#freamed

         ‘ my, we are feeling affectionate this evening. ’

         ‘ oh. ’ a lift of the chin and the brow are equivalent, for ozzie, to a snap and point of the fingers. he could reach up and give the hovering lightbulb chain a good tug. ‘ i am familiar. my hus— my housemate and i saw you. upstate new york, i think it was. ’ his pause runs a bit long; what follows is sincere. ‘ you were excellent. ’

oh, how unfair it is of oswald to have come to their session worse for wear — he’ll be having words with richard once home, given that his suspicions about their drinking the night prior are compounded with each painful word from miss lamont. sabotage, he thinks. he knew my schedule, the brute.

and oh, how he hates that he has to ask this:

         ‘ lina, forgive me, ’ he says. ‘ i fell behind with my notes. could you repeat that? ’

it’s all he can do to resist sucking his teeth; the disapproving quirk of his eyebrows is cruel enough.  ‘ was that the punchline? ’

how he longs for the hair of the dog that bit him last night. lovesick and goaded by mrs. adams to lay each detail out for her easy consumption (and his hard acceptance), kenneth took to the bottle as enthusiastically as he’s wont to when hope turns for the futile.

naturally, the last person he wants to see — with a painful squint from behind thick shades — is the first person he does.

         ‘ o-uh! ’ why limit himself to just the one vowel sound? ‘ your highness! ’

         ‘ i’ll have it out of the bottle. ’ he opens and closes a fist two times, urging richard to hand it over. ‘ our chances of surviving this evening look slimmer by the minute. the least we can do is put on a show. ’

reach as he’s had to to make them stick, self-directed reassurances that richard’s routine has not, from the first line, been about him, has at least been possible. that there’s something to be addressed and treated in his partner is far easier a pill to swallow than the alternative — than ozzie himself being the troubled subject winning laughs.

then sinks the line about his cats. about the ratty old house shoes on which they sleep. about that gifted red robe, covered in fur and seldom shed.

then sinks oswald. the exit signs may as well be blinking red, given the temptation they stir. he wonders if he’s been seen; if he can leave, go home, pretend never to have been here.