Lee Harris braced himself. The urge to sneeze was gaining force, so he stopped breathing, which put pressure on his bladder, which made his back hurt which made him breathe in sharply which started the whole thing all over again. It would take several minutes to stand and get to the bathroom to release the bladder so he could sneeze without soiling himself unless he hurt himself getting up and running to the bathroom, but he'd hurt himself if he sneezed in any case. His forehead and neck were beginning to sweat. Maybe, if he moved very carefully, he could hold his breath, stand (without hurting his back), walk (without hurting his back) to the bathroom to pee (without hurting his back), and the sneeze would just go away. Because he had fainted from not breathing. Okay, he had to breathe. He let his breath out very slowly through his mouth.

The sneeze reflex took over very loudly. The explosive expulsion startled Charlie, who fluttered in his cage.

"Fuck!" Lee shouted, followed by a stream of pained profanity filtered through clenched teeth that made Charlie flutter more.

Lee was able to tense his legs and stomach quickly enough to avoid embarrassing himself, but that made the sudden sharp pain in his lower back brought on by the sudden sneeze become heavy, dull and constant, as if someone had punched him in the tail bone with a ham-handed fist and then left the fist there, twisting it to bring home the point, whatever it had been.

Now just moving could release the tide, but he didn't have a choice so he stood slowly, which made the fist in his back press harder with an upward thrust. He took two steps around the coffee table and sneezed again.

"Fuck fuck fuck!" he shouted after the new wave of pain subsided enough that the bright, black centered spots sparkling in front of his vision faded.

He'd have to change his sweat pants after he finally made it to the bathroom. He realized that being embarrassed all by himself was sort of pointless, but he kept on being embarrassed anyway, just to spite himself. He'd change into pajamas, take his pain pills if he could find where Abby put them, curl up in bed and hope death came swiftly and with some small amount of dignity. Fuck Abby. Fuck!

"Abby!" he shouted as he took off toward the bathroom.

If he had watched someone else doing the constrained, arrhythmic shuffle that wanted to be a run but couldn't, punctuated with halting, profane shouts, he would have been very amused. Since he wasn't watching it, and it wasn't someone else, he wasn't amused at all. He finally made it, and while he stood there in pain relieving himself, which wasn't much relief at all, he noticed a small wad of Kleenex© on the floor that had missed the waste basket. It sat there, white and fluffy on the pale green flecked Linoleum tile, taunting him. It seemed, even, to be smiling, daring him to pick it up. While he finished peeing and putting himself away, he stared at it. When he was done, he continued staring, willing himself to bend. In his mind, he was Fred Astaire, gracefully sweeping it up, then Magic Johnson, slam dunking it into the waste basket in a flurry of mixed metaphors. His body, however, was a combination of Fred Flintstone© and Mel Torme. There was sound but no movement. He inched his foot forward, opening his toes like claws. Just as he reached the Kleenex©, though, the thought of what the tissue might have been carrying stopped his toe short. Even his toe was fastidious to an absurd degree.

He stood frozen, a stone statue of indecision, trying to figure out a way to properly dispose of the offending, offensive thing without paroxysms of pain or shudders of revulsion. He could shuffle into the kitchen, find a broom, shuffle back and sweep it up. But after all that effort, he'd still have to bend to sweep it into the dustpan. He could strike a match, drop it onto the paper and gleefully watch the horrid thing burn. Ashes seemed more acceptable in an antiseptic sort of way. But he'd still have to sweep them up, which brought back the going to the kitchen, etc., etc. bending thing. He could just move the basket on top of it so he couldn't see it. Well, no he couldn't do that. He wished he had one of those hand grip criss-cross extender things that you used to get cans off of high shelves with or one of those extendable suction cups that you used to change prices on gas station signs or one of those little basket things you used to change light bulbs. He was sure he could order something like that from Hammacher Schlemmer. But he'd probably die, standing there, waiting for it to come in the mail. Finally, he turned and left the bathroom in what would have been a huff if he had been able to do it faster, slammed the door behind himself, and resumed cursing Abby. He cursed her for leaving him alone and in pain to sneeze and wet himself. He cursed her for not being there to pick up the fucking piece of paper. He cursed her for bringing him to the hill in the first place so he couldn't pick it up himself. He cursed her for leaving his car there. His car. How the hell was he going to get his car, damn it?

Peter and Roz lay across their big brass bed. (No, they didn't, Steve. Why not? Peter doesn't have a big brass bed. Why not? He's not Bob Dylan. Who is he? Peter Principal. No, who's Bob Dylan? He's... Okay, that was really cheap humor that we really had to work really hard for. That's my favorite kind. We need to have a severed leg in this installment. Why, Steve? Because I'm hungry. I don't think that was cheap, but I'm fairly sure it wasn't humor. Poop.) Peter and Roz (you said that already) lay on their backs, glistening. Peter was about to ask Roz if it had been okay, but was saved from the humiliating question when the phone rang.

"You're not going to answer that, are you?" Roz asked.

"This is Peter," he said into the phone.

Roz laughed, then mouthed "This is Peter" into her pinky with her thumb in her ear.

"Oh," Peter said. "Hi, Lee."

Roz stared at him, but he didn't seem to notice. He did seem to be trying to get a word in with Lee. Then he said he'd left his car there also and Roz squinted at him, hoping she was wrong about what was going to happen next. Then he laughed and put his hand on the receiver, and turned to Roz.

"Lee wants to know if I got hurt, too," he said with a laugh, and Roz smiled. "He needs help to go get his van."

Roz's smile disappeared. She'd been right and didn't like it.

"Who's Lee, and why can't he get his own damn van?"

"What about Abby?" Peter said into the phone, listened for a moment, then put his hand on the receiver again and looked at Roz. "They had a fight," he said to her.

Roz didn't seem impressed. Peter took his hand away from the phone and said they'd be right over, but had to shower first because they were both kind of stinky. Then he listened for a brief moment. Then he got really red and said, "Nobody," and hung up.

"You realize, don't you," Roz said, "that you just volunteered me to go with you to get someone else's car."

"Well," Peter said, "we have to go there anyway. You did kick me in the jaw."

Roz sighed and asked for a towel. And she didn't want her boat to be rocked. (What was that sentence for, Steve? We needed a Bob Marley reference in here. No. We didn't. Okay. I guess you just don't want this scene to be funny, then. Why should this scene be different from any other scene? I miss Twain. Let's do a scene at Twain's. Why? I already said I was hungry. How will that move the story along? Non-linear story structure with film noir overtones. Can it at least be surreal with deep symbolism of obscure significance? Sure. Okay.)

A strong stream of sunlight broke through the window and cut across the counter, highlighting the dark shadows in the diner out of which Matt emerged, his fedora slightly askew, obscuring his eyes. He placed the black and white plate of meatloaf with mashed potatoes and gravy in front of the black and white guy in his multi-gray shaded John Deere hat, then filled the shiny napkin dispenser and straightened the black and white ketchup bottle and salt and pepper shakers. The man in the John Deere hat's cigarette smoke curled up past his eyes, then collected under the bill of his cap. It escaped around the edges, briefly forming the Japanese characters for Matt's birth date before wafting into the shadows. A black bird sang in the dead of night on the wings of a snow white dove. And a tree grew in Brooklyn.

When Peter knocked on Lee's front door, Lee announced that it was unlocked. Peter opened the door and he and Roz walked in. He immediately felt something was amiss. He was surprised to sense that there was a tissue on the floor in the bathroom. Poor Lee, he thought. Oh, well. Lee apologized for not getting up to greet them. He was propped up with bed pillows and had a blanket over his legs. He was wearing Dockers® which looked painful, somehow, and a loose sweater which didn't and he hadn't combed his hair, but had brushed damp fingers through it. If he hadn't looked so much like a complete invalid, he would have looked like a complete geek. Roz noticed the pill bottle and water glass on the coffee table next to the bag of beef jerky and open box of Ritz® crackers.

"Lee," Peter said. "This is Roz. Roz, Lee."

"You can't drive, can you?" Roz greeted.

"Um... Oh. Probably not. Um... I don't know what I have to offer you."

"You've got pills," Roz said.

Lee laughed. Peter shot Roz a strange look. Roz was completely serious.

"I'm completely serious," she said.

"Um..." Lee said, and shrugged. "Sure. I guess. One."

In one motion, she crossed the room, popped open the child-proof cap, dumped a pill into her palm, then popped it into her mouth and took a swig of water from Lee's glass. Peter and Lee were both aghast. Peter because of the pill, Lee because of her lips on his glass. Charlie because of life in a cage.

Roz looked strangely familiar to Lee. She reminded him somehow of thinly sliced salami, which was odd because she obviously wasn't thinly sliced. He asked if they'd met somewhere.

"At Aunt Gladys's Janitorial Supply and Condom Emporium," she said, and Lee turned pink all the way through his pain to the back of his earlobes and shook his head vigorously. "Sure," she said. "You were the one who bought all that muriatic acid. Okay, so if you can't drive, how are we going to do this?"

"What?" Lee asked.

"Hi. Nice to meet you. I'm Roz. How are we going to get your car if you can't drive?"

They all stared at each other while Peter and Lee counted cars and people. If Peter and Roz drove there, they could bring Lee's and Peter's car back, but would then have to leave Roz's car there, or they could bring Roz's and Lee's car back, but then... Lee's mind was starting to feel like a strange puzzle about having three animals that you needed to take across a bridge but you could only bring one at a time but you couldn't leave one with the other. No, that was two animals and some vegetables. No, three coconuts that you could juggle. Fuck it, two goats and an ermine. They would have to leave a car there or take two trips.

"We could take two trips," Peter said helpfully.

"No. We couldn't," Roz said. "We got very little sleep last night. Besides, I get one weekend day off a month, I'm not going to spend the entire day going back and forth to Beard's Hill."

"How else are we going to do it?" Peter said, hoping Lee didn't get the "we" part of didn't get any sleep. Lee seemed still in too much pain to hear an errant "we".

"Call somebody else," Roz said reasonably.

"Who else could we call?" Peter said, then got a bright idea. "What about Abby?"

Lee shot him a "we just talked about this, gay man, Abby and I had a huge fight, it's the whole reason you came over, and I'm the one who's supposed to be in pain and on pain killers, here, so if anyone should forget it's me, do I have to smack you on the side of your big, bearded head and what do you mean 'we'?" glance. Peter realized it hadn't been such a bright idea, gave him an "oops" look and followed it with a "what the hell did you two fight about this time?" gesture. Lee couldn't figure out how to communicate that she told him he was a lousy actor so he just gave him an "I'll drive, damn it" look and tried to stand.

"Uuuuhhhnhnnn..." Lee said out loud at about halfway up, then slowly went a quarter of the way back down and said "Uuuuhhhnhnnn..." again and froze.

"Who else do you know?" Roz asked, completely ignoring the comically painful look on Lee's face and even more comical position.

"Twain?" Peter asked, noticing the look and position and wondering what he could cook to make Lee feel better.

In four little movements, each punctuated by an additional uuuuhhhnhnnn, Lee gingerly settled back down onto the pillows, then breathed quickly in and out several times to get the damn spots out of his vision.

"No," he said after making sure no more movement was necessary, "He's running the diner without me already. And that takes Matt out of the equation, and, uuuuhhhnhnnn, I don't even know if Matt can drive. Uuuhhhnhnnn."

"These are the times when you realize how few friends you have," Peter said as Lee swallowed another pain pill without water and offered one to Roz, who accepted without comment. "Who else do you know?"

"Jim?" Lee said weakly, not noticing the sudden pained look on Peter's face at the mention of that name. But he didn't like Jim any more than Peter did and didn't want him touching his car. "Okay, what about Bear?"

Peter nodded once in emphatic agreement, went directly to the phone and called Bear, who said he'd be right over. He was a friend. A real friend. A true, steadfast friend. A trouper. Someone you'd want in your foxhole when you went into battle. Someone who had your back. Someone who'd drop everything if a you were in need of a friend. Someone who was bored on a late Saturday afternoon, post football season, pre baseball and had just never quite gotten into basketball. He would have to miss Pippi Longstockings, though.

Roz sighed and sat on the couch, causing Lee to uuuuhhhnhnnn again. Peter fretted, which is what he did best.

"Have you eaten, Lee?" he asked.

Lee told him about the pancakes that Abby had made for lunch.

"Pancakes for lunch?" Roz said.

"I know," Lee said and they bonded and he offered her another pill (STEVE! What? It's not Valley of the Dolls. Or Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Or Easy Rider. Or Fantasia. She's had enough drugs. He offers her a beer? Coffee? A lightly flavored mineral water? Air? Okay, I'll behave.)

They all agreed that none of them had eaten yet, and Peter set about to make something when there was a knock at the door.

"That was fast," Peter said, and opened it.

Bear strode in.

"Vincent!" Roz shouted, and Bear froze, mid-stride.

"Oh," he said, and forced a nonchalant stance, "hi, Roz."

"Vincent?" Peter said.

Roz, who had finally begun to warm up being there, frosted over again. Lee would have moved away from the chill she radiated all over the couch, but he didn't want to add another uuuuhhhnhnnn to what looked like was going to turn into some sort of very embarrassing social situation. He hated being in the middle of one of those. It was embarrassing. He had already been embarrassed once that day by a drop or two of moisture on the front of his sweat pants, and that would be enough. Of course, if he added an uuuuhhhnhnnn, his pain would be what everyone focused on and then they could go have their embarrassing moment elsewhere where he wouldn't have to sit in the middle of it. But then they'd all be looking at him, and that would be too embarrassing. He took another pill. This time he even washed it down with water. Roz's lips couldn't be that germ ridden, and she hadn't touched the glass in several minutes, and anyway, the last one was still stuck in the back of his throat not killing any pain.

"That's my real name," Bear said. "Vincent."

"I never pictured you as a 'Vincent'," Peter said.

"What did you picture me as?"

"Actually, I don't even picture you as a 'Bear', even. I don't know, Bob or Bill or Dave. Maybe a Chuck or a Don or Paul. Joe or John or Jack or something. Jon, maybe. Or Phil or Carl. Definitely a Carl. Not a Karl. Or Steve or Geoff or Jim. No, not Jim. Maybe James. Or... Chad or Skip or Biff or Donovan or Horatio or Ebenezer or Percival or Ichabod or... (Steve! That's enough! Sorry.) ... or Ermine. Not Vincent."

(Geoff? What, Steve? Why doesn't spell check like "Ichabod"? Would you? Maybe if he had big thumbs. Go have some lightly flavored mineral water.)

"Yeah," Lee said, hoping that if he kept this conversation going, whatever that embarrassing social thing that was about to happen between him and Roz could be nicely deflected. "I always wondered why they called you 'Bear'. You're so... wiry. I mean, you're hairy, which makes sense, but most Bears I know are heavy and clumsy and hairy and smelly and have big bushy beards and lots of hair on their head. You know, like a bear. Like Peter. Except he's not hairy. Or smelly. Except that peppery cologne he wears all the time. And you are hairy. Except on top of your head. I'm so confused."

Lee was sorry he had said so much because it made his back hurt. He took another pill.

"They called me Bear," Bear said with a long sigh, "because when I was a kid I used to like to run around naked all the time."

"That would be 'Bare', not 'Bear'," Peter said, trying desperately not to picture Bear running around naked.

"I was a bad speller," Bare said.

"So," Roz said, getting up off the couch.

Suddenly, now that Roz had moved and he wasn't sitting exactly between her and Bear and therefore not directly in the middle of the direct line of fire, and the second and third pill were beginning to hit, Lee realized he was actually looking forward to the embarrassing social situation. Perspective was everything. He took another pill and settled back to watch, completely oblivious to the twinge in his back as he did so.

"Vincent." Roz added, and Lee smiled an inward, expectant smile. "How are you?"

Bear nodded without answering. For once, Lee wished Bear wasn't such a guy.

"How do you two know each other?" he said.

"Um," Peter, who really, really, really didn't like watching other people's lives collide, even if he were really far away from the direct line of fire, said quickly, "shouldn't we get going?"

"We haven't had lunch, yet," Lee said. At least that's what it sounded like inside his head, which was beginning to fill with a really nice liquidy vibration.

He offered Roz another pill. (Geoff! What? You wouldn't let me do that. Roz doesn't accept this one, so it's okay.) She didn't accept it.

"How's Dee Dee?" Bear said, with enough social politeness to communicate effectively that he really didn't want to know and would appreciate it if they all just stopped talking and did something with a power tool.

"Who's Dee Dee?" Lee asked, shaking the pill bottle, grinning. Color was coming back to his face and he had a strange fleeting image of Jimi Hendrix typing on a Smith Corona. Life was good.

"My sister," Roz said at the same time Bear said, "My ex."

"We really should be going," Peter said. He was seriously considering giving them all pills so he could shut them up and get out of this embarrassing social situation.

Lee nodded knowingly, smiling. He waited for act two.

"Yeah," Roz said. "If I'm going to spend an hour trapped in a car with him, let's get it over with."

Peter hesitated. He hadn't considered having to be in an even smaller environment with a socially embarrassing thing, but at least stoned out Lee wouldn't be there stirring it all back up after he had quieted it all down. He opened the door, only momentarily feeling guilty that he hadn't fixed anything for Lee to eat, then thinking it served him right and understanding why Abby had left. Bear whisked out. Roz followed him. Peter stroked her back as she went by him, then looked once back at Lee, blushed and left. Lee watched the door for a long time after they left, feeling disappointed. He wouldn't get his entertainment, after all. A moment later, Peter came back in and asked Lee for his car keys.

"They're on the bed stand," Lee said.

He watched Peter get them, hoping something untoward had happened that Peter would tell him about, then watched Peter leave again. He watched the door feeling more disappointed, and now also a bit confused. It was hard to think about it all through the waves crashing against his eyeballs and ears, and the more he tried, the more nothing was making any sense: Abby was mad at him and it was her that had insulted him. She should be going to get his car, not Bear. And what was with Bear being a Vincent? And who was that Roz person? And was she at Peter's house when he called and woke Peter up at one in the afternoon and they hadn't gotten much sleep? And the sleep they hadn't gotten seemed to be together. And what was that Peter stroking her back, then blushing thing? There should be certain constants in life. Bear was Bear. Abby was his girlfriend. And Peter was gay.

"Nothing makes any sense," Lee said aloud as he scratched Gable's ear. Then he realized through the surf that was trickling down his hairline what he was doing and looked down at his hand, which was stroking the air just above the blanket that had mostly fallen away from his lap. He took another pill.

The conversation for the first ten minutes that they rode away from Lee's house was as boring as Roz's spotless, white Dodge Aries K car, the only interesting part of which was the salt-rust on the underside where the undercoating had worn away. The heater was on, but the air in the car was still bitingly cold. The vinyl seats were even colder. Bear sat in the back with his arms crossed, breathing fog. If Roz hadn't been driving, Peter was sure her arms would have been crossed, also. He tried to start a conversation several times, but the most he could get out of either one of them was a small grunt. His nose hairs stuck to each other. The heater was actually blowing cold air into the car.

Roz seemed to be avoiding looking in her rear view mirror, which, all in all, Peter thought was probably the best plan. Then, about eleven minutes into the drive, Roz did look into the mirror, and her face seemed to twist and color strangely, like the rust on the underside of the car. She looked forward for a moment and Peter tried to believe she wouldn't start something, then she looked back at the mirror. Peter tried desperately to find a cassette tape to pop in, but the only ones he could find were The Best of Bread, Vol. 1 and Black Sabbath's "Paranoid" and he thought that even the impending socially embarrassing situation would be better than either of those.

"You're a real bastard, you know," Roz said into the mirror.

Peter popped in Black Sabbath.

Bear didn't say anything for another minute or so, and Peter prayed that it would stay that way all the way to the hill. He thought about turning up the volume to assure their cooperation, but War Pigs was playing and he just couldn't make his hand go to the volume dial. Finally, he decided he couldn't take one more minute of Ozzy Osbourne's vocals and popped the tape out. He had planned on popping Bread in very quickly, but Bear chose that brief moment to speak.

"I'm sure she gave you a fair and balanced account of our marriage," he said.

"She told me what it was like to be married to you," Roz said.

"Did she tell you what it was like to be married to her?"

Peter tried to decide how much damage he would do to himself if he just opened the door and took a rolling dive into the next snow bank they passed. One hand still held Paranoid, the other still held Bread. He looked at the Bread hand.

"Did you know that one of the guys on the Baby I'm-a-Want You album also played with the Beach Boys and The Monkees?" Peter said, quickly reading the notes on the back of the cassette cover.

"Okay," Roz said, and Peter had a momentary lapse of reason and thought she was talking to him. "What's your side?"

"Let's just get this done with," Bear said and Peter closed his eyes and willed Roz to agree to just get this done with.

"No," Roz said, and Peter opened his eyes but stopped breathing. "What's your side? I'm all ears."

"I don't need to explain it to you," Bear said. "I wasn't married to you."

"Thank God," Roz said, and took a corner faster than was recommended by the yellow, bullet-hole ridden sign with the squiggly snake-like arrow on it and the Aries K fish-tailed and Peter started hyperventilating. He would have asked her to take it easy, but it didn't seem advisable. He grabbed the armrest instead. "I wouldn't have been so stupid as to marry you."

"I would never have asked you," Bear said with a derisive laugh. "I'm guessing no one else has either."

Roz slammed on the brakes. The car actually stopped after an extended moment of sliding.

"Oh God oh God oh God oh God," Peter said, pounding his temples with the insides of his wrists.

Both of them looked at him and he stopped pounding long enough to notice.

"Did I say that out loud?" Peter said out loud.

"Out," Roz said, turning back to Bear as if Peter wasn't even there. The cold mist coming out of her nostrils made her look like a bull in an animated cartoon, but the image didn't amuse Peter as much as it should have. In fact, it didn't amuse him at all. In fact it scared the hell out of him. Heat was finally coming out of the vents, but it stayed at the edges, also afraid to venture too far into the car.

"Fine," Bear said, and leaned over the seat to get to the door handle.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait," Peter said with a grunt because Bear was pushing the seat forward. "Bear, it's miles back to your car."

"I've walked further," Bear said. "To get away from her sister."

He pointed at Roz, who swatted at his hand. He pulled his hand back and pushed harder on the back of the seat. Roz missed Bear's hand and got Peter right on the swollen bruise.

"Ow!" Peter yelled. "God Damn It! Stop! Just stop! Both of you! Jesus!"

It was such an unexpected outburst that they both did stop. Peter slammed the seat back. The car was starting to warm up a little. Or was that just his head?

"I'm going to throttle you both. Jesus!" He shouted. "Maybe Dee Dee was a bitch. Maybe you treated her like crap. It's ancient history. Jesus!"

Roz was about to say something but Peter rounded on her.

"It was their marriage, Roz. You have no idea what happened. Jesus! She was your sister, but she was an adult. Jesus. I just want to get Lee's car back to him then go home to my cat. I hate people."

They both continued to look at him, then they both looked like they both wanted to say something.

"No!" Peter said. "Shut up."

They shut up.

"Drive. Fuck!"

Roz put the car in gear obediently. The car slid a little before it finally caught and moved forward.

"My jaw hurts," Peter said quietly.

"I'm sorry," Roz said.

"Please just drive."

They drove in silence for another ten or fifteen more minutes. Peter didn't even notice that he had stopped shivering. The silence finally got to be too much for him, though, and he popped in Bread.

"I never cheated on her, you know," Bear said a little defensively, melting at the first sappy Bread note that wafted into the back seat with the warming air.

"I never said you did," Roz said a little more defensively.

Peter gave her a "down boy" look and she consciously unfurled her brow, not wanting to cause him to holler at her again.

"She just said you were never home," she said as her final "woof."

"I had a job," Bear said and Peter gave him a look which he ignored. "She never understood that. It was awful to come home after working ten or twelve hours straight and have her complain that I was never home."

Peter turned full around to give him the look with more force.

"Ten or twelve hours?" Roz said, now that Peter wasn't looking at her. "Sometimes you didn't come home til three or four in the morning five or six nights a week."

"Only when a play was going to open," Bear said when Peter turned to give Roz her look.

"You worked in a fucking theatre, for Christ's sake," Roz said, actually beginning to sweat. "Plays are always going to open."

Peter stopped even trying to give them looks and started humming Bread songs to himself. He took off his scarf and mopped his forehead with it.

"And Dee Dee was always going to yell at me whenever I got home."

"Because you always got home at three in the morning!"

"How the fuck do you know?"

The windows were fogging dangerously.

"Because I was the one she called every night, crying, when you weren't there," Roz said. "Jesus."

"Look, I loved her," Bear said.

"I know!" Roz said. "That was the problem. You both loved each other. But you loved your job more!"

"No!" Bear said. "Not more!"

Roz looked at him in the mirror, getting ready to shout at him. He was about to add something to what he just said. Peter was about to turn the tape player up really high. Bear closed his mouth, then opened it again. The movement surprised Roz, and she didn't shout. Peter didn't turn up the volume. Time would have stood still, except that Peter needed to move to wipe the fog off the windshield with his scarf so Roz could see the road.

Bear wasn't in the car anymore, he was in the small house he and Dee Dee had shared. There was a strange loop of film playing in which he and Dee Dee argued over and over, each iteration slightly different. At first all he could see was her shrill face, the way that little vein pulsed at the side of her jaw. He hated that vein. She didn't hear a word he said when that vein pulsed. His stomach recalled the turmoil he had thought he'd forgotten, and he wanted to hit something. All through his marriage he had felt like he had wanted to hit something, and not hitting something had been the hardest thing he had ever done. Slowly, though, his focus shifted. He started to notice himself. He wasn't listening to her either. His whole face pulsed. And she seemed to want to hit something, too. She looked so scared under the anger. So frustrated. So small and frail. And he looked so impassive. So formidable. Cold. That shocked him. Cold was never a word he would have used to describe himself. He tried to swallow, but couldn't.

He closed his mouth in a sort of strange way and turned to look out the window at the dead, snow covered trees. Roz kept a weary eye on him in the mirror as she drove. After a moment of silence, Peter stopped humming. Then, after another moment, he looked back at Bear, whose eyebrows were furrowed in a way that Peter have never seen.

"Bear?" he said.

It looked like Bear's eyes were glistening. Peter never imagined Bear having enough emotions to make his eyes glisten. Vincent, maybe, but not Bear. It didn't feel right at all.

"You okay?" he asked, nervously and looked around for a tissue. (There's one in Lee's bathroom. Damn it, Steve, just once can we have a nice scene? Just once? How about Tuesday? Tuesdays are our days off. Oh, well.)

Bear shook his head slowly.

"Roz," he said, still looking out the window.

"What?" Roz said a little sharply.

"Could..." Bear said, turning back toward her. "Would you tell Dee Dee that I'm sorry?"

"You tell her," Roz said, still not quite ready to give up.

"I can't talk to her."

"Yes," Roz said. "You can."

Bear didn't say anything for a moment, then he nodded once.

The car was quiet most of the rest of the way to the hill, and Peter didn't even try to start another conversation. He did try to keep the window clear. When the tape came to the end and clicked off, they could see the hill.

The hill was a mess. There were old booze bottles everywhere, black snow radiating out from where the fires had blazed, half burned logs, frozen blood (for Steve), slush, a moose, a stoat, an ermine, Robert Redford (for Geoff), frozen puke, bits of Sloppy Joes and Nachos, sled runners attached to charred wood. It was really icky. There was a streak of dark gray clouds across the sky, which was nursing a hangover. The air smelled of burned, treated wood, spiced wine, puke and motor oil. It was not a pastoral snowy hillside surrounded by trees at all, but it fit everyone's mood. It took a moment for anyone to notice that there were no cars there, which horrified Peter. What was he going to do without a car? What was he going to tell Lee?

"This is Laird's Hill," Bear said. "Beard's Hill is just over there."

They got back into the car and drove to Beard's Hill. It was a mess. There were old booze bottles everywhere, black snow radiating out from where the fires had blazed, half burned logs, frozen blood (for Steve), slush, a moose, a stoat, an ermine, Norman Fell (for Geoff), frozen puke, bits of Sloppy Joes and Nachos, sled runners attached to charred wood. Peter stepped out of the car and surveyed the chaos. He felt awful about the carnage and had to do something, so he leaned over and picked up a half burned cigarette, then looked around, trying to find an appropriate place to dispose of it. He placed it back on the ground exactly where he had found it, then tried to clean the stale, damp cigarette ash off the tips of his fingers with snow.

"Okay," Bear said. "Do you have Lee's key?"

Peter reached into his pocket and produced Lee's key ring. It was a simple chrome ring with three keys. Car. House. Twain's. And a big orange puffy fuzz ball so he could find it in his purse. I mean pants. (No fuzz ball, Geoff.) It didn't have any adornment. Peter didn't understand only three keys. He still had keys from his college dorm room on his set, and one for every door at the theatre, several for pad locks he had long since lost and a strange round hollow one for a pop machine. He also had one for a soda machine in case River Bend was west of the Mississippi. He gave the ring to Bear.

"Who has only three keys?" Bear said. His set even had a flash light and a bottle opener. And a chainsaw. Which he used to see if Lee was awake. (That might be a bit too obscure, Geoff. You have no faith. Yes, I do. And boy, is my faith red. Now, that's just too stupid. See? Obscure.)

Bear stood by Lee's SUV, looking at the destruction on the hill. He wondered vaguely how it got cleaned up every year. Maybe it just melted away with the spring thaw. Roz stood by her car looking at Bear. Peter got into his car quickly in case another round started.

"I still don't like you very much," Roz said.

Bear nodded once and Roz got into her car and backed up. Bear got into Lee's car, started it and backed up. Peter's car groaned twice, then groaned a third time, then clicked several times, then did nothing.

Peter put his head on the steering wheel. His shoulders slumped. The plastic steering wheel began to freeze a strip across his forehead. It felt good against his resignation. There was a tap on his window and he looked up without taking his head off the wheel. It was Bear. Peter opened his window, still without moving his forehead off the wheel.

"Battery," he said. "Dead."

"Oh," Bear said. "Do you have cables?"

Peter shook his head, which was difficult, because it was still attached to the steering wheel, but it seemed easier, somehow, to put the effort into shaking it then it would be to put the effort into lifting it. Roz had stopped backing up when Bear had gotten out of Lee's car. She opened her window and Bear asked if she had jumper cables. She didn't. Bear shook his head, amazed. How could someone not have at least one set of jumper cables? Especially in an area where it snowed. It was like only having three keys on your ring. In an area where there were locks.

"My jumper cables are back at Lee's house," Bear said.

"I am not going to go back to Lee's house to get your jumper cables," Roz said.

"I can take Lee's car back," Peter said.

"Then one of us is going to have to wait here for you to take it back," Roz said. "Or go with you all the way there and all the way back. And it won't be me."

"Wait," Peter said. "Lee."

"What?" Bear said.

"Mr. Tool Guy."

They went to the back of his SUV and opened the back door. There was a big cardboard box filled with road flares and snow chains and a flashlight and assorted tools and spare fuses and a crow bar and spare lug nuts, two cans of Insta-Spare® and an old denim jacket and a plastic tarp and something that looked like bullets and extra batteries and paper towels and rope and motor oil and a bottle of antifreeze and heavy gauge wire and a gun and duct tape and a gas mask and a can of potted meat product and a propane torch and an aroma therapy candle and an earthquake survival kit.

"What the hell does he need that for?" Bear said, pointing at the earthquake kit. "Even I don't have one of those."

Bear pulled the sixteen foot, six gauge deluxe twist-proof jumper cables with heavy-duty yellow insulation and copper parrot clamps insulated with thick, black plastic out of the box. His pants tented. Peter was still trying not to picture him running around naked. Roz was impatient, so they connected Lee's car to Peter's (now, Peter was trying not to picture Lee running around naked) and got him started.

Bear backed up the SUV, turned and started down the hill, followed by Peter, then Roz. Peter followed Bear all the way to Lee's house so he could make sure Lee was okay and had food to eat. At some point on the drive, Roz turned left when they turned right and she disappeared. Bear, alone in Lee's car listening to martial music on the radio, was happy to see her go. Peter, alone in his listening to the Royal Shakespear Company's recording of A Winter's Tale, felt a pang that he didn't understand or like. Roz just thought about James K. Polk and hummed advertising ditties.

That night, alone in her apartment, Abby sat on her couch, rocking back and forth to ease her cramps. There were moments she hated being a woman. Which is something two male writers, gay or otherwise, have no business writing about, so they'll move on. She was trying to decide if she should call Lee and make sure he was all right. Half of her mind was worried about him, but the other half just thought he deserved to spend time with himself and see how he liked it. Which, she thought, was really mean, but, hey, he deserved it. As that thought floated around her head, a rolling cramp floated through her abdomen. She wished she had some pain pills. Lee had pain pills. But he was being entirely too snarky and she just couldn't call him, pain pills or no. She finally decided to just go to bed. Maybe she could dream of Jimi Hendrix. Or Blue Turtles. Or Jeannie.

The next morning her body painfully proved she wasn't pregnant. She spent time making sure she was prepared for the ramifications of that for the rest of the day, which kept her mind off worrying about and being mad at Lee for a while. Finally, she picked up the phone and called him.

"Hi," she said. "How are you doing?"

"Fine."

"Have you eaten?"

"Yeah. Peter came by and fixed me a casserole last night and I had a little just now."

"Oh," Abby said. "We should figure out how to get your car."

"Bear and Peter got it for me yesterday," Lee said. He wasn't going to mention Roz because the whole Roz thing still confused him.

"Oh," Abby said, feeling a bit useless. "Um. I got my period."

"Oh," Lee said, taking a moment to let that sink in. He was both relieved and a little saddened. He was more relieved, though, which relieved him.

"I just didn't notice the symptoms," she said. "Probably because of the all the fun and food and drink on the hill and then the scare and the taking care of you. And you were being such a pill, I just thought it was you."

"Oh, thanks a lot."

"Hey," she said, laughing. "I had Lee-M-S."

There was a pregnant pause, then Lee laughed as much as a broken coccyx and good pain pills would let him. They chatted a little, but Lee didn't feel well enough for small talk, and Abby was still going through the whole not pregnant thing, so she said she'd check in on him a bit later and they hung up.

A few minutes later the phone rang again. Lee smiled, wondering what Abby had forgotten to tell him.

"Hi, Mommy," he said.

"Lee?" a female voice that wasn't Abby's asked.

There was an awkward moment in which Lee considered just putting on a fake accent or hanging up or changing his phone number.

"Yes," he said timidly, instead of any of those very attractive options.

"It's Kim," Kim said. "Anderson. From The Odd Couple. At the theatre."

"Hi, Kim."

"Mommy?"

"I thought you were... an old friend of mine from Chicago," he said with a nervous laugh.

"You call your friends 'Mommy'?"

"What's up?" Lee said, hoping it sounded less abrupt than he meant it.

"Oh, I just wanted to know how you were after your spill on the hill."

"Oh. That's nice of you," he said.

"Yeah. Agnes wants to know if you'll be able to do the part or if we have to replace you."

Lee's stomach tightened and his throat constricted. A strange noise came out that sounded a lot like Gable.