“Ha ha.”
Calvin looked like Darla had flung monkey poo in his face.
For some reason, all the baby talk made me want to be closer to Darla, so I moved, putting my arm around her shoulders, Joe's ever-watchful eye noticing. We weren't jealous of each other – not in the normal way people are jealous. He was jealous that I got more time with her.
Not that I existed, period.
We shared Darla. It was more than sharing, though. The three of us created something separate from the world when we were in sync, but we had to be dyads as well as a triad, and that's where things sometimes fell apart with Joe.
He wasn't jealous of me when we were in a triad.
But the dyad of me and Darla? He was a green little bitch about that.
Tap tap tap.
Marlene turned to the closed door and walked to it.
“Don't open it!” Calvin said in a firm, masculine voice I didn't know the guy had in him.
“Why not?” Marlene snapped back, hand on hip. I saw how she and Darla were related.
“Because that looks like someone with a camera. We're not doing media interviews.” He sounded exasperated.
Darla's head tilted, the way she did when she was processing something fast. “Media?”
“Dr. Phil wants us. Discovery Channel wants us. A bunch of those smaller web television sites, YouTube channels, you name it. People not knowing they were pregnant then having a surprise baby are really popular,” he explained, sounding exhausted.
“You need a PR team,” Darla declared, pulling out her phone. Then she paused. “But I don't know anyone out here, and you need boots on the ground.”
“A pee are what?” Calvin asked.
“PR. Public relations. You need, like, a manager.”
“Like what you do for the band?”
I could feel Joe's internal groan. He wasn't hard to read. That imagined sound meant he knew what was coming next.
“I'll manage media inquiries for you, Mama!”
Our eyes met, Joe's wide with contempt.
That meant we were here for a while.
Not that Darla shouldn't help her mom and stepdad, of course. She should. It was the right thing to do.
But we were bone exhausted, had a new brother-in-law (or whatever you call the baby brother of the woman you're in a permanent threesome with), were three weeks away from our next gig with a half-finished new song that needed a lot of work to polish, and –
“You guys don't mind, right?” Darla asked us.
“Of course not.”
“No problem.”
She grinned. Calvin grinned. Cathy narrowed one eye, gave Darla a once over, and said:
“You? How do you know you can handle negotiating the media for us?”
“Mama, I got the band a job singing on television for New Year's Eve, when the ball dropped in Times Square. I've booked them for Vegas. I've done the big time. I can do this for you.”
“Well, I want nothing to do with any of them. Calvin said they were nothing but a bunch of leeches looking to make money off pictures of me and little Cal. I ain't whoring out my surprise baby just to make – how much did you say some of them offered?” she asked him.
“The one show just increased it to ten thousand dollars and said they'd just send a photographer, Cathy. Interview you over Skype, too. Said they'd like it if family could be there as well.”
Dead silence.
Joe let out a low whistle, and when you can impress Joe, you know it's a good offer.
“WHAT?” Cathy sat up straight, her head craning forward, eyes popping open. “Someone offered us that much?”
“To be the first photo and interview, yes. Something about a 'scoop.'”
“They want to scoop all the other media outlets,” Darla patiently explained. “That means be the first. Exclusive.”
Calvin lit up. “Yes! That's what they said. Exclusive photo and interview.”
“Well, now, that's not the same as the couple hundred some people were offering. Did they say why they offered so much?” Cathy asked, shaking her head slowly as if she couldn't believe it.
Darla went uncharacteristically quiet, clearly thinking through the implications of all this.
Tap tap tap.
The camera lens was in the window. I moved a foot to the left, my back ruining whatever shot they were aiming to get. A frustrated, muffled sound came through the door.
A bright light shot to the top left of the window. I pressed my palm against it.
Profanity spewed in a hiss.
The camera moved up and down until finally, I grabbed a small chair, stood on it, and pressed my ass cheeks as hard as possible against the glass, earning a cocked eyebrow from Darla and Marlene.
Which made me see how they shared blood.
Then the unmistakable sound of security guards interfering filled the hallway.
I stepped down off the chair. Marlene winked at me and said, “Too bad you didn’t moon ’em. We could all use a nice show.”
Darla rolled her eyes and returned to the topic of the media.
“That first picture means something, Mama. But why would they offer so much money? No offense to you two,” she said, looking at Calvin, “but you're not that famous.”
Calvin looked at his feet. “They did add that they wanted you there.”
“Me?” Marlene asked.
“Naw. You.” Calvin looked at Joe, then me.
“Excuse me?” Joe said, pointing to himself, his finger right where his heart surgery scarline was. “Me?”
“Yeah. They asked me some questions about the family. Got excited when they learned Cathy's only other child is near thirty. Asked where she lived, and I mentioned the band, and – ”
Darla slapped her forehead. “Calvin! They're offering so much money because they want to use Random Acts of Crazy to get eyeballs on the page.”
“Eyeballs? Sounds violent.”
Cathy whapped him. “Calvin! She means website hits. Like on our eBay auctions and our online store.”
His eyes got really weird and shifty. “Oh.” Calvin was a taxidermist, which should make for the most boring work ever, but a few years ago they stumbled into making authentic animal fur sex toys for people with, uh, animal fetishes.
You know. Foxtail buttplugs. Possum tail-eagle feather ticklers. That sort of thing. AnFet people were a kind, tight-knit community filled with people who liked their fantasy with a heavy dose of realism.
No one killed the animals – Calvin used roadkill, or animals found in the woods, already dead. He said it was more ethical that way.
Darla figured it all out when we had a gig in Vegas, where her mom and stepdad were at a huge sex toy convention the same time we performed.
Calvin still seemed embarrassed by their business, which started out as a niche, custom-made income stream and now was their sole source of support. But it paid the bills, so who cared?
“You would think you'd be interesting enough on your own, doing the AnFet thing,” I muttered, earning a nasty glare from Cathy, a sheepish frown from Calvin, and a WTF? look of inquiry from Marlene.
“Amvets? I didn't know you fought, Calvin,” Marlene said as Cathy ran her finger across her throat in the universal sign for Keep your mouth shut.
Or maybe it was I'll cut your balls off.