The Line of Beauty

There it was, sitting on the crystal adorned mirror tray placed casually at the corner of a maple-brown bureau.


Alistair and Rupert (A&R) have been friends of mine for almost 4 years. I met them at a cocktail party in Knightsbridge thrown by a Austrian heir, Wolfgang. I'm not sure why I was there. Wolfgang hated my guts at the time, and it may have had something to do with his trophy boyfriend slobbering all over me. I could only attribute my invitation to Wolfgang's fiercely competitive nature. He may have even enjoyed our subtle repartee. I met A&R amongst many others that I now only occasionally bump into at functions, and the three of us got along a little better perhaps because we were younger than the rest and weren't about to inherit a castle in the schwarzwald.


There exists a world, in the upper-crust, pretentious strata of modern societies (both Eastern and Western it seems) that defines itself on, ironically, a very tribal and suspicious set of values. I was always proud of the fact that I was not tied down by such pressure or wealth. Still, something about me attracted the rogue members of this clan, i.e. the gay ones. The ones who loved to hate it but could not survive without it.


I think it all went a step too far when I realized I was being judged by these very people for my non-conformism to bourgeois culture. This happened recently, at a pretentious penthouse party thrown by A&R. We were half-way through aggressive wine tasting. when two of the guests, a Russian girl and an American guy in a kilt, asked me to join them in the study next door. The glint in their eyes gave me a solid hint as to what was waiting for me there.


We stepped into the quiet study and sure enough, there it was, sitting on the crystal adorned mirror tray placed casually at the corner of a maple-brown bureau. The Line of Beauty, I think it was Alan Brightman who had called it so with a deep sense of irony. 2 Grams (at least) of cocaine neatly stacked into a wide trail. Being a good Muslim boy for Ramadan, I asked them to go ahead without me. Whilst we were making friendly conversation, Alistair walked into the room.


"I have to rush, we just realised some of the bottles are corked and I have to go find something drinkable from the shop," he moved swiftly towards the tray and then realised I was seated on the opposite end of the room. "M! Aren't you having any?"


"No, I'm hoping for an early start tomorrow," I lied. Alistair looked confused but wasn't going to let it stop him. He bent over the rolled up 10 pound note and snorted half a fat line with his right nostril.


"M, when are you going to settle down and find a long term relationship?"

The comment, and tone, caught me off guard. Excuse me? My mind rushed for an answer while his left nostril snorted the other half. Wait, what was the question? I looked around me and realised both in this room and the next, everyone was in some sort of long term relationship. And I use the word relationship loosely, because in some cases it involved no more than an exchange of love for money.


"I don't know, but really can you blame me?" I managed to stammer awkwardly.


The silence in the room indicated that perhaps, yes, they could blame me.


Somehow everything fell into place, became clearer. Why I was assigned to a table where I knew no one at Alistair and Rupert's wedding, why I'd never even heard of their best man and man, why I am not invited to their weekly yoga and brunch even though they talk about it freely in front of me. I need a husband! And not just any husband: a bourgeois over achiever who, like me, has to be in either finance or law.


Another thing that dawned upon me, in light of Rupert's audacious flirty comments, is that perhaps married couples are avoiding me to avoid trouble. A "pretty young thang" like me could trip up their relationships faster then they'd care to know.


Alistair left the room but my discomfort remained. I knocked back the hint of wine I was tasting and walked out into the main room. It may have been the 1999 clos pegase but I suddenly felt like saying "Fuck you!" I'm not going to go boyfriend shopping so I can fit into a posse of pussies. I took comfort in the fact that they were on some level threatened by me, they should be.


But I suppose there's another possibility. Maybe I've jumped to a conclusion here, and Alistair was actually expressing a genuine wish for me to be happy and settle down. Likely scenario?


Peace

M