1.13

Outside on the fire escape there was a fight. A pigeon fight. Feathers were flying everywhere. It was some sort of avian street battle that took everyone’s attention away from Penelope and Frank leaving the room. In the midst of the squab squabble no one had also noticed Amelia pocket the other missing statue foot that she had noticed when she lowered her head after being insulted. A couple people did notice the man in the non-payless brand shoes making a pattern on the coffee table with multicolored candy shelled chocolates.

Penelope spoke first once they reached the bedroom, “What the F, Frank!”

She stomped over to Franks nightstand where she pulled out Franks copy of the King James bible. Opening it up she continued, “Why are we even here? If we did this at your office I could at least pull the fire alarm and clear the place out. I don’t really think either of us are in a state to be entertaining right now.” Inside the bible was a small collection of airplane cocktail bottles. She broke the seal on a tiny Dewers and chugged it.

“Can we call the police on our own party?” Frank, still waiting his meds to kick in grabbed a small bottle of something blue in the bible and opened it up.

“We could if your co-worker, Helen’s, cop husband wasn’t here with her…” Penelope lifted up the mattress from the bed frame and removed a cigar box.

“We could set off the sprinkler system… No, that would make a mess.”

Penelope opened the cigar box and pulled out some dried mango in a zipper-locked bag and passed the box to Frank. Frank removed a bag of dried cranberries and put the box back under the mattress.

Things seemed to be picking up again in the party in the other room. Chatter was heard, someone turned up the music, cabinet doors were opening and closing. The flighted fracas must have ceased, one bird was no doubt victorious.

An awkward knock rapped on the door. Two quick knocks, a pregnant pause, and then one unsure knock. After a moment of no reply the door opened and Amelia popped her head in. The two quickly hid their dried fruit behind their backs.

“Frank, it looks… Um… the trash can seems to be… Do you want me to put another out?” Clearly she was really staking out the situation. Frank’s eyes fluttered slightly as he prepared to reply.

1.12

From across the room, Penelope saw her one-time nemesis, Amelia Murglethorpe. She had always found Amelia's name amusing and appropriate, as she greatly resembled Amelia Bedelia, and Penelope felt her to be just as silly. Amelia, clad in four shades of asymmetrical black, which she mistakenly thought to be chic, galumphed towards her. Penelope clutched mini-Edward's nose and breathed deeply.

"Penelope! What are you--how are--"

Penelope waited; she had forgotten Amelia's peculiar inability to start and end a sentence with a clear through-line.

--what's that--I mean, how's Frank?" Amelia managed to finish.

"I am fine, if that's what you are asking, and Frank is fine," replied Penelope.

"That's--I think--just great, don't you think?"

"What I think is that I would like to stab you in the face."

"Great, thanks! Wait, what?"

"I wanted to grab you and have a race!"

A little uncertainly, "That sounds fun."

"I hate you, and Frank will never date you!"

"You--he won't?"

"He won't, what?" Frank suddenly appeared.

Penelope froze with guilt. 'Umm, that's a really good question. Who knows what "he" will or won't do? And by "he," of course, we mean God.'

Frank raised an eyebrow. "Oh, do we believe in God today?"

Penelope shrugged, "Marginally."

"Okay, enough people time for you. Excuse us, Amelia." Frank steered Penelope away.

As they walked away, Penelope heard Amelia whisper, "I had no idea she was so peculiar."

1.11

Frank was tuning out the two ladies he was “talking” with. They started going on and on about the economy, something he knew was important but couldn’t really talk about. The women, identical twins from the accounting department in his office, were nice, but bland. This seemed to be something he learned about people in the accounting office. Instead of paying attention to them, or to the salsa that had been dripping off of the chip in hand for the last 5 minutes, he was staring at the man in the bland shoes talking with his sister.

A: How did this guy end up at the party?, and B: What could he have in common with his neurotic but delicate sister? He wondered this and nodded to the twins, feigning attention. C: Was this the guy who shared a bus with him on weekday evenings? It must have been, but he couldn't tell since the man wasn't dressed in his business attire. By that time of day Frank would be zoning out anyway, and thus not paying attention to his surroundings, having been exhausted by the banal tedium of the office day. He watched the interaction, still damp and confused, and dripping salsa.

D: Why was he so into list making? And E: wouldn’t this make him more likely to get along with accountants?

“Excuse me,” he interrupted the twins, dropping the chip back into the salsa, leaving it there, and walking toward the bathroom to grab his pills. Sometimes the room went silent when he was focused. Sometimes he stared at people while they talked knowing full well that he couldn't hear a word they were saying. He knew this was not a physical malady; his hearing was fine. So he didn’t hear his sister calling to him in short utterances, hoping he might be crossing the room to help extricate her from her conversation.

1.10

"There's something poetic about that, don't you think?" he said, causing Penelope to silently agree on the "stupid question" issue.

"Your foot crushing his foot? I suppose." More awkwardness. She hated when strangers spoke to her, even attractive ones. Which probably accounted for her general loneliness and outrageous co-dependency. She studied his nondescript shoes in the hope that they would suddenly walk away, and she could mourn mini-Edward in peace.

"These aren't Payless sneakers, by the way. They look like them but really aren't. It's a statement on bland, mass consumerism."

Penelope wished (not for the first or last time) that she could roll her eyes. She lacked the motor skills and coordination. It was, perhaps, a good thing. She did not, however, lack the motor skills to walk away. So she did.

1.9

Maybe not attractive in the Hollywood-picture sense, more handsome. Yes, handsome was the word. Not handsome like the late Bea Arthur, but handsome in the Grecian figure studies sense. The familiarity was mysterious to her. Did she actually recognize him? Or did he have a familiar face. He was not average, so his unique features shouldn’t allow for confusion.

“Is this your nose?” he asked, handing her a little nose connected to a corner of cheek.

“Oh… Um. It’s Edwards.” She was still trying to figure out his face, while holding the fragment of Edward’s. “I mean, it belongs to this statue I broke, it belongs to my brother. This is his party. “ Here was her in, “How do you know him?”

“I don’t actually. My friend Transom asked me to join him on our way to a couple gatherings tonight. I am joining him here, and then he is going with me to the opening of a friend’s antique shop.” Was he floundering? Was he nervous? “And how do you know him?” he asked, trying to pass back the conversation baton.

“Well, I know him ‘cause he’s my brother.” Her brow furrowed.

“Right. Stupid questions.” He looked at the floor. Realizing he could help more he knelt down and helped Penelope pick up the remaining pieces of her secret shattered infatuation. He continued, “people like to say that there are no such thing as stupid questions, but that is clearly an insane thing to say. You know?”

“Careful. You’re about to step on his little ceramic foot.” She pointed at the ankle about to be squashed under his payless brand sneakers.

1.8

Penelope stood in her brother's periphery (an angle at which she showed to advantage) and wept becomingly into the dustpan. Had she picked the right statue to make out with and then smash in a fit of rage at its lack of response? She skimmed the other statues lining the fireplace: Leonard diCaprio from TITANIC, Johnny Depp from PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN, Orlando Bloom from LORD OF THE RINGS. Yes, this was probably the best choice. Edward had smashed so beautifully, just as one might imagine vampires smashing if, you know, they weren't largely invincible.

Penelope felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to find one of those people who looks familiar, despite being a stranger. His familiarity seemed odd, as Penelope felt she had never met someone quite this attractive.

1.7

This was not a time for a loud sibling altercation. There were party guests to tend to, dips to refill, bottles to place in the recycle. He hadn’t planned the party; it had been a surprise, but he did consider himself a consummate host. That and he was a bit fussy.

“Sweep up the pieces and put them into a bag, so I can try to fix mini-Eddie. I can’t handle this right now, Pen!” He was clearly angry in his tone, as he wandered, wet, with a fiesta-appropriate smile on his face off into the throng of guests in his living room.

It didn’t matter to him that they were confused about his abrupt departure to bathe. It didn’t even bother him that he only knew a fourth of the people in his apartment, walking on the carpet with their shoes, despite the line-up of shoes by the entrance doorway, signifying that this was a shoes-off house. No. What bugged him was the tinge of concern he felt for his sister, who in his periphery he noticed was crying into the dustpan and broken pieces of the statuette.

1.6

Frank sighed. It was (or had been) a limited-edition, 1/6 scale representation of Edward Cullen from TWILIGHT. He had known that Penelope coveted the statue, and he had flaunted mini-Edward at every opportunity, even re-purposing an old baby carrier he had found by the side of the road to make mini-Edward portable. It was only a matter of time until Penelope's tolerance shattered (like mini-Edward's porcelain body).

1.5

She knocked again.

"I'm in here Pen!" Sigh. Water splashed out of the tub. The radio, regardless of being unplugged, was now in probable ruins. If this were a dream in a book, he would walk out into the party naked. He would realize this too late and thus turn scarlet in embarrassment.

Aware that this was not a dream sequence in a book, he threw on a his track suit, darkening the velour, which saturated in spots with bathwater, and walked out to find Penelope holding the remnants of his favorite statue.

1.4

There was a knock on the door.

"Frank? Are you in there?" It was his sister, Penelope.

Why couldn't she leave him in peace? He had a flashback to their adolescent years, and within that flashback, had another flashback to when he perhaps, accidentally, did not try terribly hard to rescue her from drowning in the bathtub when she was a baby. But here she was, and it had been regrets and unpredictable bouts of rage ever since.

1.3

Yes, his grandmother was eccentric. But whose isn't? And with all of her webcamming it was important he wear that seizure-inducing crown to prove his love. Which clearly is what led to the bath.

1.2

He didn't know why a bath had seemed so necessary at that moment--in the middle of his own birthday party. In his haste, he had not even removed the tiara with blinking lights his grandmother had sent him--somewhat dangerous, as it turned out.

Chapter 1.1

The bathtub almost killed him. Luckily the radio was unplugged and the soap not that slippery.