“So I’m thinking we need a new backdrop forSock and Order,” I say, guiding him around the outskirts of a major gamer display—is that PewDiePie’s? “We have the courtroom and the police precinct, but we’ve used the hell out of those. Our detectives need a change of scenery.”
“We could make a morgue,” he suggests. “Or some alley—like the kind whereTV cops always find the dead hooker.”
“Ooh! I like the alley!” I bounce in excitement. “We always talked about filming on location, you know.”
“That’sthe one you want to do on location? Dead hooker alley?”
I shrug. “There are some very realistic contenders not far from my house. Needles, used condoms, rats picking through old pizza boxes—think of all the set dressing that’s already done for us!”
He shakes his head, but is still smiling. “Sounds like a dream come true.”
“It’d be awesome.” I can already see how we might film it.The camera work is pretty much all Brendan—my initial run ofReal Sockwiveswas filmed on my iPhone, which was propped up on my dresser, so clearly I’m not the tech guru here. But he’s taught me a ton about lighting and camera angles and filters. Not that we do too much fancy stuff—it’s still a sock puppet show, and I don’t want it to lose the low-fi feel of the original—but his expertise has definitely taken things up several notches. “Can’t you see Detective McGillihooligan and Captain Woodshaft out there, standing over a chalk outline in the shape of a dead sock?”
He laughs and drops into Detective McGillihooligan’s atrociously thick Boston accent, like some blenderfied Wahlberg/Affleck. “We got ourselves anothah one, Captain. Yahn spilling out all over the place. Looks like Jack the Seam Rippah is back.”
I giggle. Even though Brendan signed on initially for the tech parts of the show, it didn’t take long before he was an equal part in the creative process—like, within days. It wasn’t too long after that I convinced him to do some of the voice work.
Honestly, I have no idea how I ever did the show without him. It definitely wasn’t half as much fun.
“Then,” he continues, “the shot pans down, and we see the dead hooker sock. Pierced by crochet hooks.”
“Ooh, horrifyingandpunny,” I laugh. “Love it. You know, ifSock and Orderturns out to be of the more popular sketches, we could do aCSI: Criminal Sock Investigationspin-off. Really focus on the forensic science of sock puppet murder.”
We’re both laughing probably more than is warranted. I’m so happy when we’re like this, lost in our own world, talking and laughing about everything and anything.
This annoying thought intrudes on my happiness, though: were things ever like this between him and Candace? In between all the awful things she did to him, did she make him feel purely happy like this?
I didn’t used to wonder this very much, before. He’d told me how bad his marriage was, how it contributed to his pre-existing panic disorder now being triggered by dating and relationship stuff. So I’d always thought of her as the villain, Maleficent horns sprouting from her pretty blond head (his mom showed me a picture once, and she’s definitely pretty and blond. No horns, though. But his mom agreed that they were probably invisible.)
It couldn’t have been all bad, though, right? He really loved her; he must have, for her betrayal to have affected him so deeply.
Does he still occasionally think back on those times and wish he could be with her?
I push those thoughts firmly away, because they don’t do anyone any good, least of all me, and we banter more about theCSIidea. Brendan has launched back into his McGillihooligan accent, and I’m being the gruff, no-nonsense Captain Woodshaft, when we reach our booth. I tug at Brendan’s shirt before he walks right into it, and then transfer my Big Gulp onto the corner of the booth table before lowering my dolly.
“Oh my god, you guys, do you ever stop?” Emily asks. In addition to being our friend and social media wizard, she’s also in charge of running our booth for the week.
“Being brilliant and sexy? Never.” I wink over at Brendan, who sets the boxes down and gives me a look that says maybe he wouldn’t mind finding some hidden alcove in this convention hall, too. My skin tingles.
“Well at least stop bringing me more shit to set up,” she says, eyeing the full dolly. She pulls her dark shoulder-length hair up into a ponytail. “I’m going to be sitting on boxes of t-shirts the whole con just to fit back here. How many did you order?”
“We had our guy make a design for each sketch, and then we had to use them all, in all the sizes. But look how fantastic they are!” I gesture at the blue and whiteSocktor Whot-shirt Brendan’s wearing—with theTerrence Clarence character fromReal Sockwivesfeatured as the Socktor, in front of the shoeboxTardis.Then at my bright pinkSocks and the Cityshirt, featuring my fave, Ruby Van Raspberry, sipping a martini through a straw (since, you know, she doesn’t have any hands).
Emily rolls her eyes and groans, but she’s fighting a smile. “Yeah, okay. I’ll figure it out.”
“The booth looks great,” Brendan says, and I have to agree. Emily took care of getting us big banner displays, which look fantastic vaulted high over the booth. She’s got the puppet stars themselves displayed behind her—we don’t want people messing with them—flanking either side of a mounted flat screenTV that’s going to be playing our show’s promo reel on a constant loop that will undoubtedly make Emily want to kill us by the end of the week. On the tables in front of her, she’s got stacks of DVDs of the full run ofReal Sockwives, keychains, postcards with characters both old and new, each featuring one of their best lines. And all those finger puppets of the characters Brendan and I spent weeks making—while also learning that hot-gluing tiny crafts at three AM while not entirely sober is areally bad idea.
“Thanks,” she says. “Just please tell me that’s the last load of stuff.”
“It is,” I assure her. I spot Brendan eyeing the chaos around us with a bit of a hunted look and step closer to him. “I can help Emily finish up here. You want to bring our stuff up to our room, and I’ll join you soon?”
He looks like he might insist on staying to help, but then nods. “Yeah, okay. I’ve got some editing I can work on.” I’m glad he took the out. He’s got four highly social days ahead of him and needs to get what down time he can.
Before he goes, I can’t keep myself from tugging on his shirt to pull him right up against me. He doesn’t resist; he smiles down at me with that look of desire with a touch of wonder—still!—that makes me ache all over. I get up on my tip-toes—no heels today, thank god—and kiss him, and he kisses me back, cupping my face, stroking his thumb along my jaw, making my knees all weak.
“I’ll be there soon,” I say, still feeling my own sense of wonder about all of this.
Brendan squeezes my hand and grins, and Emily calls out “Bye, Brendan,” as he heads off.
