A Brief and Rather Revealing Portrait of Adrian Healey
Written for Taira.
Adrian had come to realise that with rather irritating and unsettling frequency, the unpleasant things that happened to him were always turning out not to have actually happened. If that were so, he thought to himself now, then the following three things must absolutely not be true:
--That he had just been rung up by a police officer,
--That Jenny had died in a car accident,
--That he was not going to Hugo's place and get himself seriously screwed.
As he walked along the kerb, taking care to be just one wrong step away from being crushed under a speeding tyre, he contemplated his list. None of those things were true. Absolutely none of them. Bosh, rot, poppycock--ha ha, he thought--balderdash. Supreme and utter nonsense. This was surprisingly comforting, and he skipped up the steps of the apartment complex cheerfully. He even whistled as he leaned against the doorbell at the fifty-third-but-one apartment on the second or eighth floor and waited for someone to come to the door.
Finally it opened, and Hugo stuck his head out and said, "For Christ's sake, Adrian."
"Very succinct. However, this is actually for my sake. Much as Christ might appreciate it."
"What?"
"You." Adrian pushed neatly past Hugo and sat himself down on the sofa, kicking off his shoes jauntily.
"What are you doing?"
"Sitting on your sofa. But I might ask you the same question. Really you should be making me tea or giving me a backrub or telling me supper's on the table don't you think?"
"What?"
"You're saying 'what' an awful lot, Hugo. It makes you sound rather confused. Jolly bad form, you know. When one's husband gets home from work, one usually makes things nice."
"Are you drunk?" Hugo ventured after a pause.
"No, but I ought to be."
"Is something wrong?"
"Ah, Cartwright, my beautiful and addled boy. You are a joy and darling thing, and I admire your every movement and laud and worship every single hair on your golden head and every freckle on your lovely nose, although you're sort of old for freckles, aren't you? Anyway, you're simply splendid, but you haven't got the least sense of... of delivery. Of dramatic presentation. Yes, of course something's wrong, and I was rather hoping you'd do something about it."
Hugo sat down beside him warily. His eyes were somewhat bloodshot, and his hair was quite mussed, but Adrian thought it was very fetching. Of course, Hugo was absolutely always fetching. He was a confection of indescribable yumminess, crafted by a holy angelic hand after it had read Picture of Dorian Gray and the myth of Galatea at the same time, and then gotten rather drunk. There was not a single bit of Hugo that was not scrumptious and fantastic and superb. He had probably been born because of some vindictive Power That Was wanting to torture the poor mortals.
"Um. What exactly do you mean?"
Adrian slumped in the sofa, sinking in as deeply and pathetically as he could. "My darling thing, Jenny is dead. They rang me up this morning."
"Jenny? Your wife?" Hugo stared helplessly, and then began running his fingers through his hair miserably, mussing it up even more. "Oh, God, Adrian, I'm sorry. I mean--Oh, God."
"Well, exactly."
"Hell's bloody bells."
"That's right."
"Fuck, I--"
"YES! You've got it!"
"What?" Hugo blinked.
"Hugo, I am a sorrow-stricken man. I should be out getting totally pissed somewhere, but I can't. Why can't I?"
"Because--God, I don't know why not."
"Because I have you, obviously," said Adrian helpfully. "You're here to comfort me in my grief, aren't you? You're going to help me get through this? Please?" he added on impulse, because Hugo was shaking a little and looking at him so pityingly that he almost wanted to smack him. But nobody ever smacked glorious, beautiful, fantastic, amazing, bloody gorgeous Cartwright, ever.
"Yes, of course," said Hugo. "Yes--Yes. Obviously. Yes. Is there anything I can do?"
"You said it yourself."
"What? I did?"
"Hugo, for heaven's sake, you're being an ass--"
"For God's sake, your wife--" Hugo grabbed him by his shirt collar and started to do something to him that felt a lot like it was supposed to be shaking, but, because Hugo was shaking himself and also didn't really want to do anything it all, ended up being more of a half-hearted wiggle that only put Adrian directly under him. He stopped it immediately and put his head on Adrian's shoulder. "I'm sorry. God. I don't know what it's like. I can't even imagine--God. Jesus. What do you want me to do?"
"Kiss me."
"What?" Hugo repeated for approximately the forty-two-thousandth time.
"Well, actually, I'd rather take your suggestion and just get laid, but since one ought to go about this kind of thing with a pretence of nicety, we can start with kissing. I mean, it's much more romantic, definitely."
"What?"
"If you don't stop saying that, I am really going to be incredibly offended. I might even walk out on you."
"Your wife died, God damn it, and you want me to--to--"
"Well, that was the idea."
"What is wrong with you?" asked Hugo incredulously.
"I've been madly in love with you for years! What the hell did you think was wrong with me?" Adrian demanded, lying completely unmoving with Hugo still sitting on him although now Hugo wasn't resting his head romantically on his shoulder because he was sitting straight up and looking at him blankly. "I mean, come on. You're probably the most beautiful thing that ever graced the earth with your presence, and you expect me to just sit there lusting after Jenny all through school? For Christ's sake, I'm a queer!"
"What? Wait-- Damn it..." For a moment, Hugo floundered helplessly. He looked so delicious when he was confused, Adrian thought dreamily, and then, to help him, because obviously he was having an embarrassingly hard time figuring out what he wanted to say and that was, needless to say, embarrassing, Adrian kissed him on his lovely perfect mouth.
It's about time, he added to himself, as Hugo kissed him back and slid a hand under his shirt.
It was a lot better when he didn't have to pretend to be asleep, he reflected later. After all, it was a load of fun trying to remember to keep shouting Lucy! instead of Hugo! Darling scrumptious Hugo!, but it was also rather disappointing. He had always wanted to shout Darling scrumptious Hugo! after all. This time he did, rather loudly in fact, over and over. Hugo wasn't nearly as verbally enthusiastic, but he did manage a couple of muffed, excited Ahh! Adrian!s, which were really good enough. Anyway, it was exquisite, just as he'd always known it would be (obviously it wasn't the first time, but when you said it was just as exquisite as the first time, it didn't have quite the same ring to it as the idea of Adrian being virginly as far as Hugo went).
They lay on Hugo's sofa afterwards, delightfully sweaty and exhausted, and Adrian didn't even feel like taking a bath like usual. Being sticky with Hugo was paradise. It was heavenly. It was--Adrian realised with annoyance that he'd used up all the adjectives he could get off the top of his head, and he'd have to start reusing old ones while he tried to remember some of the more obscure ones. Bugger, he said to himself. Anyway it was lovely. Especially the bugger bit.
Finally somebody sat up. Adrian had a vague idea it was Hugo.
"Adrian... what are we going to do?"
He paused, contemplating. "Well, I'm going to kiss you and say thank you, I suppose. I mean it's the decent thing to do, isn't it?"
"What?"
"Oh, you've gone back to saying what again. I said I'm going to kiss you."
"Well go on and do it, then."
Adrian did, rather artistically, he thought. Hugo ended up gasping and falling off the sofa.
"Brilliant!" said Adrian.
"God," said Hugo.
"Anyway," Adrian added, "Thanks. Thanks a lot."
"Um. No problem."
"Right then. I'd better be getting home." He started putting his clothes back on cheerfully.
"Wait--wait--what about--um. I mean. What about everything? And Jenny. And--"
Adrian snuggled Hugo's hair, which felt absolutely glorious. "Well that didn't really happen, you know. None of the bad things that happen to me really happened."
"Adrian, you can't be in denial! Not after that!"
"I'm not. It's just a simple fact. Every dreadful thing that happens to me turns out to be fake. False. Bogus. Made-up. Sham. Counterfeit. In a word, fictitious. I don't know why really, but it's true."
"Oh my God, you are in denial. If it's not really real, then what just happened?"
"You're failing to see how it works, darling," Adrian corrected mildly. "That wasn't bad. That was absolutely scrumdidillyumptious. Whereas if Jenny had really died, it would be quite nasty. I had my heart set on at least pretending to be somebody who wasn't a crazy fag, and she was helping with that. So, you know, I'd be quite cut up if someone ran over her."
"You're insane."
"Oh, for God's sake, Hugo. Can't you see that we were meant to be, except that we weren't because God and man are conspiring against us? Jenny doesn't mind if I get fucked every once in a while. It's a consenting marriage, like Cole Porter or Lord Henry Wotton or something or the sort. Every once in a while she goes out with some crazy butterfly scientist to have dinner and watch a late, late film and snog in the theatre. Not a problem. I thought you knew. Oh, wait, no, that's right, it's supposed to be very showy and nobody else is supposed to be in on it. Forgot, forgot." Adrian smiled. "Anyway, the point is--"
"Yes?" Hugo demanded, looking at him hurtly.
"The point is, are you free on Friday?"
Hugo stared again. Just stared, with those beautiful bloodshot eyes, looking like Narcissus and Enjolras and Orlando all rolled into one small and superb face that definitely screamed SNOG ME. At last he put a hand to his head. "Yes. Yes, I'm free."
"Come now. It's not going to be any fun unless you want to enjoy it."
"Oh very well. I can't wait for you to come again and lie to me and screw me over even worse than you already have."
"That's the spirit!"
"Adrian..."
"Yes?"
"Do you really love me?"
"Passionately. Profoundly. Heedlessly. Madly. Uncontrollably; mournfully; enthusiastically. Enchantedly. I am insanely in love with you."
"Oh." Hugo looked at his hands. "You mean that?"
"Ardently. Irrationally. Resolutely. Gladly. Fiercely; blindly."
"All right, all right. Well. All right." Then Hugo looked up sadly. "Well, I'm free on Friday. Three o'clock's all right for you?"
"Perfect."
"You're not just lying?"
"Never believe it for a moment!" said Adrian.
"Right. Okay. Friday."
"Friday," Adrian agreed, and kissed Hugo on the cheek. "See you then!"
"See you," said Hugo, leaning out the door and watching him head off towards the steps.
When he got to the end of the hall, Adrian turned around and waved. Hugo was still watching. He waved back, and smiled, and Adrian started to feel gushy and poetic. There was nobody in the world with a smile like Hugo Cartwright. He was a pale, pathetic imitation who claimed his smile came close to matching it. Helen of Troy had NOTHING on Hugo Cartwright, especially since she was a girl.
Adrian skipped along the kerb on the way home, and banged open the door.
"Hey!" Jenny called.
He'd been right. It was another horrid thing that had never happened, the ring from the police and all that about Jenny being killed. Funny how it worked. He'd been quite convinced at the time. Oh, well, he thought, and sat down on the arm of the armchair where she was reading a book.
"How was your date with Dan?"
"Absolutely great, how was Hugo?"
"Beautiful. As always." Adrian sighed emphatically.
"Great. Ready for dinner? I got Mexican carry out for you. Dan wanted me to go to the vegetarian health restaurant with him. He's into that now."
"But still butterflies, right?"
"Right."
Adrian smiled. Funny how it worked. Really bloody strange, though, too. Ha ha. And he smiled again.
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