Our scene opens on a lovely, rainy Tuesday in November, on a charming suburban street, in front of a-

Well I was going to say charming but really it looks like a den of all iniquity (Brutus' words, not mine)-

-a house with a wide front porch and some suspicious looking weeds in the front garden. The protagonist of our tale stands upon this front porch, looking like he could do with a healthy dose of Xanax. He knocks, and after a suspiciously short pause, the door opens.

"Antony."

"Brutus."

Thus all great conversations in literature begin.

"Are you going to come in or are we doing this on the front porch today?" Antony wasn't wearing a great deal, truth be told, and it was rather cold out.

"I'm not coming inside that sex den you call a house."

"Oh is that how it's going to be today."

"Shut up, I'm here on business."

"Are you ever not?"

"No."

Brutus always looked like was wherever he was 'on business' so it really was rather difficult to tell.

Antony leant against the doorway and looked at Brutus speculatively, "You might want to think about relaxing, people might start to get the wrong idea about you."

"And what would that be?"

"That you're an uptight, backstabbing, prick with no sex life to speak of."

"And you're a drunken sex addict with delusions of godhood and a copycat complex about Caesar that's worse than your inability to have a meaningful relationship!"

"Why you-"

(Unfortunately what followed was deemed too scandalous to be shown to the fine, upstanding people of the Roman Republic.

However: Have you ever listened to one of those old radio shows? The ones with the really unlikely plots where people get into these vast battle scenes but all you can hear are the dubious noises of swords clanging and people making noises that they really hope don't sound sexual and theres lots of screaming and blood and death but you can't actually see any of it? Yeah. Imagine that for a second if you please.)

Sometime later…. (After the traditional bout of insults and attempts to kill each other has passed) there could be heard, from several blocks away, the sound of Brutus shouting:

"I was 16! It doesn't count!"

(I'm sorry, did I say they'd finished with the preliminary arguing? I meant just winding to a close… Indulge me a moment longer dear reader.)

"I know I'm everybody's "It was just the one time and I was drunk", but give me a little more credit than saying it didn't count!" Antony may have actually been offended, but it was hard to tell given that he was hopping around the porch nursing a bruised shin.

"I'm not gay!" Brutus' voice cracking on the last word somewhat weakened his position.

"Sure."

"I have a wife!"

"So do I!"

"12 separate elopements to Vegas do not a marriage make!" The pictures on the mantlepiece from each of those separate elopements were, however, splendid. The drive through wedding chapel with the lollipop wedding rings was a real winner.

"Maybe," Antony said, very reasonably, "but at least I'm having sex."

"Marriage isn't all about the sex-"

"Has it really been that long…" Antony was looking at Brutus with the concerned expression of a therapist who has just found out that their patient had a more than usually friendly relationship with the parish priest as a small child.

"There's supposed to be a union of minds and- and- Romance and…"

"So…. What you're saying is you don't have sex anymore?"

"-friendship, you know? That thing where you share your soul with someone and-"

"Oh like that thing that women always want to happen after sex… Come to think of it, I remember you being pretty keen on that too…"

Brutus blanched and looked up and down the street nervously, "That's not what I came here to talk about."

"What did you come here to talk about?"

"Cicero sent me to tell you to stop accidentally projecting pornographic films onto the screens in the conference room during the annual Thursday Board Meeting where no one tries to kill each other."

They both stared at each other for a minute, that gem of a sentence hanging in the air, and then Antony grinned. "Who says it was an accident…"

"You do. Every time."

"Not my fault no one else appreciates my idea of fun…" Antony muttered, limping over to the front door, "Well." He held the door open and Brutus stalked past, "You did get rather off topic there didn't you."

"Shut up." Brutus took off his coat and settled into His Usual Chair in the living room.

"This is actually about the photo shoot isn't it."

There was a pause, of the formal, "I'm supposed to pretend that isn't what this is about but that is what it's about." variety, and then, finally, Brutus said "Yes."

"You want any tips about the photo shoot? Pointers? Lingerie? All that is mine is at your disposal." Antony lascivious is Antony at his finest.

"I'm fine. I'll be fine. Just fine. I've got this."

"You're hyperventilating a bit there…"

He was.

"No, no I've got this."

"Look, seriously, you've got nothing to worry about - you're hot, you're young (ish), you're going to make a lot of money."

"I like money." This, a most dishonourable fact that usually one should never speak about, was very true.

"And you don't even have to engage in questionable money lending endeavors this time!"

"It was legal."

"Sort of."

"Anyway…"

"Back to talking about your ass-"

Brutus raised his head from where he'd been resting it on his knees, trying to remember how to breathe, "No, please, lets not." (Ignore that. Yes. Please. Lets.)

"You do realize I'm buying one of those calendars."

"You and everyone else. Why am I doing this again?"

"For the Honour of Rome and the continuance of the Republic, darling. You're usual reasons. The ones on your business cards."

"I know that. I meant why couldn't we have just done a bake sale again?"

(It should be noted here that no one in the Roman Senate or the Roman Army can cook much less bake. They all just think they can. The Roman Populace is still recovering from the last bake sale. But as I'm sure you'll all be pleased to hear, the city's doctors are doing extremely well just now. Something about an outbreak of listeria…)

"Because I'm a show off and so are all my friends." Antony smirked, "Your lot just can't take a hint and accept that since their wives don't find them attractive enough to sleep with anymore no one else will either."

"That's not- I mean-" It was kind of an inarguable point. Gathering himself, Brutus responded to the one part of that sentence he could argue with, "They're not your friends - they're the guys you sometimes, irregularly, underpay to die for you."

"Harsh."

"True."

"And your mother slept around a lot and used to sext Caesar while the Senate was in session."

"That's-"

"Also true."

There was a long moment of silence. Brutus stared at the floor slowly turning bright red. You would think that having grown up surrounded by such rumors he'd be used to it, but an honourable man's ability to blush at the slightest provocation is not to be underestimated.

"Speaking of inappropriate behavior in the Senate-" Brutus finally overcame his filial shame and rallied himself to return to the topic at hand.

"Make the board meetings less boring and I'll stop making them interesting."

"Yeah… that's not going to happen to anything close to your demanding standards."

"Everyone needs a little more porn in their life."

"No, they really don't."

"And yet you're going to go and shoot some borderline pornographic images tomorrow. Actually, forget about borderline." Antony grinned and leaned back lazily on the couch, "I'm going to enjoy this."

"You and everybody else…." Brutus looked as miserable as a kicked corgi on a rainy day.

"Maybe even your wife - Miracles do happen."

Did I say a kicked corgi? I meant a horribly excited corgi who just found out his butt is the cutest thing on the planet earth and that it's going to insure him all the treats and hugs he could ever desire. This of course was hastily hidden behind the patented "I'm too Stoic for this Toga" expression.

"Portia doesn't look at calendars like this…"

"Oh yes she does."

From somewhere (not really sure where… Maybe somewhere between the six bottles of empty Jack Daniels and the playboys that had been cut out to look like little paper dolls. No. I don't know why. I'm just the author.) Antony pulled a large stack of papers.

"Check it out. The clientele of Mr. Marcus Censorinus and his most excellent calendars."

And there indeed, write at the top of the C section of the highly organized, highlighted, alphabetized list was Mrs. Portia Catonis.

"How did you…"

"With much hard work, sweat, blood and tears, a team of highly trained operatives - all in hopes of a reward from your sweet mouth…"

"You slept with the receptionist didn't you."

"Yeah."

Brutus stared at the list like a man in love. Antony fiddled with the cap on one of the liquor bottles, waited a minute, then another…

"So… about that reward…"

"I've got to go - I have an appointment with Cicero at the senate house."

"You're going to go get your hair cut and frantically spend several hours at the gym aren't you."

"…No."

"Say 'hi' to Maurice for me."

"Fine."

Brutus stepped out onto the front porch, Antony followed, there was a long pause, they looked up and down the street, then, as if rehearsed, they both started shouting at each other at the top of their lungs -

"Don't know why I-"

"You're a bastard with no sense of-"

"Should've killed you when I-"

"You deserved every bit of-"

"Fucking Republican-"

"Go back to Egypt and die of an overdose!"

"You overeducated traitor, why don't you just-"

"Drunken empire destroyer-"

"You whoretacular wonder crimp!"

There was a pause. Brutus frowned and tilted his head to the side, "Wait. What?"

"I thought it sounded good…"

"Yeah, but…" Brutus hesitated, then shrugged, "Well, it wasn't your worst."

Antony grinned, but Brutus continued- "Not your best either…" Antony flipped him off.

"See you next week?"

"Yeah… Say 'hi' to Cleo for me…"

And Scene.

.

.

.

Tune back in next week for a tasteful expose on Mr. Marcus Censorious, where our reporter will get taken behind the scenes at his studio in the influential Palatine district!