August 9, 2010; The Intervention, Part II

When I pushed open the door with Cosmo behind me, Skeeter, still lying in a ball on the bed, said, "Go away!"

"Not very congenial is he?" Cosmo said.

Without turning Skeeter said, "Oh! What fresh hell is this?"

The two of us, Cosmo and I, jumped onto the bed or, rather, I jumped and Cosmo dragged himself up, still wearied from his eternal sleep and, most likely, the celestial opium. "What's up, skipper," he said into Skeeter's ear when he was up near it. Skeeter very slowly turned around and looked at the old Dalmatian with no small amount of confusion. "Wha...?" "Yes, well," Cosmo said," here I am and I want to know what you are planning to do so we all can make our own plans."

"Now I know I'm nuts. Go away. Both of you." And Skeeter turned away.

"Hm," Cosmo said.

"Hm," I echoed. We all had a little lie down and snoozed for a bit because the bed, with its three occupants, became cosy-warm and no dog can keep his eyes open or at full attention when things are cosy-warm.

Then Cosmo muttered, "Why doesn't he just masturbate. That always cheers me up!"

"He's 53 years old, for Christ's sake!" I snapped at him.

"Oh. Right. Hm. There was a time when he'd beat his meat like it owed him money."

"Really?" I liked hearing about the times before I came to the apartment.

"Oh, yes!" Cosmo continued. "He was the J.O. king! Had a porn collection so vast the Library of Congress would have been jealous."

"I'm right here, you know!" Skeeter said and finally turned toward the two of us.

"It's one of the many things the other one tolerates with him," Cosmo said.

"I do not know how the fuck this is supposed to help me!" Skeeter hissed.

"Oh, shush!" said Cosmo. "Go back into mourning for your life—"

"—Chekhov?—" I said of the allusion.

"—Masha, I think—"

"—Which one; 'Three Sisters' or 'Seagull'?" I asked.

"—Both...who knows...it's Chekhov," he said.

Finally Skeeter sat up. "Is the fucking seminar over? Can I go back to sleep?"

"You weren't sleeping," Cosmo remarked.

"Well can I be left alone!"

"No!" I said. "Relax. We're not leaving." Then I turned back to Cosmo, "Actually you may have something. Loss of libido? Some old people get profoundly depressed."

"Hm," Cosmo said.

"Fuck!" Skeeter finally raged. "I have not lost my libido! That's fine! That's the problem in fact! That and the appliance."

There was a long silence. "Hm," Cosmo said. "Hm," I said. Skeeter just stared at us and his eyes rolled madly like now he was contemplating hurting us rather than himself and I suppose that was a good thing.

But then Cosmo said, "We need reinforcements."

"Oh, fuck," Skeeter groaned and fell back on the bed.

Cosmo made a strange sound—that one you all know, between a whistle and a whine—and there was an odd, gentle whooshing, like wind coming through the window.

At first I thought nothing more had happened but then I heard, coming from the floor at the end of the bed (and so out of sight), a rough, life-scarred voice saying, "What a dump!"