"A necessity, Richard. Yes, yes, Rick, I'm aware of the repercussions but it needs to happen. Look, look, Rick - if the balloons aren't ready by noon, Lila's party will be the worse for it, so you will hang up that goddamn phone and get them. Cancel every meeting you have today if you need to, Rick. She's a valued and loyal employee, and she hasn't had a birthday party without balloons a single year with us. You want to break an eleven-year-streak?"

I sighed. "Good. Thank you, Richard. You're a dear."
Walking along the porch of my home, I fielded other confirmational texts from employees - it was 11:16, and we were almost finished the party preparations.

My phone rang.

"This is Delilah Sescilies, how may I help you?"

Lady Luck, it's me, it's me, Samson Weathers. I - I need your help.

"Mr. Weathers, I laid you out cold over the Arrowhead Enterprises skyscraper not a week ago. What could possibly possess you to come to me for help?"

My mother . . . she shot down my dog.

"And . . . what? Did she also spit at a dying baby? Your dog's dead now, kid. What do you expect me to tell you? I'm many things, but a Cleric I am not. Get a new one."

I . . . I'd like to come live with you. Please.

"Samson, I feel obligated to ask. Have you taken or been in close or extended contact with recreational drugs within the last few hours?"

No Ma'am. I would like to come live with you. You're practically the only one in this godforsaken city I know. I need a place to stay.

"Do you not live with your parents? What, has their house been foreclosed?"

No, Ma'am. They kicked me out of the house.

"What, for a day? A week? Just book a fucking hotel! What are you bothering me for? I'm busy."

I'm not sure you understand, Ma'am. They kicked me out because I came out to them. I thought they'd be understanding, or at least outright hostile, but apparently being a Good Christian involves being wicked to everyone else.

". . . Darling . . . Very well. Come on down. Bring as much as you can sneak out of your personal effects. I'll buy whatever else you need."

It took a moment. Samson Weathers hung up the phone, and a few seconds later, he was standing on the porch with me, holding a diminutive cardboard box.

His voice had been relatively steady over the phone, but in person he looked broken. His bottom lip quivered and his face was a red blotchy mess. He stiffened into my embrace, flinching as I kissed him on the forehead.

I looked him in the eye. "We don't fight anymore. You're my baby now. Understood?"

He nodded, sniffling. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Ah-ah. No. Delilah. You call me Delilah. Mrs. Sescilies in formal company. You are in my care now, not my employ."

At his nod, I turned, walking off of the porch and into the house, motioning for him to follow. "Speaking of which, we have a party to organize."