“I wish you’d stop doin’ that,” Keith told Lesli the second time she whacked him with that towel. He kissed her and went back into the living room. Where Butch and Sundance, for once, were messing with each other and not Bruno. In a play-fighting ball of fur they bit, kicked, scratched and made all kinds of war-cries. Until Sundance chomped a bit too hard on Butch’s hind leg and Butch started limping. The game was over. Sundance went over to his brother and commenced grooming him. Bruno watched them from across the floor. Probably wishing for all kinds of bad things to happen to both of them. Keith sat back down in front of the morning news, not paying a bit of attention to what was on the television screen. This was one hell of a time for Lesli to join the two-percent club. Nothing like more pressure to help them deal with a situation of transition, the kind of commitment that by itself changes your life. Well, they’d cope. Continue Reading →
Luis, Keith mused, had given him hell about dropping him off at his doorstep last night lit up like a Christmas tree. Well, too damned bad for Luis. Luis, after all, had somebody to come home to and catch hell from. Keith sat in the kitchen nursing his hangover and a cup of strong coffee, nibbling at a bagel. Remembering a morning not so long ago…
He and Lesli had exhausted each other in bed. Continue Reading →
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Three in the afternoon. Keith sat with his bare feet propped up on the coffee table, hung over like hell, nursing a beer, watching the Mets lose their fourth of the last five games. On top of which, he had lost Lesli. What the hell else could go wrong?
He had managed, by the skin of his teeth and Helen St. Continue Reading →