I See Fire
Oh, misty eye of the mountain below keep careful watch on my brother's soul.
Nigel Kipling took another draw off the cigarette and watched as the cab disappeared into the night. No doubt to pick up and deposit another lonely New Yorker.
The really twisted part wasn't that his date had ditched him with the check and disappeared out of the bathroom window, no. The twisted part was where Nigel ended up when the hard part was over: Miranda's house. With a glance toward the house, the white light shone from the window. Undoubtedly she was busy editing and re-editing The Book. With any luck, he could get a head start if she would let him see her notes. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew that wouldn't happen. No matter how much he saw tonight, The Book would be completely different by the time it returned to the office.
One more puff of smoke escaped his lips before he crushed the filter under his boot and replaced it in the carton and stepped up to the door.
The key rattled briefly and he emerged through the front door and into the foyer.
True to form she was seated in the den, with her head bent over The Book and glasses perched on her nose.
"I'm appealing for a name change for the magazine From RUNWAY to RUN-AWAY." He called as he stepped into the den she suppressed a snort and watched when he helped himself to her liquor cabinet. Grabbing a bottle and a glass. She shook her head in the negative when he grabbed a second.
He took his usual seat on the sofa and slipped off his shoes.
She cast a glare at his socked feet. "Do you live here or something?"
He shrugged, "honestly, the amount of time I spend here, I should rent a room," he said dryly.
"How bad was it, this time?" Mentally she rolled her eyes, she was playing right into his hand.
"I swear to God, Miranda-It was perfect, until I mentioned my job," He poured a glass of whiskey and downed it in one gulp. "Just the mention of Irv Ravitz and Brian was gone."
She sat The Book on the table, a sign that he had her full attention. Her interest was peaked. What had Irv done now?
"Lord knows how many people that man has screwed over." Nigel continued, "I will have to move to China to find a partner."
"I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about. What on Earth did Irv do that could interfere with your happiness?" Miranda asked with a hint of annoyance in her tone.
"Brian was one of the models before Runway hit it big, " He poured another drink and continued, "Irv stiffed him out of a month's pay." Nigel held up one hand, stalling her response. "And before you ask, I have no idea what that has to do with me. But how often do you meet a gay doctor? "
"Nigel, I don't make it a habit of discussing my doctor's orientation before an examination," she said smoothly.
"Darling, you're part of the majority," he snorted derisively.
Her lips curled in a sneer, "Nigel if you wanted a pity party, you've come to the wrong house."
"Don't I know it." He poured another drink and held it as the others began to catch up to him.
"I suppose you're staying here?" She asked and stood up to open the closet.
"I'll call a cab-" he slurred as his eyes began to droop closed.
"And risk the cab driver taking advantage of you?"
"With my luck I won't be awake to enjoy it."
"That would wake me up-" she pulled a blanket from the closet and covered him with it.
"Goodnight, Nigel," she propped a pillow under his head.
"Thanks, Miranda,"
"You're welcome," she sighed. Shaking her head as she walked back over to her desk, picked up her glasses and resumed working.
She tried for about fifteen minutes but it was no use, Her concentration was gone. At the moment, Nigel adjusted on the sofa and once again her attention was drawn to the man. He looked so different sleeping than he did during the day.
It didn't matter if he fell into bed at 5:45 am at 6:00 am Nigel would be raring and ready to start the day. Today was no different, well it was happening a little slower. Correction, a lot slower. He wiggled his big toe through the linen sock encasing his foot. His thigh twitched underneath the goose feather quilt and his eyes opened in a bleary haze.
His brain thudded against his skull and his heart paused in his chest for a moment as he took in his surroundings. The glass coffee table with a bottle of water and a plate of fruit, he reached for the bottle when he realized he didn't own a coffee table. Heaving himself upright, he searched for some kind of clue as to where he was. He fumbled with the blankets in the darkness "Ow, shit!" He howled when his big toe made contact with the coffee table.
"Oh, good you're up," he spotted Miranda's auburn hair as she peeked around the corner.
"Barely." He mumbled and dropped his head in his hands.
"Poor Baby," she clucked and stepped inside the room the statement dripped with sarcasm. "I thought you could handle your liquor."
"The key word is my liquor, yours is like...lightning!"
"Read the tabloids, Nigel don't you know I'm the Devil. So, naturally my whiskey is distilled in Hell."
"Ah," the pounding in his head lightened and he met her eyes, "fire and brimstone explains so much."
"Your suit is hanging in the guest room."
"You know," he called as he headed up the stairs. "I wasn't joking when I said I'd rent a room."
"Ha! Right." Her eyes rolled in hidden amusement. "I'm sure you were quiet serious. With all the liquor you could drink and a house-keeper to clean up after you. I'm sure you would love to live here. "
"What if I said I didn't like being alone?" His light tone never faltered as he stepped out of his pants and into the shower.
"So." She tossed her hands skyward even though he couldn't see. "Get a dog."
"I don't have time for a dog," he said, as if the idea disgusted him. "With the smell and the fur and training it to 'go' outside. No."
Nigel peeked over the banister. Drying is bald head with a towel. "Who in their right mind likes coming home to an empty apartment?"
"Me. I like my big empty house, away from the magazine and the press. I like it and even if I didn't what do you suppose my husband would say?"
"He's out of the country for most of the year anyway. So why do you care? It's not like you have kids to consider. It's just you and it's just me." He snorted coming down the stairs, fully dressed in a charcoal gray Armani suit and pink silk tie.
"Well, not for lack of trying. " She deadpanned, "African sun has diminished Michael's sperm-count to a crippling low."
His face lost all humor, "African sun or African whores?" He asked, pointedly.
Unfazed she said, "either way, I'm still paying thousands of dollars in fertility treatments, just in case he comes home. "
"Come on, Miranda, why do you care what he thinks? I'm gay." He chuckled. "I'll pay you well for the room and come and go through the back door so I wouldn't be seen by wayward reporters."