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“Yes, may I have the fifteen-piece wings in sweet chili?” The Doctor opened his chatelaine bag and retrieved a small wad of glowing green tokens. The keys on the old fashioned cash register rattled as the order was input. “And a side of coleslaw, a small serving of seasoned chips, a large Cosmic Fizz, and…a cookie if you please. Chocolate chip.” He proffered the tokens and received a receipt in return. They were order number fifty-two. “Thank you. Have a splendiferous day.”
The Doctor and Peri wandered towards the shop’s entrance to wait. “I can’t fathom why you didn’t want anything,” he said. The restaurant’s vegetarian selection was almost as extensive as that for meat-eaters.
Peri shrugged. “I’m not that hungry.”
“Color me shocked. Usually we’re both famished after a good hoist of the skirts.” He turned to the window to primp his hair and the knot of his necktie. The crinoline beneath his dress billowed to give an eyeful of his colorfully striped stockings and Edwardian button boots. It was a look of pure, unfettered whimsy. Whether at the circus, a pantomime, or twirling on the tip of Lewis Carroll’s pen, he was the belle of the ball and the talk of everywhere they went.
A two-headed creature outside was caught in the crossfire. They squinted, grimaced, and kept their neck swiveled as they walked by. The Doctor was either unfazed or too busy with his reflection to notice. “I should’ve bought two cookies,” he said. “Or maybe one of your cauliflower thingamabobs. I can always amend the order, you know.”
“No, it’s okay. Thanks, though.”
The Doctor retrieved a compact mirror from his bag, glancing at her ever so swiftly as he did so. “Peri.” Hearing that sharp inflection had Peri standing before her mother’s downturned glare. He inspected the makeup that ruddied his face and contoured the features into more feminine flavors.
“It’s okay, mom. You just keep on preening.” Peri shoved her hands in her blazer pockets and soaked in the atmosphere of the restaurant. If Cheers wasn’t on the owner’s mind when they designed the place, it certainly was on hers. “If I get hungry, I can always grab something in the TARDIS. I think there are still a few bites left of that lasagna we made.” If anyone had doubts that a meat-less, cheese-less lasagna could taste any good, theirs was worth the challenge.
“I no longer care for these earrings,” he said, suddenly. “Trite old things.”
“If you don’t want them, I’ll take them off your hands.” She didn’t know exactly what outfit went best with blue dangles, but it was better to have and not need than need and not have.
He threw a swift glare in her direction. “I said I no longer care for them, not that I’ve decided to open a charity shop.”
The Doctor was as genderless as they came, but now he could add “professional queen” to his innumerable list of titles. After surprising Peri by starring in a drag performance on the planet Xyalo, he’d developed a habit for donning a breast form and appearing even taller than he already was. “Withal I’ve grown tired of this lipstick.” He smacked his lips and shut the compact. “I think I shall adopt the color of my nail polish next. I’m rather fond of this shade of rouge. Peri?”
“Yes, Doctor?” she said, feigning exasperation. He took longer than she did to ready in the morning, and still his days were peppered with the expectation that, at any minute, Mr DeMille would appear from behind the velvet curtain. If not him, then Walt Disney. The children they met on their journeys pointed and clamored around as if he were a cartoon character come to life. Positive attention, no matter the source, gave him a thrill.
He opened her hands to her. She grasped them. “My darling pet, my faithful companion, my selfless lover.” He set her palms upon his chest. “Oh, I could not be the woman I am today if not for you.”
She rolled her eyes. They’d talked about building a life together extensively since going steady, but now was neither the time nor place. “If you’re going to propose to me at a dive bar wing joint—don’t.”
“Propose? Propose? Whatever put that silly little notion in your head?” He stopped, as if a thought had struck, and crinkled his brow. “Peculiar. I haven’t the faintest clue what I’m on about. I think this grease paint is seeping into my pores.”
Whatever the reason, Peri loved her. And she had to admit, she quite enjoyed taking the dominant role in the bedroom when the Doctor wanted to play pillow princess. It was about time the fate of his pleasure was placed solely in her hands—and the silicone schlong she wielded beneath her navel. If she said “hands off” his plaything, he whined, but obliged. If “chastity” was the word of the day, out came the pink-plated cage. Her favorite was the one they’d partaken in even when his uniform had less lace and frill: a little post-orgasm torture never hurt a Time Lord.
A customer entered, greeted the Doctor warmly, and slithered to the front counter. It was mid-afternoon and many of the booths were occupied. Photographs and cheap paraphernalia lined the wood paneling to give customers an eyeful. A corner jukebox played whiskey-drenched tunes sung in foreign sibilants. It almost sounded as though Sil had started a backyard band. If listened to closely, Peri could hear some vague semblance of a beat. She rocked on her Keds and brushed a few cat hairs from her shoulder pads. Fried food and beer was pungent not just on the nose, but the taste buds, and she began to wish she’d punched in an order.
“Okay, I’ve changed my mind. Could you get me one of those veggie bowls?”
The Doctor’s back was to the wall, his hands firmly clasped around a paperback’s jaundiced wings. He lifted his eyes a trifle. “Bowls? After all we’ve done today, you’d like me to take you bowling?” He licked his finger and turned the page.
“Veggie bowls, Doctor. It’s on the menu.” She plucked the book from his hands. “Y’know, so your faithful companion won’t starve to death?”
He smiled and patted her head. “Good girl. I knew you’d come to your senses.”
Their order was amended, adding an additional few minutes to their wait. By then Peri had taken advantage of the vacant booth beside them. She grabbed the Doctor by the arm and dragged him onto the seat beside her. His nose remained lodged within the pages of his tale. “I ought to translate this novel for you,” he said. “I think you’d rather enjoy it.”
“What’s it about?” She peered at the cover. It featured an octopus and not much else.
“Well, it begins with…” The book’s contents were then explained in pointed detail. As he waffled on, the person who’d arrived before them had left with their food. A small line had formed at the cashier. A secondary attendant emerged from the kitchen with paper bags set like a mahogany salver between four hands.
“Doctor?” he announced.
The Doctor persisted about “terrible suckers” and failed to hide his amusement at the unintentional verbiage. “Of course, such a descriptor does not apply to me.”
“Order for the Doctor?”
Peri rustled his arm. “He’s talking to you.” She spoke up. “Over here!”
The attendant walked over with long, decisive strides. The chicken’s spicy aromas approached them before they did. “Doctor?”
“In the flesh!” he said.
“All righty, here you are.” The attendant set the bag on the table and followed up with additional, smaller, bags. The tall cup of soda was sopping with condensation. “You have a good day, ma’am. Uh, sir?”
“Doctor will do, thank you,” he said, brightly. “And to you as well.” The presence of these modest luxuries put a swift end to the book club. He checked the order’s individual components and all was to his satisfaction. He stepped out of the booth and grabbed his soda. “Peri, the food.”
She remained planted in her seat. Of all the containers and bags that were stacked like Jenga, only one measly veggie bowl belonged to her. “Why is it always my job to be the pack mule?”
“Because you’re good at what you do.” He slurped his drink. “Now, if you don’t mind,” he sashayed towards the door, “I may be a woman of great distinction, but once I’m in the TARDIS I intend to kick off these heels and do something most unladylike.”