The doorbell rang again. I guessed it was about six A.M. Even in normal times I would have beheaded anyone who rang my bell at that hour. Without thinking about the effect of appearing at the door in my underwear, I appeared at the door in my underwear and opened it. And groaned.

“No, not you again! Please, enough for one lifetime!” “Step aside!” he said in a perfect imitation of Moe Howard from The Three Stooges. Frannie Junior elbowed me out of the way and once again in his orange cowboy boots entered into my house uninvited. He stood in the hallway looking everywhere but at me. It seemed like he was searching for something or memorizing the surroundings.

“What do you want? Go away and leave me in peace.”

“You’ll be in pieces, all right. Anyway, everything looks okay here. And let me tell ya, bub, that’s a fuckin’ relief!”

“Look, before we go even deeper down the rabbit’s hole with this, can I get some breakfast? I haven’t eaten since I was seventy years old.”

“Breakfast sounds good. I’m hungry too.” He grinned like an evil wolf in a cartoon, all long teeth and menace. I didn’t have the energy to spell out I hadn’t invited him to join me.

“Why don’t you make some scrambled eggs with Worcestershire sauce and curry powder?” His request startled me because that was exactly what I had planned to cook.

“Why don’t you sit down and put a cork in it? You’ll eat what I make.”

“Bite me.”

I was opening cupboards. “I’d get food poisoning. Sit down and be quiet.”

He sat down but wasn’t about to be quiet. “Where’ve you been?”

“Guess.” I took down my favorite frying pan.

“Up in the future?”

I nodded while taking things out of the fridge I needed to make our breakfast.

“So you don’t know yet?”

I began cracking eggs into a bowl. “Know what?”

“I think we should eat first and then you can shit your pants.”

“More surprises?”

“The word surprise is not part of this vocabulary, man; it’s all just one long nightmare. Wait’ll you go outside and see what’s happening today. Hey, by the way, who’s Mary J. Blige? I was watching this MTV before and that is a ring-a-ding-ding woman!”

I was about to comment on his obsolete compliment when I remembered where he came from—the years when Frank Si-natra and his Rat Pack were the coolest guys around, cigarettes and roast beef were okay to ingest, and James Bond was still Sean Connery. In those days a “ring-a-ding-ding woman” was one hell of an endorsement.

“Don’t put too much curry powder on it. You always put too—”

“Be quiet.”

“Howsabout some coffee while we’re waiting?”

“Howsabout my hands are full and maybe it’d be nice if you got off your ass and made it.”

“Fair enough. Where’s your pot?”

“We don’t use a coffeepot. The machine’s over there.”

“What machine?”

“That silver one on the counter. The espresso machine—the one on the counter with the long handle. It says ‘Gaggia’ on the front?”

Sliding his hands into his jeans pockets he tsk’d his tongue in utter teenage know-it-all disgust. “Espresso? I’m not drinking Italian faggot coffee. That stuff tastes like burnt tires. Where’s your coffeepot and the Maxwell House? That’s good enough for me.”

“There is no pot. That’s what I’ve got—faggot coffee or nothing. Drink water if you don’t like it.”

Crossing his arms, he didn’t say another word until I put a full plate down in front of him. I couldn’t resist a final verbal pinch. “I put a little foontageegee on yours.”

His shoulders stiffened. “Foonta—what?”

“Foontageegee. A spice from Morocco. It’s very… hmmm…” I swishily put a hand on my hip, two fingers to my mouth and said, “Robust.” I stretched out the s as far as it would go and finished on a very hard t.

He shoved the plate away and actually wiped his hands on his pants. “That’s it! I ain’t eating. Foontageegee. Holy shit.”

“Eat the goddamned food, willya! It’s a joke. I was kidding. It’s bacon and eggs the way I always cook it.”

Not believing me, he took the fork and poked everything on the plate slowly and suspiciously as if testing for landmines. Only after he’d bent down and sniffed things did he give in. Eating in silence, the boy didn’t let the foontageegee get in the way of a crocodile’s appetite. He kept his head low over the plate so he could shove more in faster. I was going to say something about it until I remembered he was me and that was how I had eaten when I was his age, God forbid.

“Hi, Frannie. Who’s he?” Pauline stood in the kitchen doorway wearing a thin green nightshirt that didn’t cover much. She must have stepped outside to get the morning newspaper because she held it in her hand. She was staring at Junior with grave interest.

Instead of answering her question, I grabbed his elbow and pulled him toward me. “She can see you? You said only I could see you here.”

“Leggo my arm, man. Can’t you see I’m eating? I told you, everything is screwed up today. Wait till you go outside and have a look. That’s why I came back here now. You’re going to need someone to protect your ass.”

“This is insane! How am I supposed to know what to do if the rules keep changing?”

“There are no rules, man. Get used to it. Why do you think I’m here, eating your eggs?”

“Frannie?” Normally shy Pauline’s voice had a sharp, demanding edge to it while she continued staring at him.

“Oh yeah, Pauline, this is my second cousin’s son, uh, Gee-Gee. Actually it’s Gary, uh, Graham, but we’ve always called him Gee-Gee.” Shocked that she could see him now, the only word I could think of was the ridiculous Foonta... geegee, so that’s who he became. He looked at me as if I had just pissed on his head.

“Hi, Gee-Gee. I’m Pauline.”

He gave her the patented McCabe million-dollar smile I knew very well. When it overwhelmed her enough to make her look away, he hissed just loud enough for me to hear “Gee-Gee?”

“Frannie never told us about you. I didn’t even know he had a second cousin.”

The new Gee-Gee nonchalantly twirled his fork around his fingers in a complete circle. A very cool little trick my friend Sam Bayer had taught me when we were thirteen. “Yeah well, you know Uncle Frannie.”

“Uncle? That’s what you call him? Where are you from?”

“LA. California.”

“I know where LA is,” she chided him but attached to that was a coquette’s smile that tipped the balance in his favor. Remember that this was the girl I had nicknamed Fade because from what I could see, she spent most of her life trying to. Yet now she spoke to Gee-Gee in a voice I’d never heard her use before. I would never have thought Pauline even capable of such a voice: It was coy and sexy. More than that, it was very knowing and that was the wildest part. Pauline? The too-timid computer-head was suddenly flirting like a bad blond actress on a TV sitcom. Not even getting into whom she was flirting with. For an instant I wondered if I would have liked this girl when I was his age?

No, I would not.

But Gee-Gee sure seemed to like her. He patted the chair next to him to encourage her. “You wanna sit down and have some breakfast with us, Pauline?”

“I don’t eat breakfast, but I wouldn’t mind some coffee.”

“What are you doing up this early, Pauline? You never get up at this hour.”

“I know, but I heard voices downstairs so I came. Anyway, my tattoo was hurting and I guess that’s what woke me.”

Thoroughly impressed, Gee-Gee gave a long low whistle. “Whoa, you got a tattoo? I don’t think I ever knew a girl who did that.”

I corrected him. “Pia Hammer had a tattoo.”

He shook his head. “Yeah, but Pia’s a fuckin’ lunatic. She also counts her breaths. I’m talking about a sane human female.”

Pauline’s eyes moved slowly and seductively from me to Gee-Gee. I couldn’t believe her performance. I couldn’t believe it was she. Pausing for just the right amount of time for full effect, she hit him with the important detail. But her blase tone of voice said it was no big deal. “I got my ass tattooed. Or, just above my ass. You know, on the spine?” She stopped and checked to see how I was registering this new fact. Fortunately I already had seen her arsework so I was able to stay expressionless. When she saw I wasn’t going to fly out of the chair and spank her she continued. “Sometimes it still hurts. Anyway, I’m going to get dressed first but then I’ll be back. Would you make me an espresso, Gee-Gee?”