by L. B. Dunbar
“I think Kaye has a different opinion about your attendance,” Lansing emphasized.
Guinie remained strangely quiet. She still rocked the baby, despite our stalled position on the drive. She stared intently at him, as if the two of them were in their own conversation, even while he slept. Her eyes remained on the bundle in her arms, but I noticed the strain around them. It was as if she was forcing her focus on the child, so she didn’t have to look at us. At me.
“Guinevere. What about you? Do you want to go to the party?” The tension in my voice hinted at my hope that she would disagree. No, I wanted her to say, she did not want to attend the party.
“Seeing Elaine again would be wonderful,” she replied instead, with no conviction in her voice. Like the heavy words down by the lake, the air was thick again with an unknown weight.
“Wonderful,” Ana hissed under her breath as she looped her arm in mine, clearly making a mockery of Guinie’s use of the word. Tugging me, we began to walk again, knowing Lansing and Guinie followed. It was awkward and uncomfortable to have Ana touch me so familiarly. We had developed a system of tolerance around one another, but it all seemed shot to hell when we returned. We had an agreement that Ana suddenly refused to abide.
We went to the party under strained conditions. Ana demanded that she and Morte ride with Arturo and I. While I would have preferred to skip the party altogether, rather than confront Elaine Corbin, I didn’t seem to have a choice in the matter, as Arturo demanded I go with him. There was something in his voice that made me feel his command wasn’t so much that he was bossing me around as that he needed me to be there with him.
We retired to our rooms to prepare for the party. I was finished early and simply pacing my room with nerves. I didn’t have anything particularly formal with me, as I assumed this would be a casual week stay with Ingrid. A girls’ week of sorts, until Tristan arrived to claim Ireland and then Arturo followed with the rest of the band. Still, a lovely light blue dress was hanging in my closet by the time we went to our rooms to ready for the night. I didn’t question how or where it came from. The dress could only have come from the demand of Arturo and the assistance of Ingrid.
The color was so close to that of my eyes, and I stared at myself in the mirror over the fireplace in my room, my room at Arturo’s. It was very strange to be here. A year ago, I was his guest. Then I was his lover. I figured I’d never return to this room as we were engaged, and the band was ready to go on tour in the fall. When we did have time to return to Camlann, I would be his wife and we would be in his room. I was deep in that thought when Arturo appeared between the doorways. The opening was to the left of where I stood and his sudden presence made me jump.
“Didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said, fumbling with the folds of his dress shirt. “I can’t seem to dress myself, though,” he added sheepishly. Dressed in dark pants and a button down shirt, the difficulty was clearly in the buttons. Arturo had his right hand attached but the dexterity of the fingers did not work well with the small buttons.
“Here,” I said, stepping toward him, and beginning at the top to place the buttons through the holes. It was strangely intimate and very couple-like. Something a wife would do for her husband. My thoughts wandered again to the idea that we would have been married by now. I slipped through the next buttons before asking, “How did you dress yourself before?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Arturo replied, “Ana did it.”
My fingers stopped cold. I decided my bandaged hands looked ridiculous against his shirt and pulled back. I didn’t know what to say, but I had a million questions to ask.
“Most of my clothing at first was pull-on. Track pants, big sweatershirts, easy clothing. I didn’t have need for anything fancier, but once I started to come out of my funk and wanted to wear real clothes again, I needed help at first. I learned through physical therapy how to manage zippers okay, and jean buttons are bigger, but dress shirts are tricky.”
“And how often did you need a dress shirt?” My question had a sharp bite to it.
“Not often,” he replied quietly. We were both watching my fingers as they continued down the remainder of the shirt.
“Do you need me…do you need me to tuck it in or something?” I offered, trying to return my voice to normal. I didn’t intend to be cold-hearted if he needed assistance. My heart was already frozen at the idea of him with Ana. It confirmed my reservation at our near attempt at sex earlier in the day. The mistake would have been cataclysmic. The previous orgasms were catastrophic enough.
“No,” he spoke with a hint of smile in his voice, “I got it.” I stepped back immediately, putting some space between us, but his left hand reached out for me. He grabbed my wrist.
“What is it?” he asked, his eyes searching my face.
“Nothing,” I lied. “I’m fine.”
He twisted his lips in disapproval and disagreement, but let it go.
“I really didn’t want to go tonight. I wanted more time, but it seems I don’t have a choice. We won’t have to stay long,” he tried to assure me.
“Well, I’m sure Ana will have a say in that,” I commented, then added, “More time for what?”
“I wanted more time to just be with you. Just you and me,” he said, taking a deep breath as he spoke. My breath hitched at the familiarity his words, but I smiled in spite of myself. I was patting his chest lightly when the door to my room flung open.
“Are you ready? Can we go now?” Morte bounced into the room, concentration on two objects in his hands.
“Yes, we can go, little man,” Arturo said drily.
“Whatcha got there?” I inquired.
“Another trick,” Morte responded.
“No,” Arturo’s voice made Morte and I flinch. “No more tricks, especially in Guinie’s room. Get out with that.” His voice was firm and Morte blinked at his father. At nine years old, it seemed like he was growing taller daily. He was still thin and wiry, but there was something in his expression. The way he stared at Arturo.
“It’s fine,” I said, trying to ease the tension. “Can you show me later? I think we need to be going.” I gently pushed Arturo back toward his room to finish dressing and returned to face Morte who hadn’t moved. He watched his father retreat and then his eyes narrowed on me.
“Sure, Guinie. I can show you tomorrow.”
I smiled lightly, but Morte wasn’t smiling back at me.
“As mother says, ‘I have plenty of other tricks up my sleeve.’” With those final words, he pivoted on his dress shoes and exited my room without looking back.
The party at Elaine’s was crowded. Those in attendance included the rich and famous who inherited property in Lake Avalon, as well as the nouveau riche of movie stars, politicians and religious figures. The Nights were here as a mix of both. Arturo, Lansing and Perkins all grew up in the area, forming the band toward the end of high school for Arturo and Perkins. Arturo had been part of the old society without learning that until later in life. His mother, Ingrid Tintagel, was a member of one of the original families that would come to the lake area in the summer to cool down from the heat of the city. Lansing was part of that older society as well, but his family wasn’t originally from the Lake Avalon area. Born to a young couple who eloped, he was raised by a foster mother in the local woods. Perkins was simply born and raised in the forest as the son of a deceased member of a classic rock band from the late 1970’s and 80’s.
As the odd man out, Tristan Lyons had been raised in Connecticut by his uncle, who was very much a newly rich man. His business practices were questionable at best, but he had made his way into this society as a rival of Arturo’s father. There wasn’t any doubt that Mark Cornwall could overrule Locke Uther’s Pendragon Empire. It would never happen, but Mark dreamed big. Those dreams included the possession of one young heiress to the throne of Trinity Modeling and a gang of illegal activity through the Dragons of New York City. I sensed the tension across the room as Mark noticed his nephew. Tris
tan stood with his arm possessively around Ireland, his new fiancée and mother of his child to be.
Tension seemed to be the theme of the night. Elaine Corbin met me with cold civility. We weren’t exactly friends any longer, but we were in the same social circle. Much like myself, Elaine was raised by a single father, and she was bred to be his right hand at these types of functions. Young, charming and social, Elaine played the role well. I was always more reserved, but held my own, knowing it was my duty to my father.
Tonight, I wasn’t sure what my role was. I wasn’t exactly Arturo’s date, as Ana and Morte were present, and they wandered the room as a family unit. I wasn’t here with my father, so I had no established companion. The last time I was at this house, tragedy struck. I was here in the role of friend to two women, but I was no longer friends with either.
So I stood near the fireplace, consciously aware of the stares and the questioning eyes. It was evident that I had arrived with Arturo, but the mere presence of each of us in the room was a shock. Most present knew, somehow or other, of the slap and the kiss when Arturo and I were first reunited. After that, there was no other news to report. We kept conspicuously separate until a few days ago. This was the first public appearance in the month that had passed.
Kaye Sirs made his way to me and signaled with a nod of the head around the room. One by one the members of the band approached, their women trailing alongside. I watched specifically as hearts broke while Tristan Lyons walked casually with his arm around Ireland. You could almost hear the crack of them breaking in two. The Heartbreaker was openly admitting his heart belonged to the girl standing next to him.
Some unspoken word made the girls separate and come stand near me. Huddled to the side, Hollister, Ireland, Lila, and I watched as the men of The Nights took center stage, or rather, the front of the fireplace. It was a bold backdrop to the gathering.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please,” Kaye began. “I’d like to make a toast to our wonderful hostess, Elaine. The loveliest lady in the room.” Elaine Corbin did practically glow. Motherhood agreed with her, and my own heart crushed a little to think we would have had children at roughly the same time. She was no further ahead than me, though, as the man she loved, loved another.
“I’d also like to toast the return of my brother, Arturo. We are so very glad to have you home and restored to us in one piece.” Arturo raised an eyebrow at his foster brother, who choked a little at his own words.
“And finally, I’d like to praise the reunion of The Nights. To wonderful music ahead and new journeys in the future. I’m announcing this evening, a world tour is our next adventure.”
The crowd took a collective sigh and applauded righteously, while the expressions on the faces of the band members looked anything but pleased.
“What?” Arturo hissed, at the same time Tristan and Lansing said, “Fuck,” and Perkins said, “No.”
“Did you know about this?” Hollister said in my ear. I simply shook my head in response.
“How would I know of this?” I thought out loud. Ireland asked the next question. “Did Arturo tell you?” I continued to shake my head. No, no Arturo had not mentioned it to me.
“Lansing didn’t know anything about this,” Lila replied confidently. “Look at them. They look sick.”
As the gathered crowd applauded on, and catcalls and whistles were added, the band continued to stand in shock. Arturo was the first to respond. He placed his arm around Lansing Lotte reached over and kissed the side of his head. In surprise, Lansing turned to Arturo and Arturo ruffled his hair. Lansing smiled slowly. Tristan clapped his hands next. One clap, and an “alright” escaped his lips. It was only Perkins Vale who stared at his wife, uncertain of how to respond. He smiled with his casual head nod, and then took a step toward us women. Kaye put up a hand.
“I’d like to offer up any questions. We are all friends here.” The crowd slowly quieted. It was an odd approach to clearing the air, and I could see the guys shifting before us.
“Is it true that Tristan Lyons is off the market?” a feminine voice shouted from the back of the room.
Tristan laughed heartily and then replied, “Yes.” He pointed a finger at Ireland then crooked it to draw her near him. She slid into his side.
“Aren’t you Isolde Ireland?” someone else inquired, knowing full well the blonde beauty under Tristan’s arm was world famous supermodel, Isolde.
“Yes, I am, but I’m soon to be Isolde Ireland Lyons.” There was a collective groan from the female population and a congratulatory round of applause from the males in the room.
While this commotion continued, Lila walked over to Lansing. He smiled deeply at her and most of the room smiled in return. They knew his sad story. It started here and ended here. His arm went around Lila and he kissed her forehead. It was old news that they were engaged.
“Oh, fuck no,” the hoarse voice of the one woman remaining behind me said, as Perkins eyed her wearily. Then his eyes shifted and the look became more demanding. Hollister brushed passed me, her small soccer ball of a stomach obvious in the flowing dress.
Perkins spoke confidently as he simply said, “My wife, Hollister, Elaine’s cousin, and mother of my child.” His hand found her stomach and the party guests applauded again with a collective “aww” at the announcement of new life.
This left the overwhelming absence of one female to the final male member of the band. I held my breath uncertain how this would go and what would happen next. For some reason, I glanced across the room and noticed my father. Leo DeGrance was a striking older man in his mid-forties. The light graying of his hair was only enhancing his natural good looks. On his arm, stood Ingrid Tintagel with her auburn hair swept up like a prom queen. She looked regal as the two friends stood laced arm-in-arm. My father nodded once in acknowledgement of me.
“As our final introduction…” Kaye began. My eyes were drawn back to Arturo who hissed under his breath, “You wouldn’t?”
“I’d like to present, Morte LeFaye. Son of Arturo King.” The utter shock and embarrassment showed on Arturo’s face. He was not holding back his anger. The crowd was strangely silent and a gently shifting proved that a small body was making its way through the people. Morte popped out between two men and approached his father. He smiled brightly, but the responding smile from Arturo was strained and fixed. Ana seemed to appear from nowhere and stood next to Arturo. She placed her arm over his shoulder and smiled eerily to those gathered. I was transfixed to the red nails that tapped his shoulder. It was a photo opportunity and cell phones raised. These weren’t journalist, though; these were friends.
Arturo stared at me, pity in his eyes. I didn’t want his pity. I felt sorry for him actually. This was a spectacle. A show of types and it was humiliating to witness.
“What about Guinevere?” someone asked. It was the unspoken question brought to light. What about me? I wanted to scream. Leave me out of this farce, I yelled internally. Something drew my eyes to my dad again. He was watching me, his eyes signaling something to me I couldn’t read. Then it occurred to me.
“Arturo and Guinevere DeGrance will be taking some time to reconnect after their separation. Understandably, the wedding has been postponed, however they remain long time family friends,” Kaye announced. Ana’s smile tightened as she continued to stare at the crowd as if at a photography shoot. Arturo watched me. My body shook in anger. I glanced again at my father across the room. How could he? This was a set up. If I wouldn’t commit privately to reconciling with Arturo, they would force us publicly, or let it fade.
The realization came to me again. These weren’t paparazzi gathered, but society friends and fellow business peers. This is how it was going to be played. Kaye wasn’t going to hold a press conference; he was going to start a rumor.
We walked slowly through the congratulating crowd. I’d attempted to go after Guinevere, who quickly left the room under the distraction of Kaye’s ridiculous introduction.
Unfortunately, he stopped me. I led the way, calmly allowing pats on my back and shaking a few hands, until I was able to exit the room. One Night followed another, as we knew our place. Perkins caught up to me and took charge in the foyer, guiding us down a hall to a library. Inside, we gathered as a rather large group.
Kaye entered last and I attacked.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” I yelled. “We aren’t going on tour!”
Kaye pushed back his bleach blond hair at the force of my words. He remained silent and I continued to speak on behalf of the group.
“I just got home. We aren’t ready. Besides I can’t play the goddamn guitar and you know this,” I continued to yell, shaking my false hand in his direction.
“Everyone is getting married or having babies, and we aren’t taking that show on the road,” I spit. Literally.
“And what in everloving-fuck were you doing announcing us each like this was fucking Page 6 in the society column?” I was shouting at this point, no control in my voice. Ana and Morte were already in the room, but Leo entered on that last question with Guinevere. She’d somehow gotten left behind or was trying to escape. Again.
“Great,” I mumbled. “Just fucking great.” This shit show was going to send her running. If I thought we had trouble bridging the gap, this was going to force her to jump into the hole. I stepped toward her.
“I knew nothing about this,” I said grabbing at both her wrists. I couldn’t grab her bandaged hands. I couldn’t feel her left wrist.
“I know,” she said softly, her eyes averted from mine.
“Leo,” I looked up after she refused to look at me. “How could you do this?” I demanded. I shook Guinie’s wrist to emphasize my words. How could he do this to her, his own daughter?
“Arturo, this is business,” he said firmly. “Calm down. For God’s sake, we can hear you down the hall.”
“For fuck’s sake, I don’t care!” I yelled. “You just splashed my family…” I paused and looked around the room. It was more than just Ana and Morte, or Guinie and I. It was the whole band, our growing family. “You just threw our whole family,” I started again through gritted teeth, “to the wolves. We’re going to be devoured in the press with this…this scandal you started.”