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“My partner and I recently moved in together. I always prefer to say ‘partner’ rather than ‘boyfriend’, ‘cause ‘boyfriend’ always sounds like somebody kind of young, you know? And I’m totally aware that I give off the vibe of a dude who fucks people half his age. Like, I get that people would just look at me and that would be something they would assume about me.”
The audience laughs, in what sounds like agreement.
“But no, he’s old like me. The thing is, he’s lived with people before, but I never have. I’ve always lived alone. Like, even in college, I didn’t have a roommate. I was that one fucking weird kid whose roommate didn’t show up on the first day, and nobody ever did anything about it? He like, probably looked at the accommodation form, saw my name and was like, Richie Tozier? Nah, dude, I’ve seen that guy, that guy definitely looks like he exclusively fucks people half his age – I’m out.”
So I was a little nervous about living with someone else. But honestly, there are so many up sides. My favourite up side is the fact that I no longer have to pretend to the takeout delivery guy that I live with other people because I’m ashamed of how much food I’ve ordered. You guys ever do that? Make up fake roommates because you totally think the delivery guy gives a fuck that you ordered half the menu at like, 11am on a Tuesday? Like you think he’s gonna start giving you advice on how to lower your cholesterol. The doorbell’ll go and I’ll be shouting behind the door, completely alone, like, I’ll get it! No, honey, you sit down, you sit right over there and let me bring our shared food to you. There’s too much of it anyway, you won’t be able to carry it. And then I open the door and the delivery guy’s there not giving a fuck and I’m like, jeez! How much did he order?! All this food for him and a mere wonton soup for little old me…”
Eddie’s phone buzzes, and he pauses Netflix to answer it.
“Hey,” comes Richie’s voice, “What are you doing? I’m sat in a hotel room in Atlantic City bored out of my skull.”
“You can’t find anything to do in Atlantic City?” says Eddie.
“Nothing I wanna do by myself. There’s something fuckin’ pervy about going to the beach on your own, man. What are you up to?”
Eddie glances at the TV, where Netflix’s Richie Tozier: Growing Pains – Sony Centre has faded to its black and red title screen.
“Not much. Just looking at colour charts.” Which isn’t a lie. There are definitely a handful of colour charts from Home Depot splayed out on the coffee table. It’s just that he decides not to mention the fact that practically every other night since Richie left for his tour, Eddie has had his goddamned Netflix special on in the background, as if their new house somehow doesn’t operate without Richie’s endless commentary chattering throughout it.
He doesn’t mention it purely for the fact that Richie would fucking love it. Eddie doesn’t think he has the strength to deal with the gleeful onslaught which would ensue were Richie to learn that Eddie misses him so much he has to resort to Netflix on a regular basis, until their time zones are in sync and they can call each other again.
“Colour charts?” says Richie. “For what?”
“We said we were gonna paint the office, remember? I’m thinking red. But like, a nice red. Not death red. Some of these are really goddamned morbid. There’s one called ‘Zeus’ Blood’.”
“Hell yeah, I want Zeus’ blood in the office.”
“Personally, I’m torn between ‘Poinsettia’ and ‘Cranberry Jam’.”
“Both sound pretty gay.”
“Or ‘Sparkling Garnet’. I’ll take pictures and send them to you. When’s your next show?”
“Tomorrow night. Then Thursday. Then next weekend I’m a-making my way back home to you, baby. Which is just as well because I am horny as all heck.”
Eddie rolls his eyes so hard he’s pretty sure Richie can hear it down the phone.
“Which brings me to my next question: how do you feel about a little thing called phone sex? I heard some of the staff here talking about it, sounds wild.”
“Richie, your voice is probably the least sexy thing about you. No way do I want any of our sex to rely solely on that. Sorry.”
“Noted. Figured it was worth an ask. Just out of interest, what’s the most sexy thing about me?”
Eddie smiles to himself. “I couldn’t say,” he admits, twirling Sparkling Garnet between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m with you for your money.”
“Aw, fuck. I’ve got some bad news for you, in that case. You know how Atlantic City is famous for its casinos…?”
“You’re a funny guy.” Eddie drops the colour sample and leans back into the sofa, glancing at the TV. He considers the idea that Richie might not make a huge deal out of Eddie's recent television habits, which is unlikely but not impossible, and says, “Speaking of funny, I… re-watched your Netflix special tonight.”
“Re-watched?”
“Since we watched it together when it first came out,” Eddie says quickly. It's only a white lie, designed to protect Richie from the horror of knowing his boyfriend has developed stalking tendencies. “I don’t know, I guess I just miss when you cut your hair short like that.”
“So that’s what's sexy about me?”
“Well, it was. Before you grew it again even though I specifically begged you not to.”
“I was starting to look too pedestrian. I don’t want people getting the idea that I’m respectable. Besides, I didn’t say anything when you grew that pissy little moustache last year, did I? Now that was a mistake.”
“So you telling me you weren’t prepared to sleep in the same bed as Inspector Clouseau was not saying anything?”
Richie laughs, in the same way he always does when he’s reminded of his own jokes. Nobody’s a bigger fan of Richie’s humour than Richie.
“So did you like it?” he asks.
“Like what? The moustache? Well, I didn’t think it was that fucking bad.”
“My show, idiot. The moustache was an abomination, we’ve established that.”
Eddie sighs. “You know I love your show, and I’m not gonna say any more than that because your head will get so fucking big that when you do finally come home, you won’t fit through the front door.”
“Eds, you're only human. You don’t have to be embarrassed about adoring my material and being desperate to consume it at any given moment. It’s only like me jerking off over your Facebook picture when I’m not with you.”
“Gross, Rich.”
“I think it's really sweet that you watch my show over and over and over again.”
“I said I watched it once. Today.”
“Huh. Weird.”
“What is?”
“Oh, it's nothing. Just... I guess Netflix must be glitching out. Yeah, when I logged into our account last week on my phone, my show came up first under 'Watch it again'. Thought that was kinda interesting.”
Eddie sighs. Fucking exposed, of course. “I gotta go,” he says immediately.
“What? Why? We only just started talk-”
“I've gotta go widen the front door frame for when you get back. God knows how long it'll take, guess I'll have to make it pretty goddamned wide to fit your huge head through.”
Richie laughs. Eddie can picture him perfectly, throwing his head back with that trademark cackle. He'll be sitting on his hotel bed in his boxers and t-shirt, TV on mute, with some weird room service order next to him; wings and candy corns, or some shit. Eddie misses him so much sometimes it aches.
Later, when they've said their goodbyes - their real goodbyes, with the obligatory 'I love you's at the end, because Eddie always has this fear something could happen to Richie on tour and if they haven't said 'I love you' then the last thing Eddie says to him could be something like "Nighty night, numbnuts" - Eddie flicks the show back on and curls into the sofa to settle in for the last half hour. After a little while his phone buzzes with a text. He glances at the screen; it's Richie.
might head to the hair salon in the morning...
Eddie grins. Because Richie can be lovely, when he wants to be. This is what Eddie thinks to himself, at precisely the moment Richie's voice pipes up from the TV: "So, last year was pretty tough for me. You see, my partner grew this fucking dumbass moustache..."