Constructing Wilde

Part 1

"Leave the details necessary to convince her to me," insisted Frank. "Just get the invitation."

Sighing heavily, Oscar shrugged. "If you insist. I'll see what I can do for you. Now I've another subject to put before you; I'd like to solicit your honest opinion on the matter."

"Oscar, my dear boy! You know I never give anything but my honest opinion on any matter regardless of whether it was solicited." Frank spooned another large bite of mashed potatoes and gravy into his mouth.

"Well, that may be true," admitted Oscar. "But I was thinking... You know I've worked hard to form a good public image of myself, and now I think it's about time that I did something with it. I've been hoping to become a poet for quite some time; I'm sure you were aware of that seeing as we've known each other for so long; so I've decided to publish a little volume of poems to get my career as a writer jumpstarted."

Frank wasted no time in lauding the idea with as much enthusiasm as though it had been his own; he was wont to do that on a frequent basis as he rarely had many extremely original ideas of his own. Not that Oscar's idea was terribly original; it wasn't. Lots of poets had done the same before him. However, Frank wasn't acclimated to the world of poets and writers; he would think the idea was original. "That sounds like an excellent idea," enthused Frank.

"Does it?" Oscar asked. "Do you think it would work?"

"I say you ought to try at the least," said Frank. "What's the worst that could happen, anyway? It fails, and you have to try a different method to get yourself into the publishing world."

Oscar shrugged, taking a big bite of steak. Chewing slowly, he contemplated the idea for a long while. He supposed Frank was right; he didn't have any reason to think the attempt would fail. He ought to just go for it. "I suppose you're right. After all, nothing worse than failure and some harsh criticism could possibly happen. I'm quite certain I can handle that," he mused.

"Of course you can, Oscar, old boy! If anyone can handle it, it's you. I've never seen a man so self-made; the masks you wear are enough to confuse even friends. You know, sometimes I feel even I don't know who you truly are."

Oscar laughed, shaking his head. "As it should be. Insincerity is the stuff of fiction; fiction and entertainment is to be prized above truth at all times."

Frank scraped his plate clean, the fork grating across the surface. "Well, I'll tell you the truth of it now, Oscar. I don't understand you, and I don't think I ever shall."

"If you understood me, I don't suppose we'd still be good friends," replied Oscar with a small smile.

"No, I don't suppose so. Once you understand someone, they become a terrible bore."

"I daresay they do," mumbled Oscar; then he added more cheerily, "And that's why I make it a point never to tell the truth and, more importantly, never to let anyone see the real me. The more mysterious and arcane, the better. My mother would tell you the same if she were here."

"Your mother had such a strong influence on you that I don't doubt it." Frank waved for Lane, and the butler brought him a second slice of pie.

"Well, I find that the day's quite worn me out, Frank. I hope you don't mind if I retire?"

"Certainly not! Oh, my father's making his way round to see me tomorrow. I don't suppose you'd keep me company; you know how the old man gets; I simply can't face him alone."

The last thing Oscar wanted to do was stick around to offer his friend moral support when his asinine father showed up. The man was both a dreadful bore and stuffy. Beyond that, it was always his way or nothing; if you didn't like that, you could just deal with it. He never compromised; Canon Miles was, above all, strict and vicious when crossed. However, they were friends, and Oscar's entire social life more or less depended upon Frank; beyond that, friends were friends, and one was obligated to do things for them on occasion if one desired to continue being in their circle of friendship. Due to this belief, Oscar found himself agreeing without further questioning. "Of course; I'd be delighted."

"Well, you needn't lie to spare my feelings," said Frank. "I haven't the faintest illusion that my father is anything better than a tyrant; my mother is quite terrified of him, and I myself am a bit frightened too when he comes around, to be honest. He always wants something, but he never gives back; it's all quite old."

"In that case," replied Oscar. "I have absolutely no desire to be around when he comes calling, but I will stay with you because you are my friend. I expect that he's a prime reason why you want out of your dinner obligations on Friday?"

"Not at all!" replied Frank with a hearty laugh. "He never shows up to those silly affairs anyway. No, I don't want to go because Aunt Augusta will place me with some couple that's sickeningly in love, or she will, worse yet, place me with some old biddy who's trying to foist her daughter off on me. It's simply nauseating."

Barely able to keep his eyes open, Oscar just nodded. "Yes, well... I'll see what I can do then, I suppose; and I haven't anything to do tomorrow, so I may as well stick around for moral support."

"I always said you were a decent chap, Oscar; that I did." Frank beamed at him from across the cherry wood tabletop.

Oscar pushed himself away from the table and waved for Lane to take his dishes. "Yes, well and good, Frank... I'll see you at breakfast then?"

Frank laughed heartily. "That you will; you've never known me to miss a meal, have you?"

Oscar stretched, yawning as he shook his head. "No, not you, Frank. So until tomorrow." With a final goodnight, he shuffled out of the room to go to bed.