Work Text:
“We are cancelling our subscription to The New Yorker!”
This information was delivered with a shout, but Phillip took the news of their impending break up with a magazine that had graced the living room coffee table since 1993 with aplomb.
“Oh no. Did the crossword puzzle let you down again, love?” Phillip asked not bothering to look up from his book.
Blanc stomped into the room, said New Yorker held aloft like he was brandishing a case closing piece of evidence. On the cover a woman opened her mouth to devour a line of round multi-colored ice cream scoops, but the moment Blanc sat next to Phillip the woman disappeared as he flipped through the pages.
“This kind of writing is simply beyond the pale! It is unforgivable the things people believe they can print. I am embarrassed to be at all connected with this kind of hogwash.”
That got Phillip’s attention, and he tucked a stray coupon between the pages of Will My Cat Eat My Eyeballs? so as not to lose his place.
“Are you talking about the article? The one about you?”
“I am,” Blanc said. “You’ve read it?”
“Yes,” Philip said, putting his book to the side. “I thought it was quite well done.”
Blanc’s eyes were very large, and very blue and locked on Phillip with the kind of laser like precision that he usually only received from their next-door neighbor’s ragdoll cat.
“Out with it,” Phillip said. “What great sin against gods and detectives did this reporter commit? Did I miss the paragraph where she compared you to Batman like The Atlanta Daily World did?”
That article had put Blanc in such an annoyed tizzy Phillip had been worried the next reporter who called for an interview would be greeted with a harsh dressing down, instead of Blanc’s usually honeyed charm.
“You read the article,” Blanc repeated. “The whole thing. Top to bottom, and you found it to be a pleasant experience?”
“Is this about the main photo?” Phillip sighed. “Don’t be vain. I know you don’t think you look good in red, but you hardly look like an ‘overripe tomato’.”
He took the magazine out of Blanc’s hands and turned the page.
“Look. Right here they’ve got you in a very smart lilac suit, and no one tried to make you wear a ridiculous Sherlock Holmes cap. I’d call this a win.”
Blanc scooted forward and took Phillip’s hand in his own.
“You have no critiques? Not one?”
Phillip was getting the distinct impression that something he wasn’t tuned into was happening.
He shrugged. “Nope.”
Taking the magazine back, Blanc traced his finger down the glossy page. When he reached the section he needed, he tapped his finger against the text, and started to read.
Detective Blanc has been with his husband Phillip for 15 years, and the two wed in 2011 when it became legal in New York State.
Having spent an evening with the pair, it’s safe to say that the most interesting thing that anyone will ever say about Blanc’s longtime partner, is that he is married to Benoit Blanc.
Blanc stopped and looked up expectedly.
“Okay,” Phillip said.
“You didn’t find that little set of lines to be at all insulting?”
“Why? You are the most interesting thing about me.”
Blanc scoffed. “Ridiculous!”
“Oh, come on. Last month you unearthed an underground tiger fighting ring that was being run by ballet dancers," Phillip said. "The highlight of my year has been that yellow bird that’s building a nest on our balcony. I don’t even know what kind of bird it is! I keep meaning to Google him, and then forgetting.”
Blanc scowled. “Yellow birds are very interesting!”
“Yellow birds are interesting to you, me, and our strange little circle of bird fans. That’s it.”
Phillip scooted closer so that he could wind an arm around Blanc’s waist.
“It’s very nice that you’re so offended on behalf of my incredibly boring life, but I like my incredibly boring life. So, I don’t mind what they’ve printed.”
“I mind! I mind a great deal. It’s rude and, honey I don’t care what you say, factually incorrect!”
He gave Phillip’s temple a kiss.
“I’m glad you’re not upset, but I am still calling to cancel. I don’t wish to give this magazine one more red cent.”
Phillip shook his head. “You don’t have to call. I can just cancel it on the app.”
“No, No. I demand to speak to a human being to ensure that this publication never graces our mailbox again.”
“I don’t think that’s how magazines work anymore love, but you let me know if you’re successful and I’ll put the subscription fee back in our budget.”