by Ian O Lewis
“So tell me, what’s Mr. Mouthful like in between the sheets?” Onnie Belle whispered. Serge had been called away from rehearsal to the phone. She would never give me any peace until I satisfied her insane desire to know what we did in bed. This was the third variation of the same question she’d posed since rehearsal started two hours ago. Every single time we had an interruption she’d pester me, and so far I’d managed to switch the subject. I had a feeling my good fortune was coming to an end soon and that I had to say something, or she’d never leave me alone.
“It’s a religious experience, Onnie Belle.” I whispered, biting back a smile.
“I bet it is, sugar. Now come on, you can do better than that.” She reached under her seat and pulled out a tin of what was usually homemade cookies. She opened it. Fuck me, it was brownies. I reached in to grab one, but she snapped the lid shut.
“Uh uh, not until you give me a little dirt, young man.”
“Fine.” I sighed. “He’s amazing. Especially when he’s on his knees.”
Onnie Belle’s eyes popped open. Her fingers tapped the lid of the tin, opened it enough so I could smell those insanely good brownies. When I reached for them, she snapped it shut again. Jesus, this woman was relentless. Fuck this torture.
“Every night, seriously Onnie Belle, we both get on our knees.” I muttered, then saw Serge walking back up to the rostrum. “And we pray. Sometimes, we even hold hands.”
“You do not!”
The rest of the orchestra had gone silent, so her words echoed throughout the room. Every eye was focused on us. Serge tapped his music stand with the baton and cleared his throat. Onnie Belle sank into her seat, her face almost the same color as her lipstick.
“Let’s start with the third movement.” Serge said, then lifted his arms.
The rest of the rehearsal went by fast. I couldn’t even look at Onnie Belle without laughter threatening, so I kept my eyes on the conductor. Again, I was grateful for the cello between my legs blocking my erection from view.
“What’s up with Onnie Belle?” Serge asked when I dropped by his office after rehearsal. “She gave me the strangest look when she left today.”
“She probably imagined you saying the rosary.” I snickered.
“Do I want to know why she’d be thinking that?” Serge’s eyebrows drew together. “Because I’m not religious at all. What exactly have you been telling her?”
I shut the office door and sat on the brown leather chair across from his desk. “She might have been curious about something, so I told her you prayed a lot.” Shit, I still hadn’t told him that she’d figured us out yet.
“Hmm.” Serge crossed himself. “And why would you tell her that?”
“Well, she might know we are seeing each other. And she’s very curious about you. And me. And, um…”
“Oh my God, how did she figure out about us? I mean, personally I don’t care, but I thought you were concerned about keeping up the appearance of us not being involved.” He leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the desk, waiting for an answer.
“Have you looked in a mirror lately?”
“What do you mean?” He stood from his desk and walked over to the mirror hanging behind me. “I don’t see anything wrong? What are you talking about?”
“Look.” I stood up and pointed at his neck. “You and I are a matching pair.” I arched my neck and pointed at my bruised skin. “She put two and two together and came up with the answer.”
“Looks to me like yours is fading.” He pulled me into his arms and gave me a raspberry on my neck.
“Serge!” I almost fell to my knees, but managed to back away. “The blinds to your office!” They were wide open and anyone walking by could’ve seen us. He grinned then took me in his arms.
“I don’t give a fuck.” He slapped my ass then whispered in my ear. “Want to go play in Rehearsal Room D?”
As soon as I leaned my cello against the metal chairs, it was forgotten. Serge draped his arms over my shoulders and licked my ear.
“You never told me what you told ‘ol Onnie Belle.”
“It’s not important.” I said, then bent my neck so his tongue had better access.
“Oh, come on. It must have been for her to yell out in the middle of rehearsal.” One of his hands dropped to my ass and squeezed.
“Well, she wanted to know what we do in bed, what you are like between the sheets.” I laughed. “So I told her we were on our knees every night.”
“Well, it’s not like you were lying. We are on our knees a lot. You must have said something else.”
“I said we spent every night on our knees, holding hands and praying.”
Serge’s back stiffened, then he coughed out a laugh. “Shit, no wonder she lost it in rehearsal.”
Moments later his phone rang.
“Aren’t you going to get that?” I asked. It was in the pocket of his blazer buzzing and ringing against my chest. He sighed, then stepped back and pulled it out. His face turned white.
“I’ve got to take this.” He said, then answered it. “This is Serge.”
I could hear a high-pitched woman’s voice coming from his phone. Serge put his hand to his forehead and spun around. “I’m on my way.” The phone tumbled to the wooden floor, then he sank down on one of the metal chairs and put his face in trembling hands.
“What’s wrong?” Shit, this couldn’t be good. I sat next to him and put my arm over his shoulder. He lifted his face and stared into my eyes for a few long moments before speaking.
“Aunt Svetta. She’s at the emergency room at VCU Hospital. Oh God, Joshua, this might be…” He shook his head abruptly and jumped to his feet. “I gotta go, now.”
“I’m coming with you.” The thought of him driving in this state terrified me.
“No, you don’t have to…”
“Yes, I do. Remember, I used to work in the ER. Come on.”
Serge started to say something, but I cut him off.
“I won’t take no for an answer.”
22
Serge- 12 Years Ago
“Aunt Svetta, it’s perfect. The apartment complex has a gorgeous view of Lake Erie, and I only live a couple of miles away. I can be there in minutes if you need me. Plus, it’s on the first floor, so Mom can actually leave the damn place if she wants to.”
My mother had been stranded on the sixth floor of her building in New York for the last year unless I was there to help, and unfortunately I was always working, currently in Cleveland. She could still walk around with the aid of a walker, but she had mobility issues that made navigating six flights of steps too much for her to handle. The elevator had died in her apartment building, and the building’s owner had apparently decided it wasn’t worth repairing.
“I don’t know Sergei, she’s so set in her ways.”
I heard my Aunt swallow something, and wondered if my suspicions were true, that she’d taken to drink. She had a job at a department store to help out with the bills now that Mom couldn’t work, a makeup counter position. Her entire life revolved around taking care of her sister, and I’m sure it was stressful. If she needed an extra glass of wine to help her cope, I wasn’t going to nag her about it.
“She’ll agree to the move. Look, I’ll be in New York tomorrow night and I’ll tell her about it myself, so you don’t need to worry about it. I should be there around dinner time. Are you going to be there? If not, I can get take out for me and Mom.”
“I’m working until nine. Oh, and I have a few bills I might need help with, if that’s okay with you.” Her voice lost volume with each word. It embarrassed Aunt Svetta to ask for help.
“No problem, you know that. Look, I gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Love you.”
Fucking bills. They never stopped coming in. Aunt Svetta managed the food, but beyond that I had paid the rent, utilities, and medical expenses since Mom was too ill to work. I was now the assistant conductor of the Cleveland Symphony, a prestigious positio
n, but I was barely scraping by. My coworkers all had beautiful homes while I was stuck in a small one-bedroom apartment. And my fucking agent was next to useless. I’d landed a soundtrack job for a major film, and he fucked up my royalties to the point they were barely pennies compared to what other artists were making for the same work. Still, Mom had given up a lot for me and I would do anything for her, so I kept my complaints to myself.
“Son. I want you to know I love you.”
The phone had rung while I was going through airport security, so it had gone to voicemail. I was already running a little behind and was racing to catch my flight. Something was wrong with Mom, I could hear it in her voice. She’d spoken in Russian, which she rarely did. When I got to the gate, the attendants were checking in the last few stragglers.
“Can I make one quick call before I get on the plane? It’s an emergency.”
“Make sure it is quick.” The older woman smiled and tapped her watch.
“Thank you.” I muttered then flipped open the phone and dialed Mom. She’d started having severe mood swings. One day she’d be talking non-stop and the next day she could barely speak. Huntington’s Disease affected the mind, and they had given her mood stabilizers and antidepressants to help. I’d read up on the disease and knew that most patients developed bipolar symptoms and something about her message made me anxious.
The phone rang five times and went to voicemail. I hit redial and again she didn’t pick up. I glanced up and there were only two people left in line. This time I called the department store where my aunt worked.
“Aunt Svetta, listen. I’m about to board my flight so I can’t talk. Something’s wrong with Mom. I don’t have time to explain. Please, if you can, run home and check on her. I won’t be there for another three hours.” I was now the only person left who hadn’t boarded the plane, and the attendant looked testy.
“I’ll do my best Sergei, but she was fine when I left her.”
A low roar of voices could be heard over the phone. I knew she was probably right, but something nagged in my head.
“Trust me on this, she left me a voicemail that... please, just check on her as soon as possible. Look, I’ve got to go now. See you tonight.”
By the time I’d climbed to the sixth floor of Mom’s building my brain was on overload and my heart was racing. The apartment was at the end of the hallway, and when I reached it, the door was standing wide open.
I dropped my bag to the ground and raced to Mom’s room. Aunt Svetta was leaning against the shut door, her eyes meeting mine, then her gaze shifting to the floor, tears streaming down her face. God, this woman was my rock, especially now that my mother was out of…
Fuck.
She threw her arms out, trying to block me from entering. It lasted only a moment before she placed her hands on my chest then cried out, her voice deeper than I’d ever heard before.
“No, Sergei, don’t go in. You can’t see her!”
“What the…” Without thought I pushed her, but she wouldn’t let go.
“Get out of the way.”
“No, Sergei, please, don’t…”
I shoved her against the wall and turned the knob.
“Oh my fucking God!”
I fell to my knees, and covered my eyes. Aunt Svetta’s hands were on my shoulders pulling me back into the hallway, but I shrugged them off with a growl.
“Get off me!”
Mom was sprawled across the floor next to the rented hospital bed, empty pill bottles scattered around her lifeless body.
23
Josh
“The ER is only four blocks away. It’ll be faster if we walk.”
Serge said nothing, just followed me onto the sidewalk and allowed me to guide him to the hospital. He still hadn’t told me what was wrong with his aunt. I figured now would be a bad time to ask, especially when he kept walking through a crosswalk and was almost hit by a cab. He didn’t even flinch at the sound of the horn, just kept on hustling forward, his shoulders and neck drooping. He was like a zombie, ignoring everything around him, so when we got to the next traffic light I took his arm in mine to stop him. He turned toward me and opened his mouth to speak but I cut him off.
“It’s a red light. Serge, let’s get there alive, okay?”
He hung his head and said nothing. When the light turned green, he didn’t even look up, just allowed me to guide him across the intersection. I didn’t let go of his arm until we reached the hospital.
The first person I saw when the sliding glass doors opened was Spencer, standing behind the nurse’s station talking to a doctor. When he saw us his eyebrows rose, and he jogged around the counter to meet us.
“This doesn’t look good. What’s going on guys?” Spencer’s gaze met mine since Serge still hadn’t lifted his head.
“His aunt, she was admitted a short while ago.” I was at a loss, only remembering her first name. “Svetta?”
“Svetlana Pavlova.” Serge muttered, then lifted his gaze to meet mine. “Svetta’s a nickname.”
Spencer raced behind the counter and searched in the system for her name.
“Is it okay for me to speak about her condition in front of Josh?” Spencer asked Serge, taking me by surprise, but then remembered patient confidentiality. Serge stood there a moment not saying anything, almost like he couldn’t understand what Spencer was saying to him. He nodded. “Yes.”
“Your aunt’s ability to swallow food has been severely compromised due to advanced Huntington’s disease. According to what I’m reading, her epiglottis, the flap in your throat that regulates when the esophagus opens instead of your windpipe, has apparently been malfunctioning for some time.” Spencer spoke slowly. I could see that he was waiting for Serge to respond. Serge nodded his head, and then Spencer continued.
“Her private nurse, Beverly Partin, called the ambulance because of choking. But, it looks like there is more to it than that. Your aunt is currently being examined by Dr. Patel. You will need to speak with her to get more information. I will let you know as soon as she’s available.” Spencer went around the counter and typed in a note on the computer, most likely letting Dr. Patel know that Serge was here. “I don’t know how long she’s going to be. I’m really sorry about this Serge. I know we just met, but I can assure you she is receiving the best care possible. Josh, I was about to head upstairs to the cafeteria to grab a snack. We had a four car pile-up earlier, so I missed lunch. Maybe you can come with me and get you both something to drink or nibble on?”
My inner alarm system went off, but I kept a straight face. I knew Spencer would have gone alone to the cafeteria and brought us back whatever we needed. He wanted to talk to me about something and didn’t want Serge to know.
“What can I get you? Coffee, a soda? Whatever you want, Serge.” I asked him, then took his arm and led him to a chair in the waiting room. He said nothing, just sank down into the seat and stared straight ahead. Eventually, he muttered in a monotone voice, “Water,” then closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall.
After Spencer found a nurse to cover for him we headed for the cafeteria. When we got on the elevator an orderly was in there, so Spencer said nothing. When the man got off on the next floor Spencer turned to me and sighed.
“Did you know about his Aunt?” He ran his fingers through his blond hair, then crossed his arms over his chest.
“I’d met her once, but he never told me what her diagnosis was. I assumed it was Parkinson’s, or something similar. Refresh my memory because I don’t remember much about Huntington’s disease.” I suddenly felt dizzy as the elevator came to a stop. A few people got on and Spencer said nothing. When we got to the floor where the cafeteria was located, we got out and he pulled me off to the side.
“It’s genetic.” He whispered. “It affects the brain, which in turn affects the muscles and their mental health. Shit Josh, you know I’m not supposed to be talking to you about his aunt’s illness without him present, but you’re my
friend. I can’t let you... has he told you if he has it or not?”
Spencer’s eyes got wider the longer I stayed silent. Finally, I shook my head no.
“This is probably not the right time to bring it up with him, but that’s a serious discussion you need to have, and soon. There is no cure, and it only gets worse as time goes on.”
We sat together in the waiting room, Serge saying nothing while my brain teemed with questions I wanted to ask, but knew would have to wait. Honestly I had no idea what to say or do. I felt helpless. I was used to being in Spencer’s position, working triage and helping anonymous patients. Instead I was sitting in the waiting room trying to keep it together for Serge, who looked as if he was going to pass out from exhaustion.
Everyone reacts to crises in unique ways. Serge was obviously not a crier, and despite his fiery reputation he wasn’t a screamer either. His body was slumped in the chair next to mine, face in his hands. Audible sighs came forth every few minutes, and when I reached over and rubbed his back, he stiffened for a second then relaxed again. Finally a young female doctor I didn’t know walked up to us.
“Mr. Kuznetsov?” She eyed me then Serge removed his hands from his face and answered her with a mumbled “yes.”
“My name is Dr. Patel, and I’ve been treating your aunt. Would you come with me please, I need to speak with you about her condition.” Her demeanor was professional, yet kind. Serge swiveled in his seat to face me, then his mouth opened but nothing came out.
“Go on, she needs to talk with you alone. I’m not going anywhere.” I said, then rubbed his shoulder. “If you need me, I’ll be right here.”
Serge slowly rose from his seat then followed Dr. Patel down the hallway. I had a feeling he would end up in the empty gray office reserved for patients’ families and quick lunch breaks for overworked nurses. As soon as they rounded the corner I pulled out my phone and did a little research. What I read chilled me to the bone.