repeats into his mobile phone. “Yes.” According to Arthur’s alarm clock […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/localhost\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2589"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/localhost\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/localhost\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/localhost\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/localhost\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2589"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/localhost\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2589\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2590,"href":"http:\/\/localhost\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2589\/revisions\/2590"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/localhost\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2589"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/localhost\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2589"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/localhost\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2589"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}