A Madness Most Discreet

by Laura Lascarso

  “Better go catch him before he sets sail.” Janice winked with the smug certainty of a woman who knew more than she was letting on. “Good luck to you, city slicker.”

  22

  the proposal

  “Michael.” Arden crossed the gangplank in a few long strides and launched himself into my arms. “You came.”

  “I said that I would.”

  “I know but…” He squeezed me tightly and I gripped him solidly back, neither of us wanting to let go. A hug had never felt so good. Arden finally released me to look skyward. I thought he might be preparing to sneeze, but he batted at his eyes instead. “It’s so wonderful to see you again.”

  “I had iced tea with your aunt. And she told me one of your deep, dark secrets.”

  Arden looked stricken for a moment. “Uh oh. Which one?”

  “That your favorite book is not The Old Man and the Sea, but that it’s Wanderlust by Danielle Steel.”

  He shook his head and gave me a lofty grin. “Michael, how would you have reacted if I’d told you, a literary genius, that my favorite novel is a pulp romance from the eighties?”

  “I write pulp. I’d have been delighted. I would have teased you relentlessly, but I’d have been delighted nonetheless.”

  “Well, it takes place during World War II, so really it’s more of a historical romance.”

  “Of course, it is. And I’m sure you read it for its historical value and not the sex.”

  “The romance is integral to the plot,” he said with another lopsided grin.

  “You’ll have to read it to me one day.”

  As if on impulse, he hugged me again. My nose brushed his neck for the briefest moment, and I inhaled his sweat mingled with saltwater. Missing was his expensive aftershave and the other manufactured scents he’d worn in New York. This was Arden’s smell. I wanted to fall asleep to this scent and wake up to it in the morning, mingle it with my own while making love. Every day for the rest of my life.

  “Show me your boat,” I said roughly. I felt as though I knew her already, but my greatest desire, as ever, was to learn absolutely everything about him.

  He led me along the gangplank, holding my hand for the somewhat nerve-wracking experience of balancing on a two-by-six wooden plank to climb aboard. The boat was white with a navy hull and matching canvas sail covers. Tondaleo was written in an elegant font along the sides and across the back. Inside the upper cabin, Arden showed me the captain’s helm and the spoked wooden wheel where he’d first learned to steer. He rattled off the names of the various technologies that would likely take me months to learn completely. Within the other alcove was a station with nautical charts laid open, which Arden said were necessary because GPS relied on satellite signals that were spotty at best.

  Arden then showed me below deck where the teak cabinetry and wooden trim gleamed with a fresh coat of epoxy. There was a queen-sized bed and a small desk area with another CB radio. The kitchen, or galley as it was called on a ship, was wide enough for only one person to stand. There were metal latches on all of the drawers and Velcro tabs securing anything that might be jostled on the high seas. He showed me the head, so narrow he could hardly turn a full circle. To the side of it was an equally miniscule shower. The combined living quarters were only slightly bigger than my first apartment in New York. Everything on the boat was both functional and minimalistic. Austere and modest, much like Arden himself.

  “She’s beautiful.” I could see his hand in everything—from the way the spices were arranged to the simplicity of his furnishings. He showed me a recessed cabinet with a sliding mirrored door, behind which was only a fraction of his book collection. Included among his favorites was the entire set of Cold Lake Chronicles.

  “I heard that author speak once,” I said. “Not that impressive.”

  Arden chuckled, grabbed two sodas from a cooler with ice, and led me to the top deck.

  “We’ll take her out tomorrow. Sail over to Caladesi Island. As soon as I’ve got the bilge in working order.” He told me about the repairs he’d made, from hauling the boat out of the water in order to scrape barnacles off the hull and give her a fresh coat of paint to upgrading the old diesel engine with a 45-horsepower one.

  “It’s much better on emissions. She should be able to go at least six knots in good weather now.”

  The conversation was largely over my head, but I listened intently as Arden spoke about his progress. I didn’t know if he’d gone for too long without conversation or if he felt the need to fill the silence. Or maybe it was because he thought our time together was limited, that he had to share with me everything all at once.

  “How’s New York?” he asked after a dry spell.

  “It’s been rainy. And cold.” And lonely without you. “Down here is like a whole different world. So… tropical.”

  Arden nodded. “My first winter in New York was hard. I never even needed a coat before.”

  I’d removed my suit jacket and dress shirt and was wearing only my undershirt with my trousers rolled up to my knees. Arden suggested I change into something more casual while he started dinner. I ventured below deck. I’d brought only a duffle bag and my laptop, choosing to put everything else in storage. I still hadn’t brought up my idea to Arden. Perhaps I was waiting for a sign.

  We ate grilled fish and potatoes on the top deck while watching the sun set over the water. I caught him up on our friends and what they’d been doing in his absence.

  “Franco and Marquis are going into business together,” I said.

  “Really?”

  I nodded. “It’s all very hush, hush. I’ve never known Franco to be able to keep a secret before, but Marquis is terribly private, so…”

  “And Liam, is he still dating Travis?”

  “The lumberjack, yes. I still haven’t quite figured him out, but he seems to be good for Liam, and they’re happy together.”

  He asked a few more questions about my work, and I answered him. We were laid out on our backs on the fiberglass deck. Arden glanced over at me, and there was something in his expression which prompted me to say, “Come closer.”

  That was really all it took because suddenly, Arden was tangled in my arms again. We kissed, unhurried, relearning one another. I missed the sunset but enjoyed the flush of pink on Arden’s skin and the way the dying light turned his hair a fiery golden hue.

  “Let’s go down.” He dragged me by hand below deck and started removing his clothing. The light from the hatch revealed his chest, thicker now from manual labor and a less restrictive diet. There was a patch of golden-brown hair between his pectorals and a similar decoration on his groin. He looked more manly, and if possible, even sexier.

  “You look good with body hair,” I told him, drawing my hand along his pecs and down to his plumping cock. “Golden everywhere.”

  “You too. I like your beard. I think you should keep it.”

  “I’m glad.” I stroked my chin. It had grown out of laziness, but I’d paid a barber to trim it up before leaving New York. Had to look good for my man.

  “I was hoping we might end up here,” he said.

  “In bed?”

  He smiled shyly. “Yes.”

  “I haven’t wanted anyone since you.” I wasn’t trying to force a confession, only be completely transparent in my feelings for him.

  “No, me neither.”

  “I’ve never made love on a boat before.” I took his hand and drew him closer.

  “It’s not so different from on land,” he said with an impish grin. “You could probably get used to it.”

  “I think so.” My mouth drifted along his collarbone and settled on his neck. I tasted him—salt, sunshine, and sweet, verdant springtime. As if jinxing myself, a wave hit the hull and rocked the boat. I pitched and would have toppled over had Arden not caught me by my shoulders.

  “Still have to get your sea legs,” he said.

  “How long does that usually take?”

  “Could take a
while,” he teased.

  “I’ve got time.”

  And we had time. We spent hours that night, rediscovering each other. Arden was relaxed and playful while I was intensely aware of his every noise and gesture. His light, airy moans rounded out my more graveled ones. Arden was mercurial as the sea, and I was the weathered rock that bore him.

  I spread him and prepped him with my mouth, tongue, and fingers. Arden shuddered and quaked like a virgin, then, when I entered him, he arched his back and howled like a man.

  Suddenly, I was inside him, and it all made perfect sense. We made perfect sense. As elemental as land and water converging at the shore. I called to him and he answered, as he always had. Harmony and balance and the easy give and take between us that was not only born of mutual respect, but of a need to satisfy one another’s desires. He didn’t hold back, but gave freely, gave me everything. I would love this man my entire life.

  At its completion, with our bodies still coupled in perfect bliss, I held him close and whispered, “I love you, Arden Evans.”

  “I love you too, Michael. I’m so glad you’re here and that you found me.”

  That was encouragement enough for me.

  “I have some other news,” I said as I placed the lit cigarette between his lips. We were still in bed with the hatch fully open to ventilate the room and offer us a glimpse of the starry night sky. Something you didn’t see too often in New York, stars.

  “What is it?” He blew out a plume of smoke and handed it back to me. I hadn’t smoked since he’d left New York. It just wasn’t as satisfying to do it alone.

  “The novel I was working on, I finished it.”

  “Really?” He sat up in bed, his post-sex stupor suddenly gone. “Tell me all about it.”

  “It takes place in New York City. It’s about a hard-nosed detective and an escort with a heart of gold.”

  “Michael, you didn’t.” He attempted (and failed) to hide his delight.

  “Oh yes, Arden, I did.”

  “What’s the escort’s name?”

  “Andrew.”

  “Was that your father’s idea?”

  “No, I write my own stuff, thank you very much.”

  “And what’s this escort-named-Andrew like?”

  “For one thing, he’s accused of murder.”

  “No,” Arden protested with mock horror.

  “Yes.”

  “And just who is he accused of murdering?”

  “A famous fashion designer with a penthouse in the Upper East Side.”

  “Michael, how could you?” Arden shoved my chest playfully and then, despite himself, “How was he murdered?”

  “How do you know it’s a he?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Wild guess. And his name is Matthew, right?”

  “Marco,” I corrected. “And to answer your question, blunt trauma. Blood splatters all over the snow-white marble. Unfortunately, the designer doesn’t have a very big role in this story. He gets murdered in the very first chapter.”

  “You’re completely insane. What was the murder weapon?”

  “It’s suspected to be a cylindrical object that may or may not have been a bronze dildo. We’re still waiting on the medical examiner’s report.”

  Arden laughed deliriously. “You’re absolutely fucking with me now.”

  I shook my head. I absolutely wasn’t fucking with him. “Guess what else?”

  “What?”

  “It’s extremely gay.”

  He was bouncing on the bed like a little kid. “I love it already. I can’t wait to read it. But publishing takes so long,” he said with a little whine. I happened to have a printed manuscript with me, but that gift would come later. “Tell me what else happens,” he demanded.

  “I don’t want to spoil it, but at the end, the dazzling, golden-haired escort makes off with his dead lover’s sailboat. And in his hasty attempt to get away, he doesn’t realize he’s been cleared of all charges, and that the real killer has been caught. Still, he’s a thief and a witness to murder, and so, in the second book, the detective has to chase him down to Nassau where he’s been hiding out. There may or may not be pirates involved.”

  “Pirate attacks are pretty rare in the Caribbean.”

  “A mob boss then.”

  “What about a boat chase?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Sailboats don’t go very fast, though.”

  “Then he’ll steal a cigar boat.”

  “Or a Roadster. Two engines instead of one.” Arden seemed to be contemplating the logistics of a boat chase across the Atlantic while I gathered up the courage to make my appeal.

  “I have a problem, though.” I waited until I’d recaptured his attention. “Something I was hoping you might help me with.”

  “Anything,” he assured me.

  “I’ve never been to the Bahamas, and I don’t know much about boats.”

  Arden’s grin stretched ear-to-ear. “I can teach you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, if you’ll…” He dropped his gaze for a moment, swallowed, and gripped both my hands. “If you’ll come with me?”

  “Be your first mate?”

  “Only for as long as you’d like. I can drop you off in Nassau, and you can fly back to New York from there.”

  “What if I end up liking it, and I don’t want to leave?”

  Arden studied me closely as my own heart thudded inside my chest. I braced myself for rejection.

  “You can’t give all of that up for me,” Arden said soberly. I touched a lock of hair that had fallen over one eye.

  “What would I be giving up?”

  “Your friends and family, for one.”

  “My friends have their own lives to live and so does my father. It might do him some good to focus his attention on someone else for a while.”

  “What about New York and your lifestyle? What about your TV deal and all the things you need to do to prepare for publication?”

  “Bitzy has it covered, and I’ll check in with her when we’re at port. As for the lifestyle…” I made a dismissive gesture. “I’m going to collect rainwater and catch my own dinner. Trade in my suit and tie for…” I assessed the clothes he’d hastily thrown on the floor. “Jorts and a tank top?”

  He laughed. “And live without electricity?”

  “You said there was a generator.”

  “But there’s no wifi.”

  I hadn’t really thought about that. The same was probably true for cell service. Completely off-grid. “We’ll really be roughing it, won’t we?” I said.

  “And what about your writing?” he asked as if that would be the sticking point. I’d haul in a typewriter—a fucking ink bottle and quill pen—if I must.

  “I can write anywhere. These months apart have been dismal. I’d rather have your company than all the devices and dinner parties in the world. I want adventure, Arden, and I want it with you.”

  He laughed, eyes shining. “Really?

  “Yes. Really.” I took a breath and held it.

  “All right then. Let’s do it. I’d be delighted to have you as my first mate.”

  “Can I call you Captain?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can we make love under the stars every night?”

  “Barring mosquitos, yes.”

  “And you’ll teach me how to sail?”

  Arden nodded vigorously and clapped his hands together with excitement. “I’d love to.”

  I kissed him fiercely, tasting that sweetness that inspired both ecstasy and madness in equal measure. Maybe it was mad of me to pack up my entire life and follow Arden into the setting sun, but I knew for certain it’d be more foolish to let him go.

  I would be his anchor in rough seas and his safe harbor when he needed shelter from the storm. He would be the wind propelling me toward new horizons. And one day, when the timing was right, I’d ask him to spend the rest of his life with me.

  Arden Evans D’Agostino. I like
d the sound of it. I hoped that he would too.

  Epilogue

  Sailing was not nearly as glamorous as it was portrayed in the movies, nor as effortless as Arden made it out to be in his memoir. It was labor-intensive work—winching the sails, hoisting up the anchor, crawling down into the watery hull to hunch over the bilge to see what the hell its problem was on any given day. Seasickness was a real thing too. The best remedy, as Arden informed me, was to stare at the horizon.

  The wind was, in Arden’s words, “a fickle bitch,” and filling Tondaleo’s sails consumed most of our daylight hours. Arden slipped easily into the role of captain and taught me all manner of nautical terms, both in times of leisure and in times of stress. Sailing was all about timing. Brevity and command were often necessary to keep the vessel moving in the right direction or, in the midst of a storm, to keep us from capsizing.

  What a thrill it was to survive the elements, how life-affirming.

  The same steel and authority with which Arden had defended me against insult in New York, he now applied to the industry of sailing. It was a joy to see him thrive in his element, the prodigal son having returned at last to his native land. Or in this case, native waters.

  There were quiet moments too, such as when Arden spent an entire afternoon teaching me how to properly loop and throw a cast net to collect baitfish. And when he guided my clumsy fingers through the most rudimentary knots.

  At nighttime we laid up on the deck, and he pointed out the constellations—Orion, Gemini, and Taurus, the North Star, the Big and Little Dippers, and Venus, which was not a star but very much resembled one.

  We swam naked in water so clear we could see each other’s shriveled bits and then later, made love to the gentle rocking of the boat.

  While anchored off the coast of Bimini, under a moonlit sky, Arden topped me for the first time. The breeze kept the bugs away, and our pile of cushions and blankets made for a cozy lover’s nest. It was sensuous and slow, building like a perfect set of waves, lifting me a little higher each time. I crested and floated on a sea of pleasure with a fathomless depth beneath me. As I came down, Arden held me close and whispered affirmations of his love and devotion.