JanuARy bonus exclusive | Spoony | Part 1

One

Ngatea

The drink contains Tequila, sherry, grapefruit, Salers aperitif, and black salt.

Paul sips and manages not to cough. “That’s something else. What’s it called?”

Seren arches an eyebrow. “’The devil you know’”.

Paul laughs. “Cool.”

Cool like Seren, with her red dress and promising figure. What on earth was a beautiful woman like this doing on Paul’s dating app? Why need could she have for Blind Me, where the profile pics are automatically blurred when you sign up, and then the more you talk, the more of the image is revealed. Like a lingering, chatty blind date.

Paul decided to not question his good fortune any further. They talked online, learned enough about each other – both foreigners in New Zealand, British Seren and American Paul, both stuck here thanks to the pandemic – to know that they are living in interesting times. Times where they might as well take a risk or two.

Seren has outstayed her visa and is resorting to babysitting jobs. Paul is remote-learning the second year of a business degree at the University of Waikato. Today is clear for both of them, and so why doesn’t Paul take state highway 27 from Hamilton to Ngatea and enjoy a promised cocktail with the gorgeous girl who has the cutest of accents?

He put on his best shirt and pants, shaved, and then an hour later, he’s sitting on Seren’s couch. It’s a nice enough home – Seren’s renting, her roommate is back in Auckland with her family – and so she’s raiding the drinks cabinet in the meantime, because don’t these days feel rather like the end of the world sometimes?

“My parents don’t understand what it’s like,” says Paul. “They never went through something like this.”

Seren sighs. “My mum and dad didn’t want me backpacking in the first place, and now Covid happens and they’ve lost plot.”

Paul takes a bigger sip of his drink, and it’s better this time, less of a burn. He tilts his glass. “It’s kind of bitter. Bittersweet.”

“Right?” Seren replies. “Very grown-up. Of course, I’ve got other things, if you need something sweeter.” And she puts her hand on Paul’s lap, just for a moment, and it might mean nothing or it could mean everything.

Paul nods, taps his feet to the ambient beats and breathy vocals playing on Seren’s Bluetooth speaker.

“KLLO,” she says. “Australian.”

“Cool,” says Paul. He needs to find a fresh adjective. He downs the rest of his cocktail, because he’s about to make a move.

“Thirsty,” Seren comments, and the look on her face is both sexy and mischievous at the same time.

Paul feels a stirring between his legs. What will it be like to kiss this girl? He turns to look at her. “You’re beautiful.”

Seren smiles. She opens her mouth to tell Paul whether he’s smooth or a loser, and her phone rings instead.

“Gah, hang on.” She gets up, phone to her ear. “No, I really can’t…” She looks at Paul and then walks towards the kitchen, and Paul hears her say, “I’m sort of on a date, actually.”

He grins.

When Seren returns, the phone is gone and her hands are clasped in front. “I’m so sorry. Change of plan, I’ve got a…oh, I’m just embarrassed.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Last-minute guest. I have to babysit tonight.” She looks crestfallen, but Paul knows that this is the oldest trick in the blind date book. Have a friend call you thirty minutes into the date, and if things aren’t going well, you’ve got a made-up excuse to bail.

Paul sighs. He’s not going to push it. He gets to his feet, pulls the keys from his pocket. “I get it,” he says. After all, what on earth would a girl like her want with an average guy like him? He’ll drive back, get a pizza and beers and pretend he’s delighted by his own company.

“Oh!” exclaims Seren. She reaches for the keys and takes possession. “No, please, don’t leave, I didn’t mean that. You see, it’s a bit of an interruption, but she won’t be any trouble, I’ll feed her and put her to bed, we’ll have plenty of time, just you and me.” And she’s sits Paul down with her, back on the couch, her hand back on Paul’s knee. “Please don’t be cross,” she says softly.  And when she looks into his eyes, Paul knows this can mean only one thing.

And so he nods. Because he’s a nice guy. And because this is the closest thing to action he’s had in months.

Seren beams at him. “Oh! You sure?”

“Absolutely,” says the nice guy. He will be on his best, kindest behavior, and then he will get laid. “No problem. I like kids.”

“Okay.” Seren goes back towards the kitchen. “I’ll put her dinner on.”

Paul calls after her, “Need any help?”

“No, you relax.” There’s the sound of the refrigerator opening, the bleeps of the oven. “Just to warn you, Debbie’s the sweetest girl, but she’s also special.”

Paul looks towards the kitchen. And he hesitates, and then he says, “Special?”

Seren puts her head around the door. “Challenged.”

Paul holds up his hands. “Oh. Okay. No, I got you. Understood.”

“She really is the sweetest girl, though.”

“Right. Cool.” He sits back, listens to the breathy, pulsing music. It occurs to Paul that Seren didn’t give back his keys, and he shrugs. Probably not a car thief. He closes his eyes, and somehow he must fall asleep, because the next thing Paul noticing the music has stopped, replaced by a ringing of the doorbell, and then the thing after that is the arrival of Debbie.

There’s a brief, enthusiastic conversation at the front door, and then Debbie is in the living room, chattering at Seren as if they’re best friends until she sees Paul, and then Debbie looks shy. More than shy, she looks nervous, and she won’t look Paul in the eye, she turns away, tugs on Seren’s dress like a socially anxious preschooler.

Which would be understandable, if Debbie wasn’t an adult.

Paul looks at the two women, and while his mouth isn’t hanging open, he still feels as though his jaw might hit the floor. Debbie is a pretty woman, blue eyes and blond hair, shorter than Seren and dressed in a yellow polo shirt and navy skirt that has to be a school uniform. But she’s clearly an adult, with the size and curves to prove it.

“Aw,” says Seren. “Don’t be shy, sweetie, say hello to Paul. He’s my new friend!”

Debbie still won’t look Paul’s way, but she flutters her fingers at him, and when Seren looks meaningfully at Paul, he says, “Hi, Debbie. Pleased to meet you.” And he notices that his tone, while not as condescending as Seren’s, does sound as though he’s talking to a child. Because it’s obvious, isn’t it, that Debbie isn’t all there. From her body language to the look on her face, this is a grown woman with a reduced intelligence.

He nods at her. “Do you go to school? Are you wearing a uniform?”

He earns a sniff of a response from the woman, but she does turn her head and sneak a glance at him.

“I go to school as well,” he says. He smiles. “But I don’t have to wear a uniform.”

And sure enough, Debbie now looks properly at Paul, looks him up and down. “My school is special,” she says. “You gotta wear your uniform.” And while her diction isn’t perfect, lisping like a little girl, Paul can understand.

“I bet,” says Paul, and Seren beams at both of them. For a moment, she looks like a mother at a playdate, glad the kids are getting on so well. That absurd idea only increases when Debbie lets go of Seren and goes over to the couch to ask, “Are you having a sleepover too?”

Swee-povuh. Paul frowns in concentration, and then manages the translation. He blushes. “Um…probably not…” He looks to Seren.

“We’ll see,” Seren says. “Paul is very welcome to sleep over if he wants to.” And with another of her meaningful looks in Paul’s direction, the invitation is crystal clear to him if not to Debbie.

“Okay,” Seren says, “let’s get a wriggle on. Debbie, you want to keep your uniform on?” It must be a playful question, a joke between the two of them, because the pigtailed-woman bursts into giggles.

“Nuh-uh! Wanna pretend!”

Seren’s face wears an expression of theatrical surprise, and it’s obvious to Paul that this is a conversation the two women have had before.

Seren puts a thoughtful finger to her chin. “What kind of pretend?” She taps slowly and then says, “Pretend…police officer?”

Debbie shakes her head. “No!”

“Pretend…baby sitter?”

This provokes a much bigger headshake, Debbie’s pigtails swinging from side to side. “No! You’re the baby sitter!” You duh bay-bee sidduh!  And it’s this moment, with the woman showing no hint of offense of being seen as the babysat, that tells Paul this is a woman with the unselfconscious, innocent mind of a young child.

How did Debbie get like that? There are no signs of an accident that has left Debbie with physical disabilities, no scars that suggest surgery. She looks perfectly fine, she looks better than fine. Except for the words that come out of her mouth, except for the naïve look in her eyes.

Seren looks upward, the very picture of thoughtful contemplation, and then she raises her finger confidently and says, “I know! Pretend…” And then her tone shifts, and she finishes her idea with a tone sweeter than honey. “Princess? Princes Deb-deb?” She nods with enthusiasm and then says, “You can wear your sparkly dress, like a real princess.” She bends to stage-whisper in Debbie’s ear, “And maybe Paul will fall in love with you. Maybe he’s a real prince!”

Paul coughs into a cupped hand. He’s not desperate to play a game like that, but fortunately neither is Debbie.

The blonde looks at Paul and then says, “No. Don’t wanna.”

Seren exhales heavily, looking suddenly exhausted. She gives a big shrug. “Oh, I don’t know then. I mean what else can you pretend?”

Debbie giggles. “You know,” she says.

Even Paul is smiling. Is it the devil cocktail that has warmed him up to this bizarre scene? Or is it just the women themselves, both of which seem to consider this entirely normal?

“You know, Seren!” Debbie insists. You know, thwen!

Seren frowns. “Hang on…” And she waits, seemingly lost in thought while Debbie bounces up and down on her feet.

“Seren,” Debbie whines, “you know!”

Seren throws up her hands. “Maybe I do, but…I’m not sure…how about pretend…puppy?”

“Yeah!” Debbie blurts, and she jumps up and down. “Pretend puppy!” Puh-ten puh-pee!

She winks at Paul before saying, “Puppy it is. Let’s get you dressed.” She hugs the woman and says, “You’re so spoony.”

Debbie laughs louder. “I’m not spoony!”

The taller woman nods and says fondly, “You really are.” She turns to Paul. “You okay here while I get this spoony girl changed?”

He nods. “No problem.”

Alone in the living room, Paul googles “spoony” on his phone. Because where did that come from?

Informal, archaic.

Foolish, silly.

He puts his phone down on the arm of the couch. Just some old word that Seren likes using. She’s British after all, and those guys have weird words for all kinds of things. So ‘spoony’ is a little nickname for Debbie, and while it could be worse, it seems on one level to be inappropriate to use a term like that for a mentally-challenged adult.

Still, the word looks increasingly appropriate when Debbie returns from the bedroom, dressed, in a fuzzy brown onesie complete with a tail, and even a floppy-eared hood that would complete the look if Debbie pulled it over her head.

“Look, Paul!” says Seren brightly, “I got a puppy!”

Paul stares at the two women, smiling, while inwardly amazed at the contrast. Both women in their early twenties; one demure and sophisticated in a red dress, the other grinning with delight and dressed like a toddler. And Paul knows only a woman with the lowest of IQs would consider this a good time. “I see that. Is she a good puppy?”

“Hmm,” says Seren. “I think so.” She looks intently at Debbie until the woman squirms and giggles.

“Good puppy!” she insists. “I’m a good puppy!”

Seren doesn’t look convinced. “I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we.” She opens her mouth to say more, and with perfect timing, a ringing sound begins. She rolls her eyes, retrieves her phone, and listens before saying, “Oh no, I already have Debbie, and I’m not even supposed to be-“ She frowns. “Oh, I really can’t, not-“

Debbie, looking bored and eager for playtime, gets down on all fours and starts producing a woofing sound that must pass for a dog impersonation. It’s loud enough to make Seren glare and cover her phone. “Too loud, sweetie. She waves a finger. “Inside puppy, okay?”

Debbie starts panting, and then shuffles over to Seren and puts her hands on the skirt of Seren’s dress. “Woof,” she says, “Woof-woof!” And the volume is only marginally lower than before.

Seren groans. She waves the phone at Paul. “Can you be a star and take her to the bedroom, just so I can sort this out?”

And what else can Paul do? The nice guy, the guy who’s sure that he’ll get his reward in the end, nods and says to Debbie, “Come on, let’s play a game.”

Debbie looks skeptically at Paul. “Play puppy?”

Paul nods. “Sure.” He gets up, pats his thighs and calls to the woman. “Come on, puppy, let’s go!” And he is amazed in the moment, at how easy it is to treat the woman like a very young child.

Debbie grins. “Woof!” And she continues on all fours, clumsily but eventually following behind him out of the living room, and Paul looks back to catch a grateful glance from Seren.

She won’t be any trouble, I’ll feed her and put her to bed, we’ll have plenty of time, just you and me.

Yeah, thinks Paul. They’d better.

Debbie overtakes and pats open the door to the bedroom, revealing a room with a bed sized for an adult but with decorations and toys for a three or four year old.

Still on her hands and knees, the woman in the fuzzy brown onesie tilts her head up at Paul and says, “Dress up?”

Paul points at himself. “Me?”

The woman grins. “Dress up like me!” And Paul can’t help frowning at the thought of Debbie actually thinking that he was like her, another idiot that Seren has to look after.

He shakes his head, looking around the room, taking in the pink bedspread and the soft toys arranged neatly by the pillow. What must it be like, being babysat by Seren? With no sense of sexual desire or tension. A complete innocent, utterly dependent. The thought fill Paul with pity for the damaged blonde.

He bends down and pats Debbie’s head. “No, thank you. I don’t need to dress up.” He points at an empty cardboard box in the corner of the room. It’s been placed on its side. “Is that your kennel?”

When Debbie looks mystified, Paul says, “Uh, is it your crate? I mean, for a puppy?”

Debbie shakes her head. “It’s just a box.” And then she nods, the cogs in her mind turning slowly but surely. “But we pretend!”

Paul smiles. “Here, we can put a blanket in there, you can curl up and take a nap, like a good puppy.”

He doesn’t see a blanket, but they could fold up the comforter, he supposes, as long as the puppy likes Disney princesses. It’s the lamest of games, and just a lazy way to occupy the woman until Seren gets off the phone. Still, he’s gratified by how Debbie’s eyes light up.

“Blankie!” she blurts. “Blankie for puppy!” And she gets up and runs to the closet, pulling open the doors to produce a pink blanket decorated with cartoon dogs.

“Paw Patrol,” Debbie explains importantly. She points to the image of one of the dogs, some kind of cocker spaniel wearing pink pilot goggles, and smiles. “Skye.”

“Gotcha,” says Paul. And he makes up his mind to ask Debbie how many of these special adults she looks after, and also to ask why she treats them like little kids. Because isn’t this limiting their potential? Isn’t there a less insulting way to care for them? Paul fleetingly imagines being in Debbie’s situation, reduced to mental childhood without even a glimmer of understanding how foolish she is, and he suppresses a shudder.

He gives the woman a condescending smile. “Nice blankie.” He holds out his hands for it. “I’m gonna make your special bed now, so you can take your nap like a good puppy.” He raises an eyebrow. “Unless you’re a spoony puppy?”

Debbie giggles in response, evidently delighted at the use of the words. “Not spoony, good puppy!” she says, handing over the blanket, and Paul prepares to continue the silly game of pretend just long enough until Seren comes in to rescue him.

But one spoon is enough. Paul decides in the moment that if Seren comes through and says she’s babysitting a second of these unfortunates, he’s going to make his excuses and take off.

To be continued...