Thank You for Listening(37)

air-ee-OH-ly?

It’s complicated when there’s two of them.

SEWANEE:

I have another question.

BROCK:

Is it above the neck?

SEWANEE:

Way above. Why is the sky blue?

BROCK:

ha.

Seriously?

SEWANEE:

Yeah, I’ve always wondered.

BROCK:

Simple: reflection.

WAIT NO. Refraction.

SEWANEE:

Wrong. Particles. sends link to NASA website

BROCK:

That article is incorrect.

SEWANEE:

Oh, NASA’s incorrect?

BROCK:

Sarah. These people staged the moon landing, for Pete’s sake.

Hey here’s a question: who’s Pete?

SEWANEE:

?

BROCK:

Pete! Pete’s sake. For the love of Pete. Sneaky Pete. Honest to Pete. Who tf is Pete??

SEWANEE:

. . . God?

BROCK:

Oh my Pete!

*

January 21

BROCK:

Why is the OCEAN blue?

SEWANEE:

Well, Brock, it’s not always blue. It can also be green, or gray, or other colors depending on how the light bounces. It only appears blue because water absorbs colors in the red part of the light spectrum which acts like a filter, leaving behind colors in the blue part of the spectrum.

BROCK:

*Brando’s Godfather voice* you come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married and give me SCIENCE.

SEWANEE:

Forgive me, Don Corleone. There is no science anymore. FAKE NEWS.

BROCK:





ALTERNATIVE FACTS


SEWANEE:





WITCH HUNT


Grazie, Godfather.

BROCK:

Prego.

From: Jason Ruiz

To: Brock McNight; Westholme, Sarah

Date: January 23, 10:27 AM

Subject: Casanova–ep 1

Hey you two,

Just wanted to let you know the first ep is locked and it is DOPE. SO good. It’s all set to drop on Valentine’s Day. Fans are stoked. The preorders are through the roof. As I’d said, I’ll send out payment at the beginning of each month, so your March 1 deposit will reflect two weeks of sales for episode 1 and one week of sales for episode 2.

Sarah, I’ll have pickups to you for episode 3 tomorrow.

Thanks!





JR


AS SEWANEE PLACED eight used mugs in the studio sink, Damian, an engineer with dreads down to his ass, entered the kitchen. “Hey D,” she said.

“Hey,” he sighed, smiling wearily, and opened the fridge. He retrieved a mason jar of his homemade kombucha. He took a pull on it as if it were a cold beer.

She inclined her head at him. “Tough day?”

He shook his back at her tightly: later.

Just as, into the kitchen, walked Doug Carrey.

Jolted, Sewanee spun back to the sink.

Not once in the last eight years and now twice in the last two months? Why? How? Help.

“So, brothah, we all good?” Doug asked Damian.

“All good, my man, you’re free to go,” Damian replied. Doug pulled him into a bro-y handshake/back pat combo and Damian said, “Great job,” but Sewanee knew him well enough to know he didn’t mean it.

“Who woulda thunk reading a book out loud could be so wicked hahd, huh? Even a kids’ book!” Damian took another swallow of kombucha as Doug floated his head around the kitchen and living room. “This house is sick. Who owns it?”

“Mark Clark.”

Doug snorted. “That practically rhymes.” It did rhyme. “He ever think of selling?”

Sewanee kept her hands in the sink, her gaze down, doing her best to disappear.

“No,” Damian answered. “I mean, I don’t think so. Not with the studio and all. Right, Swan?”

Shit.

Doug angled his head toward the disappearing act at the sink. “Waaaaitaminute, what a pissah! Swan?!”

She wiped her hands, turned around, faced Doug fully. “Of all the gin joints,” she drawled.

“God damn!” Doug enthused. “How’d I miss that backside this time?” He laughed, of course, and Sewanee wished they could go another eight years without this happening again.

“So, uh, yeah, no,” she said, steering him back to the topic of the house, “Mark will never sell.”

“Well, minds are meant to be changed. Tell him to give me a bell. I been lookin’ fah one of these old places in the hills fah years.”

Damian took one more chug and returned the mason jar to the fridge. “I gotta go export the files. Nice working with you,” he lied, and Sewanee wanted to tell him she’d export the files and could he please stay, please? But Damian was already gone and then there were two.

Doug smiled with all his teeth and Sewanee smiled back with pressed lips. Now what?

Doug pointed to his eye. “Still rockin’ the patch, huh? Damn, how long you gotta keep it on?”

“Uh. Forever,” she said, and, off his head tilt, added, “It was a bad accident.”

“Oh.” His grin wavered. “That’s brutal. I thought it was something temporary . . .” The grin officially went out. “Shit. And you were so good. I mean, I’m sure you still are. Fuck. I’m so sorry.”