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Cosmo Brown had always known it would end like this.

Cosmo was a lot of things—in fact, you could argue he was too many—but he wasn’t dumb.

From the early years, when Cosmo and Don were just kids playing for pennies in pool halls, to their stint dodging rotten vegetables on Vaudeville stages across the very backwaters of America’s backwaters, to their first real breath of success in Hollywood (and then the second and the third and the fourth), Cosmo would catch a glimpse of his handsome, charismatic friend from the corner of his eye—a flash of dark hair, that perfect billboard-worthy smile—and know that for all Don’s protestations, someday the guy was gonna meet a wonderful girl and get married, settle down, and very gently slip off to the far edge of Cosmo’s life.

So yes, Cosmo had seen Kathy Selden coming. Not the details, not her sense of humor or her musical little laugh or the madcap way she really threw herself into dancing with them around Don’s place at 1:30 in the morning—and okay, certainly not the part at the beginning where she had jumped out of a cake at a party, but he thought a fella could be excused for not correctly divining that. 

The general outline of the thing, though, how Don’s eyes followed her around a room...Cosmo had been preparing for Don to propose to Kathy ever since she’d tried to throw a pie at Don’s face. And when the happy day came, Cosmo had been ready with his best man suit, his best man speech, a slightly updated version of “Here Comes the Bride” that’d had Don and Kathy laughing all the way down the aisle.

Don and Kathy would move in together. They would have a dog or two and then inevitably, a small parade of adorable little brats who would call him Uncle Cosmo, and they would spend less and less time with him, not on purpose but busy with the rest of their lives, and ultimately Cosmo would learn to make his peace with it because he’d have no other choice and he would have to try to move on and not live too much in his memories. He could picture it so clearly, he figured if the songwriting gig with Monumental didn’t pan out, he could always return to the backwater circuit with a new act: The Amazing Cosmo of the Cosmos—ladies and gentlemen, he sees the future, he reads the stars, he silently pines for his best married pal and all the while tap dancing!

Don and Kathy inviting him along on their honeymoon, though—that part was a surprise.

“What?” said Cosmo, hands frozen over the piano keys. He’d been busy with a brand-new assignment; on the heels of The Dancing Cavalier, offers were pouring in and he’d taken the first one scoring a movie that didn’t star anyone he was secretly in love with.

Don had looked a little wounded when Cosmo broke the news last week, but a guy had to start making his own way in the world. Besides, orchestrating layers of strings to swell as the camera zoomed in on Don and Kathy blissfully locking lips in radiant monochrome, oblivious to the rest of the world—well, Cosmo knew that dance, he had mastered the footwork, and he didn’t especially feel like a reprise.

It wasn’t lost on him that Kathy had dropped by his rehearsal space alone today. Of course, he had no idea what this meant—he didn’t think it was about the new job; Don didn’t tend to stay sore at him for that long—but Kathy was acting perfectly natural, and so probably the smart thing was to follow her lead.

“It’s a two-week transatlantic cruise,” she said, gracefully dropping beside him on the piano bench. “We thought it would be nice to see Europe, take in the sights, get away from all the cameras.”

“Ah yes, such a wallflower, our dear Don,” said Cosmo solemnly. “Besieged on all sides by the love of his public, a tragedy of our times, up there with Lear! Hamlet! Caesar! The one with all the Greeks and the giant wooden horse, nay, nay, neigh.” He played a tragic little trill, for effect. Kathy huffed a laugh and smacked his arm.

“You know that’s not it,” she said. “Being watched all the time—we can’t always do what we want. It’s rotten.”

Tell me about it, thought Cosmo.

He was sort of seeing a fight choreographer named Archibald, who came from old money and was a “the third” or a “the fifth” but nice enough Cosmo might even forgive him for that. Archibald was trim and athletic, with dark brown hair that was just starting to go gray at the temples and enough discretion that Cosmo didn’t think they’d get caught. The only problem was that he didn’t laugh at Cosmo’s jokes, seemed to just tolerate them.

“What do you two even talk about, then?” Don had asked, when Cosmo had let this slip over drinks the same night he’d explained about the new movie project. (Cosmo had been trying to spend less time with Don and Kathy since the wedding but Don had said, “C’mon, pal, we miss you” and Kathy had laid one hand on his arm and peered up at him with her big green eyes and Cosmo was only one man.)

Cosmo had frowned, because Don hated Archibald, for reasons that were frankly mysterious. Then he’d looked up and grinned a grin he didn’t exactly feel and said,

“Tell you when you’re older,” and then Don had choked on his dry Martini even though Cosmo knew Don knew about Cosmo’s tendencies. It wasn’t something they discussed, and Cosmo had never properly gone with a guy before, but whenever a big-shot producer started complaining about all the degenerate queers in showbiz, Don always sharply steered the conversation someplace else. It was all very gallant and noble and knightly, and someday Don would play King Arthur and Kathy his lady Guinevere—

“Honestly, sometimes it feels as if we’re living in a fishbowl,” said Kathy now, in the present.

“And so your solution is to relocate,” said Cosmo, “to the biggest fishbowl on this here magnificent earth. The mighty ocean!” He struck up a sea shanty. “Oh blow the man down, blow the man down / way ay, blow the man down…”

Not everyone appreciated his musical flights of fancy, but when Cosmo turned, she was leaning with her elbow on the side arm of the piano, watching him with her chin on her hand and laughing. 

“Just for two weeks,” she said. “So, are you coming?”

“With you two,” said Cosmo, just so there could be no misunderstandings. “On your one and only honeymoon.”

“Yes,” said Kathy.

“As what, your first mate?”

“Sure.” She grinned and threw him a quick salute. Cosmo was almost never attracted to women but in this case, he understood the appeal.

He swallowed. “You are aware of that ancient saying, ‘Two’s company and three’s a fast track to divorce court’?”

“You’re hardly a threat to our marriage, Cosmo,” she said, and he agreed, of course, in both directions, even, but it still stung to hear her say it out loud. For want of anything better to do, he gasped, clutched a hand to his chest and reeled backwards so hard, he threw himself off the piano bench, landing in a somersault on the floor.

Kathy spun around fluidly on the bench to face him, pleated skirt whirling a little, heels of her shoes clicking together. 

“Oh, I said that badly,” she said. “I only mean that it’s more fun when you’re around. We have a better time, Don and me both. Remember the night we decided to make Dueling Cavalier a musical?”

“Do I remember the best night of my life?” Cosmo peered up at her from the hardwood. “Why yes, madam, now that you mention it, I believe it might ring a bell or two.”

“The best—” She frowned for a moment, and he remembered then that as a newly married woman, a newly married woman to Don Lockwood, no less, she’d no doubt experienced any number of evenings that blew that one out of the water.

Even besides that, it felt awfully revealing all of a sudden. Cosmo threw an arm over his eyes. He felt naked. He wished he was naked, because that might at least distract from whatever his face was doing.

“So it beats your time with Archibald, then?” said Kathy shrewdly.

Cosmo uncovered his eyes. He forgot, sometimes, that new as Kathy was to the moving pictures business, she was still a city girl, with a city girl’s worldliness. Also, Don had probably told her; that seemed like the kind of second-hand secrets married people shared with each other. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Hardly a topic for mixed company,” he stalled.

There was a pause.

“So yes,” she said and smiled with a smugness that would’ve been unbecoming were she not as cute as a button.

“What do you and Don have against the poor man anyway?” he groused. “He’s never done so much as sneezed in your direction, and if he did, I’m sure he’d use a handkerchief.”

“For one thing, we know you could do better,” said Kathy, folding her arms.

Cosmo elbowed his way back to sitting, brushing himself off with dignity. “Well, better’s not exactly knocking on my door right now.”

“This town doesn’t have an ounce of sense.” She reached down to offer him a hand up, pulling Cosmo to his feet; she was stronger than she looked. “Listen, two weeks away, it’ll be good for you.”

“What about you two?” Cosmo protested as he reclaimed his spot on the bench, Kathy sliding to make room.

“What about us?” said Kathy with wide eyes.

“Two newlyweds might want some alone time?” he offered weakly.

Kathy shrugged. “I told you, there won’t be reporters or cameras. It’ll be plenty private.”

“What about your matrimonial needs?”

“Which needs?”

His eyes narrowed; she was a terrific actress but suddenly he wasn’t sure he was buying it. Kathy wasn’t dumb either.

“You have to know what I mean. Don’t make me play Cole Porter at you,” said Cosmo. She hesitated, and Cosmo began to pluck out a melody: “Birds do it, bees do it / even educated fleas do it…” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Let’s do it,” sang Kathy, finishing the stanza in her lovely alto, “let’s fall in love.”

Cosmo stopped playing.

“I do know,” she said simply, “of course I do, and we’re not worried about it, alright? Listen, do you want to go?”

Cosmo, who had been carefully not asking himself that question, stared down at the piano keys. Did he want to go? He thought back to that night at Don’s, the three of them giddy with excitement and inspiration and sleep deprivation, running through the house, clowning around and dancing with no audience except each other—he hadn’t felt like a hanger-on then, like a third wheel or an extra limb or a chaperone. He’d felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be, one note of a perfect chord.

Still.

“I can’t swim,” he said.

“They’ll have lifejackets,” said Kathy.

“I’ll have to work.”

“We’ll bring a piano.”

“All my houseplants will die,” said Cosmo.

“All your houseplants are fake,” she said. This was true, although he wasn’t sure how she knew since she’d never been to his house. She sighed. “Remember the night of that first screening, when you were about to expose Lina and instead of explaining what was happening, Don told me I had to sing, that I didn’t have a choice?”

He winced, thinking of Kathy’s heartbroken, tear-stained face before Don had stopped her from running out of the building and announced to the crowd that it was her voice they loved.

“Yes, and in retrospect, I feel just awful about it.”

“Well, Don doesn’t,” said Kathy. “Because he knew it would take too long to convince me to do something that mean to her.”

“Mean?” Cosmo echoed. “She tried to trap you in a contract and steal your voice. A common sea witch wouldn’t stoop so low.”

“But there wasn’t time,” she pressed. “And besides, he knew how it would end.”

“What’s your point?”

“We already bought your tickets,” said Kathy.

Cosmo gaped at her.

“We’ve cleared the trip with everyone at Monumental and anyway, like I said, we’ll have a piano on the boat.”

Distantly, he was aware his mouth was still hanging open. Kathy reached over with one light finger under his chin and gently closed it. 

“That’s better,” she said, folding her hands daintily in her lap. It was around this time she seemed to realize it wasn’t some routine, that Cosmo really was well and truly stunned. “Of course, nobody is going to force you to go with us if you truly don’t want to,” she said into the silence.

“These tickets,” he said at last, “are they refundable?”

“Gosh,” said Kathy easily, “I can’t imagine they are, no.”

The thing was, none of them were hurting for money or work anymore, so the fact that Don and Kathy might be out even a few hundred dollars didn’t catch at him the way it might’ve some years earlier. No, the thought that really seized his imagination was the mental image of Don and Kathy planning this together, Don and Kathy discussing the matter with each other, maybe over breakfast—toast and coffee in their dressing gowns, so sure it was the right thing to do that they’d decided to just go ahead and make preparations: oh and a ticket for Cosmo, of course.

He could do it, he realized. He could go. He wanted to go. It was foolish, but Cosmo was an entertainer; he’d been doing foolish things in front of a roomful of witnesses since he was in shortpants.

“I’ll pack tonight,” he said.

“Perfect!” Kathy hopped off the bench and straightened out her dress. “And bring something nice to wear at dinner; it doesn’t need to be black-tie formal, a good suit will do.”

He nodded. “I shall leave the top hat and monocle at home. Two weeks, you say?”

“Yes, and another half-day on either side flying to the harbor and back.” She reached into her coat pocket, and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “The itinerary,” she said. “Don and I are so glad you’ll be coming.”

“Uh-huh,” said Cosmo. “Say, where is that fella, anyway? What’s the big idea, can’t even stick around to ask his best pal to his own honeymoon?”

“He’s planning the trip,” said Kathy brightly. “Last-minute details. Anyway, he thought you and I should have a chat, one on one. He thought it might help.”

He blinked. “Help what?”

“Help us,” she said.

It was all starting to feel like a farce, like one of those old stage acts with a lot of fast talking.

“Did it?” he asked.

“I think so,” said Kathy warmly. She turned and began to walk towards the door. “See you at the airport tomorrow. Six AM sharp.”

“Six AM,” he said, and then, foolishly, “You know, I can see why he likes you.”

Kathy dimpled. “Oh, likewise!” She tossed him another smile and then she was heading out of sight down the hallway, shoes clacking rhythmically on the tile.

“Well,” said Cosmo to no one. He felt pole-axed, he decided. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt pole-axed in his life before, but there was no other word for it.

He played a chord, then another chord, then a few more.

“Pole-axed,” he sang, “out of whack,
when you come by, there’s only one drawback:
I can’t be clever, no I lack the knack,
Darling, I’m pole-axed, out of whack around you!”

It wasn’t exactly Cole Porter, but he’d take it, he thought, reaching for his pen. There was still an hour or two left before he’d need to race traffic home and dig out his suitcase. Apparently, he had early morning plans.

Here was another thing Cosmo had failed to predict: Don was a nervous flier. 

Cosmo had been up in the air a handful of times; Archibald owned a small personal craft that he flew sometimes on the weekends. And sure, it was cold and noisy and there was no denying that watching the ground disappear below you could give a guy a bad case of the stomach lurches, but it was a thrill all the same. An adventure, he thought, burrowing deeper into the very warm wool coat he’d had the presence of mind to bring. Don was generally up for an adventure; he’d once ridden a motorcycle full speed off a high canyon and fallen ten stories into the water below, for nothing but a day’s wages and an approving nod from the director.

The airplane offered comfortable seats and tables and fashionable cold salads served by very calm stewardesses, but from the moment of liftoff, Don sat there like a man waiting for the electric chair. Now he was clutching the armrests so tightly, the knuckles stood out sharp and white against his normally very appealing hands. 

“We should have taken the train,” said Kathy.

“Nonsense,” Don gritted out. “I’m fine. This is all perfectly fine.”

Belted in on either side of him, Kathy and Cosmo exchanged a look. One of the benefits, thought Cosmo, to being the funny little friend and not the leading man was that you were allowed to admit when you were terrified, at least a little, at least if you could make it a joke.

“I’m so sorry, Don,” Kathy said. “I should have asked if you’ve been in one of these before. Even knowing we’re perfectly safe, a train would’ve been so much more comfortable.”

Don closed his eyes. “Really, Kathy,” he said, a little more sharply. “You don’t need to—” The plane dropped several feet, and he swallowed hard.

Cosmo considered the situation. Don Lockwood was too proud, and too enamored with his wife, to be willing to discuss such a weakness in front of her, and now if somebody didn’t act fast, the three of them were in for an awkward, unpleasant flight. Or rather, series of flights, since the plane was going to need to refuel a couple of times along the way.

He took in Don’s ashen complexion and Kathy’s guilty face, and then he said cheerfully,

“Y’know, Kathy, for what it’s worth, Don actually has been in one of these before.” When this failed to earn any real response from the man, Cosmo poked him in the cheek. “Haven’t you, Don?”

“What?” said Don distractedly, swatting the finger away. “No, I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have.”

Don’s tense brow creased for a moment in irritation. “I think I’d remember—” he started.

“It was for one of those early stunting gigs,” said Cosmo. “A little biplane. They gave you goggles and an aviator hat and a brown leather jacket—” The incident stuck in Cosmo’s mind mostly because Don had looked very good in that jacket, but there were half a dozen reasons nobody needed to know that, “—and then they had you crash the plane through a barn.”

“Through a barn?” Kathy repeated, disbelieving, and apparently the fan magazines didn’t tell you everything.

“Into , not through,” said Don. “I didn’t come out the other side.” His fingers had relaxed ever so slightly on the poor armrests. “And that doesn’t count, that contraption never got off the ground, I only had to—”

“Into a barn?” Kathy interjected. “Why?”

Cosmo struck a mock-pensive pose. “The things we do for art. And five dollars. And I think the producers let him keep the jacket.”

They had; Cosmo had suffered that autumn.

“Well, what about common sense,” said Kathy, “and human rights, and basic safety?”

“I said he had goggles on, didn’t I?” 

The truth was, back in those days, no matter how dangerous the feat, how seemingly impossible the stunt, Cosmo had never truly worried. It was Don, and Don could do anything. Except admit to his wife that he needed help, apparently.

“What about—about dignity,” she went on, and Cosmo snorted.

“I regret to inform you that Lady Dignity will not be making an appearance tonight.”

“Cosmo,” said Kathy, slowly, “Why in the world did you let Don go and do a thing like that?”

“Let? ” Don and Cosmo said in unison, Don a little weakly but it was something.

“Don’t pin this on me, madam,” Cosmo added, “I am not my brother’s keeper.”

“Not my brother at all,” Don muttered, which stung a little, but Cosmo decided to let it slide in the face of how his plan was working.

“That’s hardly the worst thing we did for money,” Cosmo said instead. “Has Don told you much about our ignoble days on the road?”

Kathy shook her head, delighted. Don very discreetly kicked Cosmo in the shin. Things were looking up.

“So there we are,” said Cosmo, “performing in this tiny hamlet in Nebraska called, and I couldn't make this up if I wanted to, Oatmeal—”

“Oatmeal?” Kathy laughed.

Don had freed his fingers from the armrests entirely; he was now resting his entire face in his hands. He was no longer pallid as Nosferatu; in fact, he might have been blushing.

“It was Coyoteville,” Don volunteered without looking up.

“Pal, if you think I’d forget a place with a name like Oatmeal, Nebraska—”

“If you think I’d forget a place with a name like Coyoteville—”

“Coyoteville was in New Mexico!” said Cosmo. “Coyoteville was where we had to bunk with that ventriloquist, remember?”

He watched as Don sat up and snuck a look at Kathy, who was clearly having a ball.

“The one who insisted his dummy got its own bed?” Don said with a slight smile.

“Don and me had to share a twin mattress on the floor,” said Cosmo, “Curled up like a pair of puppies, if you can picture that—”

“I think so,” said Kathy, leaning forward, eyes bright, “only what happened in Oatmeal?”

“Wait, was Oatmeal where—” Don started.

“Yes! We’re about halfway through our routine, singing and hoofing our hearts out—fit as a fiddle and ready for love—when we look off to the side, at the next act waiting in the wings and we see—”

Don laughed. “You’re right, we were onstage when we realized—”

“—at more or less the same time, I think—”

“Yes?” said Kathy.

“—the Amazing Dancing Daisy, the headliner following us—”

“She was a trained donkey,” Cosmo explained. “We were literally opening for an ass.”

“How was she?” Kathy managed, once she had more or less gotten her wild laughter under control. “The dancing, I mean?”

“Her footwork was a little sloppy,” said Don.

“Don’s just cross,” said Cosmo confidingly, “because she got much more applause than us.”

“They kept throwing her flowers!” said Don. “What was she meant to do with them? She didn’t even have hands!”

“So listen, Kathy.” Cosmo leaned way over Don to make eye contact with her. “The next time you two are having some sort of petty domestic squabble, if Don tries to act all high and mighty, just remember: I’m pretty sure your lawfully wedded husband is still, deep down, jealous of a donkey.”

Don grabbed Cosmo’s shoulder and flashed him a mock-scowl. “Why, when we get back on solid land…”

“I’m not afraid of you, villain,” said Cosmo, “not with your lady love here.” He stretched out an arm to Kathy. “You’ll protect me, won’t you?”

“Of course, good sir,” said Kathy, genteelly taking his hand and it was a joke, it was ridiculous, it was all completely harmless because Cosmo was hardly a threat to their marriage, and so Cosmo ducked his head and fluttered his lashes at her, and cooed,

“How shall I ever repay you?”

And then, without breaking eye contact, Kathy brought his hand to her mouth and kissed it, just a quick, warm, press of lips, entirely chaste but somehow something different, and Cosmo darted a nervous glance at up Don—he was practically in Don’s lap at this point, to better reach out to Don’s wife—because threat or not, there had to be some kind of line Cosmo was crossing. But Don was just watching them, with parted lips and slightly glazed eyes, as if it was not at all upsetting to see his girl and his best friend doing…whatever it was they were doing, and this moment was rapidly sliding away from any point of reference Cosmo might’ve had. 

Normally, Cosmo liked other people’s eyes on him. That was half the reason anyone was in showbiz, wasn’t it? Nobody might’ve looked at him twice in the street but with the right props and a couple of dance moves, he could be somebody for the length of a number or two, spread a little joy and get a lot of it back. So it wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy Don looking at him and Kathy like that. It was just—it was too much, too close to something he might’ve dreamed up alone in his bed at night. He hadn’t, but that was mostly because apparently he’d been limited in his imagination.

Cosmo freed himself, twisted back upright, and coughed. “On second thought,” he said. “I think the ventriloquist was in Dead Man’s Fang, in Arizona? Coyoteville was where that strongman threw up inside Don’s fiddle.”

“How did he manage to—” Kathy sounded sincerely perplexed. She’d left a coral pink lip print on the back of Cosmo’s hand. He tugged his coat sleeves down to his fingertips.

“Sheer determination,” said Cosmo.

The ship was a grand one. Cosmo, whose nautical knowledge began and ended with that Douglas Fairbanks picture about pirates, could tell that much. There was a majestic dining room and a wide, clean promenade and state-of-the-art engines that would get them to Europe in just a few days. The dining room even featured a four-piece band, who were a little stiff but not half bad.

His room, his island of privacy away from Don and Kathy and their combined magnetic pull, was bigger than he expected, well-appointed. It went a little overboard embracing an Egyptian theme, although the decorators had tastefully stopped short of including an actual mummy in a giant stone sarcophagus. He was grateful for that. The piano, as promised, sat in the place of where a desk might normally be, keys gleaming invitingly.

There was just one problem.

“How,” said Cosmo, dropping onto the bed, “did you manage to accidentally book us two adjoining rooms?”

“I’m sorry,” said Don, crossing his arms. “There must’ve been a mix-up at the offices.”

“Maybe the travel agent heard wrong on the telephone,” said Kathy. She rubbed Don’s back consolingly. Don shot her a grateful look. It was all very sweet, probably.

“How? ” said Cosmo again. “Nothing sounds like ‘adjoining.’ It doesn’t even have a rhyme.”

“Are you certain?” said Kathy.

Cosmo nodded; he’d already run through the alphabet, twice. “The closest I can get to is ‘disappointing.’” Don was leaning into Kathy’s back rub like a cat, but there was uncatlike guilt all over his face. “Don,” said Cosmo, “look, pal, I appreciate the free ticket, but please tell me you’ll fix this.”

“I already talked to the cruise director and there aren’t any other rooms,” said Don. “We’re out in the ocean, what do you want me to do, alert the coast guard?”

“Alert the coast guard,” said Cosmo, “flag down a passing mermaid, strike a bargain with Poseidon himself!” 

“Who?” said Don.

“The Greek god of the sea,” said Kathy, like that was the important part.

“I don’t speak any Greek,” Don replied, “do you?”

“I will swim to shore,” Cosmo said, to nobody in particular.

“We can swap over to a different ship when we get to port if we need to,” said Don, shoulders slumping uncharacteristically. He must’ve felt worse about his screw-up than he let on. “In the meantime, the door locks from both sides, so—”

“I’m not—worried that you’ll barge in at all hours, pestering me for a cup of sugar,” Cosmo broke in.

Don blinked. Kathy went very still beside him.

Out loud, it sounded more suggestive than he’d meant. Why had he picked sugar, the sauciest ingredient of the baking world?

“Or flour,” he amended.

“Then what’s the trouble?”

“I.” Cosmo sighed. “Why am I the only person in this room who seems to know what a honeymoon is for?”

“Why,” said Don, wide-eyed, “what’s it for?”

“D’you think, if I jumped in the sea and started paddling now—” said Cosmo.

“Don’t worry,” said Kathy. “Don and I can be very quiet.”

And the trouble was, this was worse. The prospect of hearing them from the other side of a single thin door was one thing, and honestly it was plenty bad—Cosmo had played a role during several key moments of their courtship but at least he could say he didn’t know what they sounded like in the throes of passion—but for reasons that Cosmo did not feel like examining, the thought of them stifling themselves in the act, the thought of them naked in bed together, touching each other, biting down on a giggle or a moan, and whispering, ‘Shh, don’t wake Cosmo,’ made him feel like his whole stomach was a sore tooth.

“Don’t put yourselves out on my account,” he told them. Belatedly, he realized that was maybe the worst thing he could’ve said. He blushed, and then he stood, face still flaming—Damn his Irish complexion—nodded to them both, and fled to the promenade.

The ocean stretched in all directions as far as Cosmo could see. It was dizzying, and also strangely calming. He stared out at the waves and reminded himself, hardly for the first time, that it wasn’t Don’s fault how Cosmo felt about him. It wasn’t Don’s fault, and it wasn’t Kathy’s fault that she was maybe the most charming woman he’d ever met. You could certainly blame Don for booking the rooms, for not double-checking over the telephone, but there was no malice to it. They were both, at the end of the day, wonderful people who had decided to open this trip up to him for whatever reason, and besides, his bed was piled with any number of pillows he could jam over his head if they did make noise at night.

He stood there holding onto the railing for a long time. Eventually, he heard footsteps behind him. 

“Feeling better?” said Don quietly, almost lost under the roar of the water. Without really trying to, Cosmo turned to look at him. Under his coat, Don was wearing a nicer suit than before, and the color had returned to his face. He looked—well, he looked like a handsome movie star married to a gorgeous starlet. Don took a few steps and rested his hands next to Cosmo’s on the rail.

“It’s the salt air, I think,” said Cosmo, nodding. “Feels like I could do anything. Why, I might write another musical, wear my trousers baggy, become a pirate.”

“Your trousers are fine as is,” said Don.

Cosmo shrugged. “A little change can be good.”

“Sure, unless it isn’t.” Don sighed. It was an awfully sad sigh to be having about the fit of a guy’s pants, Cosmo thought, but then Don turned to him and added, “You know, we really have missed you.”

“Don,” said Cosmo patiently. “I was at your house this Thursday. I stayed for three hours. I drank all your gin.”

Don didn’t make a crack about the gin, which was probably a bad sign. “And before that?” 

Before that, it had been a while. Cosmo winced inwardly. “I’ve been busy,” he said, “you’ve been busy, Kathy’s been busy—”

“We invited you over, four different times,” Don interjected. “If I’ve done something, if we’ve done something, I wish you would just tell us.”

In front of them, the sea rolled and rolled. Cosmo thought about deflection, about twisting the moment into a joke, a sword duel where cold steel met only an outstretched rubber chicken: squeak.

He let out a long breath. “Why the Hell did you bring me along on your honeymoon?”

“We brought you along because we wanted you along,” said Don. “Whenever you’re not there, we wish you were. It doesn’t need to be any harder than that.”

“So it isn’t…” Cosmo started.

“What?”

“You and Kathy aren’t having problems? Hoping for a buffer, or a distraction?” It was a very new theory on Cosmo’s part, and once the words had left his mouth, he realized how badly they fit the facts at hand.

Don smiled a private little smile. “Me and Kathy are doing just marvelously.”

“That’s splendid,” said Cosmo, because he had to say something, apparently. Marvelous didn’t bode well for Cosmo’s sanity at night, but it beat his friends being down in the dumps. “Lovely.” He let his cadences drift into a so-so British accent. “Capital show, old sport. Superb. Simpy spiffing.” Not his best work. 

Don lay a hand on Cosmo’s coat sleeve, at the elbow. “Do you want to come to dinner with us?” he said. “It’s meant to be a formal affair but you’ve still got time to change.”

Whenever you’re not here, we wish you were. Obviously, Don didn’t mean “whenever” in the strictest sense—Cosmo got the feeling he was not present in Don’s mind, say, when Don was in bed with his beautiful wife—but the thought now made him feel warmer than the gin had. It would be enough. It had to be.

“Sure,” said Cosmo, “why not,” and Don thumped him encouragingly on the back.

“Cosmo,” said Don as they headed back into the body of the boat, “piracy, really?”

Cosmo grinned. “Don’t blame me, blame that salt air. Makes a man feel like anything’s possible.”

Kathy and Don looked enchanting at dinner, and Cosmo cleaned up alright too, if he didn’t say so himself.

The food was good—salmon with hollandaise sauce and French beans, braised duckling with apple sauce, some fancy beef thing, salad Dumas and ice cream for dessert—and the band had relaxed a smidge and was playing something from this century, which was nice.

Over dessert, Kathy told them about how, one night several months before meeting Don, she’d been at a speakeasy during what turned out to be a police raid.

“What were you doing in a speakeasy?” Cosmo asked before he could stop to think about it.

“Why, drinking milk and reading Austen, of course,” she replied, a picture of guilelessness. Don snickered, and she grinned.

“I walked full-speed into that one,” said Cosmo.

“Buddy, you ran,” said Don.

“I was drinking,” Kathy acknowledged, nodding, “but really that’s where the best dancing is. The best music, too.”

Cosmo, who lately only drank at parties or at home because it was easier and safer, nodded thoughtfully.

“Hot jazz?”

“The hottest, at least in Los Angeles. Once we’re back, we should all go!”

“I could always stand to take in more culture,” said Cosmo.

“Oh no,” said Don, “don’t let her pull you into her sordid past. Did you forget the end of the story is ‘and then the police came?’”

“That’s more the middle,” said Kathy. “Well, middle-end.”

“So how’d you escape the reaching arm of the law?” Cosmo asked.

Kathy swallowed her ice cream. “I saw the police were all rushing in through the front door, and I dashed to the back and through the performers’ dressing room. I’d done makeup for some of my school plays, so I fought my way up to the mirror, grabbed a grease pencil—a few lines here, a few lines there—borrowed an old coat off the back of a chair, ran maybe half a block, and pretended to be an old lady.”

“Really,” said Cosmo.

“It’s mostly in the walk and the posture,” she said. “And it helps that a few of the street lights were out.”

“And the cops were fooled?”

“One of them asked me if I’d seen any young people running that way,” said Kathy.

Cosmo clapped his hands together with glee. “Don, you married a criminal mastermind! Never make her angry.”

Don wrapped an arm around her shoulders and flashed her a besotted look. “I don’t intend to.”

Kathy nestled into the half-embrace. “Tell me more about—was it Coyoteville? With the ventriloquist.”

“Dead Man’s Fang,” said Cosmo. “And your wish is my command, but I don’t know what else there is to say. We came, we saw, we lost our sleeping arrangements to a puppet.”

“He tucked it in that night, remember?” said Don suddenly.

“He did!” said Cosmo, delighted.

Sometimes when Don started in on the official line about how they’d studied at the conservatory and the rest of that baloney, Cosmo worried that some part of Don believed it, that it was Cosmo’s job alone to remember how long they’d traveled that strange, bumpy, often farcical road together towards some measure of success and respectability in Hollywood. But Cosmo had completely forgotten that particular detail. He had burned it from his mind.

“After he fell asleep, one of you might have moved the dummy and claimed that bed,” Kathy pointed out.

“He left it with the head turned facing us, eyes open,” said Don. “Neither of us were touching that thing.”

“So instead, Cosmo had to put up with Don all night,” said Kathy solemnly.

“So instead, I had to put up with Don all night.”

He could still recall the potent mix of resignation, terror, and guilty excitement he’d felt, huddling up on that mattress together. Their act at the time had involved being in close quarters a lot—at one point, the choreography had Cosmo leap onto Don’s back and then immediately continue playing the fiddle—so it wasn’t like touching Don was a novelty, back then. But doing it offstage, out of costume, away from any onlookers except for Esther Quill the ventriloquist dummy, it had felt like an entirely different proposition. 

Don had been a real champ about it, though. When Cosmo had started shaking with withheld hilarity that this was his life, the punchline of all punchlines and nobody to share it with, not just Don’s best friend but his literal bedwarmer, Don had clearly assumed it was a simple case of the shivers, and so he’d bundled Cosmo close, tucked Cosmo’s head under his chin, and wrapped his arms around him, muttering warm in his ear about how if Cosmo dropped dead, Don was out a dance partner “and that whole routine wouldn’t work as a solo number, it’d go over like a brick.”

“Just imagine what barnyard animal they’d have you opening for then,” Cosmo had whispered back, because Oatmeal, Nebraska had already happened to them. “A pig who juggles. A cow acrobat. A chicken magician. Just a little sleight of wing, folks, nothing up my feathers. ”

And Don had laughed, and held Cosmo tighter, and the ventriloquist had shushed them, which had made them both crack up again. It had been a long night, and not one Cosmo would forget in a hurry.

“Who runs hot as a Holland furnace, let me tell you,” he added now, in case his tone had shifted a few shades too close to dreamy.

“Oh, I know,” said Kathy, smiling.

Don raised an accusing finger at him. “Well, you were shaking like a leaf! You’re lucky I was there, especially when we didn’t have so much as a sheet of our own!”

“Wait, why didn’t you have any blankets?” asked Kathy.

“The blankets,” said Don airily, “were for the puppet.”

And so dinner had been a joy, and after that, Don and Kathy invited him back to their room for a drink or two, because they’d had the common sense to bring alcohol, which was of course not offered by the cruise. The three of them sat on Don and Kathy’s bed (much bigger than Cosmo’s—not that he was jealous, he didn’t need the space, but the sheer expanse of mattress really did rival a small country, and Cosmo was determined not to picture in any detail how the two newlyweds might make use of that) and passed a flask around and had some more laughs and when Cosmo next got a glimpse of his watch, it was three in the morning.

“I should go,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” said Kathy. She’d shucked off her heels at some point and now her stocking feet were in Cosmo’s lap. Don sat on her other side, head on her shoulder. He’d loosened his tie early on, and his suitcoat was draped over one of the bedposts. While they were drinking, it had all felt very natural. Looking at them now, Cosmo had the sense he was intruding on something private, something intimate.

Granted, they weren’t exactly trying to kick him out, but Kathy was drunk, or tired, or else she was both drunk and tired, and it was up to Cosmo not to outstay his welcome. They had a whole two weeks together, after all, and their rooms were barely a wall apart.

“My regrets, Cinderella,” said Cosmo, “but I can feel myself turning back into a pumpkin.” 

He made as if to stand, but her feet were in the way. Very gently, he picked up her ankles, lifted them off his legs, stood, turned her like they were doing some sort of a dance move, and deposited her feet in Don’s lap instead.

“There,” he said to no one. 

A long pause followed. Don and Kathy blinked up at him. He sorely regretted moving her. It had seemed like the most elegant solution. Probably he should’ve found one that didn’t involve taking hold of her legs, skin warm through the thin layer of nylon–

Kathy’s brow furrowed. “What makes you the carriage?” she said at last.

“What?” said Cosmo, who really did need to make an exit. 

“Cinderella,” said Don, apparently reading her mind, which was swell for them.

“Better that than the mouse footman,” Cosmo told her. “Or the lizard coachman. Or the horse.” Or—who else? There were a lot of characters in Cinderella, he realized.

“There’s a prince in that story, Cosmo,” said Kathy. “A human prince.”

“Yes,” said Cosmo, patiently, “and you’re married to him, your highness,” He sketched a little bow but Don and Kathy weren’t looking at him. They were having one of those silent couple conversations, with mostly their eyes and eyebrows. A career in movies before the advent of sound had probably given Don a real advantage in that department, Cosmo thought, although Kathy seemed to be holding her own.

“It’s a made-up fairytale,” Kathy said at last. “Why, it can go any way you want it to.”

“The lady’s got a point,” said Don.

Cosmo blinked. He knew how it sounded, knew that to the untrained ear, it certainly—there were overtones, or undertones, or just plain tones that vibrated with suggestion. Cosmo had grown up in Vaudeville and now he lived in Hollywood; these things happened every now and then. These things did not happen to Cosmo. He was good for a dance or a laugh, and nine times out of ten, that was enough for him, but he wasn’t exactly fending off amorous advances—not like Don, and probably not like Kathy, either.

Also, Don liked women. Don only liked women, as far as Cosmo knew, and they had lived out of each other’s pockets for years.

The fact that a late-night ménage à trois rendezvous was increasingly the only explanation that held water in his head—it said more about Cosmo’s fragile mental state than it did about Don and Kathy’s true motives, he decided.

Don and Kathy who were still sitting on the bed, waiting for some sort of response.

“I wouldn’t, uh,” Cosmo started, and then realized with a stab of panic that for once, he didn’t have a joke in the wings, waiting to go. “I wouldn’t know where to start,” he said.

“You said earlier today you might become a pirate,” Don offered. Kathy cuddled up close against his side, watching with bright, intent eyes. He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Enter pirate, stage left.”

“I said I was thinking about it,” said Cosmo, trying not to sound affected and missing by a mile. “A fella can think about all kinds of things he wouldn’t do.”

Case in point: Cosmo was not about to climb back into bed with them, no matter how cozy that bed was, no matter how inviting and beautiful the two of them looked together.

His hands were starting to shake, he realized, and if Don saw that, and past experience was any judge, Cosmo might spend the night being cuddled for warmth again. What was Cosmo’s life? He didn’t go in for horoscopes, but maybe he should’ve, maybe that was the key to understanding the whole puzzle: Cosmo Brown, born under the one constellation that resembled clown shoes. He swallowed back a hysterical laugh and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Why not?” said Kathy quietly.

Because he didn’t want to ruin his oldest friendship and his most promising new one, all in a single go. Because he hated rejection, and the thought of two no’s that close together made his head spin unpleasantly. Because then there would be no more innocent touches and smiles and nightcaps in Don and Kathy’s room. 

That wasn’t what she’d asked, though. Mentally, he shook himself.

“If everyone who thought about being a pirate became one, the whole US of A would fall apart,” Cosmo informed them. “Nobody would work, or pay taxes, or go to see films. Not to mention the national parrot shortage—just try to get ahold of birdseed anymore! There’d be a run on eyepatches and tri-corner hats, and the price of a simple pirate earring would shoot through the roof, in fact—”

“It’d cost a buccaneer,” Don filled in. He sounded almost sad, which was a mystery because that line was evergreen.

“That’s right,” said Cosmo. He rocked back onto his heels, at a loss for a moment. He’d really been counting on that joke to clear the air.

“Cosmo,” said Kathy. “Do you want to go, or do you want to want to go?”

Cosmo struggled to make sense of that. He struggled to parse it in a way that worked outside his own feverish imagination, and came up short. That was where it got you, going on the road with only an eighth grade education, he thought. His was a cautionary tale. 

Maybe ninth grade was where they taught you how not to twist a moment in your head to the point where it really did seem like maybe Cosmo could’ve kissed either of them, could’ve kissed both of them, and it would’ve been fine, or even more than fine. Maybe it was that, and Dickens, and Geography; Cosmo still could not locate Siam on a map. Or Paris. Come to think of it, ménage à trois and rendezvous were the only French he knew besides bonjour. 

This time, he did laugh. It was that or scream.

“I am both too drunk, and not drunk enough for this talk,” he said, turning for the door that led directly back to his room.

“If you’d rather stay—” said Don.

“Of course I’d rather stay, Don,” Cosmo snapped, sharper than he’d meant to. “But leave me enough dignity to fill half a shotglass, at least.” Don and Kathy said nothing. When he got to the door, he sighed. “Sorry, that was—I’m sorry. See you at breakfast.”

“Goodnight, Cosmo,” said Kathy, sounding lost, but not as lost as Cosmo felt.

Alone in his room, Cosmo closed the door and ran his hands through his hair. Pirates in Cinderella, he thought. Offers to stay, with his room not 30 paces away, at three hours past midnight. Maybe it would all make sense in the morning.

Don and Kathy were subdued the next day at breakfast. Cosmo thought that was fair. He personally felt as if his brain had been hit by a freight train. It was his own bad luck that this didn’t extend to any kind of useful amnesia about the previous night. He was aware he’d played the fool, and not in a fun way; there hadn’t even been pratfalls. Cosmo was not particularly good at—whatever was actually going on, but he let the record show, he could nail a fall on his face.

The whole affair still made very little sense to him, except for this: Everyone involved had been drunk. The intensity of today’s hangover certainly brought that home. People said and did things when they were drunk that they didn’t really mean; everyone knew that.

The three of them sipped their coffee and picked at their toast and smoked salmon in mostly silence for a few minutes, and then Don cleared his throat a little too loudly.

“Listen, Cos,” said Don. “Kathy and I need to let you know how much we respect you, okay?”

Cosmo chewed his lox, frowning. He swallowed. “But...?”

“But nothing,” said Kathy firmly. “We care for you, and we want you to be happy, whatever that means. We want to be friends, no matter what happens. That’s all.”

“Nobody says all of that unless there’s another shoe about to drop,” said Cosmo, squinting at them. It was hours too early in the morning for this kind of sincerity, regardless of what it did to his insides. “‘No matter what happens’? Has all of this been a setup, to gain my trust? I’ve got it: you’re jewel thieves! No, you’re a pair of German spies! Oh God, you’re not undercover cops, are you?”

“We’re not—why are you acting like cop is worse than jewel thief?” Don protested.

“You don’t know a lot of cops, do you, pal?” said Cosmo. 

Kathy giggled, then winced. “We shouldn’t have drank so much,” she said.

Cosmo took a slug of coffee and closed his eyes. “You said it.” He thought about last night, how his brain had unspooled so completely in the face of their combined friendliness. Remembering his outburst made his face hot, but he didn’t think a man could be blamed, exactly, for losing his cool—

A melody was starting to bloom in his head. He opened his eyes and sat straight up in his chair. “I’ve got to go.”

“You haven’t finished your breakfast,” said Kathy.

Cosmo jammed the last of his toast into his mouth, picked up his mug, got realistic, put down the mug to instead grab the coffee pot, and stood.

“We’re not done talking,” Kathy added, mock-stern. “This is the second or third time you’ve left us in the middle of a conversation.”

“Put it on my tab,” Cosmo slurred through a cheekful of toast, pushing in his chair. His fingers were already twitching for his piano.

Don watched him for a second, then said, sympathetic, “Inspiration striking?”

“Like a clock at noon,” said Cosmo around the toast.

“Go on, then,” said Kathy generously. She pointed at him. “Only, when you’re finished, we’ll have a proper talk, understood?”

Her tone was casual and commanding and—affecting, Cosmo was learning new things about himself every second. He nodded fervently, and she leaned back in her chair, as if satisfied.

On his way out the door, a waiter tried to stop him—or at least, stop the coffee pot—but Cosmo only slipped the guy an amount of money that would’ve been eye-watering a few years ago, and made a beeline for his room.

By the time his hangover dispersed, he’d finished his first draft of the song—and also all the coffee, straight from the carafe because he’d forgotten to take a cup with him. He had burned his tongue, which felt hot and fuzzy in his mouth, like a sheep left in the sun.

Ahh, showbiz.

Cosmo stared down at the lyrics sheet, which was a bramble of crossed-out lines and arrows. He played the ending refrain again. He’d need to tighten the words a little but he liked that part, at least.

Someone rapped twice on the door, a double quarter note: knock knock. He pulled his eyes away from the third verse.

“Who is it?” Cosmo called.

“Don.”

“Don who?”

“Don...t you want to quit this funny business and open the door?”

Middling execution, but Cosmo gave him a few points for trying. “It’s not locked.”

Don slipped into the room and closed the door behind himself.

“Where’s Kathy?” said Cosmo. 

“Napping,” said Don, crossing the room in a few short strides. “She said it was soothing to hear you play the same three lines over and over, if you can imagine that. So, do you have it?”

“What?”

“The song.” Don leaned against the piano expectantly. “It sounded like you reached a resolution.”

There was no reason not to share it with Don. Cosmo shared all his stuff with Don.

In the six weeks he’d had to scrape together an entire score for The Dancing Cavalier, Cosmo had wound up relying on songs already jangling half-written in the back of his mind; there hadn’t been time for anything else. “Would You?” was something he’d been humming to himself for years, since their early days on the road, and he’d always known who it was about. Being forced to buckle down and finish the thing had felt like crawling straight into the center of a Mallomar, gooey and sweet and not necessarily good for the health. They met as you and I, and they were only friends—he’d tweaked it a little, to work better for a girl singer, and then he’d taught it to Kathy, and then he’d directed her for the recording, she and Don making eyes at each other all the while, and Cosmo had smiled, happy for his friends and relieved on some level that the piece apparently worked.

Granted, this was his first song inspired by both Don and Kathy, but he’d been pretty careful with the phrasing. It wouldn’t be anyone’s first guess. His hands weren’t even shaking. Much.

Cosmo cleared his throat and played the intro.

“When you’re not here, I am learnéd and smart,” he sang.
“I can speak of the theatre, poems and art—”

This part was mostly in the delivery, a lofty sort of drawl. He played a pretentious flourish.

“—when you’re not here, I’m collected and cool…
then you come near, and my thoughts all unspool,
—and unspool and unspool and unspool and unspool…”

When Cosmo was finished, he glanced over at Don and saw with a relief he couldn’t explain that Don was beaming at him.

“That’s swell,” said Don, eyes bright. “Play it again?”

“You really think so?” said Cosmo, and it was a joke, a little, so he could duck his head and smile at the ground, coy.

“I really do.”

Cosmo returned his attention to the lyrics sheet. “You don’t think it’s too much of the same thing?” He scanned over the refrains again. “I’m not sure it’ll work in the picture, it’s just the one idea again and again.”

“Hmm,” said Don, leaning in behind Cosmo to look at the words; Cosmo could feel the warmth at his back.

“I think it needs movement,” said Cosmo. “Some sense of forward—something.”

Don muttered, singing the lyrics under his breath in double-time. “Suppose it was a duet?” he said at last. “The singer, and whoever the singer’s singing about.”

“And they’re what, talking past each other?”

“Sure,” said Don.

It was a thought. Still. “That’d change the meaning of the whole number.”

“We could try it, see how it sounds with two voices,” Don offered.

The premise did fit Cosmo’s actual assignment better. He played a few chords, considering. They hadn’t sung together in a while. Probably this would be fine.

“I’m no Kathy, but,” Don added.

Cosmo pretended to look him over for a second. “You’ll do.”

“Pole-axed, out of whack,” sang Cosmo, eyes locked on the lyrics sheet. He could get through this, he thought, as long as he didn’t sing about being in love with Don and Kathy to Don. Singing it next to Don was a whole different ball game, he reasoned.

“When you come by, there’s only one drawback:
I can’t be clever, no I lack the knack,
Darling, I’m pole-axed, out of whack around you!”

“Tongue-tied,” Don sang, right on cue, “wide-eyed,” and Cosmo could tell by the quality of his voice he was smiling,
“When you look at me, oh I can’t hide
behind my usual, those droll asides
No, I am tongue-tied, wide-eyed around you! ”

Neither of them were trying to sing it like a girl, which meant whatever they came up with here, Cosmo would have to shift half of it up and out of the range of a tenor. He was aware he was missing the setup to a punchline—he could’ve draped a towel over his head for hair and thrown on some kind of falsetto, really hammed it up—but he was too focused to slow down for an easy laugh, and besides, this was for work. It was almost a business meeting.

“I’m an archer without arrows,” sang Don.

“Old Egypt with no pharaohs,” sang Cosmo.

“A Spaniard sin dinero,” they sang together,
“I’m defenseless!”

“You are brilliant, you’re appealing,” Don started.

“—and your presence sends me reeling—”

“This charm of yours I’m feeling,” they sang, and their voices still meshed well after all this time,
“It’s relentless!”

Cosmo stared down at the piano keys and started the last refrain, Don joining in with a tricky little harmony that Cosmo would absolutely have to re-arrange for a woman:

“Oh I am spellbound, unsound
You stun, you dazzle, oh you confound
Heart a-pounding, jaw down on the ground
Oh I am spellbound, unsound around you!”

He let the final notes ring for a moment, and then from the other side of the adjoining door came a peel of muffled but lively applause.

“Kathy’s up,” said Don. “Let’s do it again for her!”

“She already heard it through the wall,” Cosmo felt obliged to point out.

“Yes, and she’d like to hear it again,” Kathy’s voice piped up. “Just let me get dressed, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“There, see?” Don squeezed Cosmo’s shoulder, interrupting a good-faith effort to try not to picture her current state of undress. “First rule of entertainment,” Don said, “know when to take an encore.”

Privately, Cosmo thought that the first rule of entertainment was probably ‘if you’re going on the road, make sure your costume is washable,’ but he could concede that encores were up there. 

Kathy learned the song even faster than Don had, and with a little persuading, agreed to take Cosmo’s part.

“It’s such a shame, though,” she said, “your voices are so wonderful together.”

It was and they were, but there was nothing for it. “We’ll get a fuller sound with female vocals,” Cosmo told her.

“The three of us could sing it together,” said Kathy mildly.

Cosmo barked out a weird, loud laugh. Neither Don nor Kathy said a word, and the three of them sat there in silence, his brief fit of hilarity hanging in the air like a bad smell.

To cover for himself, Cosmo flicked an imaginary producer’s cigar. “That kind of act may fly down in Los Angeles, doll, but it won’t play to Peoria.”

“What?” said Kathy.

“Old Vaudeville term,” Don explained. “You know you’ve really got something if you can get an ovation in Peoria, Illinois. Smack dab in the middle of the country, you know? Good clean fun.”

“Is that why,” said Kathy, “or because it’s a fun word to say?”

Cosmo hummed. He tapped the toe of his shoe on the floor. His fingers pined for piano keys. The piano was right there in reach, but.

“He’s writing another one,” Don observed.

“Well, let’s hear it,” said Kathy.

This was a bad idea, and not just because he’d need another few drafts to get anything that really hung together. Cosmo couldn’t decide if it was bad in a familiar way, or if he was in uncharted territory. Maybe a little of both.

The melody was starting to take shape in his head, and either Don and Kathy would find it funny, or else it would end their friendship forever.

“I’m not finished,” he hedged.

“I’d be amazed if you were,” said Kathy.

He chewed his lip. “These lyrics are mostly placeholders.”

“Play it, Cosmo,” said Don.

“We’ll like it, we promise,” Kathy said from his other side.

“You don’t know that,” he told her.

“Why, I bet you fifteen dollars that we will,” she said, eyes sparkling.

“Drinking and gambling,” said Cosmo. “Is this a luxury liner, or a floating den of vice?”

“If you still want to jump out and swim back to land,” Don started, and he said it lightly enough, but when Cosmo turned to look at him, there was the slightest bit of tension around Don’s eyes.

Don’s nervous, Cosmo thought, which was crazy because air travel aside, almost nothing made Don nervous.

Cosmo thought about the previous night, about their strange exchange at breakfast, about the ghost of Kathy’s lip print still lingering on his hand, and the memory of Don’s heavy gaze on the airplane, about the fact that Cosmo was there at all. The more he considered the situation, the more he could only think of one way every puzzle piece fit together, and it was lunacy, but this was Don and Kathy, and if Cosmo was wrong, he didn’t think they’d be sore at him, not really.

“What the Hell,” said Cosmo, “I’ll take my chances.”

He struck up a fast, Charleston-style tune.

“Oh it’s bliss, dear, oh your kiss, dear,
It’s the doorway to euphoria,
but it won’t play in Peoria,
no, it won’t play in Peoria!”

Don and Kathy were watching him very closely from either side; without looking, he could feel their eyes on him. He could also feel his next rhyme drop right out of the back of his head. It was hard to think, sandwiched warm between them—were the three of them sitting a little closer than before? He kept playing through sheer will power.

“Oh!” said Kathy, “here, wait a second, I’ve got one!”

Cosmo played the verse again, and Kathy sang,

“How divine, dear, when combined, dear,
hear the angels singing gloria—”

Gloria, Cosmo mouthed, delighted. From the corner of his eye, he could see Kathy preen.

“—but it won’t play in Peoria, ” she sang, and then Don and Cosmo joined in:

“No, it won’t play in Peoria.”

“Don, your turn,” said Kathy brightly.

Cosmo played the verse all the way through—nothing. Then he played it all the way through again. In something like unison, Cosmo and Kathy turned to look at Don.

“I’m thinking,” said Don, “give a guy a second, we’re not all Gilbert and Sullivan.”

With his left hand, Cosmo started to vamp. With his right hand, he plucked out the melody for “Modern Major General.”

“You’re hysterical,” said Don dryly. He cleared his throat:

“Gee, it’s so grand, holding your hands,
Though it keeps me wanting more-i-a—”

Cosmo couldn’t decide if this was awful or amazing. When he threw Don a disbelieving look, Don winked. Cosmo ducked his head and willed his hands steady on the keys.

“But it won’t play in Peoria,” Don added.

“No, it won’t play in Peoria,” they sang together.

“So I guess I shall stay, out in sunny L.A,” Cosmo sang solemnly,
“In Rome, Prague, or Astoria…
no, I won’t play in Peoria!”

“No, I won’t play in Peoria,” they finished.

Cosmo let the final chord ring, and then he said, “Congratulations, fellas, we’ve written the world’s most unusable song.”

“Nonsense,” said Kathy. “You might not be able to put it in a picture, but it could be fun at a party.”

“What kind of parties are you going to,” Cosmo muttered.

“I’ll make some introductions when we get back,” she said.

“I don’t even have anything against Illinois,” said Cosmo, to the room at large. “It’s Illinois, that’s gotta be burden enough.”

“Do you have more paper?” Kathy began to dig through her purse.

“The first verse is the weakest,” Cosmo conceded, flipping over his prior lyric sheet and grabbing his pen. “There’s no sense of, of scandal—”

“It should be kisses, not kiss,” Kathy suggested.

“That spoils the rhyme structure,” said Cosmo. It was better, though. “Hmm.” He played the opening melody again. “ Mister and Missus / I’m craving your kisses— ”

“Much better,” said Kathy breathlessly. “Write that down.”

Cosmo wrote it down. When he was finished, Don laid a hand on his wrist.

“Cos,” said Don.

He sounded very serious. All of Cosmo’s misgivings returned, in full sixty-part chorus.

“If I’m overstepping—” Cosmo started.

“You’re not,” Don interjected. “At this point, you couldn’t overstep if you wanted to.”

Cosmo took a deep breath. “Don, this is the last time I’m asking. Why am I on your honeymoon?”

“I love you,” said Don.

Cosmo dropped the pen. It clattered on the ground, and distantly, he was aware that he should pick it up, but also he could barely remember how his hands worked.

“What?” said Cosmo. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t—

“I love you,” Don said again. “I’ve taken you for granted for a long time, but when you stopped coming around, I realized what I was missing.” Kathy coughed delicately. “Kathy helped,” he added.

Cosmo swung his disbelieving eyes to Kathy. “Everything I learn about you, I like you more,” she said.

“Likewise,” said Cosmo, dazed. A lock of her hair had come loose; he brushed it back into place. “Kathy, you’re magnificent.”

“Thank you.” She grinned. “And Don’s alright, too.”

“Don.” Cosmo swallowed, and turned back to face his oldest friend. “Every song I did for the Dancing Cavalier, I wrote about you.”

“Really,” murmured Don, a dazzling smile starting to overtake his face.

Cosmo hesitated. “Except ‘Broadway Rhythm,’ that was more a fever dream.” He stared off into space, until Kathy reached up and laid a hand right at the nape of his neck, which brought him back to Earth in a hurry.

“See, don’t we all feel better?” said Kathy. “Isn’t it nice to talk about things?”

Cosmo struggled to think of something to say that wasn’t ‘um.’ “Uh,” he got out, which was hardly better, and then Kathy kissed him. By the time she let him go, he could barely see straight. He was distantly aware that he probably looked ridiculous, hair mussed, mouth smeared with her lipstick, still breathing hard.

“Why,” said Don, sounding almost choked, “are we all still sitting on this bench?”

“The song’s not done,” said Cosmo, bending down to pick up the pen.

“You said it was unusable,” Don protested.

“It’s growing on me.” Cosmo tapped his chin. “Granted, it could use a chorus, an intro, an outro—maybe a bridge?”

“Do I need to list all the other things we could be doing right now?” said Don in a low voice, and Cosmo’s libido once again sat up and took notice. 

Unfortunately, the more temptingly Don and Kathy behaved, the funnier it became to stay at the piano.

“We’re on a boat, neither of you are going anywhere,” said Cosmo. “But this idea, if I don’t get it down on paper…”

“You have three minutes,” said Don, a threat and a promise, “and then I will carry you to the bed.”

Cosmo scrawled down the next line of the song, bravely fighting a smile. “Buddy, I’d like to see you try.”

“So would I,” said Kathy.

Cosmo scribbled down all the words they’d come up with. It wasn’t a very long song.

“How much time do I have?” he asked.

“Two minutes, seventeen seconds,” said Don, glancing down at his watch.

“Hmm,” said Cosmo.

Don made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “You’re really going to wait it out?”

“I waited for you for over two decades,” Cosmo told him, frowning at the lyrics sheet. “You can last another couple minutes.” To be honest, he couldn’t completely read his own penmanship—half because he’d written fast and half because Kathy had started playing with his hair. Kathy tugged just a little and Cosmo let out a shaky breath. “How much longer?”

Don startled. He’d been watching them pretty closely, and Cosmo decided he liked having an audience after all.

“Two minutes, nine seconds,” said Don.

Had time always moved this slowly? It was intolerable. It was unsustainable. It was absurd.

“You know,” said Cosmo, “we’re out here in the middle of the ocean. There are—” He waved a hand vaguely. “Time zones, we could be crossing through any number of them. And international waters! We must consider the fact we could be in international waters as we speak.”

Don’s lips twitched with withheld laughter. “What’re you getting at?”

“I’m saying,” said Cosmo. Kathy kissed the side of his neck and he heard his voice briefly jump an octave. “Ah. Suppose it’s already two minutes and nine seconds from now.”

“Huh,” said Kathy. “Time is relative.”

“Especially in the vast and lawless sea,” Cosmo agreed.

“Huh,” said Don. “Huh.” He stood, and in a single motion, lifted Cosmo from his seat and slung him over one shoulder. Cosmo shivered happily as Don crossed the room, hand resting on the small of Cosmo’s back like it belonged there. Then he blinked; Don was heading in the wrong direction.

“The bed’s back that way,” Cosmo pointed out.

“Yes,” said Don, “and our bed’s through here.”

The door straight to Don and Kathy’s room was still not locked; Kathy opened it with a flourish and politely held it open for Don and Cosmo.

Cosmo began to laugh. That he was still hanging over Don’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes made it even funnier.

“Say,” Cosmo managed. “Who was the Rhodes Scholar who got us adjoining rooms?”

Don deposited him on the bed and exchanged a look with Kathy. “That was for later,” said Kathy, looking almost embarrassed.

“What?”

“We were going to woo you in Paris,” said Kathy, as if this series of words in that order made perfect sense.

“What?”

“There was going to be a picnic by the Seine,” said Don. “I had a speech prepared. I was going to tell you how much you meant to me, to us. It was going to be very romantic, and then we were going to take you back to the boat.”

Cosmo lay on his back and stared at them from the center of the plush bedspread. “So, what was that, in the airplane?”

“A moment of weakness,” said Kathy solemnly.

“And last night?”

“We were all having fun,” said Don, “and you looked good in your suit.”

Cosmo’s mouth was hanging open again.

“We don’t have to—” Kathy frowned. “We can go more slowly, try this the good old-fashioned way, if you’d prefer—”

He wasn’t certain what the good old-fashioned way meant to her at that moment, but he figured it probably didn’t include Don and Kathy debauching him right now in their obscenely nice bed. The rest of it, the wooing, he would attempt to wrap his mind around later. Cosmo closed his mouth, and propped himself up on his elbows.

“You know,” he said slowly, “I think it’s important for a guy to stay up to date. The newfangled approach has a lot to recommend it, really, and—”

He broke off because Don was kissing him on the mouth. Don was kissing him on the mouth, with the single-minded focus that made him such an incredible dancer. Cosmo’s brain short-circuited, but in a pleasant way: zap.

“Hi,” said Don when he was through, resting their foreheads together.

“Hi,” said Cosmo dreamily.

Kathy tapped Cosmo on his shoulder. She had joined them on the bed at some point. “My turn,” she said, and Cosmo let himself be pulled into her arms. “Don might just watch for a bit,” Kathy added when they were nose to nose. “If that’s alright with you?”

Instinctively, Cosmo glanced back at Don, who was regarding them both with a look Cosmo could only think of as ‘scorching.’ Cosmo nodded fervently. Kathy guided his face back to hers and kissed him with even more force than before.  It was—she really knew what she was doing. Cosmo made a helpless sound in the back of his throat and lost track of time, and then Don spooned up close behind Cosmo and applied his mouth hot to the side of Cosmo’s neck.

“Mmm,” said Cosmo, which became a gasp as Don decided to gently add teeth to the equation. “As marvelous as that feels—” Cosmo managed, and his voice was already wrecked, “it’s probably a bad idea to do anything that might leave a mark.”

“There’s no press on the boat,” said Kathy, pulling back with a quizzical look.

“Sure,” said Cosmo, “but we are going back on land at some point.”

“Okay,” said Don easily, “Cosmo, take your clothes off. There’s plenty of skin they won’t see.”

None of them had gotten even a little undressed yet, Cosmo realized. They’d been too distracted.

Cosmo beamed. “You’re just full of good ideas,” he said, peeling off his sweater. When he resurfaced, Don and Kathy were exchanging another long look.

“We’ve had time to think about this,” said Kathy. “So we actually have…Quite a number of ideas.”

Cosmo laughed as he loosened his tie, more out of joy than anything else. “Fellas, I’m all ears.”

Some time later (much later, in fact; Cosmo supposed that was one benefit of getting involved with not one but two trained dancers), the three of them lay together in bed, lightly dozing. They’d managed to make it under the blankets at some point after the first round, and Cosmo was proud of them for that. He wasn’t certain how they’d ended up with their clothes strewn all over the room when they’d never left the mattress—his shirt was on a lamp—but he’d made his peace with it.

Kathy was curled on Cosmo’s left side, her head pillowed on his shoulder. Don lay on the other side with his arm tucked around Cosmo’s waist. Their legs were all tangled together. Cosmo had slept with people before, but mostly one-night stands and Archibald wasn’t a cuddler. All that bare skin against his was almost overwhelming, but he was taking it like a real trouper, he thought.

Kathy stirred, yawned, and threaded her fingers through Cosmo’s, turning his palm this way and that.

“What?” said Cosmo.

“You have pianist’s hands,” she said.

Cosmo wiggled his fingers. “Who else’s hands would I have?”

She laughed and kissed his cheek. “Do you think you could go again?” Her green eyes sparkled. “Call it an encore.”

“Be gentle with me, madam,” said Cosmo, swallowing back a laugh of his own, “it’s my honeymoon.”

Don’s arm tightened around his waist. Cosmo flopped his head onto Don’s shoulder. He hadn’t even known Don was awake.

“We got you a ring, you know,” said Don.

Cosmo squinted up at him. “A ring?”

“We were going to give it to you in Paris,” Don added. “Just a simple band, nobody’ll think anything of it.” He smiled, a little tentative. “Except us.”

“Oh,” said Cosmo thickly, “it really is my honeymoon.”

Kathy squeezed his hand. “If you want it to be.”

“Yes,” said Cosmo. “Yes, please. Yes to all of it. I do.”

And then Kathy kissed him, and then Don kissed him, in quick succession, and then Kathy climbed on top of him, and Don started in on another love-bite low on Cosmo’s throat, and Cosmo realized he had an encore in him after all.

By the end of the trip, Cosmo had a ring on his finger, a series of love-bites in places the public would never see, a key to Don and Kathy’s place, a whole lot of new favorite memories, and seven additional verses to “It Won’t Play in Peoria,” each of them filthier than the last and every one inspired by what had recently become his real life.

So no, he couldn’t see the future after all; it was time to hang up his imaginary turban and admit that Cosmo of the Cosmos had been a resounding failure. But he didn’t exactly mind, he thought as Don and Kathy walked through the door of his practice space after a long but productive day of songwriting.

Cosmo stood from his piano. “How was work?”

Don and Kathy exchanged a look and laughed. “Tell you about it over dinner,” said Don.

“We were thinking the Brown Derby tonight,” said Kathy. “If that works for you?”

“Sounds good,” said Cosmo, grabbing his coat and hat. “Let’s go.”