Last Morning

Phila and Bernie got up early so Bernie could get to confession, an absolute must in Phila's eyes, and Bernie's for that matter.

After Mass, they went straight back to the Graceley to finish packing. Cecie lagged behind for an instant; she hadn't seen Joe anywhere.

She brought them down to the lower deck to see them safely off. Kip had the cruiser waiting for them in front of the garage.

"I'm sorry about the way things fell out last night; I shouldn't have asked you out," he started to say.

"It wasn't your fault, you did your best. It's all the fault of this ----ing city." Phila's face immediately went bright red.

"Heavy on the bleeping," Cecie admitted.

His broad innocent face was utterly sincere. "I wouldn't blame you if you went away and decided to stay in the convent right after you got there. This world is just too corrupt for people like you."

"Kip, it's not you. I like you; I liked dancing with you. I think you're a fine young man and, at the risk of sounding trite, a great guy. Could I have your email address?"

"Sure," he said, reaching inside his jumpsuit and taking out a thin metal card case. "Can I have yours, or would you rather that I wait until you decide to send?"

"No, you can have mine." She pulled a scrap of paper from her purse.

The next day, Cecie got a bill in her mail for the small weld job that had to be done on Joe's facial infrastructure. That explains his absence, she thought.

Winter came bringing intermittent squalls of rain and snow, then spring returned. She got a message from Phila.

"She's coming back to Rouge City this summer," she told Joe, who sat at her feet, knees drawn up with his crossed wrists resting on them.

"So her sojourn was not so unpleasant as she fancied," he mused, smiling astutely.

"Yes, Kip the mechanic asked her to marry him."

"And she accepted his proposal?"

"Surprisingly, she did."

"She will do well with him and by him; he has gentle hands." Except for a small blemish visible only in certain lights when he tilted back his head to his right, there was no signs of any damage. It didn't even mar his looks: rather, it made it harder to discern him from an Orga. "But what of little Bernadette?"

"She's getting married also, to the convent gardener's grandson."

"Indeed!"

Cecie turned the datascriber around. "There's a picture of him." Joe leaned over to look.

The gardener's grandson was a dark young wag with eyes of an unusually clear shade of green. Joe looked up.

"He somewhat resembles someone we both know," he said.

They both laughed.

Afterword:

Hold the flames, people; I meant this to be a romantic comedy somewhat in the manner of Shakespeare. I almost drafted it as a screenplay, especially because some details were more visually oriented (the bit with Cecie and the cellphone in the restaurant, and some of the anecdotes could be filmed as montages), but decided otherwise. Time was one of my main considerations: this story was, for me at least, too good to keep from you for too long.

Literary Easter Eggs:

"Fishcious Cycle"—a slightly shameless thievery from William Gibson's All Tomorrow's Parties.

"the usual 'in-out, in-out'"—I just couldn't resist swiping this bit of "nadsat" slang (the word refers to sex or copulation, if you haven't figured it out) from Anthony Burgess's A Clockwork Orange. This also references an e-mail discussion with a friend of mine who compared the Rouge City sequence with the milk bar in Stanley Kubrick's film version of the Burgess novel; had Kubrick lived to shoot "A.I.", they might have been more similar (and therefore R-rated!). It's also been suggested that Kubrick's conception of Joe might have been closer in personality to Alex, the sociopath "hero" of Kubrick's earlier effort. Ouch. Thanks for reprogramming the Mecha, Steve!

"making up stories from the faces while he keeps the customers satisfied…"—I referenced two songs by Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel, whom I was listening to a lot while I was plotting/writing this. Compare "America", where the two wanderers on the bus are "playing games with the faces", and also "Keep the Customers Satisfied", which someone once told me is about a drug-dealer, but I haven't seen any indication that it could be. It could just as easily be about a male 'ho. 

"can't allow scruples in the confessional…"—I based this on an incident from the life of St. Philip Neri, who had the ability to read people's souls in the confessional. The scrupulous sister of his friend St. Charles Borromeo once tried to confess twice in the same day, so St. Philip had to put her out saying he wouldn't allow scruples in the confessional. The priest also bears some resemblance to a seminarian friend of mine.

Joe's speech starting with "May your God…"—I borrowed a paraphrased translation of the last stanza from the baritone solo "Circa Mea Pectora" from Carl Orff's Carmina Burana, then cross-bred it with part of Joe's "Blue Fairy" speech from the film. I do try to avoid swiping from the movie, but sometimes it's the only way to make his lines authentic.

Mecha plants—yes, this is a rip on those dancing Christmas trees/cactuses/palm trees that were the novelty gag gift of choice a few years back!

Kip's story about the man in the convenience store—this is based on something that actually happened in Florida this winter; I just changed the details to transfer it to Rouge City. And the mad woman with the chainsaw might be Carrie Nation, the notorious anti-alcohol activist from the early 1900s, who used to attack saloons in the West, armed with a hatchet.