º⁹ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 ' Call It What You Want ' January, 1962
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"Sure, every day you remember to assassinate my sleep, but the one time someone stays here you let him take his sweet time," Mary complained, as Lauren handed her a cup of coffee.
"I'm enjoying my time without his annoying presence nagging me on," She said, though the more pressing reason when the time came to make the choice to wake Benny or let him sleep was how tired he looked when he finally fell asleep and how peaceful he seemed when she found him in the morning.
"This is your time to shine! Dont let the opportunity slip away, get a horn or a tambourine and give his day a memorable start," Mary encouraged, like a tiny little devil sitting on her shoulder, whispering into her ear.
"He's annoying without sleep deprivation, I don't want to add it in the mix," Lauren explained. "Besides, if he happens to have some important thing to do today— early in the morning— we can get a kick out of it,"
"Sure, because vengeance is served best with pancakes," Mary said, looking over at the ingredients on the counter.
"You're the one who decided on pancakes, if you were so inclined on vengeance you should've asked to get him Clorox for breakfast," Lauren argued. "Also— in my defense— I thought that you were making for the two of us, but now that you mention it, we should probably feed him."
"Well, it would be rude not to,"
"Rude? Call Jane Bennett about it. Where is the tyrannically inclined person who called for tambourines only a few minutes ago?" She sighed and looked at her roommate disapprovingly, not even bothering to hide a smirk.
"He looks kind of calm there— if you ignore the drool." Mary said, changing the subject as she got up, reminded of the fact that she should probably start making breakfast. "It was nice of you to make sure he didn't freeze to death,"
Instead of the floor, where the Francis girl had expected to find her friend's nemesis, he lay semi-comfortably on the couch with a pillow slipped beneath his head and a couple of blankets draped over him.
"Well, I pitied him, he can't handle his liquor and I won't get a check if the author dies before the book is finished," She looked back at him. He did look peaceful in his sleep, it was a pity he couldn't be half as much while awake. "He's lucky it's an autobiography, or I'd swing it without him,"
"You could take the opportunity and speak terribly of him in his own book," Mary brainstormed, though her roommate seemed to take the proposal rather seriously. "Did you two really drink that much?"
"Not really, he's just a lightweight. Three drinks in and he was ready to pitch me what he described as the next 'Addams Family'— be warned, he was planning on getting his big break,"
