so_catholic | [for Hedwig] Practically perfect people never permit sentiment to muddle their thinking

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hedwig/hansel

[for Hedwig] Practically perfect people never permit sentiment to muddle their thinking

There's no denying it. It's been one hell of a Christmas. Considering this is Danny's second in the space of four months, he really could have done with a quiet, uneventful few days where all he did was sleep in, tidy up and go to church. Sleeping had been hit and miss, his apartment looks like a bombsite with day-old laundry lying around (in a basket, tucked away, but still) and church is a word best left unspoken.

Today, he had planned on cooking pasta fazool while he and Father Anthony dissected the complexities of Daniel Alan Castellano's life, starting with his childhood and ending with the impure thoughts he'd had last week when he'd inadvertently walked in on the end of Mary Poppins in the doctors' lounge. Was it the accent or the flying or the talking umbrella? Now he'll never know.

Instead, Danny's fresh from the shower after a session at the gym, legs stretched out on his couch, cool flannel resting over his eyes. He has the tv on in the background as company, some show about the fifty funniest moments in the history of Darrow, and Mindy's neck massager pressed to the tense muscles just above his shoulder, the constant buzz a comforting substitute for his old white noise machine back home.

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While I should have been on my way to meet up with the band for a scheduled rehearsal, that plan has been scrapped because I have some unforeseen business to attend to. They can practice the songs by themselves, or just stand around picking lice off each other's backs for all I care, though. I don't consider very many things more important than my music, but setting people straight who are in desperate need of it has taken priority in this particular instance.

With the envelope that had been in my mailbox containing every bit of the two-thousand fucking dollars in hand, I've made my way upstairs to Danny's apartment and bang on the door. There's no name or address on the envelope but I know where it came from, which is why I'm here, seeing that it gets back into the hands of the source.

Since Danny is a hundred percent not expecting visitors today, he thinks for a moment that the banging is for someone else. A neighbor, perhaps, or maybe it's actually the devil himself knocking to see if Danny wants to come out and play. Lifting one corner of the flannel from his face, he peeks open an eye, listening for it again.

With a grunt, he rolls to his feet, arm crossed diagonally over his chest as he presses the massager deeper into his flesh. When he opens the door, he's got his head tipped to the side and the device vibrating merrily at the curve of his neck, his eyelids a little heavy from his interrupted doze.

I have every intention of ripping straight into him when the door opens, but when it happens I'm suddenly slapped with the reminder of how good looking he is and I hesitate. It's just a few second, however, and then I'm back. Unfortunately, that only lasts for a few seconds, too, before confusion sets in due to the strange and unexpected juxtaposition of Danny holding what appears to be a pink vibrator.

"...What the fuck are you doing?" I ask on a breath. He might assume the question is for him and he wouldn't be wrong in that assumption. Not completely. But it's just as much meant for myself because I'm not sure I fully remember why it is I came up here to begin with. I'm glad I did, though.

If Danny had been given a hundred guesses who might be at his door, Hedwig wouldn't have been one of them. He'd figured the other man would be off buying food or electricity or heating or whatever else he's been suffering without since arriving in Darrow.

"It's been a rough few days," Danny explains, rolling the massager between hand and neck. "I'm..." He catches sight of the envelope but manages to hide any sign of recognition, closing his eyes so it's less obvious when he drags his gaze away again. "Trying to relax. Release some tension. What's up?"

"And that's what you choose to do it with? And answer doors with...?" I'm not judging, because who am I to do so? I'm just curious, among other things. Including, although not limited to, aroused.

"Why pink...? What the f-- No. Can you put that away so I can be appropriately pissed off and yell at you?" I don't actually want him to stop, but I need him to. For both our sakes.

"It's just a neck massager," Danny insists, opening his eyes, though his buzz has pretty much been killed now he has company that's not of the grainy 2D variety. "It's pink because it's Mindy's," he adds, reluctantly switching it off. It seems almost safer to keep it on, considering Hedwig has just announced that once it's put away, yelling will ensue.

That's probably why Danny keeps a firm grip of it in his hand, just in case the mere sight of it can save him.

"Appropriately?" He quips, forcing a lopsided smile on his face as an attempt at deflection. "I didn't realize you knew that word."

And just like that, I'm not the least bit turned on anymore. In fact, I might be a little nauseous.

"I don't know what kind of freaky shit you and Mindy are into, but you should probably finish it before opening doors with your sex props. Hopefully she not bound and gagged in the bedroom because you're going to be a while, now," I warn, inviting myself further into the apartment, slapping the envelope of money against Danny's chest as I go. "Here. It's all there," I assure as I turn to face him.

"I know a lot of words, in both English and German." None of the ones that come to mind right now are particularly pleasant. "Dig yourself deeper, Danny. That's helpful."

Danny could have put Hedwig's words down to crossed wires - foreigners are always having trouble communicating in English and he's sure de Blasio is in part to blame - but the bound and gagged comment sounds too pointed to be a mistake.

"We're co-workers, what're you talking about," he replies in a fluster, having little choice but to step back and let Hedwig in. He lifts a hand to catch the envelope on his chest, the red reading glasses around his neck snapping in the middle from the impact. "And I told you it's a neck massager, I don't..." Danny was born and bred in America but he seems to be the one having difficulty keeping up.

"Why're you giving me this?" Not back. It's another thing Danny's not ready to admit was from him.

"Yes, yes, you're co-workers who host holiday parties together but only because it so conveniently locked you into an obligation of post-party cleanup," I say with a dismissive flick of the wrist. I didn't buy that the first time he tried to sell it and nothing's changed since then. "And if that's is a neck massager then I'm Miss America."

Good God, I hope he at least had the presence of mind to wash the thing.

"I'm giving you that because it's yours. Why the fuck did you give it to me in the first place?"

"It is," Danny insists in all seriousness, "I know because my Ma has one just like it." His mother - being practically a saint in his eyes, the type who should be beatified and canonzed during life, she's that sacred - is a chaste, honest and morally incorruptible woman who couldn't lie if said life depended on it. It's a trait she'd passed onto Danny, which doesn't stand him in very good stead at this particular moment in time.

The earnest expression on his face falters and he reaches for his glasses, perching the two ends on the bridge of his nose and connecting them in the middle. Now able to see exactly what's inside the envelope, as if he doesn't already know, he makes a show of counting it for all of four seconds.

"Huh. So you're giving me two thousand dollars?" His cheeks start to take on the same color as his glasses. "That's nice, that's," he holds it back out to Hedwig, "I'm good, you should keep it."

Oh, God. No. Nononono. No, no.

I was fairly close with my mother for twenty-six years. Meaning we were in close proximity to one another, sharing a bed in that tiny apartment all that time, because heaven knows it wasn't an emotional sort of closeness. But this is just...

No.

"Danny? That's weird as fuck. And this is coming from me," I say, prying the vibrator out of his grip and whipping it in the general direction of the bedroom. I'll have to burn my hand off now, of course, but that can wait. "Never tell anyone that ever again." If mama Castellano told her son that lie in order to protect him, she really hadn't done him any favors.

And now he looks like Sally Jessy Raphael. Where does one even buy glasses like that? It's like stepping into his apartment has transported me to a completely different dimension where everything is just wrong.

"I'm giving you back two thousand dollars. Don't play dumb with me or I will beat you with your pink neck massager." I won't, really, because I'd rather not touch it again, but I'll find something to hit him with.

"My neck massager!" Danny yells as it flies through the air, turning an exasperated look on Hedwig when it clatters to the floor. "What the hell, man! Just take the money," he protests, pushing the envelope at him, not willing to accept a refusal.

From the other side of the apartment, the sudden sound of low buzzing against wood flooring cuts through the tension.

"It's not even yours! And it's not a neck massager!" How was someone his age, who does what Danny does for a living, so incredibly clueless? It just doesn't seem like it should be possible and yet there he stands.

"I don't want your money, Danny," I say making no move to accept the envelope. "I didn't tell you what I did in order to receive charity out of it."

In the interests of privacy, Danny turns back to his door, shutting it with both hands and moving away.

"It's not charity," he argues, the pitch of his voice a few notches higher than normal. He holds his arms out with a shrug. "I'm just voluntarily giving money to someone in need."

"It's the same thing!" I shout, scrubbing a hand through my hair in frustration. "Worse, when you say it like that. It's insulting. I don't want your money, and I definitely don't need it."

"Look, you don't need to be embarrassed, okay? I get it. Money used to be tight for me too," Danny explains, gesturing fervently before he grabs one of Hedwig's hands to press the envelope back into it. "Just take the money, use it to take a break, get back on your feet. Pay me back when you can, if you want, I don't mind, just take a break, okay."

"I'm not embarrassed," I insist. In all actuality, I'm not sure what I am but I know I can feel the slight stinging of tears in my eyes. I came up here to yell at him and I want to go back to that, back to before he opened the door, because standing on this side of it I realize that I can't remember the last time anyone has ever done something for me. Not without wanting something in return. Or just taking it.

"Unless you're paying for a two thousand blowjob, I can't take this. And between you and me, I'm good, but not that good."

Danny represses a sigh, tipping his head back just as the massager whirs to its death in the background. Had someone offered him two grand back when he'd been stripping, he wouldn't have accepted it either, but he knows that from a position of comparable wealth now. Hedwig doesn't have that luxury, if he's having to supplement his income from that grimy music club with trips to a gay bar who knows how many nights a week.

"How about a loan?" He asks with newly found hope in his voice, gaze dropping back down to Hedwig. "Huh? I'll even charge you interest. One gummy bear a day. Whaddya say? You just, you gotta stop with the..." Danny pulls back the corner of his mouth, clicking his tongue twice in lieu of actual words.

"This isn't Pretty Woman, Danny. I'm not the whore who needs to be saved from her lot in life. Donate it to your church. Maybe then they can buy a priest who doesn't buy oral sex." Or he'd be giving the current priests there money in order to go and pay for exactly that. Who knows?

"I think Mindy's massager needs new batteries." Whether that's because of Mindy herself or Danny is a mystery, but I can't help but laugh a little either way.

"I know that one," Danny says proudly with a point, as he backs away to fetch the massager. Maybe he's deliberately taking advantage of Hedwig's laughter, trying to capitalize on a moment of lightheartedness so he doesn't have to see any more watery eyes. "That's the one with Julia Roberts and the old guy and Julia's always running outta churches, I've seen the advert."

He bends down to pick up Mindy's stress-relieving tool. "I know this isn't a movie, Hansel. This is just one friend trying to help out another friend so he doesn't have to pleasure strangers for a while to make rent."

And he's touching it again. Why? Why couldn't he have just let dead vibrators lie? Ugh.

"I don't have a problem with pleasuring strangers. You have a problem with me pleasuring strangers. And luckily for you and your bank account, we're not friends. Remember?" I say, sliding the envelope onto the nearest flat surface. "If we are, you've certainly chosen a convenient time to make the upgrade."

"How can you not have a problem with pleasuring strangers?!" Danny asks, in his squirmy agitated way, like even voicing the question is wrong. "Strangers are the worst."

He deposits the massager by the envelope and picks the latter straight back up again, slapping it against an open palm. "Semantics, whatever." He doesn't want to make a big deal of it, as evidenced by his shrug. "You're a nice man. I like you."

Edited 2014-12-29 05:00 (UTC)

"Being paid for it helps...," I say with a shrug. Or wasn't that much obvious? It's not as if I was doing this stuff for free or else we wouldn't be here having this conversation.

"And when you're not being a jackass I guess you're a nice man, too." It's a shame he was kind of a jackass a lot of the time, which made that difficult to see for some. And jackass or not, I like him, too. In ways that I shouldn't, which I'm certain he knows by now and which this act of kindness really doesn't help with, so I don't say it. "I appreciate what you're trying to do. I do. I just can't... It doesn't feel right."

With the realization that he has to admit defeat, Danny's head drops, cheeks puffed as he expels a long huff of hot air. How can selling himself to strangers feel more right to Hedwig than taking a lifeline when it's offered to him?

"I don't like it," he tells his shoes, before lifting his gaze up along with his palms. "I don't like it." It's as if he thinks his opinion matters. "But I'll shut up about it." He won't respect it, on account of the fact Danny's pretty sure Hedwig is booking his ticket to Hell, but he can go a little way to respecting Hedwig's decision to go it alone.

"That's fine. I wouldn't expect you to, but I want your sympathy about as much as I want your money. Save it for singing orphans and three-legged dogs." Simply put, I don't want anything to change. I don't want him to look at me from now on and just see Hansel, the guy with the alternative means of obtaining an income.

Danny had given Mindy a lot of stick for letting a prostitute inside his New York apartment, so he can only imagine the mountain of humble pie she'll make him eat if she ever finds out about Hedwig. There are differences, of course, not least of which is that Mindy's male escort was an idiot.

"We cool?" Danny checks, resting his hands on his waist. More yelling is fine, he was raised on loud voices, but he'd rather not be beaten with something that's meant to relax him, if he can help it.

"We cool," I nod, mimicking his accent. And then, just because I can't leave well enough alone: "Under one condition. You let me replace Mindy's vi--neck massager. Or get you your own so you don't have to ever, ever borrow hers again. It's the least I can do after ruining baby Jesus' birthday for you."

The voice change is quickly becoming another Hedwig-being-Hedwig things, though this is the first time Danny's able to appreciate it without fearing for his safety. It's kind of impressive, like a magic trick.

"You know what? That's not a bad idea," he considers, a smile capturing his face while he unconsciously kneads the back of his neck. "I left my deep pan at Mindy's a couple days ago and she's not answering my messages." As the hours go by, Danny's more and more convinced she's realized the letter is from him and that's it. They're done. Clearly, posting anything to anyone anonymously and getting away with it is not Danny's forte.

"I think she's holding it hostage until I give this back to her," he continues, holding up the massager. "She must really love it."

"Oh, I agree. She really must, and I bet that's exactly what she's doing." Because she has nothing better to do with her life than to hold a pot hostage. I only play along to keep his enthusiasm for the idea intact.

"She's probably cutting out individual letters from her magazines in order to put together a ransom note as we speak. So that's a yes?"

"She'll start with threats but yeah, that's," Danny gestures at him, missing the sarcasm, "she's done that before. That's accurate."

After a moment of hesitation, he dips his chin, looking at Hedwig over the rim of his glasses. "Okay, but I'm buying the batteries, okay?" Danny had begun all this trying to help him out financially, not score a free gift for himself. But Hedwig has already said his attempt to help was insulting, so refusing his one condition would probably just add to it.

"Yes, yes, that's fine," I say, sliding his hideous glasses up the bridge of his nose with my index finger. Ordinarily, I would say that giving someone a gift an not including the batteries is a bit half-assed, but I've gotten all the agreement I need out of him, so he could have that much if it made him feel better.

"Tomorrow?"

The help with his glasses is a little weird but ultimately harmless, Danny thinks, so he just presses his lips together for a second and meets Hedwig's gaze. "Thank you."

Danny's work schedule has pretty much been the opposite of Mindy's for the past couple of weeks; he's had more time off than he's known what to do with. "Sure. It's not like I'll be going to church," he quips, and while it's lighthearted, it doesn't quite strike the amusing chord that he intended.

"Yeah. I'm sorry your priest turned out to be a perv," I say, and while I do mean it, to some extent, it's difficult to make a statement like that sound very sincere. I'm not sorry for exposing the man or the act that led to it, but I am sorry that it had ruined Danny's day and that he is obviously still reeling from it.

Not sorry enough to miss out on a chance of having a bit of fun at his expense, however.

"Tomorrow then. I think I know the place where Mindy might have gotten hers." And I think if I actually manage to get him through the door he'll end up cutting his boycott short and wind up in a church, anyway.

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[for Hedwig] Practically perfect people never permit sentiment to muddle their thinking

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