Nine

London was the bad side of a puppy’s nose. London didn’t have a warm, fuzzy body, or floppy ears, or an overly exuberant tale. London was simply cold and wet and Joslyn hated it. It made her angry and cranky. It made her want to push people off the sidewalks and knock over bicyclists and slam doors just because she knew it drove Dora nuts. It made her in all ways so disagreeable that Giordi had joked maybe he should ship her back to Switzerland until summer came as a gift to the rest of them.

“If it’s springtime, where are the flowers? Where’s the sun? Why is it still dark by five and snowing?” Joslyn had demanded. “Why can I not wear flipflops yet?”

“Oh, quit crying, Joz. Where’s Orlando? Go cry to him; he’ll put up with you.”

But she couldn’t just go crying to Orlando, and sending her back to Switzerland would do nothing on its own. Perhaps it wasn’t the weather at all that had put her in such a bad mood. It was the stress of too many rehearsals and exams, and the missing comfort of her best friend, who she had now had hardly shared a word with in two weeks because he had so many rehearsals and exams as well. He’d landed a role in some play right before spring break and now was only home, it seemed, at the exact opposite times as Joslyn.

But really? They had both been busy before and still managed to find time to see each other. A nagging at the back of Joslyn’s skull kept her tossing at night, kept her chewing her lip throughout the day. No one knew she and Orlando had . . . well, had made love? No, that sounded far too epic. Had sex? That didn’t sound epic enough. No one knew that she and Orlando had . . . been together. The next morning, Joslyn had been awake before anyone and set to packing so that Dora never knew they hadn’t slept side by side. Of course she and Orlando weren’t just going to share . . . although why was still somewhat of a mystery. Not that they were going to announce during the long train ride back, “Oh, by the way, so we had sex.” But were they a couple now? What did it mean? Did he have feelings for her; vice versa? Were they more than best friends, were they friends with benefits, were they just two horny friends? Orlando had retreated into himself that next day as he sometimes did. It always offended Joslyn when he got moody because he effectively shut her out. It was just how he was, but she took offense to it. So then she was annoyed and didn’t want to sit by him on the train, and he was offended by how chatty and exuberant she was. So maybe now they were fighting? Neither of them had said so.

“Jozzie! Wait up, girl!” Joslyn grimaced. She didn’t know where the nickname had come from, but she severely disliked it.

“You know I hate that name. I’m not going to wait if that’s what you’re going to call me,” she warned, though by doing so had already stopped and waited. Giordi pointed this out, to which she glared. But he handed her a baggie of cookies, and really, who could be annoyed with anyone bearing baked goods? “What’s this for?”

He shrugged, “Made ‘em with Dora this morning but I knew they’d be gone before you got home so I snagged you some.”

“What? Who’s eating all our cookies?”

“Orlando and some of his theatre buddies came through for lunch and about wiped us out.”

“Why didn’t they go to his house for lunch?”

Giordi laughed, “Hell if I know! Anyways, no fear, I saved you those. Enjoy them, though. Dora was about to kill me so I doubt we’ll be more anytime soon.”

“Yeah, I didn’t realize you were a baker . . .”

“Well, I’m not really, but I thought I might as well learn a few things, you know? Be a little more help around the house.”

Joslyn stopped walking and gave him a suspicious glance, “What are you up to?” He laughed at that and threw his arm around her shoulder.

“Nothing! I’m not up to anything. I just, I know you’re really busy right now, and Dora’s really busy, and you two girls could use some help is all.”

“Well that’s the truth but I sure didn’t think it would be coming from you.”

“The help or the truth?”

“Either!” He laughed again, but Joslyn felt something in his laugh. Some meaning that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. As far as him being more of a help around the house, she would believe it when she saw it; as far as him being honest in his intentions, she didn’t buy a word of it. She loved Giordi as one of her best friends, but she sure didn’t trust his intentions.

“Just wait and see, then. You’ll be pleasantly surprised. In fact, seeing as it’s only going to be you and me home tonight, I thought I would treat you to a feast du Giordi.”

“Um . . .”

“Wow, I actually didn’t mean for that to be sexual at all.”

Joslyn rolled her eyes, “Yeah, right, Giordi. Because you never make innuendos or anything like that. You’re such an innocent angel.”

“What I meant was that I, Giordi, am going to cook you, Joslyn, dinner.”

“Oh yeah? And what are you going to make me?” she teased, ready for his answer of take-out Chinese or pizza.

“Well don’t get too excited. I’m new at this, remember.”

“In that case, maybe we should just order in.”

“No!” he insisted, grabbing her arm. “I said I’m going to cook for you, and I am. And you’re going to love it and beg for me to cook for you every single night. And that also was not supposed to sound like an innuendo.”

Joslyn sighed and, having reached their house, unlocked and stepped through the front door, “Face it, Giordi. You’re a perv. I’m sorry, but that’s probably all you’ll ever be. You can’t speak any language but innuendo.”

He glared and poked her side playfully, then shooed her off, insisting she put her feet up and find a good movie while he set to making dinner. As odd as he was being, Joslyn couldn’t argue. She was exhausted and her feet did hurt. However, instead of putting them up, she dragged her aching body upstairs and soaked in a warm bath until Giordi knocked at her bathroom door and told her it was ready.

So down she went, feeling much more comfortable in her pajamas and house shoes. The sun had set and Giordi had only bothered to turn on the floor lamp near the table and struck up a fire in the living room, making the downstairs warm and cozy. Joslyn sighed with contentment and flopped into a chair as Giordi asked her from the kitchen what she wanted to drink.

“Red wine,” she joked.

“Chardonnay is best with chicken alfredo,” he called back, appearing moments later with a full bottle.

Joslyn eyed him warily, then eyed the set table. Chicken alfredo indeed, as well as garlic bread and salad. Had there been candles on the table, Joslyn would have dramatically refused to sit down and teased him about trying to seduce her. Even as it was, she wondered with some discomfort whether she should seriously say anything to him . . . she wasn’t interested in him, and they never did anything more than joke, and she certainly hadn’t meant to give him any wrong ideas . . .

Giordi laughed at her face, “Please, I’m not trying to wine and dine you into bed or anything. God, Jozzie, don’t look at me like that. Grant or Orlando could do this exact same thing and not get that look.” He was talking too much about it and shut his mouth. Because of course he would have loved to wine and dine her into bed. But fortunately for him, Joslyn accepted his casually made point. He loved that about her: the readiness with which she trusted people. It was endearing. Naļve, yes, but innocent and alluring.

“It looks amazing, Giordi. Gourmet, even.”

“Well I wouldn’t go that far,” Giordi snorted before realizing his faux pas. He had shown humility. A moment of weakness as he considered just how beautiful and sincere she was, and he had let slip an actual honest sentence that was not in any way laced with innuendo or ulterior motive or self-love.

Joslyn noticed it – how could she not? She gave him a baffled look, then laughed, “Giordi! Careful! You sounded almost human there!”

“Oh shut up and eat the food and worship me.”

“Yeah, that’s better,” she agreed, accepting the glass of wine before digging in.

* * *

Orlando was exhausted and bitterly cold. He’d been battling an awful chest cold for a week now and could feel it sinking even deeper into his body. All he wanted was to slip under the covers and disappear from the world for a week, but already they had lost time to mount the production, and none of his professors cared that all his free time went towards the play. He didn’t have time to be sick.

Samantha and Ashley were neither one home, and really Orlando wasn’t used to being home this early. They weren’t working on any of his scenes today, though, and the director had made a new rule that actors go home on days they weren’t being used to sleep and do homework. He didn’t much feel like eating alone in his dark house, though.

The lights were on at Joslyn’s house, he could see. Perhaps she was home – and really, they badly needed to talk. They hadn’t since Switzerland, and he accepted the blame for that, and he didn’t know what he thought or felt because he hadn’t really had time to think since spring break ended, but he sure didn’t want things to be bad between them like this. Dinner together would be the perfect time for them to talk and see each other again. And even if she wasn’t home, someone would be, and that was certainly better than nothing. Unless it was Giordi. He was still annoyed with Giordi after Switzerland and he couldn’t even really say why.

Letting Maude out into the courtyard, he jogged across the way and reached for the door handle only to freeze. Joslyn was home; light from the fireplace cast a warm glow across her from behind as she sat on her feet in a dining chair, her feet which were encased in fuzzy blue houseslippers Sam had given her for Christmas. However, she was leaning forward on the table, a near-empty glass of wine in one hand while she waved her fork at Giordi. He was leaning forward as well, alternately sipping from his glass and laughing or offering something that made Joslyn throw her head back with amusement. The overhead lights weren’t on, and the table was only set for two. It sure didn’t look like the typical dinner, even when there were only two housemates home which happened on many occasions. He had never seen, for instance, Dora and Giordi, or Joslyn and Grant in such a . . . an intimate dinner setting.

Joslyn threw her head back to laugh, then bottomed-up her glass. Orlando pulled his hand back from the door. Dinner alone after all.

Wait. No.

“I’m Orlando Bloom,” Orlando informed Maude, who simply looked up at him with her dark eyes and perpetual frown. “Orlando Bloom does not eat alone.” Yanking the phone off the wall and pulling out the cast and crew roster that had been passed around at the beginning of rehearsals, he dialed and waited.

Only a few rings in, a chirpy little voice greeted, “Hello?”

“’Ey, Madison? It’s Orlando.”

“Oh! Everything all right?”

“Well that all depends. What are you doing for dinner tonight?”


	Nine London was the bad side of a puppy’s nose. London didn’t have a warm, fuzzy body, or floppy ears, or an overly exuberant tale. London was simply cold and wet and Joslyn hated it. It made her angry and cranky. It made her want to push people off the sidewalks and knock over bicyclists and slam doors just because she knew it drove Dora nuts. It made her in all ways so disagreeable that Giordi had joked maybe he should ship her back to Switzerland until summer came as a gift to the rest of them. “If it’s springtime, where are the flowers? Where’s the sun? Why is it still dark by five and snowing?” Joslyn had demanded. “Why can I not wear flipflops yet?” “Oh, quit crying, Joz. Where’s Orlando? Go cry to him; he’ll put up with you.” But she couldn’t just go crying to Orlando, and sending her back to Switzerland would do nothing on its own. Perhaps it wasn’t the weather at all that had put her in such a bad mood. It was the stress of too many rehearsals and exams, and the missing comfort of her best friend, who she had now had hardly shared a word with in two weeks because he had so many rehearsals and exams as well. He’d landed a role in some play right before spring break and now was only home, it seemed, at the exact opposite times as Joslyn. But really? They had both been busy before and still managed to find time to see each other. A nagging at the back of Joslyn’s skull kept her tossing at night, kept her chewing her lip throughout the day. No one knew she and Orlando had . . . well, had made love? No, that sounded far too epic. Had sex? That didn’t sound epic enough. No one knew that she and Orlando had . . . been together. The next morning, Joslyn had been awake before anyone and set to packing so that Dora never knew they hadn’t slept side by side. Of course she and Orlando weren’t just going to share . . . although why was still somewhat of a mystery. Not that they were going to announce during the long train ride back, “Oh, by the way, so we had sex.” But were they a couple now? What did it mean? Did he have feelings for her; vice versa? Were they more than best friends, were they friends with benefits, were they just two horny friends? Orlando had retreated into himself that next day as he sometimes did. It always offended Joslyn when he got moody because he effectively shut her out. It was just how he was, but she took offense to it. So then she was annoyed and didn’t want to sit by him on the train, and he was offended by how chatty and exuberant she was. So maybe now they were fighting? Neither of them had said so. “Jozzie! Wait up, girl!” Joslyn grimaced. She didn’t know where the nickname had come from, but she severely disliked it. “You know I hate that name. I’m not going to wait if that’s what you’re going to call me,” she warned, though by doing so had already stopped and waited. Giordi pointed this out, to which she glared. But he handed her a baggie of cookies, and really, who could be annoyed with anyone bearing baked goods? “What’s this for?” He shrugged, “Made ‘em with Dora this morning but I knew they’d be gone before you got home so I snagged you some.” “What? Who’s eating all our cookies?” “Orlando and some of his theatre buddies came through for lunch and about wiped us out.” “Why didn’t they go to his house for lunch?” Giordi laughed, “Hell if I know! Anyways, no fear, I saved you those. Enjoy them, though. Dora was about to kill me so I doubt we’ll be more anytime soon.” “Yeah, I didn’t realize you were a baker . . .” “Well, I’m not really, but I thought I might as well learn a few things, you know? Be a little more help around the house.” Joslyn stopped walking and gave him a suspicious glance, “What are you up to?” He laughed at that and threw his arm around her shoulder. “Nothing! I’m not up to anything. I just, I know you’re really busy right now, and Dora’s really busy, and you two girls could use some help is all.” “Well that’s the truth but I sure didn’t think it would be coming from you.” “The help or the truth?” “Either!” He laughed again, but Joslyn felt something in his laugh. Some meaning that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. As far as him being more of a help around the house, she would believe it when she saw it; as far as him being honest in his intentions, she didn’t buy a word of it. She loved Giordi as one of her best friends, but she sure didn’t trust his intentions. “Just wait and see, then. You’ll be pleasantly surprised. In fact, seeing as it’s only going to be you and me home tonight, I thought I would treat you to a feast du Giordi.” “Um . . .” “Wow, I actually didn’t mean for that to be sexual at all.” Joslyn rolled her eyes, “Yeah, right, Giordi. Because you never make innuendos or anything like that. You’re such an innocent angel.” “What I meant was that I, Giordi, am going to cook you, Joslyn, dinner.” “Oh yeah? And what are you going to make me?” she teased, ready for his answer of take-out Chinese or pizza. “Well don’t get too excited. I’m new at this, remember.” “In that case, maybe we should just order in.” “No!” he insisted, grabbing her arm. “I said I’m going to cook for you, and I am. And you’re going to love it and beg for me to cook for you every single night. And that also was not supposed to sound like an innuendo.” Joslyn sighed and, having reached their house, unlocked and stepped through the front door, “Face it, Giordi. You’re a perv. I’m sorry, but that’s probably all you’ll ever be. You can’t speak any language but innuendo.” He glared and poked her side playfully, then shooed her off, insisting she put her feet up and find a good movie while he set to making dinner. As odd as he was being, Joslyn couldn’t argue. She was exhausted and her feet did hurt. However, instead of putting them up, she dragged her aching body upstairs and soaked in a warm bath until Giordi knocked at her bathroom door and told her it was ready. So down she went, feeling much more comfortable in her pajamas and house shoes. The sun had set and Giordi had only bothered to turn on the floor lamp near the table and struck up a fire in the living room, making the downstairs warm and cozy. Joslyn sighed with contentment and flopped into a chair as Giordi asked her from the kitchen what she wanted to drink. “Red wine,” she joked. “Chardonnay is best with chicken alfredo,” he called back, appearing moments later with a full bottle. Joslyn eyed him warily, then eyed the set table. Chicken alfredo indeed, as well as garlic bread and salad. Had there been candles on the table, Joslyn would have dramatically refused to sit down and teased him about trying to seduce her. Even as it was, she wondered with some discomfort whether she should seriously say anything to him . . . she wasn’t interested in him, and they never did anything more than joke, and she certainly hadn’t meant to give him any wrong ideas . . . Giordi laughed at her face, “Please, I’m not trying to wine and dine you into bed or anything. God, Jozzie, don’t look at me like that. Grant or Orlando could do this exact same thing and not get that look.” He was talking too much about it and shut his mouth. Because of course he would have loved to wine and dine her into bed. But fortunately for him, Joslyn accepted his casually made point. He loved that about her: the readiness with which she trusted people. It was endearing. Naļve, yes, but innocent and alluring. “It looks amazing, Giordi. Gourmet, even.” “Well I wouldn’t go that far,” Giordi snorted before realizing his faux pas. He had shown humility. A moment of weakness as he considered just how beautiful and sincere she was, and he had let slip an actual honest sentence that was not in any way laced with innuendo or ulterior motive or self-love. Joslyn noticed it – how could she not? She gave him a baffled look, then laughed, “Giordi! Careful! You sounded almost human there!” “Oh shut up and eat the food and worship me.” “Yeah, that’s better,” she agreed, accepting the glass of wine before digging in. * * * Orlando was exhausted and bitterly cold. He’d been battling an awful chest cold for a week now and could feel it sinking even deeper into his body. All he wanted was to slip under the covers and disappear from the world for a week, but already they had lost time to mount the production, and none of his professors cared that all his free time went towards the play. He didn’t have time to be sick. Samantha and Ashley were neither one home, and really Orlando wasn’t used to being home this early. They weren’t working on any of his scenes today, though, and the director had made a new rule that actors go home on days they weren’t being used to sleep and do homework. He didn’t much feel like eating alone in his dark house, though. The lights were on at Joslyn’s house, he could see. Perhaps she was home – and really, they badly needed to talk. They hadn’t since Switzerland, and he accepted the blame for that, and he didn’t know what he thought or felt because he hadn’t really had time to think since spring break ended, but he sure didn’t want things to be bad between them like this. Dinner together would be the perfect time for them to talk and see each other again. And even if she wasn’t home, someone would be, and that was certainly better than nothing. Unless it was Giordi. He was still annoyed with Giordi after Switzerland and he couldn’t even really say why. Letting Maude out into the courtyard, he jogged across the way and reached for the door handle only to freeze. Joslyn was home; light from the fireplace cast a warm glow across her from behind as she sat on her feet in a dining chair, her feet which were encased in fuzzy blue houseslippers Sam had given her for Christmas. However, she was leaning forward on the table, a near-empty glass of wine in one hand while she waved her fork at Giordi. He was leaning forward as well, alternately sipping from his glass and laughing or offering something that made Joslyn throw her head back with amusement. The overhead lights weren’t on, and the table was only set for two. It sure didn’t look like the typical dinner, even when there were only two housemates home which happened on many occasions. He had never seen, for instance, Dora and Giordi, or Joslyn and Grant in such a . . . an intimate dinner setting. Joslyn threw her head back to laugh, then bottomed-up her glass. Orlando pulled his hand back from the door. Dinner alone after all. Wait. No. “I’m Orlando Bloom,” Orlando informed Maude, who simply looked up at him with her dark eyes and perpetual frown. “Orlando Bloom does not eat alone.” Yanking the phone off the wall and pulling out the cast and crew roster that had been passed around at the beginning of rehearsals, he dialed and waited. Only a few rings in, a chirpy little voice greeted, “Hello?” “’Ey, Madison? It’s Orlando.” “Oh! Everything all right?” “Well that all depends. What are you doing for dinner tonight?”