Clocks

Despite how much he thought he would love a quiet hour or two in the penthouse he once (alledgedly) resided in, this was getting ridiculous.

Elvis and Verity asleep in their rooms, Jonquil alternating between watching the tacky soaps on the TV and clearing out the apartment of all the wine and any other remotely alcoholic beverage she could find hidden within the cupboards. And Suzy, gone out. Vanished.

She was trying to make new friends.

With Big Adam from the first floor.

Though Henry didn't mind the fellow, how much could they hope from a friendship when, even when she was high as a kite, she would rather go in the bathroom with a ghost than dance at his party? And when he would take 'no' for an answer from Suzy when invited in the first place?

Really. No chance.

Wandering around the Elysian (as he was wont to do), Henry realised for the first time in all his treks around the building that there were a disturbing number of clocks.

Everywhere. Ticking. Tocking.

Rocco and Rita had an absurd amount of them hidden behind the countless snowglobes and worthless trinkets that spilled out from the cabinets and dusty shelves that lined the walls. He guessed old people liked to have as many possesions around them so when they finally kicked the bucket, the people who found them would be ever so impressed by their 'interesting lives'.

Not that he would ever know.

Here he was, watching the landlords polish silver, sip tea and talk about the recycling rules and speculating on who the notorious rule breaker could be. It was infuriating, seeing them sit in plush armchairs and slowly waste what was left of their lives, while he would have been living like tomorrow wasn't ever arriving.

God knew what Suzy was up to.

Facing the scary task of socialsing all on her lonesome.

Henry looked at the clock on the mantle from his position on the dining table (the only one not blocked by junk). It had been half an hour since she left. Only thirty minutes.

Henry suspected watching oldies made time go mind-numbingly slow.

This was unnerving.

While by far not the most comfortable bed in the complex, he never imagined that he would tire of it, especially with what was oh-so beautifully positioned under the sheets. Almost seemed contrived.

Bonita, the young, fit, and now most undeniably perky model was propped up reading some well-worn book or novel. With no damn tops or bras in the way of what should be a more fascinating point of concentration for him.

And it was, for a minute and ten seconds.

Precise as it was, it was not surprising, due to the incessant ticking of the clock on the side draw. Another clock, more time passing, more silence and indifference from his companion.

"Good book?"

Henry left the darklit room not five minutes later, the lack of conversation and abundance of breast stifling and more than odd with the persistant ticking.

And of course, she would be reading 'Romeo and Juliet'.

This was bollocks.

Of course she would decide to try and make new friends when they possibly had a crisis on their hands. Perfect.

She hadn't even tried to feign interest in the fact they he may be unhinged, or a threat to the kids. He could have been.

Zac Hannigan; shit-digging bearded weirdo. Didn't know anything.

And so, there he sat on the edge of the three-man bed, an insurmountable amount of dresses, stockings and wigs strewn across it.

Henry could only imagine Suzy trying to adapt to a crossdresser on her first 'big girl' outing.

It had to be someone in the building didn't it?

No escape. No breaks. Just constantly inviting each other for tea or brunch or any of that other insignificant bull that she would do when they clearly had a problem.

An hour and a half had crawled by with each drag of the hands of the clock mounted on the wall beside him.

How could she have stayed out for an hour and a half with him?

Just by the room he could tell they had absolutely nothing in common. Unless Adam had a closeted interest in the names, ages, and various dental shortcomings and procedures of a dentist and had now found the ideal opportunity to come out about it.

He was doubtful.

Back on the couch, next to a decidedly unconcious Jonquil.

Back to the silence, the dim lighting, the mirrors refelcting the utter emptiness of the apartment, back to the clock next to the pictures Suzy, the kids, and Steve.

Two hours.

Ridiculous. She had people coming over tomorrow. Little people.

What hour did she call this?

For someone so utterly and rigidly adhering to routine and sense of normalcy, she didn't seem to give a solitary damn that now two hours had been wasted in what could be, possibly, the ruination of his name. Of his legacy.

She didn't need friends.

She needed to be here.

With him.