And each day that brings us closer to the full moon, I feel it inside of me that much more keenly: a tug on my heartstrings, a premature howling, but why that is, I have yet to determine.
The weekend before the party, Richard suggests we go away somewhere, just he and I—perhaps to a bed and breakfast or maybe camping on the river. But I tell him I am too restless to go. I have too many things to do at home, maybe later.
He accepts it, agrees that we can do it another time. But I see a shadow behind his eyes, and I bite my tongue because I want to cry out, “Are you leaving me?” But I say nothing, and life goes on.
By Monday, I regret that I said no and decide to set something up for us for Tuesday and Wednesday. Maybe we can relax together before we have to face the onslaught, ease this paranoia that is eating away at my heart. Yes, that sounds good. But then unexpectedly a pipe bursts in the kitchen, and between cleaning up the mess and waiting for the plumber, the time slips away from us, and before we know it, it is too late to even think about it. “Don’t worry, Max,” he assures me, “we’ll still do it. There’s always another time.” But I do worry. It is in my nature to worry, and this tendency of mine to do so is growing stronger every day.
Wednesday, the day before the day, Rachel comes to the house and tries to entice me into going to the office. I resist, claiming there is no reason for me to go, so she enlists Richard’s aid, and he encourages me to go with her, to get out of the house. I don’t want to get out of the house, but I reluctantly go along with her. I don’t want to push Richard or crowd him in any way; maybe he needs his space. But the whole time I am away I am terrified that by the time I come back he will be gone; I mutter prayers beneath my breath the whole drive back to St. Charles, and when I get there, I run into the house, trembling at what I might find… or not find. But there he is, as I should have known he would be, although he has no idea why I am breathing heavily, looking like a wild-eyed idiot. I refuse to tell him, and life goes on.
And now it is the sixteenth of July, the last day, the final day, and hopefully we shall never have to see Morgan Arthur again in this lifetime.
I wake up early, before the sun, even. Or should I say I get up early? I can’t even swear that I slept. But I must have, because of the dreams I can’t quite remember that linger on the edges of my psyche, like half-felt memories, omens, if you will, something that is almost on the tip of my tongue to remember but not quite, like an image on the side of my peripheral inner vision. When I drag myself into the bathroom and look up into the mirror, I am not surprised to see dark puffy circles, red eyes. Lovely picture I make, I know.
“Are you coming down with something, babe?” Richard asks with concern when he comes in behind me to use the facilities and sees my reflection. “Maybe we should skip going tonight.”
How his words make my heart sing, and how I am so very, very tempted to do just that, call in sick to my mother, even though I know that I’m not. But something inside of me insists that we need to go, need to mark paid to this account, as if our not going will allow the little bastard to stay on and be a further impediment to our happy existence. I know; it makes no sense, but it is too close to the full moon, and I have quit making sense. “We won’t stay long,” I repeat my now-familiar refrain. It’s what I’ve been saying for the past two weeks to any and all who will listen. Emphasis on not long. And I mean it—I truly mean it—for I’ve never spent a full moon anywhere else but either the shelter at my mother’s house or in our own little shelter in the woods. The wolf inside of me has never been permitted to run loose, nor shall he.
“Did you intend to pick up a gift on the way?” he asks, nudging me aside so he can wash his hands, dry them, and then circle my waist and nibble at my neck. The wolf inside wishes to respond, but I know that this is not a good time.
“Yes, the gift of me not killing him,” I joke, turning inside the radius of his arms and kissing him. Maybe I should make time for this after all, I think. But too late, our timing is off now, and he exits the bathroom, leaving our room for the kitchen. I hear Principessa scampering after him. Oh well, there’s always later, or tomorrow even. I don’t see us having time tonight, not with the tight schedule we’ll be keeping.
Bloody hell, how I hate to think about it and yet how my mind constantly reverts to it!
Where has the day gone? I don’t know how we’ve spent our time; all I know is that Richard is warning me we need to get ready to go, so we do. Nothing fancy, but nothing shabby either, casually elegant, I guess, I don’t know what you would call it. And I don’t care. It’s good enough for the likes of him, whatever he might be. My mind keeps going back to the scene in the kitchen, and I keep wondering…. No, don’t go there, don’t, I warn myself. Have faith, and trust, or at least try to….
Richard has insisted that I cut back on the caffeine today; he says that I am far too jumpy as it is and doesn’t want to see me tear myself up tonight, any more than I can help. Normally my full moon nights are fairly placid, as long as I can keep my psyche on an even keel, which isn’t difficult when Richard is around. But I have a feeling that even with his presence nearby, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride. I take a little wine, hoping to soothe my jangled nerves. It doesn’t help. And before we know it, we are in the car, heading to the King’s Regency. Damn, how that takes me back.
Saturday, August 11, 1979
AMY was going away. She was leaving St. Louis to pursue her acting dream, having auditioned for and won a role on a nationally syndicated soap opera that filmed live in New York. I won’t mention which one, for their sake. Good for her, I said, as well as good riddance. Which was probably petty on my part, and somewhat vindictive, but not altogether unjustifiable or uncalled for. It’s not even so much that I hated or disliked her; I’m not quite sure how I felt about her, to be honest, after all, she was Rachel’s friend and had at one time been a friend to me. It’s just that the tension between her and Richard over the past two years had been so very palpable and if I had a knife, I’d have cut through it, if I could. He, on the other hand, would gladly have buried it in her heart. Assuming she even had one.
My mother, being fond of said Amy—have I ever mentioned that she can be the worst judge of character sometimes? Or perhaps it’s been noticeable—decided to throw a bon voyage/good luck/we’ll miss you type of party to send her off on her new career, and of course Richard and I were invited. A “be there or else” sort of situation. I wasn’t inclined to go, as the full moon was only three days prior and I knew I’d be tired and not sure I’d be able to play referee between my lover and his would-be sparring partner. But Rachel insisted, and she wheedled and whined and pleaded until she got her own way. And Richard went along with my wishes in the matter, just to please me.
The site selected for this official offing was the fairly new King’s Regency Hotel in West County. They were still in the throes of their grand opening and eager for business, so Juliet finagled some sort of deal with them to rent a banquet room for the occasion and received discount rates on their rooms for her guests. The idea appealed to my lover, so he persuaded me that we should take advantage of this generosity on the hotel’s part to get a room for the night, splurge a little bit to do it, since we would have to take it out of our savings, and simply spend some time apart from the others, alone together. How could I argue with that logic? We were still living at my mother’s house at that time, and privacy was at a distinct premium. I can’t begin to tell you how many times my little sister had nearly walked in on us in compromising positions. And not just in our room. She actually did catch us in the pool once, quite in flagrante delicto, but we quickly submerged ourselves and refused to come out until she left. So of course she had to torture us with her presence for a while as we grew uncomfortably prunier. It wasn’t until Richard had the bright idea of actually threatening to show her what she seemed to want to see that she finally giggled and ran away.
Having become resigned to the idea that we would be attending this lit
tle shindig, we drove ourselves to the hotel that night in our Monte; Mother took Diana in her Caddy, and Rachel was responsible for bringing the guest of honor, as the whole affair was supposed to be a complete surprise. I’m not sure what story Rach gave her for being there, but I’m sure my creative little friend thought of something good. Richard and I actually brought a gift of some sort, I don’t even remember what it was, something Rachel had suggested to us, I know. We checked in at the front desk as soon as we arrived, not that we had any luggage, but we did acquire the room key, and I slipped it into my pocket for safekeeping before we made our way to the room reserved for the grand occasion. I’d say there were maybe fifty people there in attendance already, the legions of her friends and admirers who wanted to make sure that Amy Banneker actually made her farewell appearance that day. At least it seemed that way from my perspective. There was a tasteful buffet set up along one wall, catered by the hotel, full of appetizers and desserts and whatnots, and a small band played dance music from a dais at the far end of the room. The room itself was gaudily decorated with good-bye banners and balloons in bright colors, and Mother had gotten hold of some of the photos from Amy’s portfolio—this was before Richard had established his own business, not that he would have consented to do anything of the sort for her—and set them up on a table at the front of the room in a tableau arrangement, along with the obligatory guest book everyone was required to sign as a lasting memento of the occasion. You know the drill, I’m sure.
And at the appointed time, in walked Amy and Rachel, as everyone screamed, “Surprise!” Amy did look genuinely surprised, I must admit, her cheeks flushed, wearing a happy smile, but perhaps one should take into account what she does for a living. And thus it began.
Richard and I stood back as everyone thronged the guest of honor, greeting her, wishing her well, as we waited our turn to dispense with the obligatories. We wished her well also, and she thanked us for our gift, whatever the hell it was, but I was damned uncomfortable standing there, even for the short period of time we spent talking to her. And to be honest, I didn’t even want to be there. It felt like some sort of electric current was surging through the air around us, like a sort of emotional static cling.
Richard fairly bristled every time she even looked like she was going to touch me, and with Amy this was a constant and ongoing possibility, as she tended to be one of those touchy-feely sorts of women, and I was constantly having to calm him down before he let loose any verbal barbs. Sebastian’s presence wasn’t helping any either, as he and Richard simply despised one another, and my cousin was only looking for an excuse to beat the shit out of my lover. And vice versa. I tell you what, sometimes it isn’t easy being me.
Most of the people who attended this little affair seemed to be fellow students of Amy and Rachel. I would hesitate to call them friends, mostly acquaintances. Amy didn’t seem actually prone to making friends. I wonder why? And yes, that is sarcasm. I did recognize Brendan, the blond boy whose apartment I had thrown up in two years before. He stopped to talk to me, having been informed by Rachel of my presence there, and he seemed genuinely happy to see me, but Richard made it clear by his possessive actions just whom I belonged to, so Brendan took the hint and didn’t linger. I felt sorry for him, because I could see he had no designs on me such as my jealous boyfriend had seemed to impart to him. But at the same time it thrilled me to know that I could incite such feelings in Richard. I know, kind of strange in me, isn’t it? Once Richard had driven him off, Rachel approached us, giving him the evil eye.
“You remember Brendan, don’t you?” she asked. “I know it’s been a while, but you two hit it off pretty well, I think.”
“Rachel, you and Amy tried to shove him down my throat two years ago,” I reminded her. “I still remember him, and yeah, he’s a nice guy, but I wasn’t interested then and I’m not interested now. Case closed, okay?” I felt Richard’s possessive nature come to the fore as he wrapped his arm around my waist and positively glowered at her from his full height, towering several inches over her. Okay, it’s a male dominance thing, I admit it, this posturing and marking of territory and such.
“Well, I think it might have worked out,” Rachel began, but she relented when my lover obviously stiffened. “Next time, don’t leave,” she shot at him before she walked off to find the lady of the evening. And yeah, I meant that as it sounded.
I turned, soothed my baby’s ruffled feathers, and cooled him off with my lips. No need to explain Brendan or the night we met, I’d already done that a long time ago. I tell Richard everything. He relaxed at my touch, and for a moment we lost track of everything about us.
Until my cousin’s voice behind me brought us back to reality, the here and now. “They have rooms here, you know,” he pointed out snidely.
“Yes, we have one,” Richard replied, not abashed in the slightest, as he leaned his head against mine and simply glared at Sebastian.
“Then I suggest you use it and not make a public spectacle of yourselves,” he commented tersely as he passed by on his way to somewhere else, I wasn’t paying much attention to where. Just then the band began to play—there is such a thing as perfect timing, occasionally—and Richard leaned down and whispered into my ear, “Care to dance, love?”
“I’d love to.” I melted into his arms. We weren’t the only ones with that same idea, as other couples sprang up around us, forming intimate twosomes there on the dance floor. I noticed Brendan pass us by in the arms of a dark-haired boy. I couldn’t help grinning at the sight. “So much for Rach’s matchmaking efforts.”
“She can just stop that shit,” Richard insisted, giving me that look he gives so well, the one that simply turns my insides to JELL-O, and whatever he tells me, just goes, and I simply acquiesce to everything he says. At that moment, I felt a tap on my shoulder—not Sebastian again. I groaned—and I glanced back to see my mother standing there.
“Mind if I cut in?” But when I started to take her hand, she shook her head. “What makes you think I meant you, Max?” and before I could react, she had taken off with my very handsome dance partner, laughing. He blew me a kiss and winked at me as he and my mother disappeared into the crowd of dancers. Which I found no end amusing…
until I heard my name being spoken softly, and I turned to find myself staring into Amy’s dirty river eyes. “Looks like you’ve been abandoned,” she joked. “Will I do instead?”
What else could I do but say yes? And take her stiffly into my arms, keeping a good arm’s length from her, as we began to circumnavigate the dance floor. “Having a good time?” I asked the obligatory question. I felt more than a little bit awkward. The looks I had gotten from her over the past couple of years—like a shark hovering about its favorite chum, just waiting for the right opportunity to bite—disconcerted me, to tell the truth. I don’t know if that analogy actually works or not, but that’s how I felt around her, as if she were some predatory creature, waiting to pounce on me.
“Yes, I was so surprised!” she said. “I’m glad that you came, Max. And Richard, too, of course.”
Uh huh. An afterthought, surely, but I didn’t call her on it, decided it wasn’t worth it. She was leaving our lives; let her have that one tacky little victory. Not even a victory so much as a snide remark left unvoiced.
“You’re going to watch the show, of course?” I think I wasn’t paying attention, as somehow we’d changed subjects.
“If I can,” I answered weakly. Not like I watched soap operas, or much of anything else. I was usually too busy for that. Although I did enjoy nature programs and cultural events and was working at expanding Richard’s own repertoire of interests.
Yeah, I hear it. You’re all saying to yourselves, what a geek! I don’t care.
“Good,” she said, seemingly satisfied by my response. She sidled closer to me, uncomfortably so, leaning her head on my shoulder. But of course I couldn’t simply keep her at arm’s length, could I? No, naturally not. “Max, you’re too good f
or him,” she began suddenly, to my surprise. I jerked my head away from hers. No, she wasn’t surely starting again, not on her last night? Fuck!
I was about to retort, what I don’t know. I didn’t exactly have the chance to formulate anything halfway witty or even coherent, when I heard Richard’s voice sounding less than thrilled in my ear. “Hello, Amy, mind if I steal Max?” and without waiting for an answer, he ripped me out of her arms and away from her. My mother was nowhere to be seen. How does he sense these things, I wondered to myself.
I knew he was mad. I could feel it in his arms. It was simply radiating from him in waves, and the fact that he was moving us toward the far corner of the room told me a lot. But when I would open my mouth to explain, apologize, whatever it was I was going to do, he surprised me by pressing me up against the wall and silencing my vocalizations with a kiss. Long and hard. Demanding and begging both. And by the time he released me, I’d forgotten what I had been about to say. As well as my name. Damn, that boy is smooth.
“I was looking for you to see if we could blow this joint and go to our room,” he whispered into my neck. “I think we’ve made enough of an appearance, don’t you?”
How could I do other than agree? Especially with those beautiful midnight blue eyes smoldering like that, and his lips, God, his lips, so soft, so warm. Even without touching me, he touches me in ways that plumb the very depths of my soul and wring it inside out, reforming it into Escherian shapes that simply defy description or understanding. I am his to command and always will be.
“Why don’t you go on up? I’ll just be a few minutes,” he continued, nuzzling my neck softly, his warm breath passing over my skin, sending goose bumps across the titillated flesh. “Rachel was kind enough to mention me to one of her college buddies, and they want to talk to me about having me take some pictures for them. I shouldn’t be very long, though, sweet thing, all right?”
To the Max Page 31