Kissing at Cleopatra’s Needle

Brandan Fielding looked like a tall, skinny schoolboy who’d escaped from a Dickens novel when I met him at the Salisbury, Leicester Square - a Ye Olde Pub in the book/theater district. A historic pub, the Salisbury isn't strictly gay, but at certain times it seems to have a high tide of thirsty gay men.

It was early evening in summer, and I was wandering the Covent Garden area toward Leicester Square on curving, confusing stone streets, until I found the historic venue - the Salisbury Pub on St. Martins Lane, where stepping through its grand double doors of wood and frosted glass is like stepping back in time.

I was charmed by its interior opulence of etched and polished glass and carved woodwork, and I was hoping there would be charming English men, too.

Our eyes met in warm understanding of attraction. We introduced ourselves. I learned his name was Brandan Fielding (very Dickens). We were beginning to get curious, interested looks from the fringe of older drinkers, and it also began to get more crowded.

“Shall we stroll down to the river and walk along the embankment?” Brandan suggested.

“I’d enjoy that,” I responded.

“The sun is just setting,” Brandan said. “We may catch the end of it reflecting on the water."

"Delightful,” I smiled at his smile.