In The Punch Line

6∆6

"We need another bed," Charles said, quickly and urgently, to the concierge.

"What?"  the man said.

Eugene glanced at him.

He was old with a white combover,  hairy ears, and thick glasses in the John Hinckley Jr. style. He leaned closer.

"We need another bed," Charles said again.

"I beg your pardon, sir, you're talking fast," the concierge said.

"CHUCKO!"  someone bellowed to their left.

Charles glanced first at Eugene and then whirled to face the newcomer. It was a tall Rubenesque woman in a  bandage dress. She looked as though her dress had been painted on by someone who had not budgeted quite enough paint for the task.

"CHUCKO  LOOK AT YOU! IS THAT YOUR MAN?" She sounded as though all her words were printed in block capitals.

Charles took a step closer to Eugene as though anticipating that she might leap at him.

"This is June Weather," Charles said, as calmly as possible. "June, this is my boyfriend Eugene."

"EUGENE!"  June practically screamed. She gave Charles a particularly unsubtle thumbs-up. She smelled like one of those ghastly perfumes named after pop stars. It was like a strawberry that had died of the plague.

Charles had flinched another few inches away and was now pressed more closely up against Eugene than Eugene had planned for. Almost instinctively he slipped an arm around Charles' waist to steady him. It seemed to work. Charles relaxed into the touch, leaning back against Erik's chest. He smelled good, like hot tea and old books with cracked spines.

"What's that you asked?" the concierge chose this moment to yell at them. "You need more towels?"

"Yes," Eugene said. "We need more towels. Thank you."

Charles turned and shot him a panicked look but Eugene shook his head. "It'll be fine," he mouthed.

It was too complicated a sentence to mouth and  Charles seemed to have no idea what he'd said.

Eugene leaned closer and  whispered, "Don't worry about the bed."

"The bed, huh?" June asked. For someone so drunk she seemed to have preternaturally good hearing. "You two already break the bed? Jesus Christ."

"Ah. Er. No. It's fine," Charles said.

"What was he doing, setting up a diorama on it?" June asked, jabbing Eugene in the ribs. "God, what's it like dating Eggy?"

Eugene could feel Charles tensing up. He found Charles' hand and latched their fingers together.

"It's spectacular," Eugene said.

An old man in a newsboy cap slowly crossing the lobby on a walker chose this exact moment to bump into June. "Oh, is this your husband?"

Charles stifled a  laugh. The pressure of his hand was warm and grateful and Eugene barely restrained himself from stroking his thumb over Charles' knuckles. Too far, he thought. Keep it light.

"What? NO!" June bellowed. Then she leaned closer, "HEY EGGHEAD, THERE'S VODKA IN MY BRASSIERE."

"Ah," Charles said.

Suddenly without warning June staggered away. "MARLENE!" she screamed. "YOU LOOK REALLY HEALTHY FOR YOUR AGE!"

"Vodka brassiere?" Eugene asked.

"I have never needed a drink more and wanted one less," Charles murmured. Eugene laughed. A moment passed. Neither of them moved.

"Eggy?" Eugene asked.

Charles sighed. "My nicknames are legion. Chucko. Revenge of Chuckie. Egghead. Eggy. Professor Eggmour."

"Eggs seem to be a theme."

Charles seemed suddenly aware of how close they were still standing. "It's a  long story," he muttered, taking a step away and extricating his hand.

He glanced forlornly at the counter. The concierge was gone. Eugene shrugged.

"Let's go to that cocktail party I've heard so much about," Eugene said.

Charles visibly braced himself, and Eugene felt a  sudden surge of protectiveness. He reached over and straightened  Charles' tie.

"Chin up, darling. You're worth the lot of them laid end  to end."

He watched Charles swallow. "Thank heavens you're here,"  Charles said suddenly. "It would seem odd if I were muttering that to  myself."

"Couldn't leave my boyfriend stranded at his high school reunion," Eugene said, lightly, trailing a hand down Charles' shirtfront to smooth an imaginary wrinkle, thinking. Stop pushing your luck, Eugene. Then his hand found Charles again. Their fingers latched together and the smile Charles couldn't help turning on him then was impossibly entrancing.

"Seems only logical," Eugene heard himself saying. "Come on,  dear."