Ghosts of Boyfriends Past

by Alexander, Carly

  He smiled. “It’s just Wolf now, but hey, how’s it going?” He reached out and shook my hand in that brisk European manner that Wolfie could never completely wipe away. He had spent his early years in Portugal, where his parents were some sort of European royalty. For some weird reason, when Wolf turned twelve his parents had wanted him to be educated and raised as a “normal” child in the States, so they had shipped him here to live with an uncle and attend public school. In the way that misfits find each other, we’d become friends in high school, but I hadn’t run into him since I’d left for college.

  “I’m still in New York,” I said. “Working in magazine publishing and hating it. What are you up to?”

  “I’m still here, quite happily. My parents pulled me back to Portugal after high school, but I hated the whole scene there . . . and here I am, back in San Fran.” His eyes lifted as something beyond me caught his attention.

  “Madison,” Leo said from behind me, “who is this hipper version of Antonio Banderas?”

  Without turning to look, I smelled interest. “My friend from high school, Wolf Tarouca,” I said, stepping back to include Leo. “And this is my college bud, Leo Vespucci. We came from New York for Christmas.”

  “A pleasure.” Wolf stepped toward Leo, again with the polite handshake.

  As they faced each other, the spark between them was palpable. Ka-ching!

  “So you live in New York?” Wolf was asking Leo—not me, not his old high school buddy—but the man he’d just met. “I get over there from time to time. I’m from Portugal originally, but I’ve been trying to make San Francisco my home. I love it here.”

  “I do, too,” Leo said, letting the lie slip out so softly, I almost believed him for a second.

  I was going to add something about how it was so great to run into Wolfie, but I could see that I was suddenly not part of the conversation, not really. I was an electron circling on the periphery of the atomic lovefest.

  These guys were smitten with each other.

  It couldn’t have happened to two nicer people, but I have to admit, my toes curled in my boots as jealousy reared its ugly head. Why couldn’t I fall into unconditional, mutual love? Oh, I’d had quite a lustfest yesterday with Greg, but that was different. We didn’t see stars or experience an emotional connection on the level of colliding planets.

  “Is that yours?” Leo asked as Wolf picked up a jacket wrapped in plastic.

  Wolf nodded, lifting the plastic to give us a peek at a maroon brocade smoking jacket—very chic, very retro. “I was just picking it up,” Wolf said. “They altered the cuffs for me.”

  “Glorious,” Angelique bellowed. “Simply marvelous, isn’t it?”

  “Now why couldn’t I find something like that?” Leo posed the question to Angelique.

  The female Cousin It shrugged beneath her mane of hair. “You will. Give it time.”

  I wanted to chime in that I needed a fabulous Christmas ensemble, too, but that would imply that I’d buy something from Angelique, and I was fairly sure we did not share the same sense of the “Marvelous!”

  “Madison, it’s so good to see you,” Wolf said, suddenly turning his attention back to me. “We should have drinks some time.”

  “Oh, yes! Let’s do that,” Leo said, sounding like a character from a Noel Coward play.

  “We’ll have to fit it in before you leave,” Wolf said. “How long are you here?”

  “I have to head back after Christmas,” Leo answered.

  “Then there’s no time at all,” Wolf said, checking his watch. “What are you guys doing right now?”

  My head ping-ponged back and forth as they volleyed information and quickly decided that we would abort our shopping mission and head off for coldies immediately. Suddenly Rarities and Transylvanian Angelique and the musty collection of marvelous vintage clothes were behind us as we piled into Wolf’s BMW convertible and decided it would be insanely funny to put the top down. Wolf steered with one hand and worked the shift with the other while he held a cell phone pressed to his ear to tell someone at the office he would be delayed a bit.

  From my spot in the backseat, I was duly impressed. A guy with a cool car in the city, a cell phone, and a job where he could call in and blow them off for awhile. It made me wonder what the hell I had been doing wasting my time in college for four years. We decided to check out a new bar in the Cannery—always a great place to eyeball tourists—then laughed our way over hills and into bursts of rolling fog. I had forgotten the low, damp clouds of cool mist so distinctive to San Francisco. By the time we got there, my hair was suffering major frizz, but I decided not to obsess with taming it since I was with two gay men who clearly had eyes only for each other.

  Over the first round of margaritas, Wolfie gave Leo the TV Guide synopsis of his life.

  “My parents are royalty. I’m next in line to the throne in Portugal; however, I find it difficult to tolerate the confines of the lifestyle.” The light left Wolf’s dark eyes as he stared down at the table. “The endless duties and ceremonies, the constant scrutiny, the formality of the simplest daily events—”

  “Holy shit,” Leo gasped in awe. “You’re like bonny Prince Charles. I didn’t think that sort of thing went on anymore, outside England and Monaco.”

  “It goes on,” Wolf assured him. “However, instead of ruling the country, we rule protocol. Much time is spent fund-raising and establishing protocol, and then there’s all that hogwash about setting an example. It’s all very boring, really.”

  Leo snapped a tortilla chip in half and turned to me. “I can’t believe you never told me any of this.”

  I shrugged. “Wolf is a friend. The royalty stuff never figured into it for me. In high school, he was just like every other kid.”

  “Of course he was.” Leo gritted his teeth. “I’m being a cad. Sorry, Wolf. Just starstruck, I guess. I’ve never been in the presence of royalty before.”

  “Well, don’t worry,” I said. “You don’t have to bow or anything. Wolf is just a regular guy—with an exquisite sense of style, of course.”

  “That’s one of the reasons I like it here.” Wolf lifted his glass and leaned back to take in the view of the crisp, blue bay. “Few people know who I am. Those who do, don’t really care. It’s so liberating. I could never obtain this level of freedom in Portugal.” He took a sip of his drink, then smiled. “I love my family, but when I visualize where I’d like to be in five or ten years, I know I belong here.”

  Leo slapped two fingers against the table. “Then dammit, this is where you need to stay.”

  “I wish it were that simple,” Wolf said. “As the oldest son, I’m supposed to carry on the family tradition and act like a prince—the future king. But I’m trying to talk my father into passing the throne to my younger brother. The role is a far better fit for Jorge, and he wants it. He’s got a Portuguese girlfriend from a very fine family, and he enjoys the celebrity. Jorge belongs there.” He swiped at the drops of condensation on his glass, then looked up at Leo. “How about you? Where do you belong in this world?” he asked earnestly. “Where would you like to be in five or ten years?”

  Leo let out a sigh. “Your Highness, if I had the answer to that one, then I’d be king of the world.”

  As we settled into the third round of coldies, I realized the sky over the bay was deepening to a cobalt blue. Red and white Christmas lights strung over boats at the bottom of the hill flickered on with the gathering dusk. Dusk . . . It was getting late, and Greg was going to stop by the house. What time? My margarita-soaked brain wasn’t all too clear on the details anymore, but I knew I had to go.

  I stood up and raked my hair off my face, as if a fresh-combed look would sober me up. “I need to head home. There’s that appointment with the caterer,” I said, speaking in code to Leo. “And remember, we’re trimming the tree tonight.”

  “Right.” Leo leaned back in his chair, obviously not ready to part company with Wolf just yet.

  “
Look, I’ll take the cable car home from here. We’ll meet up at the house later.”

  As Leo nodded, Wolf reassured me that he’d drop Leo off at the house. He even remembered where my parents live. “That’s so nice,” I said, digging in my bag for cash to cover my part of the tab.

  “No, no, I got it,” Wolf insisted. “I feel like I owe you a favor, since your father took excellent care of my dad when he was here.”

  This was news to me. “He did?”

  “Didn’t he tell you? My father was visiting when he experienced some chest pains. Your father saw him immediately and stayed at his side until everything checked out. Turns out it was some kind of muscular thing, but your dad was very reassuring.”

  “Good,” I said, wondering why my father hadn’t mentioned it. Then again, my father was not the best communicator in the world. A fine doctor, an excellent cardiologist, but a bumbling father. Long ago I had resigned myself to the fact that although my father loved me, he was seriously lacking in parenting skills. Dad was a quick learner, but if it wasn’t published in a medical journal or included in the curriculum at med school, it wasn’t worthy of Dr. Greenwood’s attention.

  As I made my way down the hill to the streetcar through a mist of margaritas and San Francisco fog, I wondered if Dad would turn up for the tree trimming tonight. It was a family tradition, but Dad had missed it a few times due to scheduling conflicts. I thought of the quick greeting he’d given me last night before he’d headed off to read in bed. I’d teased him about getting grayer, but otherwise, he was still the same old Dr. Greenwood, energetic, confident, and very much removed from his family. It was a wonder that my mother had managed to deal with being second-string to his career all these years. No wonder she buried herself in meticulous decorating details and endless lunches and teas with friends like Emily and Camille.

  A strange worry about my father niggled at me until I burst into the house and found my mother sitting on the floor in front of the parlor fireplace. The wide marble foyer was dwarfed by a huge tree that had been delivered yesterday, its branches now relaxed and ready to bear ornaments. A fuzzy warmth from the fire suffused the room, and Mom’s cheeks were nearly apple-red with a glow that I could only attribute to the joy of Christmas.

  “How was your shopping, sweetie?” she asked, skillfully wielding her hot glue gun around a red velvet ball and pressing gold beaded string into place.

  “Fun but fruitless,” I admitted. “We ran into Wolfie Tarouca, and Leo is still hanging out with him. What are you making?”

  “Ornaments to auction at the hospital charity ball. How is Wolfie? How is his father doing?”

  “Fine.” I slid out of my leather jacket and dropped onto the couch. “Why didn’t you tell me about his dad being treated by our Dr. Greenwood?”

  “Oh, didn’t you know?” Mom shrugged. “You know your father. I only found out when his secretary mentioned it by accident.”

  I picked up a string of blue sequins and wrapped them around my index finger. “Mom, do you ever wonder about Dad? I mean, you’ve done a great job of getting around the fact that he hates to spend a buck. But what about the fact that he’s so distant and . . . I don’t know. Sort of aloof?”

  Mom nodded. “Oh, I used to wonder. I used to chastise him and complain about it. We had many an argument about his blind commitment to his work . . . and his lack of commitment to family.”

  “And whatever happened?”

  “Nothing, really,” Mom said, tapping a bead into place on the ornament.

  “Did he ever promise to put family first?” I couldn’t believe such a corny sentiment was coming from my mouth, but somehow it seemed important.

  Mom glanced up at me, her gray eyes sympathetic. “He always said his family was a priority. But then he also contends that being a surgeon is a calling. He used to ask me what was more important, saving a person’s life, or attending one of your dance recitals.”

  “No way! That is such an unfair question!” I tossed the blue string onto the table.

  Mom just nodded.

  “Wow. You’ve put up with a lot of crap from him.”

  “Watch your language, dear,” Mom said as the doorbell rang. “That must be Greg.”

  “I’ll get it.” I jumped up, suddenly worried that my hair was totally out of control with no time to fix it. I paused in the marble vestibule to peek in the gilded mirror. The wind and moisture had definitely taken their toll, but I didn’t really mind the thick, wild texture of the brown hair around my face. I did a quick finger comb, then opened the door.

  “Hey, Madison.” Greg was a GQ portrait in black against blue sky.

  My heart skipped a little beat as he stepped in, hooked a finger through a belt loop of my jeans, and pulled me toward him. I sucked in a breath, so conscious of his soft, sweet cologne as he brushed his cheek against mine. “I want you,” he whispered.

  I reached up to touch his black silk shirt, dying to shout “Take me now!” or something much cooler-sounding, but Greg was already moving inside, his silk shirt slipping from my grasp as he called out a greeting to my mother. Damn! How the hell was I going to get in his boxers with Mom around?

  Still, as I followed him into the parlor I felt reassured by his Neanderthal greeting. Greg wanted me! He liked me! Perhaps I’d broken the jinx that had kept desirable men at bay for the past four years.

  Mom and Greg were deep into conversation regarding the logistics of feeding a hundred guests with ease.

  “I think the china stored in the basement pantry will cover it,” Mom said. “Of course, it needs to run through the dishwasher, and since there are a few different patterns we’ll need to sort it by room. I wouldn’t want to serve olives on Lenox beside a Royal Doulton platter of crudités.”

  “Absolutely,” Greg assured her. “I can inventory the china now, and I’ll even get started with washing it.”

  Mom was nodding sagely. “There’s a new dishwasher downstairs, and you’re welcome to use the KitchenAid up here, if you need it.”

  Yes, yes, it’s all true. Mom is a huge collector of crystal and china, and our basement has been renovated to include a separate apartment which my parents could rent out, if they could stand to have strangers living in their home. I know it all sounds excessive and decadent, but since Mom judiciously collected her precious china over the years in various trips to places like Czechoslovakia (when it was called that) and Dresden, it had always struck me as a practical hobby. Especially since she used the good stuff every day, serving orange juice in Waterford glasses and cereal in lovely Mikasa bowls.

  “Terrific,” Greg said, turning to me. “Why don’t you show me around downstairs, Madison? We can let Mom get back to her work here.”

  He called her Mom! My throat tightened at the fabulous possibilities of what might be. What if I hooked up with Greg Kasami, one of the most eligible bachelors of San Francisco? Ha! I could just imagine the looks on the faces of all those in-girls from high school. I would invite every single one to our wedding . . . every cheerleader, every unblemished blonde.

  “Give a holler if there’s anything you can’t find,” Mom said, ducking her head to reload her glue gun.

  I blinked back my surprise, wondering if it could be this easy to steal some time alone with Greg. Trying to play the role of the good daughter, I led him down the back stairs to the basement that my parents had renovated when I was a kid. The term “basement” didn’t do that part of the house justice, as the back half of the floor had full-sized windows and a door that opened to Mom’s well-tended English-style garden, now in its dormant phase, but decorated with white lights over the trellis and fat outdoor bulbs in the trees.

  Flicking on the light in the downstairs kitchen, I spread my arms wide to indicate the built-in cabinets. “Here it is, the Greenwood family fortune invested in crystal and china.”

  Greg shot me a curious look. “I never knew you had such a wicked sense of humor.”

  “How could you know?” I said
as he opened cabinets and began to take inventory. How could he know that the quivering girl on the back of his bike was a multitalented vixen, eager to indulge his every whim? Although I’d definitely been more into romance than sex, I probably would have slept with him that day when he gave me a ride home . . . if only he hadn’t pried my fingers off his leather jacket with such precision.

  “Let’s wash these first,” Greg said, taking down a stack of Royal Doulton dinner plates, white plates with a grandiose blue and gold crest in the center. While he counted the Lenox and the Mikasa, I gingerly loaded dinner plates into the dishwasher, adjusting the top rack so that there was plenty of room for the spinning arm to clear the china. When the dishwasher was full, I poured powdered soap in, then closed and locked it.

  “What next, boss?” I asked, thinking how well we work together.

  The noise of churning water rose as the dishwasher started running. Greg closed a cabinet and stepped up to me, planting his feet on either side of mine. “Next, we take off all your clothes.”

  I laughed as he pulled up my sweater and slid his hands in. I was wearing a teddy underneath, and his palms moved smoothly over the silk, over my rib cage, up to cup my breasts. How I loved to be touched by Greg! But I had to be careful; Mom was right upstairs.

  “Okay,” I said, letting my hips grind against his. “So I get naked. Then what do we do when Mom comes down to check on us?”

  He groaned as I rubbed against him. “She’s not coming down,” he said. “Unless you like the danger of that . . . the thrill of danger, that we could be caught with our pants down? Some people find danger to be an aphrodisiac.”

  When Greg touched me that way, I didn’t need an aphrodisiac. “I don’t need the danger,” I said, pulling his silk shirt out of his pants. “But I do need this.” I pressed one hand over the bulge in his black jeans, and he groaned again. He leaned down to kiss me, and I felt so close to him, as if we were breathing the same breath, moaning in our throats with the same licks of passion.

  He broke the kiss and quickly unzipped my jeans. “We need to find a place,” he whispered as he yanked down my jeans, unsnapped the crotch of the silk teddy, and pressed his fingers into me. “Behind a door, in a closet . . . someplace where we’ll have a moment’s warning. Where can we go?” he asked.