Page 25 of Pansies

The ringing of the internal telephone cut across his nonthoughts. It was the front desk. Someone to see him. Greg.

Alfie didn’t really feel like dealing with him, or anyone, but you didn’t send your friends away in the middle of the night. Even if they’d pissed you off.

He met Greg at the door and ushered him wordlessly inside.

Greg’s eyes were faintly red-rimmed as they flicked to the bottle Alfie was still holding. “Tell me there’s something else to drink.”

“You know there is.” He tossed the Newky Brown into the recycling, crossed to the wine rack, and pulled out a bottle. “This do?”

Greg took it from him and studied the label. “With zis merlot you are really spoiling us.”

“Oh shut up.”

“It really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“What?”

“The fact you like wine.”

Alfie grabbed a corkscrew and set to work. “Can we go like five minutes without you making a big deal out of it?”

“I don’t know. Can you?”

The cork came free with a neatpop, and Alfie set the bottle down on one of his pristine work surfaces. He really wasn’t in the mood to have his provincial irrationalities dissected. “Look, what’s this about?”

Greg stared at the floor. “I thought you might like the opportunity to apologise for being a judgemental prick.” He paused and shuffled. “At the very least, you owe me a hug.”

You couldn’t stay angry with Greg. He got all small and vulnerable. In Alfie’s opinion, this was cheating, but he’d never been able to withstand it. He held out his arms. “Come ’ere.”

“It has to be a proper hug. Not one of those back-slapping-pretending-to-be-straight hugs.”

“Get the fuck over here.”

Greg stepped closer, and Alfie enfolded him. There was something shockingly comforting in the familiar warmth of a body he knew well. He put his lips to Greg’s ear. “I’m sorry I was a judgemental prick, okay?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously.”

Alfie squeezed.

“I kind of…need to inhale now.”

“Oops. Sorry.” He released a squished and tousled Greg. “Should I get the wine?”

“Yeah, and close those balcony doors. It’s freezing in here.”

“God, what did your last servant die of?”

Greg managed a slightly wobbly smile. “I dumped him.”

While Alfie made a vague attempt to make his apartment habitable, Greg picked up the wine and a couple of glasses and took them over to the sitting area. “You know,” he said, making a futile attempt to get comfortable on Alfie’s leather sofa, “it’s okay to like wine.”

“It’s poncy,” muttered Alfie, sprawling out next to him, and then wincing. The sofa had cost a small fortune, and it certainly looked good. But in every other respect, it was a disaster.

“No, no,pretendingis poncy. I pretend. When actually I always choose wine by the label. The blingier the better. So, as far as I’m concerned, this”—Greg sloshed the wine haphazardly into the glasses, and Alfie tried not to wince—“is already something of a disappointment. Just a bunch of grapes. Not even gold grapes. Tragic.”

“You’ll like it. It’s bold but not over the top.”

Greg took a sip. “Oh, you’re so right. Bold. But not over the top.”

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