Kerri and Mitchell Fiction: Couches

“I think,” Mitchell said, “we should go over to the Rocket early, so I can catch a nap in the production office before the show this year.”

Kerri eyed him. “Don’t you remember? There’s no couch in the production office at the Rocket Theater. It’s not big enough.”

“But I play better when I get a nap in the production office before the show.”

“I know,” Kerri said, wondering where this fit of diva behavior had come from. Even for Mitchell, it was an abrupt shift in attitude. “It’s also a month away.”

“They’ve got time to put a couch in there,” Mitchell said.

Kerri gaped at him. Of all the stupid things… “M,” she said slowly, trying to keep cool, no matter how tempting it was to smack some sense into him, even if she had to do it verbally, “if they put a couch in there, half of it will stick into the hallway, and that’s after they move the desk out. Really. The production office at the Rocket is an old coat closet. I can guarantee you Penis and Chrome don’t fit in there at the same time.”

Mitchell snickered. Kerri rolled her eyes. The whole world spent hours trying to figure out what sort of relationship Penis and Chrome had. Both were, apparently, hetero. But there was something more between them, something about the idea of the two of them stuffed into that small production office…

“I don’t even think they use it as an office,” she continued. “I think it’s just a place to store old paperwork.”

Mitchell set his guitar down — the bright yellow one tonight, with the black piping around the edges that made it look like a deformed, demented bumblebee — and got up. He started pacing around the TV room.

“Why are you so tied in knots about it this year? It’s got to be old hat by now.”

“That’s the problem,” he said. “You get to the point where you get lazy. Or Trevor figures out how to sneak one in. Or something else goes wrong and you’re so stuck on autopilot, you can’t react in time.”

“And a routine nap before the show will…”

He grimaced and ran a hand through the top of his hair, pulling it away so Kerri could see his ears. He was wearing the graduated diamond studs she and his sister Amy had bought him; the diamonds glittered in the low light, pinpricks of light marching up his earlobe.

“Fuck you, Ker,” he said.

She smiled. “That’s not routine yet, either?”

He returned the smile, locking eyes with her. “I don’t think that’s possible, babe.

“You know,” Mitchell said, breaking their gaze and making it obvious he was contemplating the couch. “There’s a couch here. I could nap on it before the show.”

“Do other things on it, too.”

His grin was as wolfish as Trevor’s ever were.

So much for routine, Kerri thought.

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