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He decided that he'd never liked his wife so much as when she was divorcing him.
Exile from their home country was one thing, and he could take that in stride, if his government--idiots, backwards troglodytes, all of them!--was determined not to see that his work with DNA was crucially valuable to the future of biology. But then, within six months of settling their household, Mathilde had to drag him through the American courts on divorce proceedings. Oddly enough, he'd felt closer to her in those days than at any other time. For a while, they'd both loathed each other, and in her haughty, husky tones he'd seen again the dark danger of her nature that had attracted him in the first place and had virtually disappeared after their marriage.
Maybe his brain was beginning to malfunction.
That explained this next move pretty well, actually.
Walt Disney Private School hadn't handed him a plum position, sure, but it had been enough to keep him barely fed and sheltered, with a little left over to launder up into a nice nest egg. A little longer and he'd have made a pretty little investment lined up to fund a few new experiments.
But when he'd been caught plucking DNA samples from his students and 'borrowing' lab material, he'd been given his marching orders. ("It's not that we don't admire your perseverance," Mr. Jafar had said, fondling his walking stick, "it's just that we can't really abide the theft. And after all. If you're successful, we shouldn't really like to have more of the...children running around.")
In a fit of lunacy he'd wandered right over to the public high school a little down the street and submitted his resume.
And in a fit of further insanity, they'd accepted. Something about second chances.
Now he found himself up wildly early in the morning, drinking the strongest cup of coffee he could find and staring at the for-rent classifieds. The public school job would involve a severe reduction in pay--not only could he not afford to fund his research, he wouldn't be able to keep his apartment.
One advertisement in particular stood out, and he circled it with an odd sensation of bleak hope. "In search of male roommate," it read, "good neighborhood, clean apartment, 2 bed, 1 bath, $800. Must be employed, open-minded, and above all, discreet."
Discreet he could handle. You didn't make upwards of 600 crimes-against-nature without a little bit of discretion. And as for open-mindedness, Jumba didn't particularly fancy living with a person who had a rigid view of what constituted an abomination.
That, provided he examined the apartment and the advertiser carefully, could be a very nice fit.
Later that day he wrote to the paper, and made quick arrangements to visit the place and the roommate.
--
'Nurse Pleakley' was the current resident of the apartment. That name was familiar, but Jumba couldn't quite connect it to why he recognized it--he knew no male nurses at all in America. Perhaps it was sufficiently unique that he'd heard it before and held onto it.
Well, at least they'd have a mutual medical interest.
The Aloha Arms apartment building was indeed on a nice street, fringed with palm trees and healthily populated by mostly young, handsome, friendly men. Jumba mopped his brow with a handkerchief. Ever since he'd moved to this hell-forsaken city and its humid, sweltering streets, he'd been regretting enormously the heavy fat and muscle that had kept him warm and toasty in Russia. 380 pounds of soft, powerful muscle might keep muggers and thieves well at bay, but it also kept him slow-moving, sweaty, and exhausted.
He hiked up the steps to apartment 3C, swearing quietly under his breath the whole way. Well, if he did choose to move here, at least he'd get more than enough exercise.
He had to take a moment to compose himself, adjusting his eyeglasses and trying to focus on being polite. This didn't look like a bad proposition so far and he didn't want to spoil it by growling unduly at his prospective flat mate.
He reached up and knocked.
"Oh!" a rather high, delicate voice cried from within. "J-Just a minute!"
"Hello?" he asked. "Am here about advertisement for rent. This is Nurse Pleakley?"
"Yes! Hang on just a sec, I'll be right there!" The voice was familiar, too. This was getting a little uncanny.
There were some hurried footsteps and the sound of rapid muttering, and the door was abruptly thrown open.
Well. Whatever he'd been expecting, it hadn't been a blonde-haired woman in a pretty sundress. Her hair was draped over one eye, and the other one was enormous, bright and interested. She started to blush a bit, smiling faintly, and he was struck by the impression that she was very lovely indeed. Not his type, really, not dark or seductive or dangerous or ever-so-slightly insane, but not at all the type of thing he'd turn his nose up at.
And then he made the sudden connection.
"Nurse Pleakley?" he echoed. "I know you! School nurse at public school, yes?"
"Yes," she said, smiling. "And I know you. Come in! This is a funny little coincidence!" She offered a nervous little laugh, fussing with her hair.
He stepped inside, making a cursory examination of the parts of the apartment he could see. Everything was very clean and well-kept, and very slightly feminine. There was warmth in the room, and he liked it, but he was rather more interested in the fact that Nurse Pleakley had explicitly advertised for a male roommate.
"Let me show you around," she said. "I was surprised that you were interested in apartments in this area..."
"The advertisement was attractive," he said slowly, "and appeals to me. The discretion..."
Nurse Pleakley seemed to stiffen and still, and nodded. "Yes, of course. That's very, very necessary. I would hope--well, let me show you the flat and we can talk more about it later. Tea?"
The tour didn't take very long, and Jumba found himself approving of the bedroom that would be assigned to him. It wasn't very large, but it had windows adequate for ventilation and enough room for a suitably-sized lab table.
They were sitting down on the sofa in the living room, Pleakley--as she'd insisted he call her--setting out a small plate of biscuits and a pair of tea cups.
He burned with curiosity about the nature of her advertisement, but he knew it would violate the deal-breaker if he asked. "So. You need a roommate?"
"Yes," she sighed. "My last one...well, he had to go. A captain in the navy, you know, so he couldn't stay long. I love it here, but I just can't afford it on my own. Everything's so expensive nowadays..." She looked up at him, smiling. "But you're new! You're from Russia, right? What brought you here?"
He frowned a little. Chatty little thing, wasn't she? "Business," he said gruffly, and from her attentive look she seemed to have gotten the message. "And a divorce."
"Oh," Pleakley said, placing a hand on her chest--not bad, he thought. Small, but so was the rest of her. "I'm sorry to hear that. That can be such an ugly process."
He shrugged.
She sipped her tea, awkwardly looking off to the side, in search of a conversation topic. "So it looks like you're settling in well at school. The students seem to like you--we've got some good kids, I think, and your class is very popular. They're already making up rumors about you--oh, but don't worry, they do that about everyone. Some of the things they say about me...heh, heh heh." Again that little awkward giggle.
"Rumors about me?" he asked lowly. Pleakley quickly uncrossed and recrossed her legs, smiling with embarrassment.
"Oh, you know, silly things. They think you're a mad doctor, thrown out of Russia for illegal experimentation--oh! Oh, but that's terribly silly, I don't know why I'm telling you this. That's not a nice thing to say at all. I mean, just look at you! You're certainly not the type of man who'd...you know...experiment on people."
They stared at each other for a moment. Jumba wondered exactly what about him was such that she'd form such an erroneous idea.
"Of course," he said, after a few moments, putting on a thin, insincere smile. "Little ones...they will talk."
"Yes, exactly," she said quickly, swallowing back her tea. He pretended not to notice when her eyes watered at the burning sensation.
"W-Well," she said, clearing her throat. "What do you think about the apartment?"
"Is very nice," he replied, glad to be on a plainer topic. "Would suit my needs well. And you..." He made his smile very slightly warmer. "Think we could get along well together."
"Oh yes?" she all-but squeaked, and he felt his smile turn into a small grin. This was something he wasn't used to--women he'd known were usually bold and brash, assertive and even aggressive, completely jaded to such tiny compliments. Pleakley was their opposite, so sensitive and eager and unversed.
American girls were indeed very interesting.
"Oh yes," he parroted. "After all, we will be coworkers, yes? Is better chance to...get to know each other."
Pleakley jumped to her feet, not quick enough to hide her reddening cheeks. "Um. I'm just going to grab some...tea stuff. I'll be right back!"
He had to nibble on the inside of his cheek a little as she darted away. This could be a lot of fun.
--
Well, the money was right, and the rest of the building was sound and fully equipped in all the amenities he needed--especially the gas lines. A little jury-rigging would have his bunsen burners running fine. His roommate proved to be chipper, cheerful, and interested in housework and cooking, which he could certainly get behind. He wasn't too sure how she'd assign him her tasks just yet, but he had a feeling it was coming down the pike any day now.
He moved in in a weekend, and by the time two weeks had elapsed, he'd begun to hear the student gossip that Nurse Pleakley and Dr. Jookiba were dating.
It made him smirk a little to himself. Well now. Nothing wrong with that, was there? After all, a pretty lady like her couldn't do him any harm, now could she? If his prior romantic experience told him anything, he'd do well to shy away a bit from his dark, curvaceous, deadly preferences. Maybe a sweet, bubbly little American would do him some good.
Pleakley was usually home of an evening, which both complicated and simplified Jumba's existence. She enjoyed cooking and had made dinner for both of them from the beginning, so Jumba was getting more meals, between the school lunch break and such suppers, than he would've been getting otherwise. (This wasn't to say that the cooking was any good, of course. She didn't quite have the grasp of it. But he reconciled himself to it, considering it mere nutrient formula, and gulped it down.) And when he did emerge from his bedroom/lab, there was a well-kept home around him, which was a refreshing change from bachelor digs and the household he'd shared with his ex-wife.
Of course, Pleakley, he discovered, was a stickler for rules and was a champion for order, honor, and the laws of America. But she didn't linger around keyholes or remark upon any unusual chemical smells, so he figured his experiments were currently safe. And she had the unfortunate habit of badgering him into being friendly and sociable. He'd missed a perfectly good evening of working on Experiment 658 by letting himself be dragged into the living room and planted in front of the idiot box to watch a film.
It was not conducive to science, but he found couldn't really get annoyed about it.
He still had his questions about her, and was a little surprised by the fact that she was so reticent about details about herself. She never mentioned where she was from or if she had any family...odd, for a woman who had a tendency to babble.
But it couldn't last--soon enough, he got a really clear view into some of the more mysterious parts of the life of Nurse Wendy Pleakley.
--
She'd dragged him out on the sofa again, about three months after he'd moved in. Pleakley was making an almost weekly occurrence of this, dragging him out of his room to watch something called "Masterpiece Theater" that was really far more engrossing than it had any right to be. They were squished together, she in the corner and he on the rest of the sofa, and she was talking.
He wasn't really listening. He wondered a little if she was, either, since she would interrupt herself constantly without ever picking up the thread of thought she'd left behind. At first her constant chatter had annoyed him, but now it was just a background sound, something he'd gotten used to. Consequently his lab was a sanctum, and if he needed silence, he'd go there.
He found it rather peculiar that he, a man who treasured quiet and solitude, was more willing to go and be around Pleakley's chatter than he had been to go and be with his silent wife. Perhaps it had to do with also liking the odd fiery explosion and other such noises.
But he was contemplating something rather different from Pleakley's chatter or the idiot box. Between the banishment, the relocation, the divorce, the firing, and the gain of employment and shelter, it had been more than a year since he'd last had sex. He happened to like sex, and he would like to have more of it.
He'd been laying it on with a trowel around Pleakley lately. They'd become pretty fast friends and that came with a certain amount of flirtation--calling her "solnyshko" had become surprisingly easy, especially when he used it sarcastically. (He had the suspicion that she thought it meant something offensive, judging by the expression on her face whenever he said it in an aggravated tone.) He enjoyed watching her blush and dither and fidget against the more overt flirting, liked to hear that nervous little giggle pop out of her mouth.
So while she was still talking, he turned on the sofa, leaned over, and, surprising her to silence with sudden motion and a warm look, placed his mouth against hers.
He was almost a bit surprised to feel how quickly she yielded, softening into the kiss and pressing back for more. Somehow he hadn't really expected this to be so easy.
"Oh, Jumba," she murmured as they parted for air. He liked the way her voice got a bit deeper, just a little. He wrapped his arms around her and she scooted closer, happily meeting him for a deeper kiss.
They fit surprisingly well together, Jumba thought, as they shifted even closer. She was so small in comparison to him that he'd almost expected to have some trouble getting closer to her--many women found his size intimidating. Not Pleakley. And she was proving to be rather quick, and impressively flexible. She shifted around until she was sitting in his lap, and he had to smile as she kissed his cheek and jaw, pleasantly surprised with her boldness. She was warm and sweet and much more aggressive than he thought she'd be--a lovely surprise.
Jumba ran a hand down her back to her rump and gave her a little squeeze, and grinned when she squeaked. She pushed even closer with a little whimper. "Oh...Jumba, I never thought you'd...I mean, I know I wanted...but this is so nice," Pleakley sighed.
He wasn't really willing to waste words at the moment. Instead, he simply drew her closer, until their hips were fitting together as much as their lips.
He wasn't entirely sure how long they'd been pressed together before he realized that something wasn't exactly right. Perhaps it was around the time when she gave her hips a little shimmy and he felt, very distinctly, something that shouldn't be there.
"What is in pocket?" he asked huskily, clenching his teeth around a little growl. She was tickling one of his ears with her fingers, kissing her way up to it.
"Don't have pockets, why?" she asked, and he decided that they needed to pause. He put both hands on her hips.
"Little minute," he said. He pulled himself away a little, looking Pleakley up and down.
"Something wrong?" Pleakley asked. She sounded very breathless, and he had to admit that she was rather gorgeous like this, kiss-bruised and mussed.
He glanced down at her lap, and tightened his hands on her hips, lifting her up and putting her down on the sofa. She made a little worried noise at the display of strength, and sat there, looking nervous.
"I wasn't doing a bad job, was I? I've never really done much of anything like this, so I don't really know what I'm doing, I don't want to disappoint, I mean I really, really like you and I want to be friends of course but I also think you're so sexy--"
"Why did you not mention you are a man?"
Pleakley gave him a confused look. "Didn't you know? Why else would I insist on a male roommate?"
Oh. Well, mystery solved. Jumba scrubbed his face with a hand and felt a certain amount of numb horror to discover that his erection hadn't completely faded. "You are man dressing like woman--isn't that just for strange clubs?"
"No. Well. Not for me. I just...look better as a woman. I like dressing like this full time."
Hence the 'open-minded' part, he supposed. Jumba rubbed the back of his neck.
"Are you angry? I wasn't trying to, y'know, trick you. I thought you knew. Are you going to have to leave?" Pleakley asked quietly, adjusting his skirt. Jumba stole a quite glance at his lap and saw that he, at least, had mastered himself, which was currently more than he could say. He didn't have time for this--he thought cold thoughts and shook his head.
"Why should I? Doesn't bother me," he said with a shrug. "You dress how you like."
"And...um. Will you tell anyone at school?" he asked, a little glimmer of hope appearing in his expression. "They think I'm a woman...I thought you'd, y'know, catch it, but, um, I don't want to get fired..." He started fidgeting with a lock of hair, twirling it in his slender fingers. "They'd think I was some kind of pervert..."
Jumba shrugged. "If you don't want, won't say. Is discreet, yes?"
"Yeah," Pleakley said, smiling a little. "Um. Sorry. About that. I thought you'd...you knew..." Out came that little nervous giggle. "Heh, I guess that was a lot better than it could've been! You could've thrown me across the room!"
"Hm."
"While we're being honest, actually...what's with the funny noises and the smells coming out of your room? I mean, I just wanna know if you are making drugs and stuff. I might have to leave if you're doing that."
"Not drugs."
"Oh, good. Then, um, what?"
Jumba thought seriously about this for a moment or two. "Okay, come with me."
--
There had been a little screaming, and a little panicking. Fortunately it wasn't anything he hadn't heard before, and in fact it was a little funnier than usual, since Pleakley's method of freaking out was sufficiently over-the-top and excessive that it was entertainment in its own right.
"Oh no," he said in shocked tone, starting at the tiny fetal creature in the embryonic fluid. "This is something bad. Something evil and bad!"
Okay, really now. Just because something had fangs the size of its own body and was destined to flatten cities with a single pulse of sound didn't make it bad. Evil, yes. But it was very well constructed--nothing bad about it at all.
Jumba grabbed one of Pleakley's hands. "Is not. Are overreacting. Here--" He snapped a sterile latex glove onto Pleakley's hand and opened the jar. The little thing wriggled helplessly. "See, is harmless. Touch it."
"Nooo."
"Touch it..."
"Evil!"
"Touch it!"
"NO!"
"Touch it!"
"Bad!"
"Touch it," he said coddlingly.
"No!"
"Touch it!"
"Evil!"
"Touch it!"
"NO!
"Touch it."
"BAD!"
Eventually he scooped it up and plopped it in his hand. Pleakley wriggled in place and whined a little, but after a moment or two he grew reconciled and even looked at it.
"Oh, well," he sighed. "I guess it is sort of cute. For a little monster."
"There you go," Jumba said encouraging, plucking his experiment up and dumping it once more in its broth. "Now, not to be making peep, solnyshka, or entire project is doomed."
"But how am I supposed to--"
"Not peep! Understand? Is very important."
Pleakley obviously struggled with it for a moment, before sighing. "Okay, all right. But you are not to be making peep about me being a boy, got it? I can't have anybody know! It's important! If my mother ever found out..."
"She is thinking you are girl?" Perhaps this had been a more complex situation than he'd realized.
"No, she knows I'm a, but not a, oh, it's complicated, okay? Enough about it. Just don't say a dang thing!"
"And what about school? And the thinking we are couple?"
Pleakley turned pink. "It, uh, doesn't bother me...and it's something that will keep people from wondering why we're rooming together...and uh, if it doesn't bother you, it means people won't look too closely at me..."
Oh ho. This was interesting. "All right, little one, is deal. All have secrets, we keep them quiet."
"Great!" Pleakley brightened right up. "Uh. I think I'm gonna, y'know, head to bed. Not really interested in TV anymore. Don't explode anything, okay? And keep that little monster out of sight."
"Is not your room, do not have to see it."
"Yeah, but it gives me the willies anyway."
He waved Pleakley off and soon stumbled into bed himself. This had been an illuminating day. What he was going to do about it seemed clear--to whit, nothing.
Now if he could just stop thinking about what a good kisser Pleakley was...
--
It seemed that, as if overnight, everything about their relationship changed.
The sexual tension had evaporated, or nearly, and Pleakley came much more alive. If he's been walking on eggshells before now, he really cut loose now, talking more, gesturing more, releasing himself from whatever restraint he'd been under in the past months. He was louder, sassier, more full of an amusing sense of superiority and propriety. They stopped being careful about each other--now they argued, now they laughed together, now they relaxed. It was infinitely more comfortable.
It never got any less surreal, however, to come across Pleakley from behind, given just how damn much he looked like a woman. It wasn't easy for him, watching the little shimmying thing in shorts and a tank top changing the sheets on a queen sized bed and being forced to remind himself that that was a MAN, and stop reacting like THAT. His hot little American fling had fallen through--could he stop finding his roommate attractive now?
Most of the time he ignored it. But now and again, it behooved him to play on that just a little, because Pleakley was obviously very, very attracted to him. It was nice, really, to have someone who clearly thought he was sexy, even if they weren't going to act on it. The last few years hadn't been good for his body or his sex life, so a little bit of admiration from Pleakley put him in a considerably better mood.
Especially when he got out of this or that chore by dropping his voice low and stroking Pleakley's bare arm and calling him 'little one.' The shiver and squeaky, overly-cheerful agreement never failed to put a rather evil smile on his face.
They did more together. Pleakley liked to take him out to watch movies, to drink coffee and people watch, and to go to the pool. Jumba hated it like nothing he'd ever hated before, being put in a swimsuit and forced to sit out in the sun. Even the cute girls in bathing suits didn't fix it...and frankly, if cute girls in bathing suits couldn't fix something, it probably couldn't be fixed. But he went, because it made Pleakley happy, and some how or another that had become something he cared about.
Four, five, six months passed, and he hardly noticed it. He worked on his experiments in secret and endured the vagaries of Pleakley's moods, which were by turns annoying and hilarious. Everything was a crisis, which managed to make everything less worthy of panic and trouble. He laughed more than he could remember having done before, even if it was frequently at his friend's expense.
Friend? Yes, friend was probably the word. They were so often in each other's company, after all, so much so that it would've been more difficult to explain the constant nearness with anything other than friendship. It was almost easier to be friends than just roommates.
And being friends meant defending each other, right?
"O-Oh! Mr. Gene...heh heh...I'm blushing!"
What he should've done was nothing. What he should've done was kept his nose buried in the very, very boring lab reports he'd been forced to assign to his students. What he should've done was turned right back around and walked the way he'd come and found a new route to the teacher's lounge.
He didn't do that.
"What can I say? I just fit the romantic lead." Gene had taken Pleakley's hand and was kissing it. "How about it? Maybe we could go out, have a little coffee, tell me about your hopes and dreams?"
"O-Oh, well, I..." Pleakley made his little nervous laugh again and Jumba's blood ran hotter. He analyzed the scene carefully--Pleakley was smiling, but it was that grimacing, bared-teeth sort of smile that spoke much more of anxiety than of pleasure or interest. "I-I'm sure I couldn't, um, see, it's just, well, I'm flattered, certainly, but I'm really a fragile girl--"
He knew better than this--he knew this was a bad idea, even as another part of him was deciding that there was only one thing to do about it.
"C'mon, sweetheart--your wish is my command!"
He stormed up to the pair of them, put his hand against Mr. Gene's shoulder, and pushed him a few steps back. He wrapped his other arm around Pleakley's waist and pulled him close, catching the little 'agh!' noise he made as he was crushed against Jumba's side.
"Not to be flirting with other man's girlfriend, yes? Bad manners," he said, giving Gene a threatening grin. From the possessive way he was clutching at Pleakley and the cold stare he was giving Gene above a broad mouthful of large teeth, there couldn't possibly be any misinterpreting his intentions.
Mr. Gene rebounded admirably, placing both hands on his hips and responding to Jumba's near-snarl with a genuine, genial grin of his own. "Well, all right! Always the last one to know! You're a lucky guy, Doc--take good care of 'er!"
Jumba nodded curtly, waiting until Gene waved at Pleakley and walked away. "All right, solnyshko?"
"Um. Yeah. He's not a bad guy, you didn't need to growl at him," he said meekly. "He was just asking me out..."
"You were trying to crawl walls, Pleakley. Thought I would step in before he could figure out."
Pleakley turned bright red. "I wouldn't...you know...get like that, so he could see, that easily!"
"Neck is bare, could see Adam's apple."
Pleakley stroked his throat gently, covering it up. "W-Well. Still. He asked me. Just try and tell me I'm not beautiful!" he said, lifting his head proudly and smiling.
"Hmph. Was mistaking you for hoochie-coochie girl. Not compliment."
Pleakley pushed away from him, shuffling hurriedly on his high heels. "You're just jealous because I'm pretty!"
"Whaaat? Is big lie! Just making little play-pretend, for keeping people off back!"
"Well, now you've gone and convinced the whole school we're dating! You know he's going to tell!"
Jumba shrugged. "Is not so bad. No women here I want to date, so not missing out...besides, can't have you bringing home manly men who will spy, eh?"
"I would not bring home spies!" Pleakley said, crossing his arms and sticking his nose in the air. "And what if I wanted to date him, huh? Or maybe Mr. Mushu? He's asked me out too, you know! I'm...I'm a hot mama!"
Jumba bit back a short snort. "Heh. Sure. You want I go say we broke up? Thought you wouldn't mind being 'girlfriend,' but if you think is bad idea..."
"No no! No, don't go say anything!" Pleakley said hurriedly. "Um. I mean, I like Mr. Gene, but he's not really my...type, y'know? And, yeah, you're right about the...figuring it out thing." He smirked a little. "Heh. He's almost as dense as you were!"
"Hey! Short skirt was very distracting! Not my fault." How did it always seem to come down to them flirting? It had to stop, Jumba thought to himself. It really had to stop.
Pleakley's cheeks burned even darker, a saucy smile curling his lips. "Well! I suppose I'll just take my distracting short skirt and get out of the way, Doctor. Don't you have a class soon?" He checked the watch pinned to his dress.
"Not for five minutes..."
"Shoo! Go on! Get outta here! You're going to be late!" Pleakley cried, waving his hands at him. "You can't be late to class!"
"Isn't even anything good today! Is a test."
"No excuse! Hurry up!"
--
So that was how the whole school discovered they were 'dating.' He'd noticed that he'd gotten a few odd looks, particularly from Mr. Bagheera. What did the guidance counselor know? Had he picked up on the farce? It didn't bother Jumba too much, if he did, as long as he kept his mouth shut--and it seemed that Bagheera was good at that.
Everything was fine for a long while...or at least fine on the surface. Jumba didn't make it his business to pry into Pleakley's affairs, but even he couldn't help but notice that his 'girlfriend' was seeming more and more distressed.
He didn't ask--as with most things that concerned Pleakley, the answer came to him soon enough.
The phone had been ringing off the hook for days. Jumba came home one evening to find Pleakley curled up on the sofa, staring miserably as his cell phone.
"Is Mama Pleakley again, eh?"
"She won't leave me alone," Pleakley moaned, shutting his eyes. "She wants me to find a wife."
The bottom of his stomach dipped in a nauseating way. Something bad he'd eaten at lunch? Somehow he doubted it. He knew what this was. "What? Like, a lady?"
"Ugh. But there will be no wife, NO LADY, and no marriage!" Pleakley flopped onto his back. "My work at school is my life. I don't have time for relationships!"
This was as big a lie as he'd ever heard, but he said nothing about it. "Why not just pick up and say so?"
"Are you crazy?" Pleakley hissed. "She doesn't even know I'm...y'know, like this!"
Jumba rolled his eyes and picked up the phone. Enough was enough. "Here," he said, hitting the answer button and tossing it to him. "Catch."
"What?! No!" Pleakley fumbled with the phone.
"Wendy? Wendy, is that you?"
"M-Mother?"
"Wendy! Do you know how long I've been trying to reach you?"
"I-I don't! You see, I lost my phone in the...duck pond!"
"So tell me, son--have you found a nice girl to marry yet?"
Pleakley gave Jumba a dirty look. Jumba actually felt a little sheepish, and grinned, shrugging. "I'm working on it."
"Well, we can work on it when I come over!"
"You're coming over?! Mom, I can't--"
"I'll be there in four days. See you soon, Wendy!"
"No! No, I can't, I'm not, Mom, listen to me, I--she hung up." Pleakley dropped the phone to the ground and covered his eyes with his hands, moaning as he rubbed them. "Oh, why did you do that? Now she's going to come here and make me wear ugly clothes and take me back to the farm--the farm in East Bumstuff, Nowhere, thank you very much!--and make me get married to some awful girl!"
"Can't keep running from problems. Besides, Mother Pleakley can't be so bad. Will help you break news."
"Oh no! That's just what I need! My big, burly, evil scientist roommate telling her about how he first learned about all this! No! This is a nightmare!"
"Is not nightmare. You will be just fine, promise."
--
Pleakley did not look just fine when he came back from meeting his mother. No amount of coaxing or encouragement could get him to dress as he normally would--and in fact Jumba was a little surprised that he put as much effort as he did into encouraging Pleakley to just come out and explain it all.
Pleakley left the house in possibly the only suit of men's clothes he owned, and he'd looked so strange in the shirt and tie, trousers and oxfords, and the long, blonde ponytail, that Jumba almost didn't recognize him. His Pleakley was a creature of skirts and mascara, high-heels and elaborate hair-dos. This person...he almost didn't recognize him.
Pleakley stormed back into the apartment two hours later with a face like thunder, and immediately disappeared into his room. When he came back out in a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, Jumba realized that he must've put mascara on for the express purpose of crying it off. Pleakley wailed a little on the sofa for a while, stopping now and then to sniffle and stare tearily at the hot pink high heels he'd put on. Jumba knew those heels--when the 'stripper heels' came out, Pleakley was either going to go kick some shit or stay in and wallow in despair.
He poured out two drinks and sat down on the sofa next to Pleakley. He handed him one of the shots.
Pleakley sniffled. "What's this?"
"Vodka, best stuff I still have. Drink up, and tell me what happened...am thinking we'll both need this," he said, slurping back his drink. He set about pouring another one.
"Can't I just make a cocktail?"
"Is good for you. Drink."
Pleakley whimpered at the taste, but swallowed, and sniffled some more. "She just...I don't know how to...I shouldn't feel like..." He burst into tears again, more purplish trails of water running down his cheeks. "She doesn't care! She just doesn't care!"
"Is probably not true," Jumba said consolingly. How soft had he gotten? How the hell did this happen? "Just seems bad now. What did you say to her?"
"I-I said, Mom, I don't want to get married. I don't like girls. I'm not going back to the farm. And s-she...she...!"
"Yes, what did she?" he asked, refilling Pleakley's drink.
"She said it was a phase!" Pleakley cried, gulping back the drink. "Just a phase I'm going through, because of being young and the city and being over-stimulated! But I'm not! I'm understimulated, is what I am, I could stand to be a whole lot more stimulated! I haven't been stimulated in years! If someone doesn't stimulate me pretty darn soon, I'm gonna go crazy!"
"Pretty sure that is not what she is meaning."
"I should've just gone in a dress, if I didn't think she'd have a heart attack! I'd rather just crawl in a hole and die! She's going to come back in three months and if I haven't found a girl, she's going to find one for me!"
He found himself smirking. "Heh. Maybe we should be fake-couple for your mother, eh? Works at school, maybe would get mother off back if you had boyfriend, yes?"
Pleakley abruptly stopped sniffling and looked up at him with gleaming eyes. "Really? You'd do that for me?"
"Sure, why not. If means your mother will stop calling in middle of night." He snickered. "Next time she does, maybe come get me. We can make noises, convince her you are not for girls."
Pleakley blushed, tucking a little hair behind his ear with a shy grin. "Oh, that's naughty...I'd never do that! Um. J-Jumba? You know, I'm really..."
He had a feeling something like this was coming. "Yes?"
"I'm really sorta...y'know...I mean, you, and I, we get along really well, and you make me laugh, and you are a really, really bad influence on me..."
"Yes?"
Pleakley looked for all the world like he had something to say, and if the expressions he was making were any indication, it had gotten lodged in his throat. "S-S-So. I guess I just...I just mean to say thanks." Pleakley rubbed the back of his head. "I wouldn't have seen her if you hadn't stolen my phone...and even if it's not great...I'm guess I'm glad I saw her."
"Good. Glad to hear it." He knew that confession was in there, somewhere. He wasn't really sure if he wanted it out in the open or not...but Pleakley was going to have to make the first move on this one. He could wait, if it looked as promising as it did now.
He poured them both another shot. Pleakley was already pretty drunk by the time they got through it, and fell asleep on Jumba's shoulder before the fourth was even an idea. Jumba smirked a little over it later, deciding that that was one of the less conventional ways to get a lipstick stain on his collar.
Eventually he picked Pleakley up--such a slender man, very tiny--and brought him into his bedroom, tossing a blanket over him before leaving. He left him in the heels, however. They looked good.
"'f she calls...I'm comin'a get you," Pleakley mumbled as Jumba turned to leave.
"Only noises you are making is snores," Jumba said with a smile. "Sweet dreams, little one."
Pleakley smiled and rolled over, curling up.
Jumba left quietly to go build a horrible monstrosity, and maybe get a little rest.