Christmas At Leo's - Memoirs Of A Houseboy by Gillibran Brown Read Free Book Online Page A

weekend joy. Most of those big old vinyl records have been sold off on Ebay, replaced by tiny, shiny CD versions, if only by way of saving space. It’s sad in a way, like a kind of emasculation. Poor old Gene Pitney and Co cut down to size. Vinyl albums are much like the artists themselves, shadows cast on the wall of music history.
    When I think about it, those party nights were a kind of intersection for Lee’s parents. They weren’t just about having fun in the present. They were a connection back to the days of their own childhood when they probably first heard some of the songs they loved to play.
    Red Alert: the houseboy is about to unleash one of his half-arsed pseudo philosophical statements:
    We humans have a desperate need to cling to some aspect of our personal past; as if it is a grain of immortality we can use to stave off death. It’s an illusion. Looking back to the past does not slow down the future. Time itself is cyclical, but not so a human life. Time acts as a guard. It escorts each of us in a straight line from the cradle to the grave. A pessimistic view perhaps, miserable and even depressing, but there you go, this is the book of my days and I can fill it with whatever mind bending negative shit I want to.
    “You’re in good voice this morning.”
    “Hi, Eileen.” I turned and smiled as she came into the kitchen.
    “Are you going to perform that as a party piece over the holidays?”
    “I doubt it.” I turned the volume down on the radio. “I’m making coffee, is that okay?”
    “Lovely.” She walked over to the kitchen dresser, picking up a cake tin and a couple of porcelain tea plates, which she carried over to the scrubbed pine table.
    I made the coffees. We sat down at the table. Eileen took the lid off the tin. I selected a couple of the iced mince pies inside and put them on my plate. It was a comfortable routine, one she and I had shared many times. I love sitting in her kitchen having tea or coffee along with homemade cake and a natter.
    “How did things go last night? Was it a good party?”
    I grimaced. “Okay, I suppose. Everyone seemed to enjoy it, except me. I was glad when it was over. I went to bed sober. Christmas is going to be a misery this year with Dick and Shane keeping watch on what I drink. They’re like a couple of naggy old nannies.”
    Quick digression: Eileen has long been aware I’m in an intimate sexual relationship with both Dick and Shane. She has never judged me, or them. It makes me value her friendship even more. She has an open mind. She doesn’t know about the Daddy/discipline element of our relationship, or if she does it’s only because she’s guessed at it. She knows they disapprove of me drinking and she knows why. I’ve told her the boyfriends have a downer on me imbibing since my episodes increased. I haven’t confessed they’ve banned alcohol altogether and I’m subject to severe punishment if I disobey. It’s too difficult to explain. End of digression.
    “They mean well, Gilli. They worry about you and want you to be well. It’s only right.”
    “I know, but it still gets on my nerves. It takes the fun out of a party. They’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young. Their idea of a wild time is mixing a shot of brandy into a mug of hot milk. It’s like being shacked up with a gay Darby and Joan.”
    Her blue eyes crinkled with amusement. “You wouldn’t have them any other way.”
    “I’m not so sure.” I picked up a mince pie, demolishing half of it in one bite.
    “I’m certain you’ll get to enjoy a glass or two of bubbly on the big day.”
    I was certain I wouldn’t, but I didn’t say so. I finished my mince pie, took a few swigs of coffee and made a start on my second pie, finishing it before asking her how things were going with Reginald, her wannabe beau, a bloke from her church with whom she’d struck up a tentative romance. She’d recently told him to back off a little because he’d tried to move things along