Archive of Our Own

“No, of course Jane and I have never seen each other. . .”

“What?”

“Yeah. . . NoOoOo,” the couple said in unison.

“And so when we started this master bath redesign, Jane decided she just HAD to have French doors. . . so for now. . . no bathroom doors.”

The group nodded: “Mmm.”

“Umm, ahem, is there anything more glamorous than emerging from French doors after a Saturday steam bath in a fluffy bathrobe?” Jane defended her stance.

The group considered her position: “Mmhmm.”

“But, can we just go back for a second?” Max asked. “You guys are the couple that literally never leave each other’s sides. And I mean literally. Sides.” He said, not pausing from chewing his chicken wing as he talked.

“Yeah, remember the time we went to that Korean spa and there was a ladies section and a man section,” Alex reminded the group.

“Yeah, too bad we got permanently banned from there,” said Dave, drawn into the reminiscence.

Jane bit her lip and looked around the room as if to find something else to focus on.

“Ok, yes, this is true,” said Jane, flaring her fingers and pressing her palms down on the table of their favorite diner. “But consider the many other traits we share, beyond our sometimes distressing connectivity to one another.”

“Like what?” asked Max scrunching up his face, chicken dropping from his mouth.

“I’m glad you ask. Let’s compile a quick list—number one, Brad and I are both very tidy people.”

“If by tidy you mean you have cleaning products to clean your cleaning products,” Dave said.

“Hey, you stick the nozzles of those spray bottles into the dirtiest parts of your home, you can’t just assume they’re going to clean themselves.”

“Yeah, Jane, I think you can.”

“Well, anyhow, number two, in our eternal battle for subtle intra-couple dominance, neither of us are willing to be seen in such a compromising position.”

Brad perked up at this, his face kinking into a small confused frown. “Say what? Say that again?”

“It makes sense.”

“Hmm. . .Yeah,” The group took that in.

“Number three—“

“Oh fuck your lists, I just think if you and Brad are going to be ‘married,’ you should see each other drop a deuce first.”

“Eww, Max, stop it.”

“Although our revolting friend here is, well, revolting . . . I do think it’s pretty normal,” Dave said.

“Yeah, you know how many short lived relationships I’ve been through,” said Penny, “And even I think that around the one year mark, it ceases to matter really. If he’s seen you landscape your downtown doowop, then there truly are no secrets left.”

“Well, I think this is truly depraved and disgusting,” said Brad, getting up from the table in exaggerated outrage.

“Honestly, where are you going, buddy? This is the only place we hang out.”

“Well, I agree: we do NOT need to watch each other. . . do . . . that vile thing to affirm our love.”

“Everybody poops Jane,” said Alex, and then in a whisper, covering her mouth, “That’s actually the name of a book.”

“We know, sweetie. We know,” Max said with patronizing but loving knitted brows, patting her on the hand.

Later that afternoon, Penny and Jane were browsing the newest items at Alex’s boutique sartorial dispensary, Xela. . .

“So do you really think it’s weird that Brad and I won’t. . . ?”

“Won’t what, Jane?” asked Penny, absentmindedly thumbing through blouses on a rack.

“You knooooow,” she said, wringing her hands.

“Hmm, no, I don’t know.”

“Penny.”

“Oh, you mean. . .”

Jane gave her a pleading look as if to say: can we not?

“Seen each other pass stool?”

“Eww.”

“Toot out turds?”

Jane’s face contorted.

“Take a shit? Pop out a poop? Make a little caca?”

The two younger women next to them at the wrack gave them a look. Penny pursed her lips and shrugged.

“Christ, Penny.”

“But honestly, I don’t care, let’s talk about moi: I’m dating this new guy and he actually has something in common with you and Alex.”

“Oh? Do tell. Do tell.”

“He’s Serbian.”

“SHUT UP.”

“Yeah, so I was thinking that you two might be able to give me a few little helpful tips on cultural competency in the art of Serbo-lovin’.”

“Penny,” Jane took her by both shoulders and lowered her face so that she was looking out of the very tops of her eyes, lids pulled back. “I can. I can do that.”

Penny tried to pull back: “Yeah.” She frowned at Jane’s intensity. “Yeah, that’s why. . . That’s why I asked.”

Around the same time, Brad and Max were finishing up a basketball game at Brad’s fancy new health club.

Adorned in matching brand sweatbands on their wrists and foreheads, Max started back in on the group’s favorite topic of late: “So come on, Brad, you’re a man. You can’t really care so much about letting your lady watch you push out a little fart frosting.”

“Oh my god, Max, why do you have to be so crude?”

“Oh my god, yourself, prissy man. You’ve obviously never spent much time at The Tool Shed or The Ramrod or The Jackhammer.”

“What are those? Gay porn movie theaters where straight men go to get anonymous fellatio from willing homo mouths?”

Max stopped and gave his friend a look that said: I don’t know what you’re talking about but you’ve obviously given that way too much thought for an average red blooded heterosexual male.

“What?”

Max shook it off, “No, Brad, they’re leather bars and none of them have doors on the bathroom stalls ‘cause if they did, people would just use the space to make sex AND nobody would even get to watch.”

“Ahh.”

“But it also means that when you have to do a doodoo somewhere around your tenth beer, it’s just all out there in the open.”

“Eww, screw the doors. Who would do that in a bar?”

Max rolled his eyes and the duo entered the locker room.

“Wow. Well I couldn’t have planned that.”

A team of five men stood in front of them, hard at work replacing the doors on each of the toilet stalls, leaving several with unobstructed views of the toilets, themselves.

“Eep!” Brad’s eyes widened. He turned on his heels. And fled.

“Eep?” Max rolled his eyes. “Only Brad would actively verbalize an onomatopoeia.”

“Okay, so, the first thing that you need to do is impress him with your voluminous knowledge of Serbian history.”

“Ok,” Penny clapped her hands together and swayed.

Jane pulled the tablecloth that was hiding a mysterious object in the middle of her kitchen to reveal. . . Alex. . . holding a trifold board that said, “SERBIAN JEOPARDY,” in big block letters.

“Ok,” Penny repeated, her voice betraying marginally less excitement.

“THIS IS JEOPARDY,” Alex said, smiling and holding her finger up to pretend she was Alex Trebek with his moustache.

“Your vocal impressions of male television hosts are always so shockingly accurate,” Jane praised.

“That’s gotta be a marketable skill,” Penny agreed.

“Question 1. Answer: the year Serbia and Montenegro parted company.”

“WHEN WAS 2006?” Jane screamed, hugging herself. “That was too easy, Alex. Too easy.”

“Ok,” Penny said for the third and least enthusiastic time. “You guys, how is this going to help me date Nemanja?”

“It was only the $200 question, little devojka. Be patient.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Question 2. Answer: The name of the other Neolithic culture that dominated the geographic area of Belgrade along with the Starčevo.”

“Who are the Vinča?” Jane spat out as fast as she could force the words from her mouth: “Althoughtechnicallyit’shardtotalkabouttheVinčaasaunifiedbodyofculture. IwouldmoreaccuratelycallthemtheVinčacultures,plural.” Jane gasped and inhaled strong after her rapidly deployed sentence. She gripped her chest.

“That’s exactly right, Jane,” said Alex, picking out the index card for the next question.

“You guys, seriously. . .”

“Get in the game, Penny. Dating a Serbian means dating war, itself. This is the PERFECT practice,” she said, stretching out her legs and limbering up for the next question.

“Answer: The name of the most famous Serbian and Yugoslavian dictator.”

“Oh I know this one,” Penny said, her mood rallying. “Slobodan Milošević.”

“Correct for $400!”

Jane screamed in agony, clutching herself and looking as though she could advance to rending her garments at any moment. “You didn’t put your response in the form of a question!?!"

The other two women ignored her.

“Next answer: Almost all of Serbia's rivers drain to the Black Sea, by way of this major waterway.”

“DANUBE. THE Danube. The answer is the Danube. I mean: what is the Danube? The QUESTION is the Danube.”

“Correct!”

“Oh my god, I’m so done with this. What’s the word for dookie in Serbian?”

Jane looked stricken and then began to turn green.

“Umoriti!” Alex yelled, throwing the remaining cards up into the air.

“You guys, you guys. You’ll never guess what. You’ll never believe it.” Penny entered the bar and dumped her hefty handbag down on the table.

No one looked very titillated.

Undeterred, she pushed on. “Nemanja just called me. He wants to change our date to a romantic night in, instead of casual drinks out.”

“What? That’s great, Penny! In the Bradster’s experience, eating in always leads to eating out,” Brad said rapidly raising and lowering his eyebrows.

“You really are such a ‘mo,” Max said, disinterested.

“So. . . not to shift topic away from moi, but what’s up with Jane?”

“Oh, the contractors say it’s going to be another week on their materials backorder. Apparently we’re living in the great French door famine of 2013. Anyway, she’s been holding it for going on seven days,” Alex said.

Jane rocked back and forth, staring straight ahead.

Penny nodded, lower lip jutting out.

“Yeah, I made poop peace with two of the bathroom stalls at work plus the single occupancy disability-accessible one on the third floor. But for Jane. . .the Car Czar facilities just weren’t doin’ it for her.” Brad crossed himself.

“Understandable,” Penny nodded solemnly.

Out of nowhere, a tiny toot sound emerged from Jane’s underside. She sighed.

“Much better.”

Everyone stared at her in blank shock.

“So. . .”

The group raised their eyebrows at Jane, expectantly.

“We better a get a move on then. Your outfit’s still at our apartment.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it, per se.” Penny straightened the bustle of her Serbian national costume.

“Oh, hush, it’s going to make him feel right at home. Now, Brad and I have to run. You just stay right here looking beautiful.”

Penny nodded and the couple headed for the egress. Brad reached out to twist the door knob but was yanked back by the unnatural physical strength of his wife clutching a handful of the back of his polo. Jane opened the door herself.

“Bye, Penny,” she called around the corner and slammed the door in front of them.

Brad knew her well enough not to open his mouth, but the question as to why they did not, in fact, leave their friend’s apartment when she was about to entertain a gentleman caller weighed heavy between them.

Jane pursed her lips and gave him a conspiratorial look that he did not share. She took his arm and exaggeratedly tiptoed into the bathroom.

She pressed her finger to her lips and whispered, “Shh, I am way too excited about this not to watch the play-by-play.”

Her husband rolled his eyes but acquiesced, peeking around corner of the door to see the Nemanja entering.

“What’re you wearing?”

“You know, Vojvodina. . . clothes. . . ,” came the voices from outside the bathroom.

“Uh oh.”

“Naw, it’s ok, baby. She’s gonna recover.”

“So, how ‘bout them Socialist Party MPs. . . ?”

“Who are you?”

“No,” said Jane in a quick clipped tone.

“Yeah, baby, I think. . . oh," a palor spread across Brad's face.   "what’re you talkin’ about?”

“It’s coming.”

Brad started to sweat. “What’s coming, baby?”

“I. . .”

Brad mouthed, “OH MY GOD,” and started fanning himself, bending over at the knee. He looked back out but there was no clear route of escape.

“Molimo vas da. . . me. . . poljubi.”

“What the hell are you saying?”

“Brad.”

“No, baby.”

“It’s here.”

Brad cried.

Brad wailed.

Brad ran.

The door slammed.

“What is going on?” Nemanja yelled, his whole body contorting in resistance to the eyefull of shitting-her-brains-out blond before him.

“Oy,” said Penny.

The door slammed a second time.

“Ahh,” Jane exhaled.

“Well, I’m happy to report that the great French door drought of 2013 is officially over and our master bathroom is complete, updated, and,” Jane raised her pointer finger, “gorgeous.”

“And more, importantly,” Brad added, “Jane’s period of artificially induced-constipation, punctuated by bouts of uncontrollable projectile diarrhea, is also complete. . . and it, too, is gorgeous.”

The group nodded its approval. Jane looked away, hand on brow in exaggerated but earnest chagrin.

“Well, I, for one, am deeply relieved, given the way everything played out with Nemanja,” Penny said.

“I don’t mean to blaspheme the Year of Penny – or is it a decade now – but it sounds to me like you hardly had him at hello. As impossibly hilarious and horrifying as Jane and Brad’s stool passing performance was, I doubt he found my charm in your tokenistic attempts to make him feel at home with traditional garb and store-bought pierogis,” Davesaid.

The group approved but also added some questioning side eye for Brad’s pseudo-analysis of inter-cultural relations.

“As a Navajo, I know exactly how that goes,” he added.

“Ah.” The group was satisfied to understand the source, if not the content, of the comment.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. He turned out to be from Detroit, not Belgrade,” Penny admitted.

“White washed swine,” Jane and Alex said simultaneously.

“JINX,” Alex yelled triumphantly.

“Oh I love when this happens,” Max said with glee. “Let’s see if we can break her.”

“Well you know Jane’s favorite thing,” Brad offered.

The group: “LISTS.”

That weird background music that always seemed to play when a particular episode in their lives was coming to a close began on the bar’s loudspeaker.

“Poop, poopoo, shit, turds, logs, caca.” Penny counted out on her fingers.

“Doodoo, dookie, fudge, stool, feces,” Max added.

Brad was laughing so hard by this time that he almost started crying.

“It starts with an S and it ends in a T and it comes out of you and it comes out of me and I know what you’re thinking and it could be called that but to be scientific, we’ll call it scat.”

The group finished the rhyme in unison, heads directed towards a sweating silent Jane: “WE'LL CALL IT SCAT!”

A single silver tear trickled down her cheek.

The credits rolled.