from the desk of the 12th Earl of Glamorgan, Angus Reese

(be kind!  still working on this one - A.G. Davis)

November 24th

     Percy Douglas has been a mate, no associate, since uni.  We met at a bar in Manchester after a particularly nasty long night of pints, shots, and shotty social interactions.  I was with some blokes from the languishing aristocracy surviving like snake necklaces around the necks of the mercantile rich.  My title made them feel special.  I wanted a connection to their fathers, the holders of the family gold.  I would later use those connections to improve my family's fortune, ensuring my great grandchildren will want for nothing.  That's venture capitalism for you.
   
     Percy was an exception and maybe that's why he and I got along, at least initially.  He came from the Mayflower set, folks from America's upper east coast who could trace themselves and their millions as far back to 1650 - he already had enough status.  We hung out over the summer before my 4th year, his 5th.  He really didn't want to go to school as much as he wanted to gain a British accent and suck the breasts of British slappers.  We had multiple group encounters, typically three or four women at a time.  Yeah, a couple of fit blokes dropping a few grand around the bar got the attention of plenty.  Then he got called back home by daddy (he gambled more than I, usually the roulette tables while I was more of a poker man) and our contacts quickly fell into the occasional Facebook update picture.  I hadn't heard from him in over 3 years.

     So you can imagine my surprise when he showed up at my wedding.  I saw Percy shortly before the traditional first dance.  The guests were just finishing dinner.  Deetz had reluctantly gone over to chat with some of his family when I spotted Percy standing in line at the bar.  I didn't remember inviting him but was nevertheless ready to start the full process of explaining my apparent last-minute decision to follow my heart, not just my dick.

     When I came up to him, slapping him on the back customarily, he unexpectedly snarled at me.  "Percy!  So good to see you.  I didn't know you were in town."  Shit, that must of sounded horrid.  Cardiff is not London - folks don't just happen to come here.

    I initially thought my social faux pau caused his reaction.  How wrong can I be? 

    "You didn't tell me you were gay," he slurred, snatching his scotch from the bartender.

    "Most folks come to a wedding to support the couple, not to malign them," I responded, not so much angry but curious.  "I didn't take you for a homophobe."

    "Why didn't you tell me?"

    "Tell you what?"

    He gulped the double shot and shook the glass at the bartender motioning for more.  Then he looked at me like my two heads had two heads.  "Why not me?"

    "Pardon?" 

    "You heard me!" Percy nearly shouted.  "What has he got that I don't?"

     I guided the man away from the bar and some prying ears.  Plus, the music was getting louder, preparing everyone to transition from a dinner party to dance hall.  I didn't want the man to embarrass himself.  "I'm sorry Mate but you have me at a loss."

    He looked at me incredulously, shook his head again, now held low before sighing.  He eventually admitted, "I suppose it is my fault.  Maybe I should have said something . . . all those times we, we partied together . . ."  He finished the second drink.  "You're right.  How could you know?  I never said anything so why would you even broach it.  But damnit!  All those women!  Dude, how did you do it?"

    "Fuck them?"

    "Yeah!  I mean that was a lot of work to prove you ain't no fag."

    "But, Percy it sounds like your gay."

    He stopped and thought a moment then replied, "I suppose you're right."

    I didn't know what to do, what to say.  A defeatest countenance cloaked his face and tapped at my heart.  "It's a new day.  There is much less stigma.  Look at all the people here tonight.  There is genuine support out there now."

    He looked at his empty shot glass, probably contemplating another drink.  He shook his head yet again.  "I doubt my wife would be so welcoming, let alone my oldest son.  He hopes to run for Senate one day."  He put the glass down and looked at me directly.  "I was in London on business and read about the nuptials.  I have to admit to a few shots before arriving.  I just had to see you.  You look even better than when we were at school."

   I waved over Simms, the estate's butler.  "Simms, please call the car.  Mr. Douglas is returning to his hotel."  Simms nodded at Percy signalling him to follow.  I gave my friend an apologetic look.  "It was good to see you, Percy.  Deetz and I are going out-of-town for a bit but why don't I reach out when we get back."

  He smiled weakly and said, "Deetz is his name?"

  "Desmond.  Deetz's is his nickname."

  "Desmond is a very lucky man."  He shuffled away behind Simms. 

   Shortly thereafter, Deetz came up to me.  "Hey, who was that?"

   "Percy Douglas.  We went to uni together but I haven't seen him in years."  And I would never see him again.  A few months after we returned from our next mission for MI-6's Department of Alien Affairs, a mutual friend posted notice of Percy's death by suicide.

   "Why didn't he stay?  The dancing is about to start."

   "Said he had to get back.  Business and all."  First rule of marriage I think is that complete honesty with your partner has its limits. 

   "Oh well, his loss!  C'mon hubby, our audience awaits."

   I sighed as dancing is one of my favourite activities and the one I am least capable of, or so the love of my life tells me.