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The man who opened the door was patently not Carver Johnston. For one thing, he pretty much filled the door with little much room to spare, also being as wide as the door, and dressed for the occasion in jeans. Only jeans. There was a large expanse of tattooed chest. And red goatee. And long red dreadlocks.

Explanation: Carver had had extensive plastic surgery.

Better explanation: It was not Carver.

The man lounged in the doorway. He looked Natalie up, and then he looked Natalie down.

"The little <********>" he said eventually. "The little a*****e has a ********' schoolgirl. A real, live schoolgirl. Kneesocks. Jesus. Jesus, kneesocks. - Baby, let me give you a piece of advice. Drop Johnston and be with me. I've been a good boy all year. Unless you like bad boys, in which case I just punched a nun."

"Yeah, dropping off your things," the man said with obvious disbelief. "Dropping your little frilly Hello Kitty panties, I bet. Carver, you kinky little b***h! 'Want my neighbours to like me' my ********' a**, more like he doesn't want me horning in on the schoolgirl action - look, I don't care that he can get three hula hoops goin' on his hips at once. I have a d**k the size of the Chrysler building. If you're eighteen, how about you and me have sex and go for a pizza afterwards? If you're not eighteen, same offer, just don't tell your mommy. Keep the kneesocks on."

This was the thing that, in actual fact, worked. In the bits of the doorway that weren't filled with the red-headed monster, suddenly Carver appeared out his bedroom door in the same attire as the stranger - there was dire and terrible shock on his face, which could be attributed a. to Natalie and the redhead and b. that Natalie could see the fact that he also had tattoos, and n****e rings.

Oh dear.

He disappeared again momentarily, and when he came back, had a shirt on with the buttons done up all wrong. There was a momentary scuffle as Carver bodily got him out of the door, elbowing him in the gut viciously and trying to hide this fact from Natalie, and giving her a weak smile as the redhead doubled over. "Oh, God, I'm terribly sorry. I didn't hear the doorbell. Oh, God. Um. Admon Collier if you have said anything to her you are a dead man, you p***k - Miss Natalie, how lovely to see you. Won't you come in? Ama, put on a shirt, for God's sake - Might I introduce you to my old friend Admon Collier? Stop whinging, I only tapped you - Ama, this is Miss Natalie."

"I knew a stripper called Natalie once," said the hunched-over giant. "Oh, God, my liver."

"Please excuse him," Carver apologized. "He hasn't had a formal education. He also has had a lot of head injuries."

Carver seemed to have gotten himself under control and therefore was at peace with Natalie in her school uniform; Admon, for his part, was muttering a number of threats involving tender parts of Carver's anatomy and what he'd do with a potato peeler. Apparently he was also calming down and kidding himself that Natalie's virginal innocence hadn't been ruined by seeing him shirtless, and offered her a genuine smile; he seemed touched.

"You didn't? That's very kind of you," he said. "It's good to see you, too. I'm awfully sorry about Admon; he came only this morning. I've never once in my life seen him demonstrate manners over the past fifteen years."

"Yeah, we go way back," the redhead said, straightening himself up and running one hand through his rough hair. "Just noting, Kneesocks, that him and me aren't humping, so you and me can still go at it like it was 1985."

There was a moment's silence as what Natalie said hung in the air, much like hang time before a basketball went through the hoop.

And then it was broken unexpectedly; not just by Carver making choking noises, standing so rigid that he might have been at attention, but by Admon choking as well - falling back to sit on the sofa, sprawling his bulk on it, both men going red in the face - Carver was going a deep, brilliant plum colour under his tan - and then Ama started laughing; howling laughing, tilting his head back and hooting with mirth.

"I really dunno what the ******** it is about you," he said in-between breathless spurts of laughter, "but you get 'em devoted - " He dissolved again, totally helpless.

"Ten-forty," said Carver, totally incoherently.

" - 'course it's a sodding ten-forty - God, Kneesocks!" More laughter. Admon had thrown his head back and was clutching his sides, not laughing cruelly so much as laughing apparently at the inherent amusement of the whole wide world. "Christ! Johnston cheating - I could tell you a couple stories - "

"Admon." No longer incoherent.

" - I could tell you the story - "

"Admon." Again, only quieter.

" - if CJ had a favourite number, it'd be a goddamned three, wouldn't it - "

"Admon," Carver said again, and it was nearly a whisper - and impractically this worked, stopped whatever had been going between him and the redhead, which had been bordering on very nearly cruel. The expression on his face was one that Natalie hadn't seen before: it was hard, unyielding, contemptuous. Admon's laughter died down and he gave him a poker-face back; they held this for a few seconds, and then both relaxed, and the huge redhead slunk off to his backpack - snickering - to find a shirt.

Carver gentled, and his smile was a little wry as he took Natalie's hand. He was still a little red. "You know - I don't think I've ever had somebody prepared to say that for me to secure my old, ancient manliness. Goodness. You have, unfortunately, earned Collier's respect for ever with that, whether you wanted it or not."

He kissed her very chastely and paternally on the forehead, which was surprising for him. (Obviously it would have to be later when his brain went over everything she said that he would be gibbering horribly and have a heart attack.) "Why don't you come and sit down?"

"Yeah, on my knee," said Ama, coming back into the room, having secured a t-shirt. He was all friendliness now, though, and the offer seemed mainly in fun. (Though also in leer.) "Want a beer, Kneesocks?"

"I wouldn't take one, Miss Natalie," Carver said, closing the door. "It's Labatt Blue."

"Dacian took pictures?" Carver looked wholly disturbed, as he had obviously pegged Dacian as a nice man of impeccable and decent upbringing and now was going to freak at the man's obviously indecent photography. "And you were drunk - "

"God, now the lecture, get a pillow," said Ama. "Score! Food!"

The other man glared, but that was apparently enough to shut him up; he took the tupperware with obvious delight, and the key, ambling over to put the first in the fridge. "You are a miracle-worker. I could kiss you. Except. Um. I already did. Ahem. I'll put the key on my ring, so be assured it's safe with me."

"Uh-huh," was the inevitable comment. "He's totally gonna use it to go watch you undress. Hell, I'd use it to go watch you undress." (Carver pretended, at this point, to be deaf.)

That prompted a momentary pillowfight as Carver poured Natalie out a cup of applejuice; he intervened and grabbed the pillow while graciously passing her the drink, giving Ama a Look that should have withered grass.

"Hold on, you had a big kinky photoshoot last night with two men in dresses," Ama said. "That's it. I'm moving in."

"No, you are not," said Carver smoothly. "I appreciate the food, more than I can say. Please let me pay you back - I can do your plumbing and any little mechanical things that need doing around the place. And the moving of heavy objects, of course."

"By plumbing he means plumbing," Ama said, but at another look - "by which he means fixing, uh, leaky pipes and s**t."