The Double Confession: Geoffrey Meets His Match
Setting: The conservatory is now bathed in the soft glow of twilight, the last rays of
sun casting long purple shadows across the marble table. Three empty prosecco bottles stand like fallen soldiers among the pizza debris. Catherine Zeta-Jones has abandoned all pretense of elegance and is now sprawled across the chaise like a very expensive, very tipsy puddle of silk.
Lady Gaga has migrated to the floor, lying on her stomach, chin propped on her hands, kicking her feet idly in the air like a teenager at a sleepover. The cookbook lies open to a random page about fig tarts, completely ignored. The conversation has reached that dangerous, wobbly stage where nothing makes sense and everything is hilarious.
Catherine Zeta-Jones: (Mumbling into a throw pillow) “So then Gavin says to me, ‘Ma’am, your pressure valve is shot.’ And I said, ‘Darling, so am I.’ And he didn’t even laugh. He just looked at me with those sad, competent eyes and said, ‘I’ll have it fixed in twenty minutes.’ Twenty minutes, Gaga. That’s faster than my personal trainer can get me to break a sweat. I nearly proposed right there on the laundry room floor.”
[Menu]
Lady Gaga: (Not looking up from where she’s drawing spirals on the marble with her finger) “You have a laundry room floor proposal fantasy. That’s… honestly, that’s more unhinged than anything I’ve ever done, and I once gave birth to a giant egg on stage.”
Catherine: (Lifting her head slightly) “That was a metaphor.”
Gaga: “Was it, though? The egg was very realistic. My dancers had to roll it across the stage for six minutes. There was a heartbeat sound effect. People cried.”
Catherine: (Ignoring her) “You haven’t told me anything about your plumber confession yet. You promised. You made a deal. Geoffrey the tattooed rosella for Gavin the condescending plumber. And then you stalled with pizza and prosecco and that ridiculous story about the time you made your backup dancers dress as drainpipes.”
Gaga: (Groaning, rolling onto her back) “That wasn’t stalling. That was building dramatic tension. You can’t just drop a confession like a lead balloon. You have to earn it. You have to create a narrative arc. You have to—”
Catherine: (Sitting up abruptly, pointing at her) “You’re terrified. You’re actually terrified to tell me. This is incredible. What could possibly be more embarrassing than naming a tattoo Geoffrey? Did you name a plunger? Did you write a love song about a pipe wrench?”
Gaga: (Covering her face with both hands) “Worse. So much worse.”
Catherine: (Leaning forward, eyes gleaming with predatory delight) “I need to hear this. I need it like I need oxygen. Tell me everything. No holding back. We’ve shared prosecco. We’ve shared pizza. We’ve shared our deepest plumbing-adjacent secrets. It’s your turn.”
Gaga: (Peeking through her fingers) “Okay. But you have to promise not to laugh. And I mean really promise. No laughing. Not even a little bit. Not even a snort. I will know if you snort.”
Catherine: (Crossing her heart solemnly, though her eyes are dancing) “I promise. On Geoffrey’s beautiful, inked feathers. I will not laugh.”
Gaga: (Taking a deep breath) “Right. So. Remember how I told you about my lockdown deep-dive into Australian aviary documentaries?”
Catherine: “Vividly. Seventeen hours. Mating calls. Preferred nesting height. It was very thorough and deeply concerning.”
Gaga: “Well, I didn’t just watch documentaries. I also… I also took an online course. In plumbing.”
Catherine: (Staring) “An online course.”
Gaga: (Nodding miserably) “A certified online course. Through a community college in Ohio. It was called ‘Introduction to Residential Plumbing Systems.’ I have a certificate. I framed it. It’s in my office, next to my Grammys.”
Catherine: (Her face cycling through confusion, disbelief, and then dawning horror-delight) “You took a plumbing course. From a community college. In Ohio. During lockdown. You—you, Lady Gaga, global pop icon—have a certificate in residential plumbing systems.”
Gaga: “I also have a tool belt. A real one. With real tools. I bought it from a hardware store. I still have the receipt.”
Catherine: (Screaming with laughter, completely abandoning her promise) “A TOOL BELT! GAGA! You have a tool belt! Tell me you’ve worn it. Tell me you’ve worn it and done something ridiculous with it.”
Gaga: (Miserably, but also laughing now) “I… I may have fixed my own toilet. Once. It took me four hours. I had to watch the instructional video seventeen times. I called the course instructor—a lovely woman named Brenda from Toledo—at three in the morning because I couldn’t get the flange to seat properly. She told me I was overthinking it. She was right. But I fixed it. I fixed my own toilet, Catherine. And I’ve never told anyone because it’s the most embarrassingly normal thing I’ve ever done.”
Catherine: (Wiping tears from her eyes) “You called Brenda from Toledo at three in the morning to ask about a toilet flange. This is the greatest story I have ever heard. This is better than any film I’ve ever been in. This is better than any song you’ve ever written. You are a certified plumber. You are a plumber who dresses like a space alien and sings about poker faces.”
Gaga: (Defensively) “I’m not a certified plumber. I’m a certified student of plumbing. There’s a difference. I can’t actually practice. I don’t have a license. But I know things. I know about water pressure. I know about pipe materials. I know that PVC and copper have different thermal expansion rates. I know that a proper seal requires—”
Catherine: (Holding up a hand) “Stop. Stop. I can’t take it. You’re quoting plumbing facts at me. You, who spent an hour lecturing me about the mating habits of king-parrots, are now lecturing me about thermal expansion rates. You are a Renaissance woman. A polymath. A nightmare.”
Gaga: (Sitting up, suddenly defensive) “It’s not a nightmare. It’s a practical skill. Everyone should know how to fix a basic leak. It’s empowering. It’s feminist. It’s—”
Catherine: “—absolutely unhinged. But I love it. I love every single part of it. You have a tool belt. You have a framed certificate. You have a plumber named Brenda from Toledo who you called at three in the morning. This is better than my Gavin confession. You win. You absolutely win the most embarrassing plumber-related confession in Hollywood history.”
Gaga: (Relaxing slightly, a sheepish grin spreading across her face) “It gets worse.”
Catherine: (Gasping) “Worse? How can it possibly get worse?”
Gaga: “I also… I also designed a line of plumber-inspired fashion. It never went into production. But I have sketches. Overalls with detachable tool pockets. A dress made of copper pipe links. A hat shaped like a plunger.”
Catherine: (Howling) “A HAT SHAPED LIKE A PLUNGER! GAGA! You designed a plunger hat! I need to see these sketches. I need to see them immediately. Where are they? Are they in this house? Can we go look at them right now?”
Gaga: (Laughing, pulling her phone out of her pocket) “I have photos. I have a whole folder. It’s called ‘Plumber Chic.’ And I am deeply, profoundly ashamed of it, but also a little bit proud.”
Catherine: (Grabbing the phone, scrolling frantically) “Oh my god. Oh my god, there it is. The plunger hat. It’s glorious. It’s absolutely magnificent. Why didn’t you ever produce this? The world needs a plunger hat. The world needs Lady Gaga in copper pipe couture. You could have single-handedly made plumbing fashionable.”
Gaga: (Snatching the phone back) “I was going to. But then the lockdown ended, and I went back to touring, and I kind of forgot. And also my team said it was ‘too niche.’ Which is ridiculous, because nothing is too niche for me. I wore a meat dress. I wore a dress made of bubbles. A plunger hat is practically conservative.”
Catherine: (Leaning back, shaking her head in wonder) “I cannot believe this. Two hours ago, we were discussing the lifespan of king-parrots. Now I know that you have a framed plumbing certificate, a tool belt, a plumber named Brenda, and a portfolio of unproduced plumbing-inspired fashion. You are the most extraordinary person I have ever met.”
Gaga: (Smirking) “And you fake-called a plumber three times because you have a crush on his condescending tone of voice. We’re both disasters. We’re just disasters in different tax brackets.”
Catherine: (Raising her empty prosecco glass) “To Brenda from Toledo. May her flanges always seat properly.”
Gaga: (Clinking her glass with her own empty one) “To Gavin. May his pressure valves never fail and his overalls always fit.”
Catherine: “And to Geoffrey—”
Gaga: (Groaning) “Geoffrey doesn’t drink. He’s a tattoo. How many times do I have to explain this?”
Catherine: (Ignoring her) “And to the eternal, inexplicable connection between plumbing, rosellas, king-parrots, and two absolutely unhinged women who should probably go to bed.”
Gaga: (Nodding) “Probably. But first—”
Catherine: “Don’t say it.”
Gaga: “—I want to tell you about the recipe I invented that combines plumber-inspired ingredients with rosella-themed presentation. I call it ‘The Drain Unclogger’s Delight.’ It involves chorizo, smoked paprika, and a garnish made of edible flowers arranged to look like a king-parrot’s crest.”
Catherine: (Staring at her for a long moment) “You are a menace. A beautiful, terrifying menace. And I want the recipe immediately.”
Gaga: (Grinning) “I knew you’d say that. I have it on my phone. I also have a video of me wearing the tool belt while making it.”
Catherine: (Reaching for the phone) “Give it to me. Give it to me now. This night has peaked. There is no topping this.”
Gaga: (Holding the phone out of reach) “Only if you promise to tell Gavin about your fake leaks tomorrow.”
Catherine: (Groaning) “Fine. But only if you promise to wear the plunger hat to my next dinner party.”
Gaga: “Deal.”
Catherine: “We are absolutely insane.”
Gaga: “The best kind of insane. Now—pass the prosecco. I have a story about Brenda and a particularly stubborn kitchen sink that will make you weep with laughter.”
Catherine: (Refilling both glasses) “I can’t wait. I truly cannot wait. This is the best evening I’ve had in years. And I’ve had some very good evenings.”
Gaga: (Toasting) “To the plumbers. To the rosellas. To the king-parrots. And to the two of us, the most unlikely plumbing-ornithology-cuisine experts the world has ever seen.”
Catherine: (Clinking her glass) “Hear, hear. Now shut up and tell me about Brenda and the kitchen sink. And please, for the love of all that is holy, let there be a recipe involved.”
Gaga: (Settling back, phone in hand, grinning like a madwoman) “Oh, there’s always a recipe, Catherine. There’s always a recipe.”