“Save these sinners, God, show mercy unto them, for they know not what they do….”
We are almost out the door now, but Richard turns, and giving them all his most dazzling smile, quips in his beautiful baritone to the congregation en masse, “I know exactly what I do… and I do so enjoy it,” and he puts his arm around my waist as we walk from the building into the bright sunshine once again. We’ve been in there less than an hour actually, but it seems a lot longer.
I am so angry that I am fairly shaking now, and my sweet Richard draws me into his arms to calm me down while the others form a wagon train around us.
“Max, I refuse to call that man ‘father’,” Diane says.
“Do you really think Juliet plans to marry him?” I hear Cat ask, and Sebastian’s answering snort as he says, “Yes, that woman is so besotten, it’s not funny. Did you see her face while he was talking? She obviously thinks he walks on water!”
Rachel strokes my arm sympathetically. “I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t know he was as bad as all that. He must keep that side of himself hidden in polite company.”
“I think Mother knows,” I spit out, “and it doesn’t seem to bother her at all.”
“We have to talk to her,” Diana fairly wails, “before she does something stupid… like marry him. At her age, even, why bother? She’s been fine all these years; she never felt the need to marry either of our fathers (I don’t bother to point out the obvious, just let her ramble), so why now, why him? It’s not like she’s planning on popping out any more kids!” My sister has a real way with words, as you might have noticed.
“I think he’s a gold-digger myself,” Sebastian injects. “Do you know she’s been pulling money out of her savings to give to him?” Sebastian is Mother’s financial adviser, has been for years. “For that damned building project of his, among other things. I’ve never interfered with how she spent her money before, but this is getting to be a bit much!”
Richard alone has said nothing, has stayed silent while the others vented, imparting his strength to me through the arms that are wound about me. I give him a worried glance. “You okay?” I ask solicitously.
“Let’s go home,” he says, nodding in answer to my question.
“We were going to go get some brunch, discuss things,” Rachel says. “Don’t you wanna come?”
I glance at my lover. He’s got this look on his face like there’s something on his mind, and I know that he isn’t interested, he just wants to go home for whatever reason. I shake my head and make an attempt at levity. “No, thanks, I don’t think so. Just send me the minutes.” I don’t know how well I succeed.
They decide among themselves where they want to eat. I’m not paying attention to them, just leaning against Richard for a moment. He kisses the top of my head, his fingers running through my hair. Sebastian and Cat take off first, after I promise to have Cat to lunch at the cottage this week, to look at the new chapters of her book. I have a random thought as I watch them walk away: as obsessed as Cat is with Greek mythology, does she call him Ares in private? I’ll probably never know.
Diana is still looking woebegone, and Rachel is trying to comfort her. “You know who he reminds me of?” she asks. “That Reverend Trask guy from that old soap, Dark Shadows. I half-expected him to pull a stake out of his back pocket and attack you, Max.”
“You’re mixing your canons,” I remind her. “Stakes are for vampires, silver bullets are for werewolves. There is a difference, you know.”
“So what do they use on gay men?” Rachel jokes.
“Other gay men?” I suggest. But all of a sudden, that doesn’t sound so very funny. Or far-fetched. And suddenly I want to go home myself, very badly, and leave the world behind and barricade myself in with Richard. Protect him, protect me, protect us.
“I’ll call you later,” I promise them both as Richard and I walk toward the Monte. He holds out his hand for the keys, and I drop them into his palm. As he opens my side first, and I slide in. He leans in suddenly and catches my lips with his, kissing me so hard that I am momentarily breathless. When he finally pulls back, I can see something in his eyes, something that makes me very uneasy. I just can’t pinpoint exactly what it is. Please, let it not be that he’s thinking of taking off again. Please, not that.
“Just remember that I love you, Max, very much.” His voice is so serious, so heartfelt, and I resist the urge to ask him if he’s leaving me. Sniveling coward that I am. Would knowing beforehand make it any more bearable? Damn.
“I will,” I promise him solemnly. Apparently satisfied, he takes his place behind the wheel, and we are on our way once more, away from this horrible place. And only then do I realize that my mother has not even come outside to see if I’m all right or ask why I am going. Has she even noticed? I glance back toward the church as we pull out onto the road once more, and there, standing in the doorway, is Morgan Arthur. I shiver at the sight, but say nothing.
My life is getting complicated to the max, and I feel like I’m lying in front of a freight train, waiting for it to run me over any minute.
Chapter 18
Love’s Labour is Never Lost
RICHARD has left me.
But not in a bad way, and not for long.
It came up rather suddenly. A friend of one of his clients was having this big wedding in Kansas City (Missouri, not Kansas, most people when they say Kansas City mean the one on our side of the border). At the last minute the photographer they had already booked months in advance bailed on them, leaving a totally panicked bride and a very desperate groom. So they ended up calling everyone they knew, including this particular friend, who gave them Richard’s number, and they phoned him in complete hysterics, begging him to take the job. They offered to triple his usual fee, pay for his airfare there, and put him up for the night in a five-star hotel. How could he possibly refuse? Of course he couldn’t. Alas, we couldn’t work out the details of my going with him, as I had already made commitments here, so I was forced to stay behind. But I miss my boy. I miss him very much. You can imagine how long it took to say good-bye to him before he drove himself to the airport. Which means that I am not going anywhere ’til he gets back, not that it is a problem.
He calls me on the cell phone when he can, but he’s rather busy just now getting everything set up. He’s very professional when it comes to his photography, painstakingly so. You might even say he’s a perfectionist. On the other hand, he’s a complete slob around the house. Go figure.
It’s been almost a week now since the farcical scene at the church. What was that supposed to accomplish? Did he set me up for that somehow? And not a word from my mother. In fact, from what Diana tells me, she is pissed off at me for walking out on Reverend Fuckface’s sermon. She doesn’t blame the rest of them, thinks they were merely following my lead, like I’m some sort of ringleader now. And they are my followers. Is she so far gone, then, that she doesn’t hear what he is saying? Or maybe she does, and that’s the problem. I don’t know what to think anymore. I thought I knew her better than just about anyone, but now she is like a stranger to me.
Today is the lunch I have promised to Cat. I have decided on a simple meal: homemade French onion soup, served in ovenproof bowls en croûte with cubes of various cheeses and apple slices, and a loaf of fresh French bread. Once we are seated at the kitchen table, meal spread out before us, and she finds out where Richard is and why, she tells me how silly I am for not breaking our lunch date and going with Richard to KC.
“I’m not like that,” I protest, “I couldn’t do that to you, and I wouldn’t. What kind of friend would that make me?’
She smiles at me warmly. She is looking particularly pretty today, I notice. There is a new sparkle in her gentle blue eyes, a new confidence in her voice. Can this be the work of my irascible cousin, I wonder? “Unless, of course, that is your subtle way of saying you have better things to do than have lunch with me?” I tease her, “maybe with Sebastian?”
Cat
blushes quite prettily, pink roses blossoming on her cheeks. “Of course not, Max,” she protests. “I love your company and you know it.”
I can’t resist asking, “Just like you love my cousin?” and watch her color all over again.
“Maybe I do,” she shyly admits, and I can’t help but be thrilled for her, for them both.
“So tell me all about it,” I encourage her. “How you ended up with a beast like my cousin—”
“He’s not a beast,” she automatically protests before she sees that I am joking, and she laughs again. “Okay, I’ll tell you,” she relents, but I think she deliberately ignores me for a few minutes while she goes on and on about how good the lunch is, and what a good cook I am, before she finally gets to the point. Not before I am forced to put on my best pout for her. Never fails (he modestly says).
“You remember that fund-raiser you were supposed to go to, the one you didn’t show up for?” she begins.
Of course I do. “That wasn’t my fault,” I say defensively, “I had every intention of going. You know that.” Cat does a lot of charity work—another indication of her great heart—and this one was for the National Kidney Foundation. A dinner/dance at the hotel with the rotating top down by the riverfront with the name I never remember, which she had coordinated, working her fingers to the bone, I might add.
“Uh huh,” she teases, “next you’ll be blaming Richard.”
Well, it was his fault, I have to admit. But it was my fault for allowing him to do it. After all, I’m old enough to say no, surely. Except I can never manage that with him. We were getting ready for the big event, donning our tuxes, discussing nothing in particular, just the little things of life that live-in lovers talk about when they’re alone: bills that need paying, foodstuffs that are running low, home maintenance (I discussed this, he just listened), his work, my work… when suddenly he came up behind me, pressing himself against me, kissing the nape of my neck.
“Richard,” I moaned, “what are you doing? We don’t have time for this. Look at the clock.”
“When I’m with you, baby, time stands still,” he insisted as his arms circled my waist and his hands slid beneath my waistband. Oh damn. I caught my breath as he began to fondle me, as he kissed my neck with those glorious lips, and my traitorous cock would insist on responding, although I kept telling him not to. No time for this. No time at all. Lot of good that did; he stood at attention for Richard, as he always does.
I faltered, my firm resolution diminishing, unlike my hard cock, as he proceeded to stroke it, licking at my neck like I was an all-day sucker. I was not born to resist that man, I swear. “Mmm,” I groaned, giving in, “we’ll have to make it quick.”
“Of course, darling,” he promised as he pulled me toward the bed, disrobing me as he went, as well as himself.
Did I ever mention that on the plus side of lycanthropy, werewolves have great stamina and resilience? Which translates to we can come over and over and over again—and often do. Our quick little sexcapade became an hour, then two, then three, before it finally dawned on me to check the time. By then it was far too late to make even a belated red-faced appearance. So, I blush to tell, we stayed in bed. And Richard called Cat with some lameass excuse, which she saw right through. And I apologized profusely the next day. A number of times. One for every… okay, you get the picture.
She laughs at my obvious embarrassment. “Anyway,” she says. “I was a little flustered that night, as you can imagine, and sure that I had mucked everything up beyond belief, when Sebastian came up to me, out of the blue, and he was just such a dear. He made me relax, and he helped me with everything I was doing, down to the tiniest detail, and everything went off perfectly, without a hitch. He made sure that we sat together at dinner, and we talked and talked and talked—I never knew how much we have in common—and he even asked me for the first dance.”
This certainly doesn’t sound like my cousin Sebastian. Perhaps it’s an alien clone, the original being held hostage in an iridescent green spaceship hovering somewhere over Milwaukee. Or not.
“And while we were dancing, we got to talking some more. I’m not even sure how it came up, but I mentioned that I like carnivals and amusement parks, even though I hadn’t been to one in years. And he offered to take me to Six Flags. So we went.”
“Uh huh, that explains everything,” I laugh.
Cat blushes. She is so easy to tease sometimes. I should be ashamed of myself.
“So, what happened at Six Flags,” I prompt her. “Did you go through the Tunnel of Love?”
“They don’t have one, and you know it.” She wrinkles her nose at me, making that cute little face she does when I frustrate her. “No, but we did get on the Ferris wheel.”
I shiver at the mention of that very, very tall object, which I absolutely refuse to set foot on, and which no amount of pleading or teasing will induce me to ride. And I know that Cat feels pretty much the same way about heights that I do. I give her a quizzical look.
“I wasn’t paying attention to what ride we were in line for,” she admits with a small self-conscious grin, “until it was too late, and we were next in line. What could I do? Tell him I’m scared of heights? After we’d waited all that time? So I didn’t. I just shut up and got in beside him while the attendant locked us in.”
I nod sympathetically as I offer her more wine. She shakes her head. “Well, I was scared to death, believe me. And it seemed like it moved so slowly, going up and up and up and up… until it reached the top. Guess what happened then?”
“It stopped?”
“No kidding. I just knew it would, with my luck, and it did.” She shudders at the memory, dipping some of the bread into her soup and eating it thoughtfully.
“Then what?” I press, somewhat impatiently, I admit. She is only doing that for effect. And to drive me crazy.
“Then…” she said, slowly, dramatically, as if waiting for the drum roll, “then he kissed me!”
“Kissed you?”
“Umhmmm, kissed me,” she said dreamily. I could see the stars twinkling in her eyes from where I sat and couldn’t help thinking how cute that was and how grateful I was that it wasn’t me and Richard, ’cause that boy wouldn’t have stopped with a kiss. And the thought of making love at the top of a Ferris wheel makes me downright dizzy. “Sebastian kissed me, and suddenly everything seemed all right again. And we just kind of looked at each other, like we knew what the other one was thinking….”
“Which was?” I prompt her.
“Personal.” She flashes me a shy grin. I don’t press the issue.
We finish our lunch, and Cat helps me to clear the dishes away—she is always so helpful and efficient—and then we retire to the living room to chat some more. All of a sudden, I hear a knock on the door. Funny, I’m not expecting anyone, and this is not some place people drop into on their way to somewhere, ’cause our home isn’t on the way to anywhere but here. I look at Cat, and she has this shit-eating grin on her face. Uh oh.
“What are you up to, woman?” I ask.
“Who me?” She feigns innocence, but she goes to open the door herself, which is a dead giveaway that she knows what is going on, ’cause normally she wouldn’t. Sure enough, standing at the door is none other than Maggie. Holding a sleeping bag and pillow and an overnight case. Clad in pajamas. And behind her is Rachel, similarly equipped and dressed.
“Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” I ask as Cat greets the new arrivals and hugs are exchanged all around. The girls waltz into the house and begin to lay their stuff about the living room, as if they intend to camp out there. Which apparently they do.
“Slumber party!” Maggie cries happily, and the cry is taken up and echoed back and forth among them. Slumber party? Are they for real?
“Richard’s idea,” Rachel explains after she greets me in her usual effusive manner. “He thought you could use some company while he’s in KC.”
Isn’t he sweet? How many
guys do you know that would set their lover up with three pretty girls for a sleepover while he’s out of town? Okay, so he knows that I’m gay, but that’s beside the point. He was looking out for me—that shows that he cares, no matter what my mother or her zealot boyfriend think.
“We have everything we need with us,” Rachel says after making a second trip to her car, returning with bags of newly purchased goodies. “Cat, will you put this in the fridge?” She hands out a bottle which Cat obligingly schleps out to the kitchen. I hear the opening and closing of the fridge door as I wonder what it is. “That’s for later, dahling,” Rachel says to my quizzical look. “I brought you a sleeping bag, just in case you didn’t have one. Do you have one?”
“Um, I’ve never been camping,” I say, “so I guess not. Do I need one?”
“Vell, of course, ve are going to sleep in ze living room.” I’m not sure if she is meant to be Mata Hari or Natasha Fatale, but her cheesey accent makes me laugh. Rachel winks at Maggie. “I zink ve should torture him, vat do you say, dahlink? Until he agrees to do vateffer ve vant.”
“But of course, dahling,” is Maggie’s immediate response, and before I have the common sense to move out of the way, they have grappled me to the ground and are mercilessly tickling me, and I, being the wimp that I am, am crying for reinforcements. “Cat, Cat, come and save me!”
Ah, there is my savior now, my Cat won’t allow this to happen, surely. But no, her face lights up with a decidedly fiendish look, and I have one more body pressed against mine, another pair of hands tormenting me, and the witches are cackling in a most MacBethian manner. I expect a cauldron to materialize any moment, maybe some fillet of a fenny snake. What else can I do but concede, as they are three to my one and I am but a poor, weak, helpless werewolf?
To the Max Page 24