A new Matt Brooks short story will be in the December edition of Wilde Oats. A tale set during the terrible flu epidemic of 1918, it's about love and survival. Here's a small excerpt:
"Porca madonna!" Lou exclaimed, exasperated. "I've known mules less stubborn than you, you ... you... Hungarian plowboy! I tell you, you are going back to bed." He was nearly shouting, but Polo's mouth was set on 'intractable'.
"I am not going back to bed, little diva," Polo insisted, biting off each word and chewing the consonants. "Scream all you like. That may help you gather the goats at home, but it won't get me into bed unless you're there with me."
"You dare to speak to me like that?" Lou shouted.
"Ha!" Polo snapped his fingers. "Yes! Just like that!"
Lou leaned across the table until his face nearly touched Polo's. His voice was tight with menace. "Save your sauce for the geese shitting in your stableyard a day's walk from godforsaken Rejetanya or wherever the hell it was. I have things to do and I'm not leaving until you're in bed and you've promised to stay there."
"And I certainly will not promise. You can shout until you croak like a toad. It will get you nowhere."
"Like a toad, is it? And you heehawing like a mule. What did I ever do to deserve a lover like this one," Lou shrieked, reaching for a vase. "Cocciuto!"
"Rospo!" Polo shouted back, grabbing a pillow. He lifted it in front of his face just as Lou flung the porcelain at him.
The vase hit square on the pillow and dropped unharmed to the carpet, splashing water onto Polo's pyjamas and slippers. He looked down, saw the flowers lying in a sodden pile at his feet, and burst out laughing.
(The picture is of the female impersonator Lionel Ames, and comes from this website)