by Tinnean
Love Potion #9
By Tinnean
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2019 Tinnean
ISBN 9781634869829
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted.
No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission from the publisher, with the exception of excerpts used for the purposes of review.
This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
This is for Bob—because it will always be for Bob.
Thanks to my editor, Drew Hunt, to Tish for her comments, and to Gail Morse for her questions and suggestions, and her unfailing help and friendship.
Note: Federico Bianchi and the town of Mulhenberg are fictional.
* * * *
Love Potion #9
By Tinnean
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 1
Frank Sinatra sang about how seventeen was a very good year.
For me? Not so much.
* * * *
The bell rang, signaling class was over, and I didn’t have to glance at my watch to know that this was it—the last class of the last day, school was finished for the year, and summer vacation was starting at the same time. Not that it made much difference to me. While my classmates would be going to the beach and Funland, the local amusement park, I’d be working at Uncle Angelo’s, where I had to be in forty-five minutes. The local pizza place had been in downtown Muhlenberg for as long as I could remember, and I’d lived in Muhlenberg all my life.
I closed my AP chemistry book, shoved it into my backpack, and hauled myself out of my seat.
“What plans for your summer, Mr. White?” Mr. Beaumont asked as he tidied the papers on his desk.
“Work,” I told my chem teacher. My mom needed as much of my paycheck as I could persuade her to accept—she knew I was saving for college. I’d already been approached by Harvard, Caltech, and MIT, the top three colleges when it came to their chemistry programs, but being the tops meant their tuitions were astronomical. I was certain I’d get enough in scholarship money to take me through a bachelor’s in science, but I wouldn’t have to start the application process for another nine months, so I intended to work as many hours and save as much as I could. I adjusted the glasses I’d had to wear since I’d turned fourteen and peered at him. “And you?”
He rose and gave a wry grin. “Work.”
I nodded, not really surprised. He’d be teaching summer school for six weeks, something I’d learned he did every year since he’d started teaching at Muhlenberg High.
He held out his hand. “And if you need a good book to read, just let me know. I have Louis Pasteur’s latest biography.”
“Already have it, Mr. Beaumont. If you’d like to read the newest book about Federico Bianchi, I’d be happy to lend you my copy, although it’s a bit dog-eared.” The organic chemist, who also had doctorates in medicinal, analytical, and physical chemistry, had dropped out of view at some point in the nineties, but his work was still touted, and I’d known of him even before Mr. Beaumont had suggested his works as a little light reading—my mom, of all people, had introduced me to the man’s work. I grinned and shook my teacher’s hand.
He laughed. “Well, have a good summer.”
“You, too, sir.” I adjusted my backpack over my shoulders, and headed out to the lot where I’d parked my electric green moped. I loved that moped. I’d saved all my tips since I’d started working at Uncle Angelo’s as a busboy at the age of fourteen and managed to buy it used.
Other juniors were stopping to offer each other hugs or fist bumps, and the girls shed a few tears with those they wouldn’t see until September, while promises were made to meet up at Funland.
Judy Moore, one of the most popular girls at Muhlenberg High—she and her boyfriend had been queen and king of the junior prom—grabbed my arm as I walked past and pulled me aside.
“You’re Andrey, right?”
“Yes.” Although I was only called that in school. Mom and Angelo and the people I worked with all called me Drey. I had to admit I was surprised Judy knew my name, since the only period we shared was lunch, where I always ate by myself in a secluded corner of the cafeteria.
“Oh, cool. Listen, I’m having an end-of-school bash at my place. My parents will be out of town, and all the kids are going. Say you’ll be there, too.”
“Yeah, you’ve totally gotta come.” Bobbi Philpott, head cheerleader and Judy’s bestie, joined us, and it said something, either for Judy’s influence or Bobbi’s character that no one had ever made fun of her last name.
I’d never been invited to any of the cool kids’ “bashes,” and the thought of finally getting to go to one was…okay, I was willing to admit it. It was thrilling.
But…“I’m sorry, I’ve got work?” I bit my lip, annoyed it came out a question as if I were uncertain, which I wasn’t. I did have to work. I took my helmet from my scooter’s cargo carrier and put it on.
Judy looked surprised. “What, every night?”
“Well, yes.”
“I’m sure your boss will give you Saturday night off.”
I was glad she was sure, because I wasn’t. “That’s one of our busiest nights of the week.”
“Yes, but you have to come.”
“Why?” I fastened the strap under my chin.
Judy toyed with her fingers, not meeting my gaze.
“I’ll tell you why.” Bobbi didn’t seem to notice Judy’s frown. “Johnny’s old girlfriend will be coming—”
“Well, I had to invite her, didn’t I? Everyone would have thought I was a cold bitch if I didn’t.”
“Well, you are a cold bitch.” Bobbi burst into laughter at Judy’s disgruntled frown. “You want her to see you with her ex-boyfriend.” Bobbi turned to me. “But the thing is, if she’s alone, he might feel sorry for her and maybe regret breaking up to go with Judes.”
I didn’t understand why she was telling me all this. It wasn’t as if the three of us were BFFs. My confusion must have been obvious.
“Judy wants to set you up with Leslie.”
I blinked at her. “Johnny’s Leslie?”
Judy’s expression grew cold. “He’s my Johnny.”
“Sorry.”
“Never mind. Here’s my address.” She shoved a piece of paper into my hand. “The party starts at eight. Don’t be late.”
“But—”
The two girls danced off before I could complete my protest. And okay, maybe I hadn’t tried too hard. I had no friends in school, not even in the chemistry club I was president of, and while it had been fine when I’d first started Muhlenberg High, over the years it had become lonely. To finally be invited to participate filled a gap I hadn’t realized ran so deep.
It was kind of short notice, but in the three years since I’d be
en working at Uncle Angelo’s, I’d never once taken a personal day or called in sick, and Angelo had remarked on that just the other day.
I rolled my shoulders to settle my backpack more comfortably, mounted my moped, and headed home.
* * * *
“I’m home, Mom,” I called after I let myself into the kitchen of the one bedroom house we shared. As a single mom, this was the best she could afford, even working a forty-hour week at our public library—Muhlenberg didn’t pay much. We’d lived at 493 Smallwood Road for ages, and I loved it, even though I had to sleep on the loveseat in the living room. It was a good thing I wasn’t any taller than I was.
“We’re in the living room, sweetie.”
We? I dropped my backpack by the kitchen table, headed down the corridor that bisected the house, and walked into the room that looked out onto Smallwood Road.
Mom was sitting on her padded rocking chair, while a couple I didn’t recognize sat on the loveseat, the lone piece of nice furniture my gram and gramps had left Mom.
“This is Martin and Lacey Sullivan. They’ve just moved in across the street. This is my son Andrey.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan.” I smiled at them. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
They were a nice-looking couple, although he was huge in comparison to his petite wife. I judged him to be in his late thirties, while she appeared about ten years older. Not that she looked old. I was going by the laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and the lines bracketing her mouth. Even with that, she had happy eyes.
“Thank you.” Mr. Sullivan held out his hand, and when I accepted it, he closed his huge paw gently and didn’t try to squeeze the bones to the breaking point. I appreciated that. All through school, I’d always been the kid at the front of the line because I was so short, and even now, at seventeen, I was still the shortest in my class.
“Mrs. Sullivan.” I turned my smile on her. She was pretty, but her husband didn’t have to worry I’d make a pass at her. It also wasn’t likely I’d make a pass at him, but only because he wasn’t the type I tended to drool over.
* * * *
Yeah, I was gay. I’d known it since I was five and had watched Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade with my mom. I’d decided I wanted to marry River Phoenix when I grew up.
“You can’t, sweetie,” Mom had said.
“Why not?”
She’d kissed my cheek, stroked my hair, and explained, and it turned out she was right. Not because we were both boys or because he was twenty years older than me, but because this amazing actor had passed away two years before.
My mom was the coolest. She didn’t get upset by my childish announcement, and she let me put up posters from each of River Phoenix’s movies. And if she worried that as I grew older, I’d transfer my affections to another boy, she never let on.
* * * *
“Well, it was very nice meeting you, but I hope you’ll excuse me,” I said to the Sullivans. “I have to change and get to work.”
“Your mother was telling us what an industrious young man you are.”
“Thanks.”
“We were wondering if you’d be available to babysit for us occasionally this summer,” Mrs. Sullivan said. “We have three children under the age of ten, and usually River, my son, would watch them…”
My ears perked up at that. River?
“…but he’s spending the month with his father and won’t be back in time.”
“I see.” River?
“I told them you make sixteen dollars an hour at Uncle Angelo’s,” Mom murmured. My pay scale had risen with each promotion, from busboy to server to cook, even though all I cooked was pizza and garlic knots. As it turned out, my knowledge of chemistry helped, and my pizzas were in high demand. Uncle Angelo had promised another raise in my next paycheck.
“We’d be more than happy to pay you twenty. Martin has a seminar he needs to attend next month, and if you could see your way to helping us out, we’d be so grateful.”
I glanced at Mom, and she gave a surreptitious nod.
That gave me plenty of time to work something out with Uncle Angelo, unlike the party tomorrow night. Still, I’d keep my fingers crossed, because I really wanted to go. “I’ll have to check with my boss. Can I get back to you about this in a day or so?”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”
“No, thank you for being willing to consider me to sit your kids.”
“We’ve heard nothing but good things about you.”
“But I haven’t babysat in over three years.” Although come to think of it, I continued to get requests.
“I keep telling you you’re held in very high esteem, sweetie,” Mom said.
Still, it was nice to know. I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Oh, wow, I’ve got to go. Excuse me, please.” I hurried to the wardrobe in the corner, took out a pair of houndstooth trousers and a black T-shirt with Uncle Angelo’s logo on the breast pocket and a large pizza on the back, and raced out of the room to the bathroom. I’d have about five minutes to change and get on the road.
* * * *
“It’s short notice, I’m sorry, but I promise I’ll make it up—”
Uncle Angelo—his name wasn’t really Angelo, although everyone called him that, and he wasn’t anyone’s uncle—looked at me as if I’d lost my mind, and my heart sank. Had I put my job at risk?
“You didn’t ask for the night off to go to the prom.”
“Well, no.” I hadn’t had a date to take to it anyway. It had been a little awkward when a bunch of the kids had come in afterward with the munchies, but I’d been in the kitchen baking one pizza after another—artichoke, bacon and pineapple, chicken—and no one had noticed. Only, I guessed Uncle Angelo had.
“Consider this your prom. Have fun, kid. And don’t come in to work on Sunday hungover.”
“I won’t, I promise.” I was almost giddy. “Oh, and would it be okay if I had a Sunday off next month?”
“You’ve got a date?”
I wished. “No, my neighbors need someone to watch their kids.”
He sighed.
“What?”
“You need to take some time for yourself.”
I would as soon as I had my degree. “Gotta get to work.” Jill, the server who worked Friday evenings, had handed me a ticket with white scrawled on it.
“Never mind, get cracking.”
“Yes, boss.” I set to work tossing the dough to which I added some herbs, which I’d found made the crust especially tasty. Once it was in the oiled pan, I’d cover it with mozzarella and ricotta and my own secret blend of seasonings and bake it for twenty minutes.
For the rest of the night I boogied around the kitchen as I made one pie after another. I was going to a party!
* * * *
“You look gorgeous, sweetie.” Mom’s pride was evident, and I blushed. She smoothed the collar of the aqua button-down shirt I wore. “This brings out the blue of your eyes.” She stroked my cheek. “I’m so happy you’re going to spend the evening with your friends.”
“Me, too.” I didn’t tell her they weren’t really friends. The reason she thought I had friends was because that was what I’d told her. She had too much on her plate trying to make ends meet—my deadbeat father had never paid the child support he owed, which was why she was always scrimping and saving to see the rent was paid and I had nice clothes to wear. At least she hadn’t had to worry about food since I’d gotten the job at Uncle Angelo’s. That was one of the reasons I experimented with different types. As sacrilegious as it might sound, even pizza could get boring seven days a week.
I turned to stare into the mirror and fiddle with my hair. She was right. The blue of my shirt really did make my eyes pop. Hopefully someone at the party would notice.
“What are you gonna do?” I asked her.
“I thought I’d go see a movie, and then perhaps stop somewhere for a glass of wine.”
“Well, if a nice guy wants to buy it for you
, do me a favor and let him.”
“Oh, you.” She smacked my arm. “Go, or you’re going to be late.”
“Have fun.” I kissed her cheek.
“Love you.”
“Love you, more.” I caught up my keys and helmet and headed out the door.
* * * *
I looked from the address on the paper Judy had given me to the mansion set back from the road. The Moore’s house, a sprawling colonial on an even more sprawling lot on a cul-de-sac, was on the wealthy side of town. Cars—Mercedes, Porsches, BMWs, Jaguars—were lined up at the curb and in the driveway, and it was fortunate my moped was so compact. I found a small space where it fit perfectly, then turned off the engine, removed my helmet, and stowed it in the carrier behind the saddle.
The house was lit up, and the sound of a throbbing bass emanated from the open windows. No neighbors were close enough to be disturbed, but it wouldn’t have mattered if they were. Judy’s father knew the police commissioner and played poker weekly with the mayor.
I drew in a deep breath and marched up to the front door. No one would hear if I rang the bell, so I went ahead and tried the doorknob. The door opened easily, and I stood on the threshold, almost stunned when a wall of sound washed over me. I swallowed and decided I’d better go looking for Judy.
I made my way through the house until I located the kitchen, where a bunch of kids I recognized from school stood around drinking beer. The boys talked about baseball, and the girls talked about boys.
“You’re new,” a pretty blonde observed. “I don’t remember seeing you around Muhlenberg.”
“Um…” Just as I feared, I became tongue-tied. I gave her a weak smile. That was one of the problems. No one ever remembered seeing me.
“Want one?” she asked me, holding up a beer.
“Sure,” I said. I figured I could do with a little Dutch courage. I took the bottle and looked around for a glass.
“Bless your heart,” the blonde said. “You drink it right from the bottle.”
“Uh…okay.” I brought it to my lips and grimaced. I didn’t like the bite, but if I was going to get through this night, I’d have to finish at least this one beer. “I…I’m Drey,” I told her, but she’d turned away and was flirting with a guy who had a locker near mine in gym.