William Rabkin - A Fatal Frame of Mind

“A re you sure this is absolutely necessary?”Shawn examined himself in the full-length mirror that had appeared in the Psych offices earlier in the day along with the two tuxedos.

“Absolutely,” Gus said. “Are you ready yet?”

Gus slipped the rental studs through his French cuffs and flicked them open, locking them in place. He yanked his cummerbund into position, then slid into his dinner jacket. Even though the clock was ticking down and there was no time to waste, he took a moment to wonder why he didn’t wear a tuxedo all the time, like Dean Martin or the maitre d’ at Cappy’s Steak and Stein. He looked that good.

“I was born ready,” Shawn said. “Of course, I was also born naked, and that tells me there’s no actual reason for dressing up.”

“It’s the social event of the season,” Gus said as he smoothed his hand over his already smooth hair. “We were incredibly lucky to get an invitation. And that invitation specifically called for black tie.”

“I don’t wear ties,” Shawn said, flicking open his unbuttoned collar to emphasize the point. “And even if I did, I don’t see what that has to do with the rest of this ridiculous outfit.”

“Black tie is a dress code for semiformal events,” Gus said.

“I definitely agree that this event is semiformal,” Shawn said. “Because it’s only Ponyboy. I can’t imagine what we’d have to wear if Sodapop was going to be there, too.”

Gus hesitated. He’d been putting off telling Shawn the truth for so long he had begun to believe he’d never have to. “Ponyboy. Right. Look, there’s something I need to tell you about the C. Thomas Howell Film Festival,” Gus said.

“If you’re going to say that the man’s career is too vast to be shoehorned into one evening, I’m well aware we’re coming in partway through,” Shawn said. “Last night was his formative work from the eighties, when he grew from sensitive man-child into a solid, if still sensitive teen lead. Tonight, of course, is his timeless nineties’ material, which saw him mature into the hard-boiled hero of neo-noir classics like Jail Bait and Teresa’s Tattoo. And tomorrow is truly special, since so much of his work in this millennium was made for DVD and is being shown for the first time on the big screen. Or anywhere.”

“Glad to hear you won’t have to miss the best part,” Gus said.

“Miss?” Shawn said.

“We’ve got to go,” Gus said. “We’re going to be late.”

Gus scooped his car key off the coffee table and let it drop into the surprisingly roomy pocket of his rental pants, then headed for the street. Normally Shawn would have pushed past him just as he reached for the knob, showing a need equal to any golden retriever’s to be first through a door. But when Gus glanced back to see what had happened to his partner, Shawn was still sitting behind his desk.

“I don’t think you’re taking me to the C. Thomas Howell Film Festival at all,” Shawn said.

This was the moment. The absolute last second Gus could tell Shawn the truth before his small deception turned into a big lie.

“We’re going now,” Gus said.

This time Gus didn’t look back to see if Shawn was following him. He stepped out into the cool evening fog and crossed the curb to his waiting Echo. By the time he’d walked around to his door and slid behind the wheel, Shawn was already buckled into the passenger’s seat. Gus put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb.

The Echo cruised down State Street. Gus glanced over at Shawn to see if he was getting suspicious. But the Bijoux Theatre, where C. Thomas Howell was being feted, was in the same direction as their real destination, and Gus figured he had another minute or two before the truth became apparent. And Shawn seemed to be completely oblivious to the deception.

Gus felt a momentary thrill of triumph at successfully fooling his best friend and partner. At least he tried to feel it. This was a huge moment for him, one of the few times he’d ever gotten away with lying to Shawn, whose ability to see through other people’s lies was surpassed only by his skill at spinning his own.

But instead of victory, Gus felt ashamed. He’d lied to Shawn to get what he wanted, and now he was afraid that he’d ruined the evening for both of them. And maybe more than the evening. It was possible Gus had done ineradicable harm to their friendship.

“I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to this film festival,” Shawn said. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but it could be the high point of my existence.”

“I’m sure it won’t be,” Gus mumbled. “Just a bunch of crummy movies you could get from Netflix any day.”

“It’s not just the movies; it’s the sense of community,” Shawn said. “To know for once in my life that I’m not all alone in the world. That I’m not a freak.”

“You’re not a freak, Shawn. And you don’t need a C. Thomas Howell Film Festival to-” Gus broke off, suddenly hearing his words echoing in his head. “How long have you known?”

The puzzled look on Shawn’s face was so pure and innocent that a Renaissance painter could have used it as the inspiration for one of the cupids hovering around the corners of his painting, if there had happened to be any Renaissance painters hiding in the backseat of the Echo and they were able to get over the shock of being transported in a coach with no visible means of locomotion in time to pay attention to their model.

“Known what?” Shawn said.

“You know what,” Gus said. If he’d felt lousy at having tricked Shawn, it was only fair that he should feel better, now that he realized Shawn hadn’t been fooled. Instead, he felt even more annoyed at himself.

“That you’re not taking me to the C. Thomas Howell Film Festival?” Shawn said. “That in fact you never intended to take me to the C. Thomas Howell Film Festival and instead have duped me in some cruel and manipulative manner?”

“Yes.”

“Since you went out to get the tickets a week ago,” Shawn said. “And when you came back to the office and I asked to see them, you said you’d dropped them off at your apartment. If you’d wanted to make this halfway believable, you could have at least bought a couple of tickets.”

“If we’d had tickets, you would have found a way to use them,” Gus said. “I had to make sure you thought we had seats until the thing sold out.”

“And in case hell didn’t freeze over, what were you planning on doing then?”

“I’m doing it.” Gus pressed his foot on the gas, and the car zipped past the Bijoux, where either a small crowd had gathered to salute their favorite actor or the number three bus was going to stop soon.

“At least you could tell me where we’re going,” Shawn said after a few silent blocks. “You owe me that.”

“You mean I could tell you where we’re going again?” Gus said.

Shawn looked confused. “Why, did we already go there?”

“Go where?” Gus said.

“I don’t know,” Shawn said. “That’s why I’m asking.”

It took Gus a moment to run through the conversation and figure out where they had gone off track. “When I said ‘again,’ I was using it to modify the first half of the sentence, not the second.”

“Can you say that in English?” Shawn said.

“That was English,” Gus said. “In fact, it was more than English. It was specifically a point of English grammar, so you don’t get much more English than that.”

“What about Gwyneth Paltrow?” Shawn said. “She got pretty English. Madonna, too, although I think Guy Ritchie took the accent back in the divorce settlement.”