The Painter & The Pianist

iv.

CHAPTER FOUR

"You've got five seconds to explain why the pizza delivery guy thinks that I ordered five freaking pizzas or I swear for the last time, you will be homeless again," Monserrat hissed, his foot nudged in the front door to his flat, on the other side of which some guy was holding piles of greasy cheese and meat on bread.

Amadeus shrugged at him from the couch, invested mostly in the television in front of him. "I was hungry, you were too hungover to make me food," he chirped. Monserrat frowned at him before slowly poking his head through the door. He tried to keep the pajamas he was wearing out of sight; he knew his hair looked bad enough as it was.

"I... I'm so sorry, I know your job is incredibly important to you, and this must happen way too often, but..." he began, looking at pizza boy. What if he was in college like Monserrat? What if he got in trouble with his boss? What if he had a month old baby and this was the only way he could support the child, through the minimum wage he earned working as a pathetic pizza delivery person, of all things? Monserrat bit his lip, guilt already piling up in his chest.

"I, um, I didn't order these pizzas, and... I don't eat meat, and... um..." The guy just stared at him. "I'm really sorry, but I can't take these," Monserrat finished. Pizza boy sighed.

"I'm sorry too, man, but no one else is gonna pay for these, and from what I've gathered from the conversation going on behind the door, somebody in your flat did order them, so..." he said, adjusting his arms to keep the five boxes balanced.

"Fine." Monserrat sighed dejectedly, pulling out his wallet. "How much do all of these trans fats cost?"

"Sixty-eight dollars and fifty-two cents, please."

"In all that is good and pure, Amadeus, you are a dead man tonight! Why would you even need seventy dollars worth of pizza?" Monserrat shook his head, as if he was a bird whose feathers had been ruffled, smoothing them down with lines of mentally calming phrases, such as 'don't kill Amadeus, you'd go to jail,' and 'it's only seventy dollars out of your tuition fund, you won't necessarily die, you'll only need to cut the electric bill for, like, the next two years.' He took out his credit card quite reluctantly and handed it over to the pizza-delivery boy (Peter was his name, Monserrat noticed, glancing at the name-tag on the boy's shirt.)

Peter handed over the five pizzas to Monserrat as he slid the card through the small machine he had pulled out of his pocket. "Sorry, man. Um, thanks," Peter said, smiling sympathetically. He gave the card back just as Amadeus' head joined Monserrat's in the narrow crack between the door and the wall. Monserrat almost reflexively elbowed the boy behind him but stopped himself out of a semblance of decency that, despite the fact that Amadeus himself did not have any, Monserrat tried to preserve in front of Peter. Peter hadn't done anything wrong. Peter didn't deserve to watch Monserrat maim a boy for the simple action of straddling him from behind just so he could check out the pizza boy- wait, what?

"Well, hello there...," Amadeus paused to look down at Peter's name tag. "....Peter. Aren't you a cutie?" Amadeus winked in his direction.

Peter blushed. "Um, thanks."

"So, Peter, are you free this evening?" Amadeus asked, leaning his head on the door frame and slowly pushing it open while Monserrat squirmed from underneath him. Peter nodded, "Yeah, I'm free. Why man?"

"I know it sounds cheesy, babe, but I think we would work grate together. Maybe we could go out around seven?" he asked. Monserrat abruptly stopped mid-squat (he was still trying to get out from under Amadeus, the oblivious flirt wonder) and pinched Amadeus' ankle.

"Amadeus, it's rude to hit on strangers," he hissed. He looked up at Peter. "I am so sorry about him, he's like a child, really, and I know that's no excuse, but-"