Gay Marriage

Gay Marriage

you need to realize that your
marrying Earnest is of the
utmost importance to the
society upon which you reside
and your stature amongst the
elite within the backdrop of
our environment.”—Oscar Wilde
The Importance of Being Earnest

“Well, Bosie, would you like to get married?”

“Not in England, Oscar.”

“Where then, my dearest?”

“I was thinking of Monte Carlo.”

“Why Monte Carlo, honey?”

“Because, Oscar—it’s a gamble.”

“You mean risky?”

“Yes, you know—what would Parliament say?”

“So what, Bose? Theater critics have been worse.”

“And then there’s the Queen.”

“You mean your mother? C’mon now, Bosie. Queen Mothers are all the same. They’re discretely in love with all their minions—especially their cute siblings. And, my lovely Eternal Rose—you’re the bright shining decadent star of the New English evening.”

“And then, Oscar—there’s always my dearly beloved father. The Hunchback of Notre Dame. The Ogre Under the Bridge. The Queensbury Creep. Surely, he’ll do more than throw turnips on the stage during our honeymoon.”

“Actually, my delicate hyacinth imp, your father the Marquis of Queensbury—he’s rather “butch trade” if you ask me. Surely with all those rippling muscles and big hairy chest… that exquisite athletic built—surely he’s been propositioned in the gyms and bars? That pugnacious broken Boxer’s nose—I find it rather sexy, Bosie.”

“Oh, stop it, Oscar.”

“In fact, my dear, I bet your father was cute when he was young like you. After all, male beauty runs in English royal families.”

“Oscar, you devil you. I imagine you could charm a snake out of its skin. Even the Serpent of Eden.”

“Then believe in me, Bosie. Let my charm and golden tongue—calm your troubled waters, my little aristocratic honey-pie. It’ll all work out—just wait and see. I’ve been working on my new play...”

“But Oscar—you’re totally naïve. You live in a fantasy world of piquant witty Tea Room conversation. But the English are mean and primitive and cruel—like my father. They’d just as soon see your downfall—as camp melodrama like Lady Windermere’s Fan. They’re gauche and bored—like a gang of sharks. They’d just as soon eat the Aristocrats as devour you. The French and Italians are much more civilized and sophisticated. Let’s get the fuck out of here now in Harris’ yacht—while we still can.”

“But you haven’t answered my question, my dearest Adonis. Will you marry me—my cute Prince Charming? We’ll collaborate like Shakespeare and W.H. We’ll do fabulously—like Auden and Kallman.”

“You’re helpless, Oscar. We’d surely divorce soon.”

Oscar Wilde laughed—smoking his cigarette. The evening shadows—moving across the lawn. In his mind he was going thru some lines in his new play, Feasting with Panthers. All of his plays were pastiches—conversations with knowing young men.

“Besides, Oscar—surely I’d bankrupt you.”

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