19-04-2019, 10:57 PM
A Little Night Music Ch. 20
"Big men often tremble,
as they step aside.
I thought I was big once.
She changed my mind.
She's actual size, but she seems much bigger to me.
I've never known anybody like her.
She's actual size. Nationwide, believe." -They Might Be Giants, "She's Actual Size"
The next day passed quickly. While Julie painted Troy's portrait during the day, and Maria continued taking on the business of running the country, Colleen showed Susan around the city. Stavro had returned to work at the Citizens' Grievance Office, which had surprisingly little to handle that day. Even the regulars, who showed up with a new complaint or the same one every day, seemed to understand that La Contessa-In-Reggenza had enough to deal with at the moment, and their neighbor's yappy dog could be dealt with another time.
In the evening, Troy and Julie visited Helen together. The doctors agreed that the prognosis was good enough for Dr. Maisson, Jeanne, and a couple of temporary resident nurses to continue her recovery back at the castle. Barring anything happening in the night, she would be released for in-home care the next day.
Helen had gotten Troy and Julie to wheel her down to the cafeteria for a cigarette, and was enjoying every drag. She was wearing Propappou's red smoking jacket, her head and right hand poking out of the garment that was far too big for her. Her left arm was in a sling, completely concealed under the robe; and her right stuck out of a bunched-up sleeve, holding her smoke.
Helen's morale had been improved by the knowledge that the portrait was done. Julie gave her a message from Maria, followed by insulting Helena for not just saying why she wanted Troy's portrait so badly. Helena thanked her for the message and insulted her back about why It wasn't enough that Julie knew she wanted it so badly, and then normal conversation was able to continue.
"How's Susan doing?" Helena asked them, taking a puff.
"Now that she's not having to keep us from going to pieces," Julie said, taking a sip of the orange soda that she'd bought with dinner. "It's kind of an adventure for her. She got Ramirez to take her to the..." Julie paused, trying to think of a better word than "assassin" or "Guy who tried to kill you." She settled on "The Fucker's motel room, and she caught some important details for them."
Helena smiled.
"Ramirez told me. It sounds like she's coming along really well with The Thing, then. I mean, observation is, like, a third of it. And from what he said, it took a lot of confidence to say the things she did."
Troy took a sip of Julie's soda before replying.
"If it wasn't so hokey, I'd say something about how she's always had it inside her..."
"It is, Master," Julie said, cutting him off. "So, please don't. Unless you were building up to a sex joke, in which case, sorry." Julie tried to think of a decent sex joke of her own to make, but the moment had passed, so she continued. "But yeah, she got me through the worst day since The Houses were sold." She thought for a moment. "Wait, no! The worst day since the LAST time we thought you were dead, bitch!"
She thought another moment, and Helen was about to respond when Julie raised her hand.
"You didn't go to all this to get me to paint the fucking portrait, did you?"
Helen looked down at her abdomen, at the area that was beneath a hospital gown and the folds of Propappou's jacket; where she could feel the bandages covering her wounds. She pulled down the neck of her gown to show the stitched cut on her right breast, then tilted her neck to show them the cut on it.
"The tourism ad campaign after the Festival ends is going to be 'Visit Our Lovely Beaches.' As soon as Maisson says I'm able, I'm going to shoot a commercial in a two-piece thong bikini, playing volleyball with a bunch of supermodels. I'm supposed to dive into the sand to return a serve, then stand up, turn to the camera, lower my sunglasses, wink, smile, and give JUST enough nipple poke-through and boob bounce for the talking head shows to make a 'controversy' out of it and give us loads of free advertising. Then, I'm supposed to say 'And you never know WHO you'll meet on the beach!' And after we get it right, I have to do the whole thing again in nineteen other languages. I'm going to have to get the scars removed for that, Julie. I want to see all three of the most important men in my life, not join the other two!"
"Big men often tremble,
as they step aside.
I thought I was big once.
She changed my mind.
She's actual size, but she seems much bigger to me.
I've never known anybody like her.
She's actual size. Nationwide, believe." -They Might Be Giants, "She's Actual Size"
The next day passed quickly. While Julie painted Troy's portrait during the day, and Maria continued taking on the business of running the country, Colleen showed Susan around the city. Stavro had returned to work at the Citizens' Grievance Office, which had surprisingly little to handle that day. Even the regulars, who showed up with a new complaint or the same one every day, seemed to understand that La Contessa-In-Reggenza had enough to deal with at the moment, and their neighbor's yappy dog could be dealt with another time.
In the evening, Troy and Julie visited Helen together. The doctors agreed that the prognosis was good enough for Dr. Maisson, Jeanne, and a couple of temporary resident nurses to continue her recovery back at the castle. Barring anything happening in the night, she would be released for in-home care the next day.
Helen had gotten Troy and Julie to wheel her down to the cafeteria for a cigarette, and was enjoying every drag. She was wearing Propappou's red smoking jacket, her head and right hand poking out of the garment that was far too big for her. Her left arm was in a sling, completely concealed under the robe; and her right stuck out of a bunched-up sleeve, holding her smoke.
Helen's morale had been improved by the knowledge that the portrait was done. Julie gave her a message from Maria, followed by insulting Helena for not just saying why she wanted Troy's portrait so badly. Helena thanked her for the message and insulted her back about why It wasn't enough that Julie knew she wanted it so badly, and then normal conversation was able to continue.
"How's Susan doing?" Helena asked them, taking a puff.
"Now that she's not having to keep us from going to pieces," Julie said, taking a sip of the orange soda that she'd bought with dinner. "It's kind of an adventure for her. She got Ramirez to take her to the..." Julie paused, trying to think of a better word than "assassin" or "Guy who tried to kill you." She settled on "The Fucker's motel room, and she caught some important details for them."
Helena smiled.
"Ramirez told me. It sounds like she's coming along really well with The Thing, then. I mean, observation is, like, a third of it. And from what he said, it took a lot of confidence to say the things she did."
Troy took a sip of Julie's soda before replying.
"If it wasn't so hokey, I'd say something about how she's always had it inside her..."
"It is, Master," Julie said, cutting him off. "So, please don't. Unless you were building up to a sex joke, in which case, sorry." Julie tried to think of a decent sex joke of her own to make, but the moment had passed, so she continued. "But yeah, she got me through the worst day since The Houses were sold." She thought for a moment. "Wait, no! The worst day since the LAST time we thought you were dead, bitch!"
She thought another moment, and Helen was about to respond when Julie raised her hand.
"You didn't go to all this to get me to paint the fucking portrait, did you?"
Helen looked down at her abdomen, at the area that was beneath a hospital gown and the folds of Propappou's jacket; where she could feel the bandages covering her wounds. She pulled down the neck of her gown to show the stitched cut on her right breast, then tilted her neck to show them the cut on it.
"The tourism ad campaign after the Festival ends is going to be 'Visit Our Lovely Beaches.' As soon as Maisson says I'm able, I'm going to shoot a commercial in a two-piece thong bikini, playing volleyball with a bunch of supermodels. I'm supposed to dive into the sand to return a serve, then stand up, turn to the camera, lower my sunglasses, wink, smile, and give JUST enough nipple poke-through and boob bounce for the talking head shows to make a 'controversy' out of it and give us loads of free advertising. Then, I'm supposed to say 'And you never know WHO you'll meet on the beach!' And after we get it right, I have to do the whole thing again in nineteen other languages. I'm going to have to get the scars removed for that, Julie. I want to see all three of the most important men in my life, not join the other two!"
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