Touch My Stump

Disclaimers: They're still not mine. They never will be.

Spoilers: Same as usual, in that it's post movie on both HCL and HLoTS counts. But there's more spoilers than usual for HCL, so go watch the movie already if you haven't seen it yet. You won't be sorry. And hey, it's available on DVD now—but don't believe the packaging, which makes it sound like a barrel of laughs that also somehow garnered Quentin Tarantino's undying affection, along with some chop-sockey sounding titles I've never heard of.

This is part 2 of Married with Children, after Home Again

Beta thanks, as always, to the wonderful team of Gemini and Beth, not that they've ever actually met.

Category: Slash (Bayliss/Boisy), crossover (Homicide/Hard Core Logo)

Summary: "The Bill I know is still there, on film, but he's hidden behind the hardass Billy Tallent, hidden so well he's difficult to see at all."

Rating: NC17 for male-male action.

Feedback me! bodge38@earthlink.net

Touch My Stump

by shell

copyright 2002

Jenifur's gone on a short tour again, just a few dates in the northwest, and the kids are at school, so I'm alone one morning when the phone rings. I look over at the caller ID, expecting to see Bill's cell phone number, but instead it's a number I don't recognize, with a 416 area code. That's Toronto, I think, so I go ahead and pick up—it's probably an old friend of Bill's.

"Hello?"

"Uh, hello, is Billy there?" I don't recognize the voice.

"No, he's not. Can I take a message?"

"I guess you must be Tim Bayliss, then, huh? Listen, I don't know if he's going to want to talk to me, but this is Bruce Mcdonald, and it's important that he get in touch with me."

"What's this about, Mr. McDonald?" I sound like a police, which is fine by me.

"Call me Bruce. Fuck, I guess you know the whole story, right? Anyway, what you may not know is that the authorities up here finally saw fit to give me back the film a couple years ago—the last few reels, from that night in Edmonton. Technically, it's jointly owned by me, Festus, and Telefilm Canada. Festus and Telefilm both want to release it, but I'm not sure, even though I think it's the best fucking thing I've ever done."

"If you think destroying people's lives is entertainment, then I guess it would be."

"Shit, Tim, I know that's what you think, what Billy thinks, but the film—it doesn't pull any punches, you know. I'm shown up to be just the asshole I was. And I don't want to release the film unless it's okay with Billy."

"So, what, you're calling to get his permission? That's pretty much a wasted call, Bruce."

"Yeah, I know it probably is. Even if he has no intention of saying yes, though, I thought I should send him a copy. Let him see Joe Dick from a different fucking angle, one where it was pretty clear he'd been planning something like that for awhile. Billy—I've come to the conclusion that Joe was fucking desperate for a reason to keep going, and Billy was that reason for awhile, but even if the Jenifur deal hadn't happened, Joe was on the fucking path already. The reunion tour, the date in Toronto—that was all just a little detour. Watching all the footage helped me see that, and I think it might help Billy, too."

"You ever think it might just bring up some shit he doesn't need to deal with right now? I know you live in another country, but I assume you pay some attention to the news down here, and you had to have heard about the fucking bombs in Montgomery. The death threats we get every week, those haven't been publicized, but I assure you they're very much on our minds. Do you really think this is the best time to bring all this shit back up?"

"Fuck. Tim, I wasn't thinking about that—I apologize, but I already overnighted a copy of the film—it should get there tomorrow. Listen, why don't you give it a look yourself, see what you think—I'm sure you know him well enough to tell whether he'd be up for watching it himself. If you think it's a bad idea, that'll be it. Telefilm will be pissed, but there's nothing they can do without permission from me. And even if he's not ready now, maybe he'll be ready someday. Okay?"

"I'll think about it."

"Fair enough. Give me a call and let me know what you two decide. And Tim, I'm glad Billy found somebody; he deserves that."

The next morning, the videocassette arrives in a padded envelope. Fortunately, it doesn't come until Ruth and Sarah have gone off to school, so I don't have to explain what it is.

I should probably ask Bill before I watch it. I have no idea how he's going to react; fuck, I really have no idea what's in the film. Besides the obvious, that is—Joe Dick blowing his brains out.

Ten minutes after it arrives, I'm sitting on the sofa with the remote. An hour and a half later, I'm still sitting there, totally mesmerized, fucking blown away. From the opening frames, I'm sucked in to the world of Joe Dick and Hard Core Logo. I see what Bill meant that night at the Zodiac, about how charming Joe could be when he wanted, and how he fucked with everything, especially the people he cared about.

Up to this point I'd only seen still photos of him. Onscreen, he's an intriguing mixture of badass bravado, cutting honesty mixed with lies, and a certain hidden vulnerability when he looks at Bill. And what Bruce said is certainly true—Joe's holding on by the skin of his teeth, stubbornly devoted to his vision of the Joe and Billy show, sacrificing everything to get Bill back in his life.

And Bill's kind of oblivious to what's going on. Of course, there's a lot he doesn't see, stuff that McDonald filmed of Joe that's as raw and bleeding as both their faces after the fight. Did Bill ever realize the whole benefit story was just to get him back in the band, back to Joe? The look on Joe's face when he realizes he's gone too far, when Bill turns and walks out of the club, brings tears to my eyes. Should Bill see that look? How will he handle watching Joe toast Bruce and then shoot himself?

I hit the rewind button and watch it again. On first viewing, I watched Joe. This time, I watch Bill. Jesus, he looks so fucking young—he was 34, almost 35, but he could pass for 19 or 20 in some of the shots. Those are the shots where he looks vulnerable, fragile, even innocent. His actions are far from innocent sometimes, despite the fact that he spends much of the film just watching Joe.

I know, because he told me, that he planned to tell Joe about the Jenifur gig after the show, that he was planning on appearing with the Hard Cores in Toronto, figuring that he could continue playing in both bands. He started to forgive Joe for what he'd done in the past, started believing things might be different in the future. I know, because he told me, that he decided to walk out when Joe smashed the Strat, but even then he wasn't sure he might not come back. Bill was happy when they played the gig in Edmonton—he was feeling good, and he thought the fight with Joe was just the normal shit they pulled with each other. He thought Joe smashed the guitar because it had been Bucky's gift—that he did it out of jealousy; he couldn't believe Joe would do something so hurtful without talking to him first, and he left before he could do something he'd regret. I know that, because he told me.

The first night we spent together, Bill told me that he didn't want to be Billy Tallent anymore, that Billy Tallent was an asshole and a drunk who fucked over his best friend. Someone who watched this film without knowing him today might believe that. The Bill I know is still there, on film, but he's hidden behind the hardass Billy Tallent, hidden so well he's difficult to see at all. After watching the film a second time, I'm not sure I want anyone to see it. Yeah, it's clear Joe Dick was contemplating suicide long before that night in Edmonton—he has the gun in his fucking pocket the night he makes the deal with Bill to continue working together. I'm not altogether sure what else he might have intended to do with that gun. McDonald certainly bears a large part of the blame for how it all went down, but it's still Bill turning his back and walking out that seems to be the last blow.

I hit the eject button while the credits are running and get ready to put the tape away when I realize there's a note in the case. "Keep watching past the credits—not sure if I should include this in the final cut, but I wanted you to see it. —Bruce." I stick the tape back in and go back to the sofa.

There's no music, no titles to go with the footage that follows—it's just the raw film. There's a shot of Bill's face that goes with what was a voiceover to a shot of trees going past, when he was talking about meeting Joe, and the fact that he loved him more than anyone he's ever met, before or since. The look on his face is unmistakable—it's love: painful, raw, and overpowering. He's looking down, away from the camera, but then he hears Joe's voice and looks up as Joe comes over. He doesn't smile, but his eyes light up.

Then there's a cut, and we're outside. It's snowing pretty hard, and the camera's pretty far away from the action, but it's clear what's going on—Joe's funeral. There aren't many people there, but I recognize Pipe and John. Bill's got his back to the camera, but I know that back, even in a snowstorm, in an overcoat, yards away. They lower the coffin into the ground, and Bill falls to his knees in the snow. John comes over to him and helps him back up, holding him up, his sobs audible even across the distance. Then, offscreen, Bruce's voice says, "Fuck. Turn it off. I'm sick of being a fucking vampire." The screen goes black.

I wait for a minute, just in case there's more, but that's it. I hit the rewind button and turn off the tv. Ruth and Sarah get home soon after that, and I think they can tell something's bothering me—they pester me until I'll go outside with them, and Sarah tells funny stories about some of the rich kids at school and how clueless they are. I think they're looking forward to moving to Flag this summer.

We play frisbee—not easy for me, especially when Ruth's aim's not too great, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let this fucked up leg prevent me from playing with my kids. They understand—I think Sarah more than she lets on, because she starts making noises about homework and dinner after I fall down a couple times reaching for the disc. So we go inside and eat some pasta, then watch Mighty Mouse until it's time for Ruth to go to bed. Bill calls, and of course he picks up on the fact that I've got something on my mind. That's going to be a tough fucking conversation, and I'm shaking my head a little when I hang up.

"What's wrong, Dad? Did you have a fight with Bill?"

Shit. I forgot Sarah was still up.

"No, Mouse, we didn't have a fight. There's just something we have to talk about when he gets home."

"What do you have to talk about?"

"It's not really something I can tell you, sweetie—it has to do with Bill's past, and I have to talk to him about it. If it's okay with him, I'll tell you about it sometime, but not now, okay?"

"About when he was with Joe?"

"Yeah. And when Joe died."

"Oh. But if Bill says it's okay, you'll tell me about it?"

"Maybe not right away, but I'm sure he'll be ready to tell you sometime, Sarah. Did you get your biology and math done?"

"Yes, Dad, I got all my homework done, don't worry."

We talk some about what's been going on at school, watch a little more tv, and then she goes to bed. I leave the living room lights on for Bill, then go into the bedroom to read for awhile, try to stay awake until he gets home. Of course, I fall asleep.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tim sounded weird on the phone. Said he was fine, just not sleeping well, missing me, the usual, but I pressed him on it, and he said we'd talk about it when I got home. I was silent for a sec, and I guess he realized how that sounded, because he made a point of telling me how much he loved me. I told him I was going to try to get a late flight back, and that hopefully I'd be home sometime tonight. "That would be great," he said, and told me he loved me again, that nothing was wrong.

I'm not surprised to find the lights on for me when the limo drops me off. He's asleep with the light on, a book in his hand, his glasses still on, but he wakes up when I sit down on the bed and take them off his face.

"Hey," I say as he opens his eyes.

"You're home," he says sleepily, pulling me close. I bury my face in his neck, inhaling his scent, and he kisses the back of my head. "Missed you," he mumbles into my hair. I rest a minute in his arms, loving the warm, solid feel of them around me, the firmness of his chest against mine, feeling the pulse in his neck against my cheek, reassuring myself that he's still here with me.

"Hey," he says softly after a few minutes. "You okay?"

I sit back a little, and he reaches out to stroke my face. He looks a little puzzled, a little concerned by what he sees, and I lean forward again to kiss him before I say anything. His lips meet mine as sweetly as they always do, and tension I wasn't even aware of melts away.

"I guess I was a little worried. You sounded strange on the phone, and then you said we'd talk when I got back, and I got paranoid."

"I'm not going anywhere, Bill. I'm here, until we're 104, remember? I love you."

"Those are my lines," I say with relief, then kiss him again. "Fuck, I love you so much it scares the shit out of me sometimes. So what the fuck is it that we need to talk about?"

"We got a phone call the other day. It was Bruce McDonald."

"What did that little fucker want?" It's amazing how his name can still bring back all that bitterness.

"Telefilm Canada wants to release the film. What with all the publicity you've gotten lately, and the compilation album deal, they're convinced it's a money maker. But Bruce won't do it unless it's okay with you."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"Bill—" he stops, unsure. "Listen, Joe's death, that was a huge fucking deal, right? You've told me more than once how much it affected you, how your life changed because of it. Is it so hard to believe that it might have affected Bruce, too?"

"Yeah, it's fucking hard to believe! Listen, you weren't there. You didn't see what I saw. He fucking told Joe I was leaving the band, Tim—do you get that?"

"I get that, Bill. I wasn't there, and you were. But Bruce saw some stuff that you didn't see, and it's in the film."

"Wait a minute. How the fuck do you know what's in the film, Timothy?" I'm not liking what I'm thinking.

"He sent us a copy, and I watched it." He knows how pissed I am, but his voice is calm and firm. "It's good, compelling, actually, and I think it's pretty honest and fair. I don't know if it should be released to the public, but I think you should see it."

"You think I should see it? You think I should watch Joe blow his fucking brains out, live and in color? What the fuck is with you, Tim?" I'm not yelling—the kids are asleep—but my voice is harsh and angry, and I'm getting in his face. He flinches a little, but then he just grabs me firmly by the shoulders and fucking looks at me with sympathy, compassion, and love, which pisses me off even more. I pull away, get up, grab a smoke, walk around the room a little.

He sighs, then tries again. "Bill, if you don't want to see it, that's fine. Maybe you'll want to in the future. I can't make that decision for you, and I don't want to. I just know that watching it showed me some stuff that I didn't expect, and maybe it would for you as well. Facing up to what I did to Ryland has been really rough, but I think it's been good for me, and maybe dealing with Joe and the movie would be good for you."

He grabs his cane from the side of the bed and comes over to where I'm standing. I glare at him, but of course it doesn't work for shit. He's so fucking zen about this that I want to punch him. He's smart enough not to get too close, but he wants me to know he's there, he's not leaving just because I'm wigging out on him. Unlike Joe, he's not going to automatically take it to the next level, try to fuck with me. He's just there.

After I've smoked a couple cigarettes and ranted a little more, and he's just stayed there, being all fucking calm and loving and compassionate, I get a little less infuriated with him and Bruce and the whole fucking world. And Joe. I sigh and go to drop my butts in the toilet, since we don't keep ashtrays in the bedroom anymore. I stay in the bathroom for a minute, brush my teeth, get it back together. Then I go back. He's still standing there, waiting for me.

"You shouldn't have watched it without talking to me first." I manage a relatively calm voice this time.

"I thought about that. I could say it was just because I thought I should see it before I could decide whether you should see it, but truth is I was curious. I wanted to see what you were like back then, to see what Joe was like, and I thought you might say no if I waited until you got back and asked you. I'm sorry I didn't ask you first, but I'm not sorry I watched it. I want to know everything about you, and I'm not about to apologize for that, Mr. Talking, No Holding Back." There's a little bite in his voice now, which I'm glad to hear. He's trusting me not to flip out on him anymore. Besides, all that zen calmness is really fucking annoying.

"What did you think?" I surprise myself by asking.

"About Joe?"

"And me, yeah."

"He loved you, and he was fucked up and suicidal before you ever got on that plane to Vancouver. He was going to kill himself, one way or another, at some point soon, and there's nothing you could have done to stop it. If you hadn't come up for the benefit, he'd have killed himself then. If the Jenifur deal hadn't happened, he'd have killed himself a little later, but he still would have done it."

"Is that your professional opinion, Detective?" I ask him sarcastically, but he answers me perfectly seriously.

"Yeah, Bill, it is. Being in homicide exposes you to a lot of suicides. Being any kind of cop gets you training in recognizing the signs, at least in other people." That last bit is said with wry self-deprecation, and I see a brief smile cross his features.

"What about me?" I ask again.

"You were pretty fucked up, too. I think you were still trying to get back at Joe for what he'd done to you over the years, and for the rape, but you loved him, and you didn't know everything you needed to know."

"You mean about Bucky's legs? I never figured out exactly why he made that all up. It cost him his friendship with Bucky, and that was really fucking important to him."

"He told Bruce it was the only way he could get you to come back."

"He said that?" As soon as I hear it, I know it's got to be true; it's fucking obvious, and I wonder why I never figured it out before.

"At Bucky's farm."

I wander back over to the bed and sit down. He sits down next to me, still careful not to touch me outright, but I can feel his leg and hip along mine. His hand is palm up and open on his thigh, and I take it in mine. He sighs, in relief, I think, and rubs his thumb over my knuckles.

"I love you, Bill. If you want to just throw the tape away, we will."

"No, don't throw it away."

He looks at me and nods. "All right." Then he strokes my cheek and leans in to kiss me softly. I deepen the kiss, suddenly needing the contact, pulling him close and pressing his mouth open with my tongue. He responds instantly, pushing me onto my back and laying over me, hands working at my waistband, his cane dropping onto the floor beside the bed. He's just got on sweats and a t shirt, so it's easy to strip him down, and within a minute we're skin to skin, gasping at the sensation, even though it's only been a few days. He rolls us onto our sides, his hands on my ass, and I need him fucking in me, so I pull back, turn on my other side, reach into the drawer and hand him the lube.

He preps me quickly and thoroughly, leaving me breathless as he strokes those long fingers up and into me while he uses his tongue, lips, teeth, and other hand on the rest of my body. Then he slowly pushes into me, the two of us moaning in two part harmony. One arm's tight around my waist, the other pumping my cock as he moves in me, hitting that sweet spot, belly and balls up against my ass. His face is pressed up against mine, and I turn my head a little so that our tongues can meet at the corner of our mouths. I reach one hand down to my stomach, the other to join his on my cock, and he slams into me as he comes, tightening his grip. That and the noises he's making are all I need to spill over our hands.

He kisses my neck as I finish, and after we get cleaned up and under the covers, he asks me if I'm all right.

"Yeah," I answer. "Love you, missed you, want to sleep with you now, okay?" I spoon around him and nuzzle the nape of his neck for emphasis. He kisses my knuckles, one by one, and then we drift off to sleep.

I wake up when he gets up to meditate. He gives me a quick kiss and tells me to go back to sleep, so, being the putz I am, I move over to his side of the bed and go to sleep on his pillow. Eventually I wake up again, and after pissing and cleaning up a little, I head out to the kitchen. He's out back, reading the paper. Coffee's on, and he's got cereal and milk waiting for me on the table outside.

He looks up and smiles when he sees me coming.

"Sleep well?"

"Yeah—you?" I give him a kiss before I sit down to breakfast.

"No nightmares, woke up feeling rested. Watched you sleeping for awhile, which was quite enjoyable."

"Freak."

"Eat your lunch—oops, I mean breakfast, of course."

"Shut up, zen boy. Girls get off to school okay?"

He nods. "They missed you this morning, but I told them you'd gotten in late and needed to sleep."

"Thanks. I missed them, too."

I stand up after I finish eating. "Okay," I say. He puts down the paper and looks at me. "Come on," I add. He nods slowly and follows me back inside.

There's a black plastic tape case on top of the vcr. My hands aren't even shaking as I take the tape out and put it in. Tim hands me the remote and sits down next to me. "You sure?" he asks, putting his arm around me.

"Fuck no, but let's do it anyway," I answer, turning the tv on and hitting play. I lean into the comfort of his body next to me. I sure as shit couldn't do this without him here.

I try to maintain some distance, watch like I'm watching an independent film, which of course I am, but that only lasts through the opening credits, when I'm wondering why the fuck McDonald got someone to read them in German. The second Joe's onscreen, swearing and smoking and fucking farting, Johnny there behind him, any distance goes out the fucking window. The scenes fly by in a blur, certain images crystal clear and fucking sharp: Joe's face in the truck on the way to the Commodore, silent and troubled. The way that it looks like he just kissed my cheek when we started to play, like he kissed John's, when I know that kiss was aimed at the corner of my mouth. My obvious embarrassment when he takes over the interview and tells the journalist to fuck off. Shit, Mary's face when John tells her about the rape.

I didn't know Bruce filmed the discussion Joe and I had in Saskatoon. I'm watching the conversation when Tim asks me for the remote. I hand it over to him, wondering what's going on. He backs the tape up a minute, to where I have my back turned, and advances slowly, frame by frame. I don't see it until he backs up again and points it out—Joe transferring a gun from one pocket to another. I sit back in shock, the image frozen on the screen.

"Jesus fuck," I finally say. Tim nods, looking at me intently.

"I've watched it a few times now," he says, "and I think he wasn't just considering shooting himself."

"What are you saying?"

"He had his hand in his pocket, Bill. His right hand. He didn't move the gun to his left until he was pretty sure you were going to stay with him."

"You trying to tell me he was going to fucking shoot me if I didn't agree with him? That's fucking nuts, Tim!"

"He was strung out on coke and booze, and suicidal to boot."

"You're sure about this?"

"No, not completely. But my gut tells me he was at least thinking about it." He hands me the remote, and I sit there for a second before I hit play again.

The rest of it is almost impossible to watch—Pipe reading John's journal, fuck, John burning it on the back porch, tears in his eyes. The complete asshole I am to that kid Terry during the interview, and how I say nothing to Joe. The camera lingering on Joe's face after Bruce asks him how he feels about me leaving the band makes me turn away for a minute. Tim pauses the tape and puts his arms around me and just holds me until I'm ready to watch the rest.

The rest. There's not much more—clips from the concert, me getting off on how pissed Joe is, but not knowing why. Having a fucking ball, figuring it was just the old Joe and Billy schtick. Fuck, even after he hit me I didn't realize—didn't figure out what Bruce had done until after I walked out the door. Thought he was just fucking jealous of the Strat, pissed about losing Bucky's friendship.

Joe, holding up a bottle and two glasses, completely devastated, as I turn my back on him and walk out. Joe, still holding two glasses while he sits on the steps a couple hours later, dropping one glass, walking away, walking back, asking Bruce if he had a good time, if he got everything he needed. I know what's coming—I've read the transcripts that were all over the papers—but it's so quick it still surprises me. "One shot and then salut." Jesus.

The credits start. There's a brief blurb about each of us, what we're doing now, and once that's past I reach for the remote again, but Tim puts his hand on my arm and tells me to wait. He fast forwards past the rest of the credits. Then it's my face on the screen, talking about Joe, about how much I love him. Then, then it's the funeral. I didn't even know Bruce was there, but he must have been hiding out behind a fucking tombstone or something, filming us gathered around the grave that should have been the last resting place of Joseph Mulgrew. Funny, I don't even remember falling to my knees like that—just remember Johnny holding onto me while I fell apart. Bruce's voice, what he says, is another shock, and then it's finally over. Tim turns the tv off, hits the rewind button.

I feel his hand on my face, stroking away my tears. I look up and see he's been crying, too. That hits me fucking hard for some reason, and suddenly he's the one holding onto me while I fucking sob over Joe Dick one more fucking time, wondering if I'm ever gonna be done grieving.

I've really lost it, making a lot of noise, enough that I wonder if I'm scaring Tim, but he's murmuring something in my ear, that he's so sorry. For a minute his vowels seem to change, to lengthen, and I can almost hear Joe's voice, apologizing for real this time, and I remember he told me he loved me. He couldn't apologize, but he did tell me he loved me before he died. And maybe that was all the apology he could give me—that, and the kiss onstage, the only time he ever kissed me.

My breathing's starting to come back to normal, and I can feel Tim's hand moving gently up and down my back, the other one stroking my face and hair. I relax into his arms, listening to his heart beat, steady and strong.

"Don't you ever fucking leave me," I say into his chest.

"I won't. I love you."

"Joe loved me."

"He did love you. But I'm not Joe."

"Thank fucking god."

"It wasn't your fault, Bill. He could have talked to you before the concert, but he didn't. He was just waiting for an excuse to speed up his self-destruction."

"Maybe."

"Fuck maybe. If nothing else, he would have died of cirrhosis or an overdose before he ever would have made it to lung cancer, and he knew it. What's that he said at Bucky's farm? 'Just feeding the legend, baby.' Shooting himself got a lot more attention than if he'd died of organ failure at the age of 50."

"You've got a point there, Detective," I say, smiling despite myself. His arms tighten around me and he kisses the back of my head.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Want to talk about it?"

"I'm not sure."

"Okay. I'm just gonna hang onto you for awhile, then."

I squirm around a bit on the couch until I get in a more comfortable position. I end up leaning against Tim's chest, my head tilted back onto his shoulder, his arms around my chest, his legs tangled up with mine, stretched out in front of us. I feel a kiss on my temple, and I lean my head back until I can see that face looking down on me, fucking beautiful man, even upside down and kind of sideways, eyes red, grey-shot hair in need of a trim.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. I know he's said those words hundreds of times before, to hundreds of families and friends of murder victims. You'd think maybe they'd sound canned or rehearsed, but they don't, because he means them as much as he did the first time, when he told the Watson family about Adena.

"I love you. More than I loved Joe."

"I know."

"You would." We're quiet for a few minutes, content. Then I have to ask him a question that proves just how much of a putz I am.

"What did you think of the band?"

He laughs. "I've never been much of a punk fan, but I have to admit I was very impressed, especially with the guitarist."

"That would be Billy Tallent."

"That's the one. Quite the musician, and truly fucking hot to boot, even if he was a bit of an asshole."

"Goes with the territory. Lucky for you I've mellowed in my old age."

"Lucky for you I've gotten tougher."

"What are you talking about? You're a wuss, Secret Agent Man."

"And you're a putz, Rock Star."

"So you thought I was hot?"

"I always think you're hot." I can feel the vibration of his laugh where my back's pressed up against his chest. "Jesus, Bill, you fucking seduced the camera every time you were onscreen, even when you were falling down drunk. Joe, he had charisma in fucking spades, no question, but you—you can 'touch my stump' anytime, 'Anal Man.'"

That surprises a laugh out of me. His arms tighten around me again, and he starts kissing my neck. I can feel his stump, all right, no missing that, so I touch it. Then we go back to the bedroom and I touch it some more.

END

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