Husbands And Lap Dogs Breathe Their Last Read Online Free

pair of jeans and red athletic shoes. Cummings noticed he was tall, red-haired, clean-shaven, a bit pudgy and quite handsome. Something about his physiognomy suggested a man far too practical to be dallying with these eccentrics.
    “Rutley is ...” Surendra began, then hesitated for a moment before starting the sentence over. “Rutley is an old friend.”
    “We are also graced by the presence of Queen Victoria, otherwise known as Tom Daniels,” Anunciación continued, referring to an excessively thin man in drag at the end of the table. He had bloodshot eyes the color of cooling lava and was dressed in an ornate black gown. Atop his head, a brown wig was pulled into a tight bun and covered with a lace cap. Like Victoria herself, his features were irregular and uninviting. His nose was overly prominent, and his lips seemed to express indiscriminate contempt. He was presently coughing into a white lace handkerchief.
    Cummings noticed that three chairs at the table were empty. Anunciación looked in their direction and exclaimed, “Otto and Sebastian are late again!”
    “Do you mean Otto Verissimo and his husband?”
    “Who else? They are incapable of arriving on time, don’t you know,” Anunciación said with distaste. “I think we should move on to the victuals.” She picked up a handbell from the podium and rang it three times. Waitresses appeared from the twenty-first century with computer-printed menus.
    “Why does everyone have such exotic names?” Cummings whispered to Luther.
    “I think it is part of the Steampunk aesthetic,” Luther whispered back. “Fantasy clothes, fantasy personas.”
    “I see. And who is Otto Verissimo?” Cummings responded.
    “The writer,” Luther answered.
    “Do you know him?”
    “Not personally, but I am a devoted fan.”
    “What does he write?” Cummings asked.
    “He is the author of our finest queer romance novels,” Luther said. “You must have heard of him. They call him the gay Barbara Cartland.”
    “Who is Barbara Cartland?” Cummings asked.
    “Do you mean to tell me you have never heard of Barbara Cartland?”
    “No. Should I have?”
    Luther glanced at Cummings in a manner that conveyed both pity and horror, and then he shifted his attention to selecting a sandwich.
     
    Some minutes later, three men entered the room.
    The first man was dressed as a Prussian military officer, in a smart blue coat heavy with metals, a spiked helmet, tight black trousers, and knee-high boots. One of his arms was covered in brass armor adorned with cogs, wheels, and grommets. This man was perhaps thirty-five and not a beauty: he had a broad forehead, bushy brows, eyes that were too small, a nose that was too large, and pitted, oleaginous skin. He moved in a languid but graceful manner.
    The second man, who was perhaps forty-five, tall, hirsute, chubby, and had a beard, was dressed as an Edwardian minister. He wore a severe black suit and a clerical collar. A Christian cross, which descended from a gold chain around his neck, was adorned with spokes and gears. His round, slightly asymmetrical face wasn’t exactly handsome, but he exuded the dispassionate authority that suggests a forceful leader. This gave him a certain sexiness.
    The third man, who was focused on photographing the other two, looked like a hobbit that had emigrated to Israel. He was rotund, short and in early middle age. His pate was bald and covered by a yarmulke. From just above his ears, carrot-colored hair, frizzled as if it had been electrified, descended a foot or more. A long beard, robust and streaked with gray, cascaded from his chin. He wore a white button shirt, a tartan kilt, and highland boots.
    “Otto!” Anunciación said to the first man. “We’ve gone ahead and ordered.”
    “I am so sorry to be tardy,” Otto said in a wispy, nasal voice. “There was a bit of a crisis. My cologne atomizer clogged.”
    “That is Otto Verissimo,” Luther, awestruck, whispered to Cummings.
    “Who are