Not being married has never really been an issue for David and I.
Somehow we just never felt the need. Being strangers in a strange land bonded us more than any ceremony ever could.
That is until we check into a hotel, normally under my name because I happen to be the one who makes the reservations.
India Hicks and David FLINT WOOD. I repeat it again: Hicks and FLINT WOOD. F-L-I-N-T new word W-O-O-D. Reservation for two people.
Upon arrival a note of welcome will be on our pillow, addressed to India and David Hicks. I pick up the phone “David Hicks has been dead for a while, I’m sharing this room with David Flint Wood. He’s alive. Please have the hotel make a note of the name” “Of course Ms. Hicks” they say.
I check out the mini bar to see what chocolates are on offer and David calls room service for a Bloody Mary “Right away, Mr. Hicks, we’ll send it straight up”
We go down for dinner “Good evening Mr. Hicks” says the maître’d to David, showing us to our table.
There is probably some deep, dark meaning to the fact that both my father, and my partner, carry the same first name, and both had, and have, a love of the worlds of art and culture. Of course my father, David, was flamboyant and loud in his designs and work, a star shinning on the stage of interior design.
My partner, David, quietly meanders in and out of interior design. Occasionally landing the cover of Architectural Digest or an 8 page spread in a glossy magazine…