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Dear Readers,
As you may know, if you've been following my adventures, I have finally come to what I can call 'a happy ending'. Now, you may be thinking to yourself: 'Why Box, old man, are you dying? Have you fallen victim to some age-old illness?' The answer is no, rest assured that your favourite tall, pale gentleman is in perfect health.
Though as I live out my (hopefully) long retirement, writing my memoirs and painting all the portraits I could ever want, I find myself in disarray. If you could kindly recall my story of The Vesuvius Club , you may remember a queer (in every sense) character I spent my days with: Charlie Jackpot. Now Charlie, my darling boy, ran by my side for a decade after our romp in Italy, in fact we went back several times to 'relive the good old days'.
Jackpot. The name has haunted my waking moments, my sleepless nights, every time I have walked into Number Nine my heart hoped to see his dimpled smile in the doorway. Every time I laid my head to rest, I longed for the feeling of his tanned skin, my soul yearned to smell that honey scent on my sheets again. I do not consider myself a faithful man, but, that boy, the bright young thing I met in Naples, the same one I shared my bed with for years , my heart has never had such a burning devotion.
I found myself becoming listless as his life slipped through my hands like the fine sands of the beaches in that long loved place, a place I haven't returned to since his passing. Until now.
I sit in Hotel Santa Lucia, looking over the port, scribbling this note to you all. The breeze from the ocean hasn't changed, the buzz of life in the marketplace is all the same. The flaky yellow paint of the hotel faded a bit more, tourism at Mount Vesuvius has less foot traffic, but by all means, this place has remained a little time capsule of memories. Good memories.
I took a swing by the old VC, now a simple bar and club, and I left the moment I stepped foot in. It didn't feel right without my boy in tow.
Charlie was my anchor to reality. He was my everything . I became an impulsive creature, a vain bastard (in the derogatory sense), I lost myself to baser instincts and I submitted to my own foolish instincts. I slept away my middle life, soured my golden age with bitter self-hatred. Though now, sitting here in Italy where my boy and I spent our time, I can finally rest.
So, I raise the parting glass. I've spent my time in good company, thank you dear readers. Thank you for sharing in my escapades, my sorrows. This is the last you'll be hearing of good Ol' Lucifer Box. Goodbye, and joy be with you all.
-LB