The Call

Prologue

        I had quarreled with myself silently but, somehow, still found the embossed calling card in my pocket. It smelled of Claire de la Lune, a powerfully floral fragrance that I'd learnt to tolerate for short bursts of time in my office. Here, in my home, though, it seemed a likely candidate for causing hypoxia.
        If Greg had decided to attempt yet another reconciliation with his wife, why shouldn't I indulge? I'd never been with a woman. I'd never even considered it a possibility. I still didn't. Greg was playing a game - fighting a psychological battle within himself. I, though I disrelish the admission, was becoming - jealous? I was not, at the time, au fait with many emotions. Needless to say, then, jealousy seemed a vexing knave come to call. My unyielding mind, however, was made up. I would phone Lady Smallwood, and Greg would be plainly aware of it.

        As I reached for my sitting room telephone's antique brass handset, it felt as though I was reaching for something else. Reaching for him. It had been months, now, since my fingertips had touched his powerful biceps - months since I had been near enough to drink in the Ombré Leather scent of his cologne commingled with a hint of Sterling menthols. 

        Never mind how I felt. The reality of the moment was that Greg's fondness for me was, apparently fleeting enough, that a few moments experiencing the blunder of human sympathy could erase it. Though our - relations - hadn't started until well after Greg's most recent parting with his wife, he still felt an often-articulated guilt. There was a lingering sense of duty toward her, but it couldn't be argued that he often used duty as a reason to remain in the closet - both about his bisexuality and our liaisons. By offering my company to Elizabeth Smallwood for an evening, perhaps I could help Greg understand the experience of being second choice.

        The concept of irony, I believed, was a delusion. I couldn't help but note, though, that I was led now to make a phone call. All this was happening because of that other phone call. "Miserable timing," I whispered aloud to myself. If that other call had been timed differently - if that other phone call had never happened - I wouldn't be making this one. My mind wandered as I heard the line begin to ring. Suddenly, I heard my name. I could almost feel Greg's warm breath on my collar bone as I heard it again. I wondered if I could picture him - fantasize about us while spending my time with a woman.

       "Mycroft? Is everything alright?" I heard a confused voice speaking on the line.

       "Elizabeth. Yes. Good day." My stomach churned as she began to talk about how happy she was to hear from me.