Episode 6: The One-Night Stand That Won’t Go Away

Every tragic hero needs a sidekick, and Cosmo Farfetch had Miles. Not that Cosmo ever officially hired him, dated him, or even particularly liked him — but Miles had attached himself to Cosmo years ago in Budapest, after a one-night stand so regrettable it could only have been fueled by cheap hotel wine and the death rattle of a budget airline layover.

Miles was not glamorous. He collected coins, not couture. His wardrobe was polyester, not Prada. Yet some one thought he had bucket-loads of sparkle to quell jittery passengers in the friendly skies and enough panache to service rowdy drag queens heading to Mardi Gra. All with his dignity still intact.

Somehow, like an unwanted houseplant, he survived every attempt Cosmo made to forget him. When Cosmo was too hungover to shop, Miles appeared with groceries. When Cosmo couldn’t pay rent, Miles mysteriously “found” cash. And when Cosmo needed someone to clap at his tragic monologues, Miles always clapped — even if he sometimes wept quietly into his latte.

Today, Miles had dared to bring a date to brunch: a laughter coach with teeth so dazzling they could have qualified as a second sun. The man was all Labrador energy and dazzling optimism, and Cosmo hated him immediately.

So, Cosmo did what any rational adult would do: he ordered cheesecake for the table, conveniently forgetting to tell Miles it wasn't vegan. Another unattractive quality of Cosmo's side kick was his lactose intolerance.

Ten minutes later, Miles had fled to the restroom like a man possessed by demons, while Mr. Sunbeam-Labrador bolted for the horizon, never to return. He wasn't keen on lactose intolerance either proving Cosmo's hunch was right. The date wasn't so perfect after all.

Was it sabotage? Naturally. Did Cosmo feel guilty? Not in the slightest. But as he dabbed his lips with a napkin and declared the brunch “a triumph,” a thought slipped, uninvited, into the back of his gin-soaked mind.

Perhaps he didn’t want Miles with anyone else? And that, dear readers, was infinitely more terrifying than erectile dysfunction.

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