“No, then I really would kill myself, style or no.” My left hand’s already forming random chord patterns on the neck, testing the tension of the strings, admiring the smooth polish of the maple fretboard beneath my fingertips. “Am I at least allowed to play it?”
“What, you think I’m an arsehole?” He tosses me a lead, then plugs the other end into an amp that barricades the nearest door. After fishing through his pockets, he hands over a plectrum. Taking in a deep breath, all the better to savour the moment, I strum a chord: my favourite, E minor 7. The rich bass resonates through the floorboards, and vibrates up into my toes. I grin at Lenny, who nods approvingly. Just to piss him off, I rip out a few bars of ‘Stairway to Heaven’, stopping only to laugh when he charges forward, intent on reclaiming my temporary prize.
“Don’t give me the fucking shits,” he whines, settling down into his corner. “You know how many fucking thirteen-year-olds I get in here, reeking of pubescence? You know what they say to me? ‘Can you teach me to play that song?’ I hate that fucking song. Play that again and you’re banned for the next six months. Consider yourself warned.”
I hold up my hands in surrender. But he’s stuck on his anti-Led Zeppelin fixation. “Twenty years of playing guitar, and all these little shits wanna learn is Stairway to fucking Heaven and Nirvana songs. Well I’m sure as shit Kurt Cobain never went to heaven, I can tell you that for free. Hendrix, or Velvet Underground, or Jeff Buckley? No, just goddamn Triple J try-hard classics. Makes me sick.”
I sigh. “You done there, old-timer?” Thinking back to our guitar lessons, a bit of ‘Purple Haze’ should at least shut him up.
Well, I’m half right. Except for the fact that as I hit the second bar, he starts to bounce around the already cramped space, crooning the lyrics in what approaches a decent Elvis impersonation. I stop playing and glare at him.
“What?” he demands innocently, using my silence as an excuse to take the guitar off me. He idly strums a few chords before unplugging it and closing it up in its coffin.
“Hendrix’d be tossing in his grave right now, I reckon.” I down the rest of my coffee, and dump the cup on the sink.
“Yeah? Well that shows how much you know.” His shoulders stiffen. I must’ve hit a nerve. “Everyone knows the soul leaves the body when it dies. Unless you’re an atheist, but those nihilist bastards are all fucked up. Energy never dies, just changes form. Remember? Or were you always too hung over in high school to pay attention to Physics 101?”
Ouch. I crack my knuckles and check my watch again. Don’t want to be here. “When’s Peg done?” I just want to take my angel home with me, lock the door, and throw away the key. Keep all these clowns out of our world, at least till we’ve designed some plan to get my son.
It’s ten minutes after seven.
“Ah, any minute, I guess.” Lenny shrugs, grinding the joint into the carpet with a shiny boot. The sparks have only just gone out when he quickly grabs hold of me, and draws the curtain across the doorway. A silhouette glides past us. Growling, “Wait here, don’t move!” in my ear, he steps out into the showroom.
I frown, not in the mood for his little games. Even less so when I hear Pegasus ask, “Has Raven come yet, Lenny?”
“No, no, no,” Lenny’s quick to respond, and a flash of hatred bursts inside my forehead. “I’m just having a smoke out back. Care to join me?”
I miss the answer, but I know he won’t be saying yes. Only I can get him to do that, arsehole. I’m on the verge of storming out of my hidey-hole when Lenny reappears and pushes me towards the dark side of the room, a finger pressed to his lips. I glare him down, till with an impatient sigh he beckons me over and tugs on my hair so we’re both staring out across the shop through a gap in the curtain. Now Pegasus approaches the grand piano in the centre of the floor, takes up a seat in front of the keyboard, and stretches high. Then he slumps forward, and begins to play.
Wait. I know this song…
“The last time he caught me doing this,” Lenny whispers in my ear, annoying me with his constant proximity, ”he didn’t speak to me for two whole weeks, let alone come out and play. He’s a shy one, isn’t he? Hiding his light under a bushel, you might say.”
He grins, but I’m no longer paying attention to him. My eyes are all for Pegasus, and in my mind I’m caressing his black velvet shirt, unbuttoning the burgundy jeans, letting his silken hair flow freely over his shoulders, over my naked skin, pulling the shirt over his head, kissing his chest, his nipples, moving lower across his stomach, down to—
I just manage to stop myself choking on desire, painfully aware of my growing hard-on. If you could only want me half as bad as this.
Ignoring Lenny’s hisses of protest, I step out behind the curtain and move towards the piano, a moth drawn to a flame. To hell with whether my wings get burned. I am not afraid.
As I come nearer he stops playing and turns around, hands folded contentedly in his lap. “Where did you materialise from?” he asks, a mysterious smile on his lips. I grab him by the wrists and pull him into a deep kiss. He doesn’t fight me, doesn’t even tense beneath my touch.
“The seventh layer of hell,” I answer, hugging him as tight as I held my son, before—
Not here. I can’t do any of this here.
“Let’s go home.” It doesn’t take any more saying. He nods.
We wave goodnight to a bemused Lenny. I don my overcoat, and drape Peg’s coat and scarf around his shoulders. Together, we step out to face the cruel night.
· § ·
“So, what will I cook?” he asks, as we head towards his apartment, arm in arm.
This simple question throws me. “What?”
He slaps me, grinning playfully. “You like hot food, right? I think I have chillies, and capsicum, and rice—Hmm.” He drifts off, distracted by the gaudy window display of the Retro Chique Boutique. I drag him right, down another street, then cut across the lane.
“You don’t need to cook for me.”
“Don’t be silly.” He frowns. “You didn’t have to come and meet me, either.”
He begins to speed up, so I pull him back into my arms. “Yeah, I did,” I whisper, drawing him into another kiss.
He makes a half-hearted attempt at breaking my hold. “If this is how you feel about things,” he starts to say.
No, Pegasus. “I can’t bear the thought of being without you.” This is how I feel. I cover his lips and tongue with more little kisses, and lead him on towards home.
Home. Such a strange word. I don’t have a home. You don’t have a home, not really. But when I’m with you, I feel home.
We reach the apartment, and I let go his hand so he can fish through a pocket for his keys. Like two excited kids, we race one another up three flights of stairs and stumble onto the top landing, panting and laughing. I’ve never been inside his little loft before. As the door swings open, I kiss him more sombrely, wanting to mark the occasion. After tossing aside his coat and scarf, he shoves me inside, shuts the door, and snips the latch.
Turning around, he notices my grin. “I just didn’t want you going anywhere.”
“I haven’t got anywhere else.” Hastily, I add, ”There’s nowhere else I’d want to be.”
He looks at me a moment longer, before a slow smile crosses his face and he waves in the direction of the bed. “Um…I kind of don’t have anywhere to sit, so—”
My grin broadens. “Now that’s just asking for trouble.” I fall onto the mattress, about to make a start on removing my own coat, when together we notice the flashing red light, coming from a coffee table crowded with random appliances. This one’s an answering machine. He frowns, but presses the switch to play the message. He’s got nothing to hide from me.
“Uh, Peg?” I jump as a loud, familiar voice cuts through the tinny speakers. “It’s Monty. I guess you’re at work. Um, I don’t suppose you’ve seen Raven? Probably off somewhere getting pissed.” Pegasus shoots me a knowing look. I poke out my tong
ue. “If you do see him,” Monty’s voice continues, sounding more uncertain than usual, “could you tell him to swing round to my place ASAP? It’s really important. Yeah, thanks. Oh, and don’t forget the gig tomorrow!” The voice drops out with a crunch, replaced by the beep-beep-beep of the engaged signal.
Pegasus sighs and switches off the machine. “Sounds like dinner might have to wait.”
Damn you, Monty. I run my hands through my hair. You don’t want any chance of me being happy, is that it? “I’m not going.”
Footsteps cross the floor, and he wraps me in his arms, his breath warm on my neck. I already know what he’s going to say. “You have to, Raven. He said it’s important. That probably means it has something to do with Damien.”
My fists clench, involuntarily. “What more can they take? I told you, I’m not going. I don’t want to go. I thought you wanted me to stay.”
Pathetic. I should be used to these feelings already. Fear. Desire. Pain. Nothing new. Once upon a time, I would’ve called these feelings my friends. Till they turned around and stabbed me in the back, like all friends do eventually.
He taps me under the chin, and it works to get my attention. “Listen to me,” he says. “This matters. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll call ahead and tell him you’re coming. We’ll have something to eat when you get home. Okay?”
I just shrug, lowering my gaze, playing it silent, martyred, heroic.
He sighs, pulling away. Instantly I miss the warmth and comfort he offered. Don’t you understand? I don’t need to hear them say it. I don’t need to hear them tell me again that they’re taking him away from me. Please don’t make me go.
“Besides,” he says at last, “it might give you a chance to grab the rest of your stuff. You didn’t bring anything with you, Raven.”
I frown, quashing the feelings of hope brought on just by hearing him speak my name, let alone the two sentences that went before it. “What—what do you mean?”
He folds his arms around his chest. He’s expecting to be hurt, same as me. But he’s got no right to ask for that, not like I do. “Well, I thought you might like to stay. Here.”
I reach out, catching him on one cheek before he can dodge me. “You don’t have to,” he says, his gaze dropping to his feet.
My hand finds the cross again, seeking out its reminder. “If you let me stay, then I’ll go.” Gotta love the stupid logic of that sentence.
“Really?”
There’s only one way to answer his question. Sighing heavily, I get off the bed. “Yeah.” I even manage a wink before I pull the door shut behind me.
“Damn you, Monty.” This time the curse isn’t so silent, as I again set foot into the night that doesn’t want to let me go.
· § ·
Upon my arrival at Monty’s, I’m swept inside by Noriko and dragged before a woman called Judy Mirkle, a creature with all the personality, warmth and flair of my final year English teacher—and I hated her with a passion. “She’ll be looking after you on Tuesday,” Monty announces cheerfully.
So, I’m supposed to be impressed? I glare at him till he makes some weak excuse and dashes off into the kitchen with Noriko. You certainly know when to leave the betting arena, don’t you, cousin?
I barely pay any attention to this Judy Mirkle, but like a good boy I answer all her questions, questions about my ‘lifestyle’, my situation, my relationship with Wendy, my income. No doubt she likes me about as much as I like her. No doubt she’s already made up her mind about me from the way an extra line appears in her forehead for each extra note she’s gotta take. And I know she doesn’t think I’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell of getting custody of my son.
The only thing she does to earn an ounce of my respect through the entire ordeal comes at the end of our meeting. Turning to me as she makes her way out the door, she says, “I think you should realise the odds are stacked against you here.”
No shit, Sherlock.
“I mean,” she stops to explain, as though it needed explaining, “in ninety-nine percent of cases, the mother always gets the child. No matter how good a parent the father is. Then you throw the word ‘homosexual’ into the mix and—well.” She lets the thought slide. “Just a fact of life, I’m afraid. And our antiquated legal system.”
“So why bother?”
“Ah, well.” She laughs, patting down her hair. “It pays well? What more can I tell ya?” Shaking my hand once, she departs with a light-hearted, “See you next Tuesday.”
Yeah, right. See you in hell, more like. Bitch.
I linger in the doorway, till Monty and Noriko reappear behind me, both of them looking hopeful. “Well?” Monty’s the first to lose his patience. “How’d it go? What did you think? She’s a really good lawyer.”
“She’s all right,” I murmur, hoping my voice conveys the more truthful answer. No, none of this is fucking all right. You gave up too quick, and now you’re palming me off on some cow who doesn’t even know me, much less give two shits about what happens in court, so long as she gets paid.
“Raven, what is it?” Noriko moves in with open arms, all full of big-sisterly concern that makes me want to vomit.
I hold up a hand, keeping her at bay. “I’m going back to Pegasus,” I say, trying to retain my calm. You both betrayed me, and now you don’t get the honour of seeing me break.
“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” Monty says.
You’d like it to be, wouldn’t you. “I’m going to get the rest of my stuff.” I force my way past to the spare bedroom, and throw all my clothes into the suitcase. But I can’t find that purple top I gave Peg to wear. He must’ve taken it home with him already.
I close the door behind me, and step into the hall. At the far end, Monty and Noriko haven’t moved, like statues frozen in time. As I head for the exit, he reaches out and grabs me by my free arm. I stare past him, waiting till he lets go. In a weak voice, he says, “You’re going to stay there?”
That’s right. Try and stop me and it’ll be the last thing you ever do. I’m ready to lash out if either of them try to touch me again. I just—I just don’t care anymore.
“Where will you sleep?” he asks, before Noriko hastily elbows him in the stomach and makes a hissing face. He frowns at her in incomprehension, before understanding finally crosses his face. “Oh.” They both look down at their toes.
I wrench open the door and stare up at the night sky. “Have a nice life.” Almost there. I think of Pegasus, among the pale stars. Can you hear me? I’m coming home. I’m not leaving you again.
“Hey, don’t forget the gig tomorrow!” Monty calls after me.
“Sure,” I say, slamming the door, locking them out of my life.
Like I’ve even got the key.
· § ·
Pegasus lets me in warily, though he manages a smile when I dump the suitcase and my coat on the floor. This time I’m the one who locks the door, before I turn and sweep him into an embrace. I carry him to the bed, sit him down on the edge of the mattress. Then I fall forward and bury my face in his neck, nipping at his throat.
“I don’t know how,” he tells me slowly, “but just now I knew you were coming. I was in the kitchen, and suddenly I felt…warm.” He tries to laugh it off, but I remember my silent plea before I left Monty’s. So, you did hear me.
Dropping the smile, he asks, “Do you want to talk?”
“Kept you from your dinner long enough, didn’t I?”
Realising the answer’s no, he nods and shuffles off into the kitchen. Not five minutes later, the most wonderful aromas waft under my nose to tease my stomach, make my mouth water. I find the remote for the corner-mounted TV, then slide off my boots. All the while, restless, I gaze around the room. Most of the walls are covered in psychedelic swirls in red and purple and black, matching the bedding. Probably Noriko’s contribution to the decor. On the bedside table, a Chinese lantern and a picture frame sit side by side, and it’s on this photo that I linger lo
ngest. From a distance, it’s Pegasus, but up close the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen undoes layers of skin and bone and spirit with no more than a defiant tilt of her head and the consumptive sadness that stains her proud silver-blue eyes. An elaborate ice-blonde braid sweeps away from elfin features and coils over her shoulder in a rope of liquid frost.
I always thought of me and Ma as pretty close replicas, till I see how much this woman resembles Pegasus, from the inside out. And Damien.
The mattress moves, snapping me out of my trance. He’s kneeling behind me now, wrapping his arms around my chest. For a moment, we stare at the photo together, and then he draws back and sniffs.
“Mother,” he whispers, by way of explanation, as if it weren’t already obvious.
“Juliette.” I hope I get the pronunciation right.
He squeezes my shoulder. “She’s beautiful, yes?”
“You’re beautiful.” I return the frame to its rightful place, then pull him onto my lap. The conversation I had with Lenny earlier keeps nagging at the edge of my memory, an echo of something that’s been bothering me ever since he tried to—
“Where do you think she is, now?”
After a long silence, he rises off the bed. Muttering, “I don’t know,” he retreats to the safety of the kitchen.
Liar. Random laughter erupts from the TV, and I switch it off in annoyance. No need for that. I came here to shut out the rest of the world; all its trivial emotions and short-lived genius. I intend to keep it this way—
For so long as I possibly can—
Till Tuesday, at least.
· § ·
After dinner, I make for the window to partake of a ritual clove cigarette. The pot I scored last night can wait.
I push up the frame, let in the cold winter night, and blow my smoke back in its face. From behind, Peg wraps his arms around my waist. “Did you like it?” he asks, nuzzling into my shoulder blades.
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