Chapter Text
Oswald awoke to the sweet sounds of birdsong; pianissimo, as if from far away. Gradually, the sounds became louder, until the trilling was replaced by insistent squawking, and finally, obnoxious honking. He sat up and punched some buttons on the mechanical penguin that sat on his bedside table.
“That’ll do, Mortimer.”
He threw back the down comforter, and wriggled into his bathrobe- a modest little number of black and silver burn-out velvet, trimmed in ostrich feathers. Slipping his feet into matching velvet slippers, he threw back the drapes and stepped out onto his balcony. It was warm for December, brilliantly sunny. He regarded the winter gardens of his estate with pleasure, as he watched the scene unfolding below. A half dozen of his security guards were chasing three young, attractive, stark naked trespassers who- seeing as how they were soaking wet, and dripping-seemed to have recently been skinny-dipping in one of the water features. It was easy to see, there were two boys and a girl; and, they were leading the guards on a merry chase.
“Good Morning!” Oswald yelled at them. Like magic, they stopped, staring upward, transfixed.
“Ooooooooooooooh! It’s HIM!” one of the males said, his eyes wide. The other young man burst into tears, while the woman began screaming incoherently; delaying them long enough for the guards to tackle all three.
A fourth trespasser took advantage of the melee to dart out from behind a bush and throw herself onto the climbing rose trellis that led upwards, three stories, to Oswald’s balcony. This one was clothed, attired for rock climbing, and it took three more security guards to pull her down. She had, after all, gotten a head start.
All flailing arms and legs, she wailed like a siren as she was being carried off: “I love you, Oswald! I LOVE YOU!!!!!”
Oswald waved and blew kisses. “Don’t forget,” he called to one of the guards. “Give them all autographed photos before you throw them out!”
He went back into the bedroom, shutting the French doors behind him.
“Good Morning, my dear Gabriel!” Oswald smiled warmly. “Don’t you look the picture of perfection, in your new attire!”
Gabe had entered the room, and was standing there, fidgeting; wearing an unholy hybrid of a tuxedo and a Victorian morning suit that made him look like he was headed for a steampunk convention.
“Da guards hadda rough time with that latest buncha fans, Mr. Oswald, sir. They’ve took to coatin’ themselves with baby oil before they get in th’ reflectin’ pool. Makes ‘em tough to keep holt of. Kinda like greased pigs.”
“What those scamps won’t do to get a glimpse of their beloved! It’s just my cross to bear.” Oswald leaned over and picked up a white Persian kitten that was almost camouflaged against a plush white rug. “Well, what do you think?” He waved his hand in a sweeping gesture, indicating the room. “Don’t you love it? I think the re-decorating went splendidly!”
Gabe looked around, almost blinded by the profusion of reflective surfaces. In a niche at one end of the cavernous room, on a silver platform, was an immense round bed, draped in white tufted satin; showcased by diaphanous black drapes pulled back on either side. At the other end was a white marble fireplace. In the center of the room hung a chandelier of lead crystal stars that threw cascades of sparkling light across the floor; a glossy black tile where it wasn’t covered by fluffy white rugs.
The walls were covered with ornamental mirrors; the furniture, silver gilt and gray velvet. The side tables were glass topped, held aloft by life sized chrome penguins. Above the mantle hung an imposingly large black and white photo in a silver frame- a portrait of Oswald, in white tie and tails.
“It’s swell. Real classy! Just like the rest of th’ place.” Gabe tried not to stare at the anatomically correct satyrs frolicking across the fireplace screen.
“Now, shoo, Gabriel! I’ve got to get dressed before the reporters arrive for that interview!” Oswald hurried into the bathroom.
A while later, Gabe stuck his head in as Oswald was putting the finishing touches to his typically eccentric black and emerald suit.
“Hey Boss, Nygma’s here to see ya.”
“Gabriel.” Oswald pursed his lips. “What have we talked about? You’re not some common thug, you’re a gentleman’s gentleman.”
“Mr. Cobblepot, sir. May I announce the presence of a visitor? Mr. Nygma has currently situated himself in the settin’ room, an’ he’s got a big ass bunch of fucked up lookin’ flowers.”
“That’s better, Gabriel. A few rough edges here and there, but you’re doing quite well.”
Gabe’s face lit up. “Thanks, Boss! You want I should cram the flowers in with all the others? A whole lots more just came in.”
“Yes, that’s fine, Gabriel.” Oswald walked into the sitting room with barely a trace of his former limp, his arms open wide. “Edward! Old friend!” He embraced the gangly, bespectacled man. “How are you, my dear? Well, I hope?”
Ed giggled, as he returned the hug. “If it’s information you seek, come and see me; if it’s pairs of letters you need, I have three. Who am I?”
“I’m sure I don’t know!” Oswald settled in a chair by another white marble fireplace, gesturing for Ed to do the same.
“A Bookkeeper!” Ed dropped his voice to a whisper. “Which I’m not but I do have those letters you asked for, from the State Gaming Commission Inspector General. She was very eager to cooperate with your requests, based on the suppression of certain forensic evidence found at the murder scene of her ex-husband by one Edward Nygma.”
Oswald reached eagerly for the envelopes. “Wonderful! Such a lovely person; and besides, she didn’t kill her ex, she was just careless about the way she cleaned out his safe when she found him dead. What’s the harm in turning suspicion away from an innocent woman? Especially when it benefits my nightclubs.”
“Not to change the subject, but what you’ve done with your hair is very becoming.”
“Oh, do you think so? I was wondering.” Oswald stood and admired himself in a nearby mirror, smiling in a practiced way so as to show off the dental work that’d cost him a Queen’s ransom. One prominent strand of snow-white hair stood out against his sleek black locks. “It’s rather flattering isn’t it?”
Ed gazed at him with a dreamy expression. “Yes, it is. And somehow you manage to look younger, with every passing year. I’m glad the surgery on your leg was successful, it’s almost as if Fish never broke it.”
Gabe re-entered and cleared his throat. “The reporters have showed up, Mr. Oswald, Sir. May I see Mr. Ed out?”
“Don’t bother, I know the way!” Ed kissed Oswald lightly on the cheek and left with a cheery wave.
Once Ed was gone, Gabe frowned. “Boss, are you sure that guy ain’t still carryin’ a torch for you?”
“Who, Edward?” Oswald absent-mindedly returned to preening in front of the mirror. “Oh, Gabriel, who in Gotham doesn’t carry a torch for me? But, one of Eddie’s personalities is dating a cabaret dancer, and another of his personalities is dating her brother. So, who knows?” He adjusted the blinds until the light in the room was to his liking. “There, that brings out the best in my complexion. Send in the reporters, Gabe-tell them I’m ready for my close-up!”
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Two hours later, Oswald was still holding court, as a crisply uniformed maid served tea and pastries to the reporters. Oswald smiled at the petite, dark haired woman. “Merci, Violette.”
“Je vous en prie, Monsieur Pingouin.”
He patted the hand of the man seated next to him. “Isn’t she a treasure? Now, as I was saying, it was after all that terrible business with Indian Hill that I decided to re-direct my efforts into strictly legitimate businesses. The Iceberg Lounge, luxury real estate, hotels, clubs, casinos, dinner theaters.”
“That was right before James Gordon became Police Commissioner, wasn’t it, Mr. Cobblepot?”
“Yes, there were a lot of changes taking place. We were all simply devastated when my dear friend Captain Barnes-who we were certain would be the next Commissioner- died of food poisoning. Poor man, I tried to warn him away from the Oysters Rockefeller at Bamonte’s.” Oswald shook his head sadly. “And now, a few more photos, and I must be on to my next appointment!”
Oswald posed by one of the mansion’s silver foil Christmas trees, flipping his bangs and tilting his head coquettishly.
“One more question, Mr. Cobblepot! You’re Gotham’s most eligible, sought after bachelor. Any chance there’s a special someone in your life?”
Oswald smiled enigmatically. “Everyone in my life is special, my dear.” He waved his hands theatrically. “L’amour, l’amour, toujours l’amour! Who can explain the mysteries of the heart?”