An Exaltation of Larks

by Suanne Laqueur

  “Alex.” Jav bit the name out of the air and let the X hiss against the roof of his mouth. His mind blew dust off an old notebook, opened it to the page where he’d left off and picked up a pen.

  Where were we?

  “Holy shit,” Alex said, his mouth hanging open.

  Trelawney looked around the gaping trio, confused. “You guys know each other?”

  Jav backed away. His shoulder blades thumped the wall of the Lark Building and he slowly sank to sit on the steps. The dog sniffed at his legs. Valentine’s eyes were wide above her gloved fingers. Alex’s laughing breath made clouds in the night.

  “Holy shit, it’s Javier,” he said. “Walker, nephew and occasional assassin.”

  Jav put his head in his hands. “Jesus Christ.” He looked up and cried out to Main Street, “I am having the weirdest day…”

  “I’m going to bed,” Alex said. “I’m beat.”

  Val glanced at her watch—it was ten of midnight. She took off her reading glasses and looked back at Alex. “I’m kind of in a thing here,” she said. “I’ll wait up for Deane. She should be home soon.”

  He came in and kissed her forehead. “’Night.” He kissed her nose. Then her mouth. Then her mouth again. “Don’t stay up too long.”

  “I thought you were beat.”

  “I am.” He bent and kissed her neck, inhaling long.

  Val’s eyes jumped around the computer screen as Alex’s footsteps went up the stairs and over her head. The scrape of their bedroom door closing. Then water running through the pipes.

  She got up and closed the door to her workroom, putting her back to it and letting out the breath she’d been holding for an hour.

  Javier Soto.

  Or rather, Javier Landes.

  He’d howled laughing when Alex dug a business card out of his wallet. Worn and creased after being carried around for twenty years.

  “The hell are you doing with that?” Jav said. “Are you kidding me?”

  “In case I need someone bumped off,” Alex said.

  “Man, that’s not even my name.” Jav plucked the card out of Alex’s fingers and tried to tear it up. Alex snatched it back to more hoots of laughter. Meanwhile, Val stood staring like an idiot with a frozen smile stretching her face to the breaking point.

  Javier…Whatever his last name was.

  Right here on Main Street.

  And gorgeous. Still. Maybe even more so. Absurdly, unfairly gorgeous.

  “I know him from my nights waiting tables in the city,” Alex was saying to Trelawney. “He used to come in after hours to eat dry toast and make the waitresses faint.”

  “I can see why.” Trelawney turned expectant eyes to Val. And where do you fit into this little triangle?

  Val moved a casual finger between the two men and herself. “Alex met him first. I met by association.”

  Jav gave her a quick glance, then looked away. “This is crazy.”

  It took a few minutes standing in the cold to tell the story and sort out what the hell all of them were now doing in Guelisten. Of course Alex already met Jav’s nephew that afternoon at the shelter. And of course, Alex, being the clueless sweetheart he was, invited Jav and the nephew for brunch tomorrow. Val could only nod and shrug assent. Sure, come over. Why not? Life was too short not to have your old lover come for brunch.

  Lover. That was generous.

  Jav gave Alex a new card, insisting yes, Javier Landes was his real name. Walking away with Alex, Val turned back, caught her sister’s eye and said, “I’ll call you.”

  The Lark sisters did not call each other. Their homes were mere blocks apart and less than fifty feet separated their places of business. They didn’t call, they barged in or dropped by or showed up.

  In Lark sister-speak, “I’ll call you” meant, I’ve got a really big, really bad problem and I need to talk to you. Pronto.

  Trelawney picked up her phone within half a ring. “Pronto.”

  “Fuck me.”

  “I made popcorn,” Trelawney said. “I cannot wait. Talk really slow.”

  Val told, speaking both slow and soft.

  “In conclusion, this isn’t your typical ex-boyfriend situation,” she said.

  “Uh. No,” Trelawney said.

  “Are you disgusted with me?”

  “For what? Hiring an escort? Men do it all the time. Why not women?”

  Val exhaled.

  “You did nothing wrong,” Trelawney said. “You weren’t even with Alex at the time.”

  “It was twenty years ago.”

  “You were young and single. Immersed in your career. You paid him to be the perfect boyfriend when you didn’t have time for relationships. You needed a job done and he did the job. It’s nobody’s business but yours. And his.”

  “And maybe Alex’s now?”

  “Oh… He doesn’t know?”

  Val chewed her thumbnail. “No.”

  “Are you going to tell him?”

  “Christ, I don’t know.”

  Trelawney crunched popcorn. “Yeah, I don’t envy you that conversation.”

  The front door opened and slammed. The strange girl who squatted in this house, whom Val sometimes referred to as her daughter, was home.

  “I’m home,” Deane yelled.

  Val covered the phone with a hand. “I’m in my workroom,” she called. They lived in Muriel’s old house on Tulip Street. Muriel’s sewing room was now Val’s. It had a little work table for Deane as well. The two of them used to spend hours being crafty, but now Deane preferred to produce her tortured creations in her hidden lair. Or bedroom. Whatever the kids were calling it these days.

  “How the hell am I going to tell him?” Val said, running a hand through her hair and tugging on it.

  Her door bashed open and Deane put her head in. “I’m home.”

  “I heard. Have a good time?”

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Upstairs, he was tired.”

  Esmeralda, their new kitten, squeezed past Deane’s feet and came pattering up to Val, squalling her pathetic little mew.

  “What are you doing?” Deane came in and sidled along the counter where Val kept notions. “Are you making something?” Her fingers trailed across ribbon spools and dug into boxes of buttons. Of course. Deane typically couldn’t stand Val breathing in her presence, but tonight of all nights, she was feeling lovey and looking for company.

  “Hon,” Val said. “I’m talking to my sister. Would you…mind?” She cocked her head toward the door with a pleading smile. Deane sucked her teeth, flipped her ponytail over her shoulder and banged out.

  “Shoot me,” Val said to Trelawney. “To death.”

  “I can’t. I need you.”

  “Do I have to tell?” Val said. “It was a long time ago. Can’t I file it under Secrets of the Broadway Dresser? Let it be like an ex-boyfriend situation?”

  “That’s all well and good if he’s passing through town on his way to Denver or something. He could be sticking around. In Roger’s apartment. Indefinitely.”

  “Ugh.”

  “And if it gets out later, it has major potential to bite you in the ass. Like, you could lose an entire ass cheek. None of your clothes would fit anymore.”

  “We can’t have that,” Val said. She flopped onto her little couch, putting her feet up on one arm. Esmeralda clawed her way up and curled into a ball on Val’s stomach. Her purr was louder than her mew.

  “I must say he’s quite easy on the eyes,” Trelawney said. “How is he in bed? Worth the money?”

  “Oh. God. You have no idea.”

  Trelawney laughed. “Well, good for you. I can’t believe you kept it from me all these years. Clearly I was too young to appreciate your escapades.”

  “I liked it being my little secret,” Val said. “It goes into my files as the craziest thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Seriously. I can’t top that shit.”

  “And I did it for me. It was fun. I don’t feel guilty.”<
br />
  “You shouldn’t. But you should think about telling Alex.”

  “I will.”

  “Think hard.”

  “I will. You’re coming tomorrow, right?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it. I’ll bring the coffee.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you more. Goodnight.”

  Val let the phone slide onto the floor and let her arm flop over her face.

  Seriously, is this a joke?

  If so, fate had one bullshit sense of humor.

  Once Jav got up off the ground and they all stopped staring and holy shitting, he hugged her. A quick, laughing embrace. But long enough for her to remember his strength. Tucked in a fold of her mind all this time like a jewel. Her brain picked it up, dusted it off and held it out smugly: Silly girl. You don’t forget a guy who could pick you up like a pillow, pin you against a wall and fuck you nine ways to Sunday without losing a breath or getting tired.

  Those were fabulous dates. Easy. Uninhibited. Whether it was because she was paying or simply because their bodies had a good rapport, Val didn’t know or care. Not caring was the point. She didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to. She didn’t have to worry about his satisfaction. She didn’t have to do or say a damn thing to him.

  Jav did and said it all. As their bodies twined and wound and writhed and combined, the dark of her bedroom filled with amazing words:

  “Turn over now.”

  “Spread your legs for me.”

  “Val, kiss me.”

  “I want you so bad.”

  “I’ve got to taste you.”

  “You’re so beautiful when I’m inside you.”

  “I was so hard for you all night.”

  “Your body feels amazing.”

  “Come.”

  “Let me see you come.”

  “I love when you come.”

  He fucked her senseless, until, drunk on pleasure, high on her own ego and stupid with orgasms, Val could only shape one word in her mouth.

  “Yes,” she said to Javier Soto. Over and over, “Yes.” A thousand times, “Yes.” A hundred and fifty dollars an hour worth of “Yes.”

  How in the hell did she sanitize and condense all that into a story she could tell Alex?

  I can’t. It’s pointless. What purpose would it serve? It was a long time ago. Another life. Jav’s probably out of the business now and just as happy to let it lie.

  Did he even remember their nights? Had she been lost in the shuffle of all the favorites that came after her?

  She sighed. Esmeralda gave a throaty little mew.

  Come on, Val. Don’t make this more than what it is. He was a business partner, not a boyfriend. You can’t be lying here wondering what life would be like married to Jav.

  She was quick to notice tonight that Jav’s left fingers were bare.

  He’s not the marrying kind anyway.

  Hiring an escort was a static, one-sided event, but marriage—or any kind of long-term relationship, was dynamic. A constant give and take. And take didn’t always follow give. No orderly turn-taking: you go, I go. You go, I go. I get a breakdown. You get a breakdown.

  Making bridal gowns for a living made Val philosophical about matrimony: a wedding was an event and had nothing to do with marriage. A wedding was exciting perfection. Marriage was in the boring, unglamorous details. It was sitting on the potty discussing finances while your husband trimmed his nose hairs at the sink. In fact, Val believed marriage was what took place in the bathroom, not the bedroom.

  “Don’t marry the guy who’s your drinking buddy,” she told Deane. “Marry the guy who holds your head while you’re throwing up, then wipes down the toilet afterward.”

  Jav was a drinking buddy.

  Alex is my life.

  And Alex could be difficult to live with.

  His childhood flight from Chile had left deep scars on his psyche. His heart swam in blood. He had too many nerves and not enough skin to cover their tender ends. He went into a severe depression after 9/11 that put the sword of their marriage into the forge. It was a tense, anxious year when she feared no amount of sobrepasarlo would be enough to get Alex through or over or around the reverberating trauma in his soul.

  Val turned down a design offer with the Atlanta Ballet because he needed her. It was a no-brainer decision. He bought a ticket to Crazytown and she got on the train with him to make sure he used the return.

  “I know it’s dark,” she kept saying. “I know you hate the dark. Believe the light is there. Believe it’s going to come back on. As long as you believe, I’m not afraid of this.”

  She saw him through the tunnel and out the other side. Not pulling from the front, not pushing from behind, but hanging out right by his side. Because he was her man. Because their combined bullshit was bigger, better and more important than all their individual crap. He was a nervous wreck but he was her nervous wreck.

  She understood perfectly what made Alex tick, but it didn’t make him any easier to live with. Still, he was the man she could pee in front of. And it was his disgusting little hairs she wanted in her sink.

  Val closed her eyes, looking at the deconstructed pieces of her head and heart.

  I only feel guilty about Jav because I don’t feel guilty about Jav.

  Her phone pinged an incoming text. It was Alex.

  I miss you. Please come upstairs.

  Val smiled, warmth filling her chest and soothing her worries like a balm. She scooped Esmeralda off her stomach and kissed the sleeping feline face. “He misses us,” she whispered. She carefully sat up and put the cat in the nest her body left behind. Turned off lights, locked doors and went upstairs.

  Sheba was curled up outside the master bedroom door. A mix of Black Lab and Rottweiler, she was a trained therapy dog and Alex’s second wife since 9/11. She and Val had a clear understanding about evening hours: Sheba knew when to show up because nightmares were manifesting, and she knew when to get lost because it was business time.

  “Cover your ears, bitch,” Val whispered, closing the door.

  “Come here,” Alex said behind her.

  She looked back over her shoulder. He flipped the covers open and sat up in one fluid movement. Naked and beautiful on the edge of the bed.

  “Come here,” he said, hands reaching.

  Mouth watering, she went.

  “Look at you,” she said, kissing each corner of his mouth. “Who’s the most gorgeous fucking husband in the world?”

  His hands slid around her hips, curved over her ass and then dug under the hem of her shirt and glided up her back. “Me?”

  “Damn right. All six feet…” Her hand closed around his erection. “Eight inches of him.”

  His smile nudged hers. “Seven and a quarter.”

  “I round up.”

  His mouth closed soft around her bottom lip, then her top. “Is the door locked?”

  “Mm-hm.” Her hands ran along his hard arms. Each bicep banded with inked names. His parents, The Disappeared Ones on his left arm. Valerie and Deane on his right.

  He drew her shirt over her head, unclipped her bra and spread it open. One warm, wide hand curved around her breast and his mouth opened for it, drawing it in and sucking gently. His other hand eased down the back of her pants, caressing her.

  They kissed, holding each other’s heads. He fed her fingers to suck on, gave her his tongue, pulled her deeper into his mouth. She licked her fingers and ran them over his penis, which was up hard and high in his lap, a faint pulse under her palm. She undid the drawstring of her sweats and pushed them down. His palm trailed down her stomach, turned and slid between her legs. His mouth on her breasts. His fingers sliding. One. Then another.

  “Come here,” he said, lying back. “Come on me.”

  She tossed and kicked her pants away and crawled up on him, kissing, a hand tight in his hair.

  “Slow,” he said against her mouth. “Let me feel it slow.”

  The tip of him s
pread her. Filled her. She resisted the urge to slam it home and lowered her hips slow until he disappeared.

  “Good?” she whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “Like that?”

  “So good.”

  He was warm as bread. Simple ingredients, finely crafted. She held his head, hand wide on his face, drawing his voice into her mouth. “I love you,” she said.

  “Am I yours?” he whispered.

  “Mine. Mine and only mine. Only you for me, Alejandro.”

  “Dr. Penda invited us for brunch,” Jav said when he picked Ari up the next morning.

  Ari had spent another sleepless night, waking up hungry, depressed and grouchy. “The vet invited us for brunch?” He didn’t feel like being social but this was an interesting invitation.

  “Want to hear something crazy?” Jav said. “I know him. I met him and his wife once, like twenty years ago.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Ran into them after I dropped you off last night. Three of us nearly passed out.”

  “That’s nuts. Can I still see Roman?”

  “Roman’s invited for brunch, too.”

  Ari got into the car, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from asking if Deane would be at this gathering. He hoped she would. Of course, Casey At The Bat could be there as well, in which case Ari would figure out a way to take Roman on a nice long walk.

  To Poughkeepsie.

  Roman, free of his IV, came barreling out of his cage and into Ari’s arms, turning in circles, leaping, panting and whining. He bounded into the back seat of the Range Rover and sat with his paws on the center console, licking Ari’s ear.

  The Pendas’ house was a beautiful, pale gold Victorian with red trim and white woodwork. The mailbox read The Lark-Pendas, 14 Tulip Street. Jav rang the bell and barking ensued from within. Ari wound up some of the slack on Roman’s leash, shortening it. Roman was usually all right with strange dogs, but strange dogs weren’t always all right with him.

  Dr. Penda opened one of the double front doors. He was unshaven in jeans and a thermal shirt and not wearing his glasses. He looked like a younger brother of the man Ari met yesterday. Heeled tight to his side was the blackest dog Ari had ever seen. Its fur so ebony, it was almost blue, lying like fine velvet along the high-domed head. It moved slightly in front of Alex and sat on its haunches, blinking at the guests.