J'Accuse...!
—— Emile Zola, in an open letter that was published on 13 January 1898 in the newspaper L'Aurore in response to the Dreyfus affair.
Rosabelle woke up to the sound of the 60s' British invasion movement music. John Lennon's scream could be heard from a far distance.
" Oh please, say to me
You'll let me be your man
And please, say to me
You'll let me hold your hand
Now, let me hold your hand
I want to hold your hand"*
For a moment, she instinctively reached for the revolver taped under her bed, thinking that there was a second break in. Then she remembered that she had a housemate now, an unexpectedly noisy one.
The Victorian mantle clock above her bedroom's fireplace told her that it was 9:27 in the morning, too early to wake up for a fashionably unemployed lady like her, yet too late to go back to bed.
She wrapped herself in a grayish-pink velour dressing gown and went downstairs to find her new housemate.
Half way through the staircase, she could already smell the sweet aroma of cooked meat and heard the domestic sound of cooking.
The god of homosexuality was in her kitchen, humming to the tune from his mini sound box.
" Close your eyes and I'll kiss you
Tomorrow I'll miss you
Remember I'll always be true
And then while I'm away, I'll write home everyday
And I'll send all my loving to you "
" Fried, scrambled or poached?" Hermaphroditus asked cheerfully.
She recovered from a brief moment of shock and managed to mumble something like yes and thanks.
Hermaphroditus frowned and said. " Fried it is?"
She nodded, still unable to process the fact that the god of Homosexuality was making her breakfast.
Hermaphroditus broke the eggs directly into the pan, which was already filled with bacon, and left the egg to cook.
He stirred the beans heated on the adjacent cooker and then added a bit of butter on the egg.
" Sunny side up?" He asked her as he lightly basted the egg.
She nodded in daze. Tink. The oven made a popping sound.
Hermaphroditus opened it and pulled out rows of cumberland, sizzling and perfectly brown.
" I took the authority to fill your fridge with food. I hope you are okay with that. " Hermaphroditus said.
She nodded again, this time in gratitude. " You cooked? I thought the cafe was Salmacis' idea."
" It is her idea. She likes coffee and bakery and people. We spent three years in Paris in the 1920s, taking a pâtisserie course and two years in New york in the early 1970s finishing barista training. However, when it comes to cooking, I am generally better."
He transferred the fried eggs and bacons onto two plates,
She stood there and watched as he served her full English breakfast.
" What are you waiting for? Dig in?" He said.
" Right." She sat down awkwardly at the kitchen island, forgetting to tell him about her magnificent dining room, where she usually dined.
YOU ARE READING
The Perils of Unrequited Love
RomanceA lady in perils! Lady Rosabelle Godfrey, beautiful, rich and spoiled rotten daughter of the 25th marquess of wrenworth, had lived 21 years of life with little to vex or distress her until a series of unfortunate events threatened to shatter her ill...
