Emmett took a spare blanket from the closet and started to make a bed for himself on the couch in the dining room. It surprised me. A mountain of boisterous footballism was waiting for him at home, with kettle-balls of muscles, hand weight of a brain and treadmill of a dick.

        "Are you going to stay overnight?" I asked.

        "Uh-huh."

        "And what will Drew Boyd say?"

        "What does he have to say?" Emmett rose his eyebrows. "My best friend is in trouble."

        "Or you want to make sure I won't slash my veins towards morning?"

        I would have been better off gnawing my fridge. My words had a truly dramatic effect. Em froze with a pillow in his hands. He clenched his jaw and became pale in the face. I was expecting him to throw something at me and scream. But he closed his eyes and carefully put the pillow to the head end of the couch. And then he slowly straightened. It seemed to me that while he was drawing himself up to full length, ten new galaxies hatched in the darkness of space. As for me, during this time I dissolved in a cold sweat, had every single hair of mine go grey and got covered with nervous scabs.

        At last Emmett uttered, "I want to make sure you see I am with you and you can count on me."

        After a while he continued, "When Brian called me, I practically shit where I stood. And I, by the way, was discussing a wedding buffet with the bride. Do you think she would have been glad to have such a performance as a promo?"

        "Sorry, it was selfishly twatish of me to turn my phones off. I was a little busy." When I said that I hoped that Emmett missed all the sarcasm that poured out of me as manure out of a cow. On second thought, I made my face look guilty.

        My friend ignored those moves. For a minute he was staring at the floor and shaking his head. Then he looked at me and said, "Fuck the phones, Teddy. I thought you decided not all the bears of Pittsburgh fucked you and were making up for lost time. But not turning up at work for two days without notice is not like you at all. You scared us shitless. You should have seen the bricks we hatched out." He gestured the size of the bricks, and they were massive. "I want to spend at least some time with you."

        I swallowed jerkily and screwed my eyes. Lord, why am I such a selfish prick.

        "Forgive me, Em."

        He nodded.

        "So, I am here on the couch. If you need anything or cannot sleep, call me."

        "Thanks, Em."

        I kissed him on the cheek and went to the bedroom.

        I was failing to fall asleep, but had difficulty seeing how Emmett might help it. Although, I could see it. For example, we could have sex. Theoretically. I scarcely was able to do it now. But there was no chance to check. Next option was to call my friend to my bed and fall asleep cuddling him. I would not dare to offer this, although it would have really worked. What did he mean then? That at one a.m. I would feel an urge to play charades? Or to sing sing a duet? Or to bake cakes?

        Certainly, it was not I who needed him to stay, but Emmett himself. He was feeling anxious about me and did not know what to do. Magic fairies make every ugly thing fabulous, and how could he make anything fabulous out of my ugly and pathetic tragedy? I started to think what I myself can do for my friend. I needed to find a way to lead him out of the swamp of frustration. He must have been trying to wash off this morass since my crystal adventures. And of course it is high time I stopped shitting around and acting like a douchebag. It takes being a real lucky fucker - to get yourself such a friend as Em. He has to be prayed at. And I have to do anything I can to make him believe he is helping.

        I decided to ask him tomorrow to help me to choose a hair dye and go get that much-lauded jacket. And I liked that thought so much that I managed to fall asleep.

        In the morning I woke up and started to implement my plan. I ate the breakfast Emmett cooked. I did not want to get used to being cooked for again. As soon as you do, everything you make yourself starts giving you indigestion and rashes. Not that a chef is for shit, you just got addicted to a couple of ingredients one cannot add to his own meal. Love, care, all that stuff. But since you decided to stop being an ungrateful prick, eat up and praise your food.

        Having put on a face of a person who got his sense of purpose back with a turkey sandwich, I thanked my gorgeous best friend and left for Kinnetic.

***

        Brian lavished work upon me. I was wondering how he managed to put together such a busy agenda. When I was leaving on Friday, there was downright nothing to do at the office. And voila, now I had to sort millet from poppy seed, clean a hundred dildos to make them shiny enough for seeing your face as in a mirror… I was at it till about eight o'clock, and then Kinney told me I was to be honored by a mission to check a bunch of drag shows for St. Valentine's day and pick up the best option for the least money. I was to do it from seven p.m. tomorrow and until Babylon opens, every day till next Tuesday. It made almost a week without a break.

        "If you and Honeycutt at last decide to join some circus of vagrant drag queens, everyone will breathe easier," Brian said and dumped on my table a huge folder with portfolios of show groups.

        Emmett came to pick me up and, with joyful enthusiasm he was prone to in dubious situations, offered to keep me company at the drag queen parade. And I, as a counter with morning complacency, pulled a smile and underneath it began to rampage quietly.

        Because now, Emmett is with me. And at night, when I will be losing my fight with insomnia and ruminating drearily what to keep in mind masturbating in order not to wake neighbors by my sobs, Drew Boyd will fuck him. And if only fuck! That son of a bitch will kiss Emmett on the forehead, hug him and sleep with his nose touching Emmett's nape. Fine, I have a new orthopedic pillow. It is a really versatile thing! It alleviates tension in your neck muscles, holds up your head and can absorb eight liters of tears. Although, if I had had a chance to spend night sneezing out of my nose my love mate's hair, these wonders of absorption would not have meant a fuck to me.

        Brian was also pissing me off - by the fact he was sympathizing with me. He was sympathizing with me badly enough to try to hide it. Whenever Kinney the Almighty stepped in the middle of yet another of my mopey dramas, he never allowed himself to show simple humane compassion, but he was always heedful of disgusted pity. And now he had not a single proper scoff for me. Feels like he never mentioned either Blake or our break up. What a big joke he could have made of this topic if he wanted to do it! I would wither rather laughably. All in all, it was clear enough that Brian was damn sorry for me. Sorry enough for making a week-long festival of feather-clad fags for me without many words.

        Michael and Melanie were pissing me off by not joining the group of uninvited visitors to my house wishing to hold my hand. Although, should they join it, I would have been pissed off even worse. I did not have enough hands for such a crowd of claimants to hold one of them. The crowd was big enough for me to go to a sex shop and buy a rubber fisting fist. Should anyone try to hold my hand, I'd give him or her such a big intrigue.

        Certainly, most of all I was pissed off by myself. Firstly, by the fact I was creating problems for my folks and making them worry. A part of me wanted to say, "God, guys, this is Ted Schmidt! He is not worth it!" The second part wanted to claim five times as much attention. It wanted Michael and Melanie to come anyway and yes, hold my hand. It wanted Brian to hug me and pat my back, while I would dabble the cashmere of his coat with my snot. And Em… It would have been great if Em came and stayed for good.

        All those fantasies multiplied by guilt for my own ingratitude induced white fury on me. In order not to flaunt it in front of Emmett, I went to take a leak. Anger is anger and schmuckness is schmuckness. That's it, no schmuckness from now on. Boutique, barbershop, optimism without any restraint.

***

        Skillfully measuring out friendliness and sanguinity (if overdone, they will make anyone think again that their volatile friend went to hang himself), I convinced Emmett I needed some time alone with my new beautiful jacket and went home. No sooner than I took the jacket out of the bag, put it on once again and said to myself, "You look fabulous!", Blake called.

        "Hello, Teddy," he said.

        "Hello, Blake." My voice seemed to sound as if I was not only standing on a stool with a noose over my neck, but had already kicked the stool away.

        "Teddy…"

        "Yes, Blake."

        "I just wanted to check out how you are doing." Frankly speaking, his voice also was quite stool-like.

        "Great!" I answered gloomily. "And you?"

        "Best of all!" he sniffed.

        "That's right. I have to get up early tomorrow. Shall we say good night?"

        "Good night, Teddy," and Blake hung up.

        Naturally, I did not fall asleep that night. My dear sweet Em. It's night already, and I certainly will not call you. But how should I sort all this out on my own?

        I went to bed, rolled into my blanket and shut my eyes. A new day will come tomorrow.