Blazing Addles

Through the patio window, birds twittered and bees buzzed the morning sunshine in. Disoriented, Denny woke with a start to the first rays upon his face. He was used to being up at 5:30, and he was used to waking up if not in his own bed, then underneath a woman or two. But he was in his own guest room and, aside from himself, the bed was empty.

He checked the clock: 6:35 and the alarm not set. He smelled coffee. Denny put one foot out of bed, then the other, then his knees buckled and he all but crumpled to floor.

"Are you all right?" Alan's freshly shaved face poked in the door.

"Fine." Using the bed, Denny pulled himself up. His ass hurt, but only from where he had shot himself as far as he could tell— not from any weird business— so he categorized that as okay. Mad cow and scotch made a bad mix in that one couldn't always be quite sure whom one had had sex with. He trusted Alan, but then again, he was Denny Crane and who could blame a guy for going a little nutso around that?

"Up late, actually. Couldn't sleep." Alan walked beside him, easy catching distance away. "It's just as well. I want to grab Paul Lewiston's ear—as well as certain select and delectable parts of Shirley's anatomy—before the maddening crowd arrives."

"I hope you didn't use up all the hot water," Denny rambled, trying to cover up his infirmity with words. "I seem to need a good scrub." He brushed specks of ash off of his neck. They fell onto the duvet, already covered with fallout from the charred poster, and he shook that off as well. There was a small blood stain on the sheet below. He assumed his pajama bottom must be soaked through, but he wouldn't put a hand to check, not with Alan watching.

Of course, Alan would have already seen it.

"There's plenty. Let's go. I favored a colder shower this morning; it restores the blood flow to more appropriate organs for the work day. " Alan stepped over to take Denny's arm as he limped towards the hallway, but Denny shook him off.

Denny frowned at him. "You're dressed."

"Yes. I borrowed one of your shirts. Mine were all wrinkled in the move—not to mention now smelling somewhat charbroiled. Besides, it arouses me to walk around swaddled in your pheromones in plain view of God, Paul Lewiston, and the rest." Alan lowered his nose to his chest and took a melodramatic whiff.

"Don't try to change the subject," Denny growled. "You were going to leave without me."

"I was and I am. As soon as I've changed your dressing. Which brings me to a delicate subject: would you like some privacy before I put on the clean one, or are you strictly an after coffee and breakfast kind of fellow?"

"Thirty minutes. I'm going with you." Denny reached the bathroom counter and dropped his pajama bottoms. There was a little blood, not too bad.

"No time. I need to catch them before the staff meeting."

Denny grit his teeth as Alan pulled the old dressing off. "You're going to talk about me."

"You always assume people are talking about you."

"I'm right."

"You are." Alan swabbed at his bottom with a wet washcloth. "It's not so bad; just draining a bit in one spot. You're healing remarkably; you must have grade-A quality ass."

"So they keep telling me."

Alan rinsed the cloth under cold water and wiped again, a little more aggressively this time.

"I'm going with you. If you're talking about Denny Crane, people should see Denny Crane, otherwise they tend to lose the man in the myth."

"We could use a little cover of myth on this one. They should see Denny Crane recuperated. I'll let you know how it goes." Alan dabbed at the staple line, but no fresh drainage emerged.

"It's not fair. You're always running off and leaving me barefoot and...expectant."

"There, there. I laid your bunny slippers out for you," Alan soothed. He blotted the area with a dry towel.

"It's not funny, Alan. I put the 'Crane' in Crane, Poole and Schmidt—or at least I put the Crane in Schmidt. I should be there."

"You should. But not draining blood out of your bottom. You stay here and work on healing here. I'll go in and work on some healing there." He spread a thin film of ointment over the wound.

"Denny Crane can clean up his own messes."

"I'm certain that he can. But isn't it nice that he doesn't have to?" Alan stuck a clean dressing on. "Speaking of, remember your maid service will be here this morning. Try not to shoot them."

Denny glared at him.

"Bye, dear. The coffee's fresh, and I left you half of my banana." Alan gave the rim of the dressing a final rub, blew a kiss through the air, and left.


***


Alan zipped up and pushed the door to the bathroom stall open—and nearly into Shirley Schmidt.

"Shirley." He stepped primly around her and over to the sink. "We must stop meeting like this. You know how possessive Denny can be. Although I do do much of my best work in bathrooms, it's more typically on my knees." He contemplated her V-neck. "Or is today my lucky day?"

Shirley followed him to the sink. "I wanted to speak with you about Denny. In private."

"Then it is true that great minds think alike. And as my mind is currently thinking of the twenty-four most stimulating points of contact between my tongue and your person, perhaps we can arrange a meeting of said...minds." Alan removed his jacket and held it out in both hands as if prepared to lay it upon the floor. "I believe it is the customary gesture of gallantry for the gentleman to offer up his cloak to the purpose of wooing a lady. And a more delightful sacrifice was never made."

Shirley pursed her lips. "Save your dry cleaning money for your trousers, and tell me what you know."

"I know I don't spy on my friends." Alan replaced his jacket and turned the faucets on full. The sound of rushing water against the metal basin was an impediment to conversation, and Alan took his sweet time and splashed a good bit more than necessary.

Shirley declined to raise her voice. He would hear. "How is he?"

"Recovering."

"I'm glad. But that's only half of what I meant. I'm not trying to hurt him. I admire and adore him as much as you do. But we cannot pretend that this didn't happen. To do so belittles what he's going through."

"He's the same as he was yesterday in that deposition. He is the same as he was last week in court." Alan grabbed a hand-towel from the stacks.

"That tells me almost nothing. Except that you feel the need to protect him. And that in itself makes me ask 'why.'"

They faced each other in silence. Alan held the towel stock still.

The outer door swung open. Paul's stepped halfway in then pulled the door hastily to. "Pardon me—"

Shirley grabbed the inside handle. "No, Paul, come in. I was just asking Alan about Denny's condition. You should hear this too."

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to call Brad in as well? An execution squad is most commonly at least three persons, to disperse responsibility and guilt," said Alan.

Shirley ignored the bait. "Save the showmanship for when you need it. The partners need accurate information. What can you tell us about the shooting?"

"It was an accident, nothing more."

Paul made a noise of disbelief.

Alan turned to him and brightened. "Don't be that way. Trust me; I should know. And I have the most to loose. I am the one sleeping with him now."

Paul's eyes flew wide. "Would you care to define 'sleeping with?'"

"Not unless sworn in, and even then, I would tap dance around it to the best of my abilities."

"Alan, this is unacceptable," said Shirley. "You were sent in to ameliorate the situation—"

"It ameliorated mine; Denny's too, I believe. He's been positively disconsolate since the loss of the doll." Alan smirked.

"You cannot carry on a sexual affair with Denny," Shirley said.

"Why not? There's precedent. Right here amongst the people in this men's room."

"Even assuming his competency—"

"Which is not to say that we are," Paul interjected.

"—you're opening the door to a nightmare should your name ever be put up for partnership."

"Yes, on the day when Porky Pig flaps over and lands on the frozen river Stygian waters, perhaps I'll lose some sleep. Until then, the only event that strikes me as less likely than being nominated for partner is the chance that I would accept such a nomination. What is, however, a very real and increasingly probable happenstance is that I be slated for termination. I'm told that Paul pencils in fifteen minutes to fire me each time he fills out his weekly planner. And it occurs to me that being the butt boy of a named partner might buy me some leverage in that case."

Paul choked in his throat. "In the name of—!"

Alan ran blithely over him. "Of course, being the butt boy of two named partners would really lock it in. What do you say, Shirley? I'll still be free every Sunday and Monday evening during football season and during every Red Sox game. I'd be happy to show you my...credentials."

"No need. I forgot my glasses and have trouble with small print." Shirley nodded to Alan's groin. "In any event, a red herring is a losing lawyer's favorite ploy, and this story is beginning to smell quite fishy to me, so we're going to drop it. I asked you about Denny's mental status and the cause of this recent event. I am hoping to handle this privately and without causing him further discomfiture, but if you won't cooperate I will have him assessed by outside parties."

Alan fastened his jacket and let his hand linger on the button. "I shan't ask Paul as we are all aware he hasn't erred since that one shameful potty-training incident on his second birthday. But you, Shirley: have you never made one single, humiliating error in judgment in your personal life—something that had nothing to do with your performance as an attorney or your contributions as a partner? And has that incident ever followed you through the years and cities, and personnel and rumor mills? And is that pattern something you condone or argue to perpetuate...or perpetrate on others here at Crane, Poole, and Schmidt?"

Paul looked to her with interest. Shirley inclined her head in concession. "You make it difficult to disagree."

"No. Only to disagree honestly. Far from my favorite kind of argument and a dirty trick, I agree, as I know you won't condescend to any lesser levels, but efficacious in this situation nonetheless."

"He does have a problem." Paul spoke from the corner.

"He does. He doesn't need two more," Alan said.

Paul shook his head in clear disapproval, though it was less clear as to what of.

"If we let this ride for now, you'll ensure that he gets a comprehensive medical evaluation and help." Shirley's face held a question although her tone did not.

"I will."

Paul shook his head again.

Shirley touched Alan's cuff. "They have medicines now, but they only work if started early. If you wait too long—"

"I said, I will." Alan's palm went reflexively to his breast.

Shirley nodded. "All right. That's settled. Then we're due at a staff meeting. Oh, and Alan—"

He tilted his head in her direction.

"For the record I have never been humiliated by any of my choices. And it wasn't a single experience; it was—by Denny's reckoning—somewhere between two-hundred and twenty-two-hundred 'experiences.' Depending upon exactly what one counts." She smiled and strode out of the men's room, grazing Joel Landson heading in.

Paul and Alan watched her go, Alan counting out loud and ticking off numbers on his fingers. At this rate he wasn't even going to get near the two-hundred mark. Clearly Denny had some more storytelling to do.

***


Melissa buzzed him at his desk. "Phone call on line three. It's Mr. Crane."

Alan frowned. Denny knew his cell number. Or at least had it on speed dial. "Is something wrong."

"I don't know; he just keeps saying his name."

"Ah, good! Apparently not." Alan picked up the line. "Denny, I told you never to call me here."

"I was bored. I miss you. Can you come home?"

"Now, now. I have work to do and an appointment for sex at 2:00."

"Sex. Oh, that's different. Someone I know?"

"I shouldn't think so. One of the transcriptionists. Amazing fingers, and she hangs on every word I say."

"Blonde?"

"Redhead."

"Big breasts?"

"Medium."

"Birth mark?"

"Left calf."

"Don't know her," said Denny. "Take notes for me?"

"I'll dictate and have her take it down as we couple."

"Mmm. I like it when you talk dirty. Come home soon." Denny gave an unsettling grunt, then the line went dead.