Something Beautiful

by Jenna Jones

  Looking at her made Dune miss Micah even more and he sighed. And he couldn't even talk to her about what was going on with Micah: no matter how much he loved his family, Micah had no intention of coming out to them, and Dune doubted Shiloh knew any more than he did about why Micah might have called him that morning.

  "So where's Laird tonight?" Dune asked Tristan after the waiter had taken their orders.

  "Geneva," Tristan said and sipped her drink. "He's giving a speech about chemotherapy research, I think. Oh, I'm not even sure. He tells me what he'll be presenting and I just smile and nod a lot and wonder how I managed to marry a guy twenty times smarter than I am."

  "Because you're cute," Dune said and laughed when she scowled at him -- cutely, of course. "And he's not twenty times smarter than you are. He just has different interests."

  "You're nice, Dune," she said affectionately.

  "I do my best."

  Tristan hesitated a moment before she spoke again. "And where's Daniel? He hasn't come to one of these in ages. I thought for sure he'd be here today."

  Dune swallowed his wine before he answered. "He's got a deadline for the comic book."

  "Who's Daniel?" Shiloh said.

  "My --" Dune paused. Boyfriend wasn't quite the right word. "My usual date." Though he hadn't been for a while now, and Dune couldn't remember if it was because he hadn't asked Daniel to come along or if Daniel had been too busy to join them.

  "I see," Shiloh said with a small nod. "Will you pass me the bread basket?"

  Dune passed, happy to let the subject drop.

  "Oi, Dune," Jamie said from the other end of the table. "I understand you're the only one who's heard from Micah lately."

  "I brought post cards, in case anyone wanted to read them," Dune said, and took them out of his inner jacket pocket to pass them down the table. "Or try to read them." Micah's postcard selection was not terribly original: he'd sent a Big Ben postcard from London, one of a thatched cottage from Dublin, and one of the chalk cliffs from Dover. Dune expected he'd send the Eiffel Tower from Paris and a post card of Vatican City from Rome. "He sends me a new one from every city."

  "I just get emails," Shiloh said, taking one from Tristan. "Oh, his writing just gets worse and worse."

  Aidan laughed at the sight of Micah's scrawled handwriting. "Good Lord, you're not kidding. It's like cryptography."

  "Comes from too much typing," Dune said. "Adam -- my father's partner," he added for Shiloh's sake, "his handwriting is the same way. I think that one says he's having a great time in London and he thinks England is fantastic. Either that or he's having lunch with a goose and a fascist. I can't tell."

  "I miss him," Shiloh said, giving the post card to Jamie.

  "So do I," Dune said quietly.

  ***

  When lunch was over, Aidan helped Shiloh into her coat, and said, "I was thinking of catching a matinée -- would any of you like to come?"

  "That sounds great," Jamie said.

  "I can't," Shiloh said regretfully. "I'm meeting somebody in about half an hour."

  Aidan widened his eyes at her and teased, "You have another date the same day as me? Ouch!"

  Shiloh laughed and patted his arm. "The boys will take care of you. See you all later." She gave them a friendly wave and, pulling the hood of her coat over her head against the rain, took off down the street.

  As soon as she was out of earshot and the five of them started walking in the opposite direction to the nearest parking garage, Aidan said, as, "Okay. I know you all have been dying to say something. Out with it."

  With a shrug, Ben said, "She's a nice girl. I like her more than that last one, the blond who always wore tie-dye. What was her name?"

  "Cynthia," Jamie said. "Well, I approve. But you know what you're in for with her parents, yeah?"

  "Yeah, I know," Aidan said with a small sigh.

  "Then you're more prepared than I was."

  "She's an infant," Dune said.

  "She's twenty," Aidan replied.

  Holding Dune's arm as they walked huddled beneath a shared umbrella, Tristan said, "She's a good girl. She's super-nice to our customers, she studies hard, she works hard -- she is pretty young, though. Dune's right about that."

  "I know there's an age difference," said Aidan. "But I hardly notice it. She's not like any other girl I know. It's so nice to date somebody I can actually talk to. And you'd think, knowing her background, that she'd be a lot more uptight than she is."

  "Careful," Dune said. "Without Micah around I'm a surrogate big brother and may feel it necessary to defend her honor." Though, he supposed, it would be against Shiloh's will if he actually tried to defend her. Aidan had the kind of dark, dangerous good looks that girls seemed to like, and all teasing aside, he was a good guy.

  Aidan snorted. "Oh, I haven't done anything to her honor. Relax."

  "Oh, boys," Tristan said. "I think I'm going to skip the movie. Thanks for asking, though. Dunie, will you walk me to my car? Unless you were planning on seeing the movie."

  "I wasn't," Dune said, and there were a few minutes of kisses and handshakes and promises to call later, and then he and Tristan were on their own. "Something's on your mind," Dune said.

  "Yes. Something I don't quite know how to approach."

  "Just fumble in. That usually works for me."

  "Okay. Fumbling. You used to date Laird's brother, Gavin, didn't you?"

  "Oh. Him." Dune watched their feet as they walked up the stairs.

  "I was visiting Laird's grandmother yesterday, and she had some pictures of Gavin from when he was in college. You were in them."

  "You caught me." He tried to smile at her, though he felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

  "He's coming back to the city and Laird wants to rebuild their relationship, so I expect we'll be seeing a lot of him. Will you be okay with that, if we bring him to parties and things? I don't know if it ended well or badly between you two --"

  "It ended badly," Dune said.

  "So should I keep him away?"

  Dune said, "No, don't do that. He's Laird's brother. He's your family."

  "I won't bring him around if it'll make you uncomfortable."

  "It won't. It's been seven years. He may be a completely different guy from the one I knew." He sighed, not sure how to explain it. "Just don't be surprised if he's not particularly warm."

  "Not warm," she said with a nod. "Okay. I can handle that. I don't know what to expect at all. We've never spoken much. I don't suppose you know why he and Laird had their falling out? Laird's never said."

  "I don't," Dune said. "I didn't see Laird much when I was with Gavin. He was already in med school and I think I said ten words to him in the entire three years. Gavin didn't have much to say about him, either. I think they've never really gotten along."

  "That's not very encouraging."

  "If Gavin's coming back to the city he must have a reason. Maybe he wants to reconnect with his family. Maybe he wants to get to know this woman his brother's married. Maybe it's something else entirely, but I'm sure you can win him over, whatever it is."

  "I hope so." She sighed. "If I win over Gavin maybe Laird's mother will come around. Here's my car," she added and dropped Dune's arm. "Can I drive you anywhere?"

  "No, but thanks. I like the walk and I've got the umbrella."

  "Okay." She gave him a keen look. "Are you positive you're going to be okay with him being around? You looked like somebody had kicked you in the chest when I said he was coming."

  "I'll be fine," Dune assured her. "I was surprised, that's all." He kissed her cheek. "See you."

  "See you, Dunie." She patted his cheek and got into her car: a sporty little Mini Cooper that Dune felt had been picked out with love and deliberation by her husband, a car that got her around the city safely and without much fuss. Even when Laird wasn't around, he was looking out for his wife.

  You got the good one, honey, Dune thought, and touched the postcards in his jac
ket pocket one more time. He waved to Tristan when she honked at him and stood watching until she was out onto the street. He turned up the collar of his jacket, gave a glance to the dark sky, and put up the umbrella to walk home.

  Chapter Two

  With the help of a guidebook and the sympathetic concierge, Micah explored Paris. He walked around the city and took pictures of interesting faces and shadows and corners. He found places to eat -- he knew just enough French to order coffee and a croissant, and bluffed the rest -- and little stores where he bought souvenirs. He went to a service at Notre Dame, watching wide-eyed as the congregation knelt and stood, and afterwards climbed to the top of the cathedral and took pictures of gargoyles and the view of the city.

  Dune emailed him twice to ask what was going on and Micah only answered, "Nothing, I'm just enjoying the city." He'd tell Dune the whole story later, he decided.

  On his fourth day, Micah went to the Eiffel Tower and climbed to the observation deck. He took pictures of the views and then stood for a while, watching storm clouds move slowly over the city.

  I wanted to kiss Lucas here, he thought -- but wondered, too, if the view would have been more beautiful if Lucas had been with him.

  His cell phone rang -- playing a few bars of "London Calling" -- and Micah flipped it open as he moved away from the other tourists. "Hello, you've got Micah."

  "This is Stuart Huntsman," said the deep, British-accented voice on the other end. "I've been charged with checking up on you. Apparently your friends think you're in some kind of trouble."

  "Hi, Mr. Huntsman," Micah said, ducking his head. Stuart was an ex-boyfriend of Micah's first boyfriend. Micah had met him a few times over the years and always found him overwhelming. Posh, was what Jamie had called him.

  Stuart said, "How are you? You're obviously not dead in a ditch."

  "I'm alive at the top of the Eiffel Tower," Micah said. "And I'm fine." He cleared his throat. "I mean, I'm in Paris and it's beautiful and I really love it here."

  "Good," Stuart said. "Then I should tell Jamie -- what?"

  "Tell him I'm fine and not to worry."

  "Very well. I will. Goodbye, Micah."

  "Bye," Micah said, and then said, "Mr. Huntsman?"

  "Yes, Micah?"

  "I'm not really okay."

  "I thought not," Stuart said softly.

  "My boyfriend left me. We had a fight and he left."

  "I'm sorry to hear that."

  "Thanks," Micah said. "And I'm -- I'm kind of -- I'm--"

  "Alone."

  "Yeah." Micah leaned against the balustrade of the platform and switched the phone to his other ear. It was a relief to talk to somebody about this finally, particularly somebody who wouldn't say I told you so. "I, um, I could use a friendly face." He winced again. "Maybe I could take you out to dinner? If you want to come to Paris -- I guess you're in London so I guess it's a long trip just for dinner."

  "No, I'm not in London. I'm not far from Paris, in fact."

  "Oh," Micah said. "Okay. Yeah. Then, then, I'd love to see you. I mean, unless you've got more important things you should be doing."

  "I can't think of a single thing more important than showing my young friend the city of lights. Shall I meet you at your hotel in two hours?"

  "Yes," Micah said. "Yes. That'd be great. Um, I can't take you anyplace too formal -- I've just got tourist clothes, you know, T-shirts and jeans."

  "I know places that are fine with T-shirts and jeans. I'll see you in two hours, Micah."

  "Thank you, Mr. Huntsman," Micah said, unable to keep the smile out of his voice. "Thank you so much."

  "You're welcome. And call me Stuart." He hung up the phone.

  Micah turned off his cell phone and put it away in his satchel and leaned against the balustrade again. He'd been alone in a strange country for days -- it felt strange to know he wouldn't be alone anymore. Strange, but good.

  Two hours later Micah was waiting in the lobby of the hotel, his hair combed, wearing the T-shirt with the least amount of wrinkles and his cleanest pair of jeans. He tried to stand still, his hands behind his back, as he watched the cars pass, but found himself bouncing on the balls of his feet more than once.

  One car came to a stop in front of the building and Stuart climbed out, looking just as Micah remembered him: tall and broad, with dark blond hair and piercing blue eyes behind his silver-rimmed glasses. Jamie liked to say that Stuart looked like he should be a marble bust rather than a person, and with all the art Micah had looked at lately he could see why.

  Stuart came into the lobby and looked around a moment, and then smiled when he saw Micah. "Micah. You've grown," he said, and hugged Micah lightly.

  "Not really," Micah muttered, blushing. "I finally learned to stand up straight."

  Stuart laughed and guided him out of the lobby to the car. "Nonsense. You're just not a child anymore."

  "Thanks," Micah said and slid into the passenger seat when Stuart opened the door for him. He waited until Stuart was in the driver's seat to add, "I don't feel like an adult yet, either. I'll be twenty-three next month, but it doesn't really mean anything."

  Stuart started up the car. "No, it doesn't. Age isn't a number -- it's how much wisdom you've acquired along the way."

  "I don't think I have much wisdom." He looked out the window at the passing city. "If I was wise I would have brought somebody else with me other than someone who'd leave me the first time we fought."

  "Now you know better," Stuart said and smiled at him. "You're that much wiser already."

  Micah smiled back and looked out the window again. He was at a loss for conversation. What he knew about Stuart he mostly knew from Jamie, and he didn't want to blurt out, 'So, you like younger men, huh?' He finally decided on something neutral and safe. "How long have you lived in France?"

  "Off and on, all my life. My mother's family owned the vineyard where I spend the summer, and we used to come here to holiday. I was probably no more than a baby the first time my parents brought me to Paris."

  "How'd they meet? Your father's English, isn't he?"

  "He was," Stuart said. "My father met my grandfather during the war, and after the war ended he arranged to import the family wine. I suspect my parents' marriage was mostly a business arrangement, though they were quite fond of each other, as far as I could tell."

  "Quite fond," Micah said and started nibbling one of his fingernails. "That doesn't sound very fun."

  "Times were different then. I think expecting passion in marriage comes from my generation."

  "Yeah -- when they stopped believing that wives should submit to their husbands."

  "What do you mean?"

  "There's a verse in the Bible that wives should submit to their husbands and the husbands should submit to God." He mumbled the last bit.

  "That's right," Stuart said. "I forgot you're religious."

  "My father's a pastor. It's not as glamorous as importing wine."

  "Importing wine isn't glamorous, either. That's why I deal art."

  "And you like glamorous," Micah said.

  "I like interesting."

  Micah nodded thoughtfully. "My job's not glamorous either, but it is interesting. The job I'll have when I get back, I mean. They're holding it for me at the Chronicle -- it's just taking care of their computer network. Systems admin isn't glamorous at all."

  "But necessary in modern times."

  "Yeah. And that's why there are four of us, to handle all the stuff that comes up. Oh my God," he said, widening his eyes, "you wouldn't believe all the crap that comes up in an average day -- people still open email attachments from people they don't know without scanning them, even though viruses are in the news all the time." He caught Stuart's half-smile and stopped himself. "Sorry. It's a pet peeve, I guess."

  Stuart chuckled. "You talk about anything you like. You and I never have a chance to chat. I have no idea what you're passionate about."

  "Well, yeah, you're always with Leo or Jamie
when you visit."

  "That's because I like Leo and Jamie, and I believe they like me. I'll have to add you to the schedule the next time I'm in California."