Chapter Thirty-Six: A Good Morning
The Founder's Dinner had been rescheduled due to business reasons, but the 'business reasons' had never been explained. Perhaps the wine had been soured, or one of the more important individuals had to postpone their own invite…Who really knew why the dinner hadn't taken place during the time and day it should have.
Allegedly (until it was otherwise stated), the guests all had received a second invitation in the mail. Sure enough, when the mail had been delivered to the dining table for Oswald's routinely look-through, he saw it—an invitation, addressed to him; and just as the last one explicitly stated, there were no plus-ones allowed.
Oswald flicked the card to the middle of the table; he uttered a word of thanks to Olga, who placed a plate of breakfast in front of him and a second platter in front of the chair closest to him on his right. Just as she walked out of the room, leaving Oswald alone, Ed replaced her company with his own.
"Good morning, Edward."
"And a very good morning to you, Oswald." Ed returned candidly.
Like the mayor, Ed had dressed for the day—first thing in the morning, as was his usual routine.
So predictable, Oswald thought lovingly. He could predict Ed's day-to-day activities and even his customary morning greetings easily as if they were his own.
Ed glanced at the invitation that had been swiftly discarded to the middle of the table. Curious, he took it in his hand, reading the elegant calligraphy, and lifted it up between his index and middle finger pointedly: "I see the second invite finally came. I'm assuming you'll be attending?"
"As always, your assumptions are correct." Oswald returned, grinning.
"Maybe the hosts will keep a look-out on their time table this rotation."
"If they don't, it will be just one more productive afternoon spent in its place."
Ed smirked: "You have a silver lining to almost any delayed outcome, don't you?"
"It's one of the gifts I've still been able to hold onto."
"One of many."
Oswald's heart skipped a beat at that compliment. And while he felt receptive to such praise and flattery, he suddenly found himself at a loss for words, mentally slapping himself for not just going with Sylvia's advice ahead of time. What had she said the other night? 'Just blurt it out'…Good idea, Pidge, a lot easier said than done.
"Did you hear what I said, Oswald?"
Oswald looked at Ed, startled: "No, I'm sorry. What did you say?"
"I was just asking about Sylvia. I've not heard anything since she left. Has she spoken to you?"
"I spoke to her last night."
"How's she doing?"
"She's fairing," Oswald answered quickly, thinking of the titillating phone call. He added nonchalantly, "There was an issue during her check-in process, unfortunately."
"Isn't there always?" Ed returned sarcastically. He sipped from his China cup: "What was the issue?"
Oswald rolled his eyes: "Laziness and negligence."
"Is she at a different hotel, then?"
"No. She's staying at the Falcones' residence."
The answer, spoken so coolly, made Ed startle in drinking from his tea. His eyes widened, and he appeared repulsed by the idea. And his words enhanced that disgust: "Sylvia is staying at Carmine Falcone's beach house. Please tell me you're joking."
"She's not in any danger," Oswald reassured.
"'Not in any danger'?" Ed repeated. "She's sleeping under the same roof as Don Falcone. And others. That doesn't concern you?"
"It did worry me, but she's capable of handling herself."
"So, she thinks."
Oswald tilted his head to the side at Ed's overprotective response. He was used to hearing it; that wasn't the issue. What perplexed him most was the sarcastic edge to his tone.
"You think she's in mortal danger?" asked Oswald lightly, crossing his arms on the table.
"You and Falcone haven't the best history. I'd suspect that she would be in danger. And even if Falcone wasn't playing 'host', I doubt I have to remind you that her ex is staying there as well…What's his name…Richard…? Allan…?"
"Alexander." Oswald corrected.
"Whatever." Ed muttered. "He's just as bad as the rest of them."
Oswald narrowed his eyes: "The rest of who?"
"You know. Them."
"The Falcones?"
"No—any of her exes."
Oswald chuckled in spite of himself, earning an indignant glance from Ed in return.
The latter said reproachfully, "What's so funny?"
Kindly, Oswald asked, "Have you ever met any of her boyfriends?"
"Aside from you? No. Have you?"
"No. I haven't, but that's the point I'm making."
"What's your point?"
Oswald explained, "How can you know who her past lovers are if you've never met them?"
"I don't find it necessary to have met them to know what kind of people they were…or are, in this 'Rooster's case." Ed returned coolly. He drank the last of his tea, his breakfast forgotten: "She spoke to me about a few of them, you know."
Oswald nodded, perhaps having already assumed that she might've talked about her past relationships with other people besides himself. It wasn't lost on either of them that until she met Oswald, Sylvia had tangled with a lot of bad choices—some were clearly less favorable. Perhaps Alex had been one of the better options, since he hadn't seen his death pop up in the newspaper due to Sylvia's hand.
Ed had grown quiet, his eyes glaring down at a single area of the table. Oswald reached forward, and gently patted him on the wrist.
"She can take care of herself." He said softly.
"What was his name again?"
"Alexander Beals. His first name is David."
"Why do you call him 'Alexander' if his first name is 'David'?" asked Ed curiously.
Oswald thought for a second: "That's how Sylvia referred to him."
"Interesting."
Ed sighed, and picked up a fork, tinkering with the over-easy eggs on his platter. They were probably cold by now, but he insisted on filling his belly with nutrients. He had a few meetings to attend in Oswald's stead, and he hadn't the nerve to down a bagel or coffee on the way when there was a perfect breakfast right in front of him.
"Maybe I'm thinking too much about this," Ed resigned quietly, glancing at Oswald, who returned the glance. "You're right, of course. She is capable of taking care of herself. Someone who goes by the name 'Rooster' of all things—I doubt she could…or would…"
The words didn't leave his lips as Ed tried to convey the audacious speed at which his mind was daring to imagine. Oswald smiled in both knowledge and understanding; it was the same thought that had come to him, knowing that Sylvia would be sharing a residence with a man that she had claimed to love a long time ago…But that was it, wasn't it? It was a long time ago—and so much had transgressed between that time and the present. The fact that Ed's jealousy—his dedication to his whatever-love he felt for Sylvia—slowly seeped to the surface of this logician's usual cool façade made Oswald smile.
Ed looked at Oswald for a moment, asking, "You don't think she would…Do you?"
"I highly doubt it." Oswald returned confidently.
"You've had this same conversation with her?"
"I daresay I've been two steps ahead of you, regarding all of her past relationships." He teased, winking at him.
Ed grinned broadly, saying, "As you should be. What did she say when she mentioned this 'Rooster'—it's obnoxious having to use that title for him."
"Oh, I know," Oswald agreed, smirking. He added frankly, "Sylvia described her feelings towards Alexander in such a way, you'd appreciate the graphic imagery of it all."
"Was it similar to chemical burn or having her hand chopped off?"
"Not quite, but you're very close."
"She'd rather have her head sliced via guillotine?"
"You've heard her torture euphemisms before, haven't you?" Oswald teased.
"Most of them. Which did she use this time?"
"She favored the human torch metaphor."
"Ah! The 'lit-on-fire-and-if-there-was-only-one-person-with-the-glass-of-water-she-would-rather-burn-alive' preference." Ed said with a favorable, feline grin.
"You knew the one! Have you heard the pins-and-needles alternative?"
"Lemon juice and salt being the preferable condiments that come after." Ed said, pointing at the shakers on the table. "She loves that one!"
Oswald and Ed shared a laugh. And while a mayor and his Chief-of-Staff might've encountered no further social faux pas, the circumstance was different between Oswald Cobblepot and Edward Nygma.
Suddenly, the atmosphere that surrounded and enclosed the two individuals became almost heavy, as though gravity was shifting its weight from the entire world onto them. Glances of familiarity were exchanged between them as Ed grinned at him while Oswald returned it—perhaps it was sharing their love for Sylvia that made this tension so tight and nearly suffocating.
Oswald might've said something, pulled from the conversation about a mutual love to the same type he felt for Ed; and if Ed even remotely felt the same, it appeared as though he might've used the same segue. Just as things might have gone smoothly for the both of them, Ed's phone began to ring—and to Oswald's dismay, he answered the call with the loving, and almost caressing, drawl that he always used when he said Isabella's name.
That bitch, Oswald thought contemptuously.
"Sure!" Ed said happily. "I'll bring it tonight. You want to see that one? Why?"
The lack of context was catastrophic for Oswald's thought processes. A thousand ideas stormed his brain as to what Ed could possibly be talking about. Then the storms were calmed when Ed mentioned the item—it was some type of book.
Ed got off the call, and looked at Oswald with a small little smile.
"It's always a pleasure talking to you in the morning, Oswald. No company really compares to it, you know?"
Oswald looked at him, eyebrows raised. Well, that was an interesting thing to say, wasn't it?
"Ed, I—"
"I have to get ready," Ed said quickly, taking his platter from the table. "I just looked at the time—it's about thirty minutes before the first conference, and I still have to drive there. The traffic is horrendous here!"
Oswald smiled, saying, "Of course."
Ed left the room. Meanwhile, Oswald frowned, glowering at his untouched cup of tea. It was amazing how one woman could worship the ground on which he stood while another could dismantle his entire universe in a single phone call.
Women, he thought grudgingly.