What are friends for? [scene for Monty and Bellamy Morray]
October 3rd, 2006
As he lay stretched out on the sofa in his Chelsea flat, a bag of ice pressed to his forehead, Monty Pippin tried to wrap his mind around what he had done only the night before.
No vile hangover was involved, nor were debauched recollections of some over-the-top orgy. Hell, an orgy he could have handled in his stride, and he rarely drank enough to induce a hangover. No, last night, he'd not only done something completely outside his experience, he'd done it while 100% cold sober. He almost wished for the hangover.
Anyone who didn't know Monty but happened to see him now would suspect that he'd arranged himself in his artfully melodramatic pose, one hand clutching the ice bag, the other pressed over his heart as if to keep it from jumping out of his chest. Those who did know him, of course, wouldn't even bother with suspicions.
No one saw him, though, and no one could see him. He was the flat's only occupant. His solitude eventually gave him the courage to lick his lips and try launching the words past them, out into the air for his ears to hear.
"I'm engaged to be married."
His eyes nearly rolled back in his head. The hand on his chest groped blindly for the paper bag laying on the table next to him, then jammed it over his face so that he could breathe into it.
As he lay stretched out on the sofa in his Chelsea flat, a bag of ice pressed to his forehead, Monty Pippin tried to wrap his mind around what he had done only the night before.
No vile hangover was involved, nor were debauched recollections of some over-the-top orgy. Hell, an orgy he could have handled in his stride, and he rarely drank enough to induce a hangover. No, last night, he'd not only done something completely outside his experience, he'd done it while 100% cold sober. He almost wished for the hangover.
Anyone who didn't know Monty but happened to see him now would suspect that he'd arranged himself in his artfully melodramatic pose, one hand clutching the ice bag, the other pressed over his heart as if to keep it from jumping out of his chest. Those who did know him, of course, wouldn't even bother with suspicions.
No one saw him, though, and no one could see him. He was the flat's only occupant. His solitude eventually gave him the courage to lick his lips and try launching the words past them, out into the air for his ears to hear.
"I'm engaged to be married."
His eyes nearly rolled back in his head. The hand on his chest groped blindly for the paper bag laying on the table next to him, then jammed it over his face so that he could breathe into it.