Constructing Wilde

Part 1

Oscar lounged in the sitting room of his house at One Tite Street in Chelsea; he let out a relieved sigh, throwing his head back as he settled in. Frank wasn't yet home from calling, and Oscar had abandoned him at a certain Lord Willis's house to return to their house at his leisure. Frank had the singular ability to spend hours on end around other people; Oscar's disposition quite relied upon people, but it was no secret that he was still fond of a bit of peace and quiet once and a while.

He regarded solitude as a distasteful but necessary part of a writer's life, and as such, he took it quite seriously. Frank, naturally, did not understand this, but Oscar didn't expect him to. The man was all about the social life; there was little else besides ladies or food on his mind at any given time, and he didn't seem to be capable of thinking about more than one of those things at a time. Oscar thought it was rather foolish of him, but he put up with it because Frank was his friend, and one didn't abandon friends just because they weren't particularly bright at any given subject - though it was true that Frank wasn't much good at anything besides eating and fraternizing.

The butler, Lane, paused as he was passing the door and looked in on him with a blank expression; it was expected of butlers to always be both serious and bored at all times, or so Frank had informed him. At any rate, Lane was suitably boring and serious at all times. "Do you require anything, sir?"

"No, nothing," replied Oscar. "But, Lane, what's for tea?"

Lane pondered this for a long moment; he was prone to long periods of silence and thought. "I think, sir, that Mr. Miles requested cucumber sandwiches and muffins."

Frank, naturally, would request that; he was particularly partial to cucumber sandwiches and muffins. "Anything else?" asked Oscar, for he knew Frank wasn't likely to share any of that.

"Tea cake, I do believe, sir," droned Lane.

That, too, was just like Frank. Tea cake was something Frank despised, but by serving it, he could, quite logically, keep the sandwiches and muffins for himself while still politely offering something to whoever happened by for tea.

"And have we any guests for tea this afternoon, Lane?"

"Mr. Miles' Aunt Augusta is coming; from what I understand, sir, Miss Langtry was planning to come calling with her. I have been led to believe that she is a good friend of Mr. Miles and his aunt, sir."

"Naturally. That will be all, Lane."

"Very good, sir," said Lane, bowing deeply as was his wont.

Oscar shut his eyes as the butler glided off, thinking that it would be interesting to meet this Miss Langtry; if she could put up with Frank, she was sure to be a person of intrigue. He, naturally, was interested in anyone who might prove mysterious and intriguing.

In his short life, he'd found that whatever you lacked in knowledge could certainly be made up for by spinning tales; nonfiction was never nearly as attention-grabbing as fiction, and if there was anything Oscar prized, it was a good story. Therefore, fiction was to prized above telling the truth at all times, and he'd found that Frank tended to keep company with those who held a similar opinion of the matter if for different reasons.

His meditation on the matter was cut off prematurely as Frank came bursting into the sitting room.

"I say, Oscar! What are you doing lying about? You skipped out of visiting early for this, my dear boy? I always knew there was something droll about you."

"Not droll enough to frighten your sensibilities, I hope," said Oscar, sitting up.

Frank snorted derisively. "I think not! Your seriousness is perfectly idiotic, but it does promise great amusement among other things. I shouldn't venture to change it for the world. Or rather, I have ventured, and I failed. I make it a point not to try things the same way twice; as such, I've utterly given up on teaching you not to be such a bore."