Mr. Anthony Kirby was not a homosexual. He had a wife. He had a 20 year old son. He was a Wall Street magnate. There was nothing queer about him.
There was no reason he should be in this house.
He would never admit that the skinny Russian had charmed him somehow. He would never admit how attracted he was to being slammed on the ground and having his glasses broken. It wasn't proper. He wouldn't admit that Kolenkhov was the only reason he returned to their house. He wasn't homosexual.
Mr. Anthony Kirby didn't detest the Duchess. There was no acid jealousy running in his veins when Kolenkhov bowed in front of her. He didn't glare as Kolenkhov’s eyes stayed glued to her.
He ate a blintz angrily.
It was official. Miriam had run off with the jail stripper. The next time Mr. Anthony Kirby would see her would probably be in Hell. Lust, indeed. Now, if only that were the end of it.
Maybe it would have been, if Essie didn't bring random women home at all hours of the day and feed them chocolates as she sat in their lap. Ed sure didn't mind; if he wasn't bringing home random men, he was cozying up to Tony. Kirby’s own son!
Alice and Tony were sweet on each other as anything, but Alice and Rheba smiled at each other like they had been married for years.
DePinna and Paul got loud letting off more than just fireworks in the cellar.
Penny and Gay were often sleeping in the same bed after a day full of scripts.
Even Grandpa waxed poetic about the policeman on the corner.
So it wasn't so unusual when Kolenkhov cornered him on the steps and pressed his lips to Kirby’s; unnatural, but not unusual. It wasn't so unusual that Kirby immediately reciprocated. In that moment, halfway up the stairs, he knew; Mr. Anthony Kirby was a homosexual, and he and Boris Kolenkhov were in love. Together, they would defeat the communists.