Chapter Text
Toby drifts in a watermelon themed pool float, feet dipped in the water, the sun beaming down, sunglasses on, beside him Sydney does the same. They take up most of the small above ground pool Calvin bought for the family to use. Though he thinks it's mostly so he can watch his mom put on one of her like eight billion bathing suits.
They're the only two at the house, mom and Calvin off on some day trip to a sale barn or something. He's just here for the pool. A radio plays music to the side, the water is cool, his body is relaxed.
"Hey, Syd?" He asks, not sure if he wants to ask but he's already opened his mouth to address it like an idiot. There's no backing out of it or she'll complain for the next ten minutes until he asks her anyway.
"What's up?" She replies, neither of them move, both still happily floating in their little mini New Mexico paradise.
"I think I have a crush." He admits. Toby isn't used to the idea of this, in the past when he liked someone he typically acted on it. They screwed or he got rejected and then whoever it was got bored and went on their way.
Technically he and Dio have sort of screwed, vocally, from a vast distance. Will he, or she, be gone now? Satisfied with that exchange, another of many to have a lick of Toby and decide that's more than enough.
Syd splashes him without so much as a glance. "And?"
"With one of my callers." He explains and therefore divulges the crux of the issue. They are two people using fake names and an anonymous service that's entire basis is bullshitting others to feel like they're valued.
This finally gets her gaze upon him, sunglasses pushed down her nose so she can stare over them. "You're terrible at this you know that right? There's literally a gay bar in the town over, or a regular bar, or dating websites."
"Didn't mean for it to happen." He defends and splashes her back, "I don't even know what it is about her, there's ... it feels important when she calls -- like fate."
"Like fate, oh god." She groans, "Toby, no!"
He splashes her again a little more violently this time. "You're supposed to be my aunt," He grouses, "Your job is to like give me advice 'n shit."
"I am a terrible example and we all know it. Do not do as I do, Toby. Don't even do as you do. We're terrible at being alive. You got the impulsive gene from this family. God, one of your callers. She could be some old lady."
Toby thinks for a flash of a moment about the first woman he asked to marry. Sweet, not so Christian, and his own mother. An older woman would probably be a step up. But he doesn't mention this to Sydney, that night has remained a mutually decided secret between him and his mom, best left alone, forgiven and put to rest.
"I could do worse." He says instead, a middle ground hinting at a silent truth.
"She could be like eighty and have no legs." Sydney laments and he laughs.
"She doesn't sound old and I'm pretty sure most people have legs." He shoots back, dipping his arms into the water to cool down more.
Sydney seems to give this some thought, which he knew after the first knee jerk reaction she would. There's a reason they're having this conversation, he trusts her opinion. "What makes her different? And a weird woo-woo feeling is not a good enough reason."
Toby floats, chewing on this question. Sydney patiently waits.
What makes Dio different from all his other callers? Is it because he's shy? It's more than that, it has to be, he's had shy callers before. People that panic and hang up and call back.
His eyes gaze up at the distant clouds overhead as it sinks in what it is. The reason beyond the odd requests, the shyness, that little sound he made when he came.
"I think there's something about her that's me." He says, "I hear me when she talks and it's like I understand what she's saying even when she doesn't say anything."
Sydney sighs. "Well by my estimation you're good and fucked already." She paddles over to lightly slap his arm in silent begrudging support, "Guess you'll have to hope she keeps calling."
Toby nods, "It's fate. She'll call again."
❥ ✦ ❥ 𝓭𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮 𝓫𝓸𝔂𝓼 ✦ ❥ ✦
Every time he gets a call and it's not Dio it makes him more annoyed than the last. First he does his telemarketing stuff in the morning, gets through his daily goals, and then moves on to hoping that his favorite caller makes an appearance.
So far he's answered twelve calls, spent hours on the phone and no luck. He usually calls in by now. He's made more money than normal, he's going to have an influx. But Toby keeps accepting calls in the hope it'll be her.
He takes another three and by the end of the last one he's actually sort of pissed off. Not at Dio but in general. All these fake bastards that want something from him and don't care if he wants to give it. It's like he's more aware of it than usual, it grates easier.
One more call. One more and then he's done for the day. His skin feels over sensitive, the creep of some forgotten memory edging along his thoughts. Toby presses his back to the headboard and reaches for the ratty stuffed monkey that rests in the corner, pressing it into his lap.
The phone rings, he fumbles to answer it, "This is Lucky."
"Pretend your choking on my cock, Lucky. I really want to hear you go for it."
He hangs up the phone and almost throws it.
Toby pulls the monkey closer, wrapping both arms around it. He's a boy hiding in the shed again. Too small and pretending to be too large. Monkeys are as kind as they are deadly.
The phone rings, he can't do this. He answers it anyway, "Lucky." He wheezes out.
"Hi, Lucky."
Some of the tightness in his chest loosens. "Hey, Dio."
"Your voice sounds different."
"Sorry," He whispers, even as he's aware she's right. He sounds horrible, not sexy at all. Only weary. He can smell the old oil in the garage.
"Are you okay?"
"This is a phone sex line." He states, too blunt, too angry. Toby remembers the day his mother told him he had a lot of anger inside, he feels that today. It feels like a tidal wave, too much all at once. He lashes out at the one person he wants to be kind to, "My feelings are irrelevant."
The line goes dead.
This time he launches the phone into the wall and it smashed into pieces, chunks of plastic and his disgust clunking down to the old carpet. His hands tangle up in his hair and he wants to scream. Toby curls there, a boy all over again. A boy in his childhood bed, in the kitchen, in the living room, in the garage, in his mom's car.
Always saying no. Always saying please stop.
Having it never matter. It never matters. Toby accepted that long ago.
He draws himself to his feet and goes to the top of his mini fridge, latching onto an unopened bottle of whiskey. The drinking is easy. Simple. Familiar.
Toby drinks and then he walks. By the time he reaches Storm Ranch he's good and fucking wasted, hiccuping and stumbling up the steps. He means to knock but he ends up tripping and slamming into the front door.
A moment later the dogs go off barking and he frowns bringing the mostly empty bottle to his mouth as he knocks hard on the door, utterly unaware that it's the middle of the night. Or maybe a little aware, he just doesn't care.
Calvin is the one who answers, eyes scanning him before he opens the door to let him in. Toby fumbles forward, trips, and lands hard on the floor, bottle skidding away from him across the hardwood, "Shit."
This step-father doesn't beat him, only leans down to take the bottle. "That's mine." He slurs, blearily reaching for it but he makes no move to get up off the floor.
"S'mine now. You can sleep down there or on the couch." Calvin states.
Toby droops against the hard floorboards and doesn't say anything.
"You want a blanket?"
"Go fuck yourself, Many-Goats."
A moment later a blanket lands on top of him. "Be pissed all you want, but don't wake your mother."
Toby curls the blanket over himself, not aware until that moment he brought Bobo with him. He tugs the monkey to his chest and passes out on the floor.
❥ ✦ ❥ 𝓭𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮 𝓫𝓸𝔂𝓼 ✦ ❥ ✦
Something is touching him. Toby jerks bringing his arms up to protect his face. It takes him a moment to register there is no hit coming and slits his eyes open to look at the woman standing over him, hands on her hips.
Toby pulls the blanket over his head to hide from the light and her gaze.
"Young man, if you think you're going to sleep in my hallway all morning you have another thing coming. This is a walkway. I walk here."
He groans, scuttling to the side until his back is pressed up against the wall trying to be out of the way.
He hears Sydney laugh and it spikes through his head, "Oh I have been there. God, you lucky son of a bitch. How does it feel living my dream?"
"Terrible." He grumbles, as the pounding in his head intensifies.
Sydney laughs again despite the pain it is causing him, "I'll make you a hangover shake."
Toby doesn't say anything only continues to hide under the blanket from his mother's disapproving stare. If he doesn't look it's not happening. Every time he disappoints her he feels like an asshole for a week.
There's the creak of wood and then the drop of weight. He stays in his dark, too hot, cocooned with his stuffed animal. Truly proving you're all grown up right about now, aren't you Toby.
"You want to talk about it?" His mom asks, there's that concern again. That also makes him feel like an asshole.
He considers the offer, "Got in my own head."
"About what?"
"About who I am, what I'm good for." He replies. Toby already knows the answer to this. He's good for very little and all of it has to do with an exploitation of the self. Those pieces he keeps parsing out even though there's a deficit.
A hand drops down on top of his head over the blanket, "You always get that part wrong," She says lightly, "You're good for so much, Toby." Her hand slips beneath the blanket and cards through his oily hair. His eyes burn with unspent tears at the soft touch, scooting toward her. "You've surmounted so much. I'm proud of you."
His head ends up in her lap and he's a boy all over again. A boy looking for slivers of affection wherever he can find them, running off to Arletty in an attempt at something resembling kindness.
His mother gives it in spades whenever he is brave enough to ask for it. Toby should ask more. The touch is peaceful. There has never been such peace in his life.
"I don't know how to do this." He mumbles into her leg.
Her hand keeps going through his hair, consistent, unfaltering. The way he always wanted a mother's love to be. "Oh, sweetheart, none of us do. That's the whole point."
"Tell me what to do." He pleads, he wants all the answers. A direction. Toby has always relied on someone to tell him what to do, he wants to be able to do it on his own, he just doesn't know how.
His mom's reply is to keep playing with his hair, causing him to drop down against her. A malleable piece of string, tied in too many knots.
She doesn't say anything and Toby knows that this is the answer. She doesn't have one, there is no magical easy solution. No order to give that makes any of this go away.
"I wish you'd raised me." He mumbles, a wish he's never stated out loud before but thought a thousand times over. "Then I wouldn't be so fucked up."
Sure he would have had to deal with Elizabeth and he'd probably know how to play tennis, but no one would have touched him. He wouldn't have had to eat rotten food. People would have cared, Cookie could have lived to be old and grey.
His mom sighs, "Me too, sweetheart."
Toby tilts his face to hide his eyes in the soft fabric of her dress. He lets out this pathetic sad sort of cry and sniffles.
She keeps playing with his hair. She doesn't rush him, doesn't try for false comforts. They stay there until he gathers up the little shards of himself he left all over the floor, tucking them back into his chest where they'll continue to rattle around and then when it comes time to stand she helps him up.
When he sits down for breakfast Sydney pushes a green shake in front of him with a wink and no one judges him for sleeping on the floor or showing up in the middle of the night. They talk about the weather, the horse they bought, his mom's new haircut he didn't notice.
When Toby leaves it's with leftovers in a plastic bag, a monkey under his arm, an order to come back tomorrow, and a kiss on the forehead that makes him want to curl back on the hallway floor.
But as his mother says, life is a work in progress. Toby hopes he makes progress soon.
❥ ✦ ❥ 𝓭𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮 𝓫𝓸𝔂𝓼 ✦ ❥ ✦
It takes a bit of internalizing to get back on the phone again. He's lucky that when he bought the phones he bought a set. But after the first call, some lady who wanted him to compliment her a dozen times, he falls right back into the habit.
Then it's business as usual.
Toby is bored after the third call and needs to get water but is too lazy to pull himself from bed even if his throat is dry from all the fake heaving and moaning.
He yawns as he answers the next call, "This is Lucky."
"I'm not a transsexual."
Toby blinks, fatigue vanishing, thirst forgotten. "That's okay." He replies, adjusting the phone to click up the volume.
"I have a fetish." Dio goes on, it sounds defensive. He needs to apologize for what he said last time, she was only trying to be nice. "I think gay men are hot. That's all. I'm not a tranny."
"Okay," Toby agrees, "I don't mind, that's what I'm here for."
This sounds like a pep talk. Is he forgetting how to do his job? He's been in the industry for ages there's no way he's losing his touch. Is he?
"I mean ... we can be whatever you want us to be."
"Lucky," She sounds so sad, "Are you not allowed to talk about things that aren't like sexual?"
"I'm sorry I snapped at you last time we spoke," He feels like shit about it in hindsight. First crush he's had in years and basically told him to fuck off the moment he was in a bad mood. "I was ... that was on me, I was having a bad day. We can talk about whatever you want, but I still ... you're going to get charged no matter what it's automated."
"Do your parents like you?"
"Depends on the parent. My mom likes me." This is a fact he's particularly proud of, happy to share. "She recently got married and her husband is nice enough. Got a dumb name though."
"What is it? The name." Dio asks.
Toby isn't supposed to share details of his life that could give away where he might live or who he actually is. "Many-Goats."
Dio snort, a peal of laughter following a moment later. "That's a great last name, I don't know what you mean. I would kill to be a Many-Goats."
A little trill of jealousy appears despite knowing that's not how she means it.
Before he can try and talk around that feeling she keeps going, "Is your name really Lucky?"
"No." He closes his eyes, picturing they're having this conversation together. Sitting across from each other on the bed, knees touching. "My name is - "
The line disconnects.
He sighs, "Toby."
❥ ✦ ❥ 𝓭𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮 𝓫𝓸𝔂𝓼 ✦ ❥ ✦
He's been slacking on his NHSC quota, Toby keeps doing the sex calls in the hopes he'll hear from Dio. It's been over a week now and he's got this sinking feeling that there won't be anymore calls. Over before it began. Story of his life.
Toby adjusts the clipboard, highlighter in hand spinning it around his fingers as he dials the next person on the list. For these calls he typically takes on the same voice he used for Cowabunghole: soft, kind of innocent, confused.
Instead of needing help with 'math' he needs peoples help to buy cheap TV junk. Toby clears his throat and presses the call button, "Hello! This is Toby Osbourne from the National Home Shopping Club. I'm hoping to speak with a Miss Lady Barrlow about a special introductory offer?"
The line is quiet, he prepares to strike the number off his list, "Miss Barrlow?"
" ... Lucky?"
Toby freezes, mind catching up. Dio. He's speaking to Dio. Holy shit.
"Well guess you know my secret identity now." He teases. Going all cloak and dagger doesn't really matter to him, not when he crawled into the backs of peoples cars for three years.
If she knows his secret identity then he also knows hers. Lady Barrlow. Not the kind of name he expected. But all that really matters to him in this moment is the fact that they're speaking at all. It's not over.
"How did you get my number?" She asks.
Right, shit, he doesn't want to come off as some creep. "I work for the National Home Shopping Club." He explains, "They mail me this big fuckin' packet full of names and numbers, I don't know where they get them. I call. I offer discounts. People hang up on me. I mark them off the list."
"So the call line is what your other job?"
"Uh yeah, pretty much. I'm honor bound to offer you an introductory offer of only nineteen ninety nine. You can get our catalog for two years and it comes with a free battery powered book light."
"You're serious."
"I am." He smiles into the phone, "You know there's a hidden two pages of sex toys in these things, around the back. Including plugs and straps if that helps convince you."
Dio laughs. It's this bright drawn out delighted sort of sound that has him laughing with her. It feels good to make someone laugh.
"What a sales pitch." She chuckles, "I ... I wasn't going to call anymore."
"I know."
"You did?"
"Had a feeling. You could say I'm a bit of a wizard."
"Like a thirty year old virgin?"
This time it's Toby that starts laughing, head tilting back as he grins. "Not a fuckin' chance. I was in a movie once."
"You're an actor too?" The veiled interest strokes Toby's pride into something that has him straightening his shoulders, pressing the clipboard to the side. It had been a weird time in his life but he'd done it, and he'd done it as well as he could. He's proud even if being a star hadn't really worked out.
"I retired when I left LA," He tells him, "But yeah, it's called Cowabunghole, it's got Dylan Reeves he's a big star. I did other stuff too, but that was my only movie."
A pause, "You're a pornstar."
He sort of thought that would be obvious, "Yeah duh, well not anymore. Now I do the calls. Don't have to get tested or anything."
Another pause, "What's your porn name?"
Toby's smile widens, "Lucky."
He expects Dio to hang up, this feels like the point he normally would. Their calls never last all that long. The call keeping going. His cheeks hurt.
"So twenty bucks and I get a book light?"
"And a two year magazine subscription that includes coupons." He technically has a secret offer he can use for hard sells, Toby offers it early, "Plus, since you're my guy, I'll throw in a six piece Tupperware set for only five bucks. Which is a sick deal."
Dio giggles. "Can I pick the Tupperware color?"
"You sure can," He lets himself fall onto his back, looking at the posters that coat the ceiling. "Red, blue, or yellow."
"Yellow, that's my favorite color."
Yellow. He logs the information, every little bit of information he gains, the more fascinated he becomes. "Yellow it is. You know what the best part about this is, Dio?"
"What?"
"You don't have to pay me by the minute."
She snorts, "And yet you're still about to get paid."
"Three bucks."
"That's nothing!"
"This is Lucky speaking." He drawls teasingly and Dio laughs again.
"So I get two years of mags, a book light, tupperwear. You got anything to sweeten the pot, I don't know if I'm convinced." Dio says.
She's teasing him. Playing. The sarcasm sounds airy and he can't help the way his feet flutter where they hang over the side of the bed.
"You can keep my number."
Toby holds his breath. That's too much. The call is going to cut off and he'll have to decide if he really is a creep and call back.
"Okay, what do you need for the order?"
His feet keep kicking as he presses himself back upward collecting his clipboard, shifting to the order page, phone pressed between his shoulder and ear. "Just your name and address."
He preps his pen as Dio recites the same name on the form he has, so it's Lady for sure. Toby doesn't use the name, it's not the one he was given.
"Alright and your address."
"289 Wright Drive, Gallup, New Mexico."
Toby blinks. The street and city sink in. He doesn't say anything.
"Lucky?"
He passes Wright Drive every time he walks into downtown. It's four blocks away. They're in the same town, in the same neighborhood. This is fate. There is no other word for it anymore.
"I live on West Coal in the pink apartment building."
Dio hangs up the phone.