“I’ve been wanting to do that for months,” he confessed. “Ever since our threesome with Franco.”
“Why didn’t you?” I asked, and he stuttered and blushed profusely.
“I guess I wasn’t ready.”
After that, our lovemaking took on a new spontaneity. Free to follow our particular passions, our sexual appetites became as varied as the weather. And when we weren’t stargazing, sailing, or making love, Arden read over my new manuscript.
“Andrew is infuriating,” he said to me on one occasion. “I don’t know how Dupree puts up with him.”
“Andrew is reluctant to trust other people because he’s been burned in the past. Why should he tell all of his secrets to the man accusing him of murder?”
“Dupree is clearly sympathetic to his situation. If Andrew would just stop playing games and communicate with him…” Arden’s scowl transformed into a slow smile. “Wait a minute, are you trying to tell me something, Michael? Did you really write a whole novel just to point out my character flaws?”
I laughed and dragged him closer so that I could kiss the top of his sun-bleached head. “Detective Dupree is stubborn and bull-headed. He’s so focused on solving the case, he doesn’t realize that Andrew has been telling him the truth all along, in his own way.”
“Please tell me they’re going to have hot, angry sex before all of this is over.”
“No spoilers.”
“Is there anything else you want to tell me about myself before I end up reading it in a story?”
“There is, actually.” I’d been debating when to broach the subject, and the middle of the ocean where Arden couldn’t run off or swim very far seemed as good a time as any.
“What is it?” he asked, stiffening to my more serious tone.
“I’d like to help you publish your memoir.”
I’d told him already that I loved it more each time I read it, and that I was in awe of his talent. But even with all of my compliments, Arden was reluctant to acknowledge his own gifts. And, he’d argued that it was only because of my obsession with him that I’d found it interesting in the first place. I assured him that wasn’t the case, but even now, he only stared at me, suspicious. “What do you mean, publish it?”
“I can help you get an agent if you’d like to try a mainstream publisher. Or Bitzy can put you in contact with an editor at an indie. You’re too good a writer to let your words wither on the vine.”
“Have you been thinking up that metaphor for a while now?” he asked, trying to make light of my offer.
“No, it’s rather cliché, actually. I wish I had come up with something more clever. I’m sure that you could.”
He scoffed at that. “But it’s not finished yet,” he said without outright refusing.
“When you’re ready then. There’s no deadline.”
Arden’s gaze drifted to the water, perhaps imagining it. “I only wrote it for myself,” he said at last.
“That’s what makes it so good.”
“I’m not sure there’s even a point to it at all.”
“Maybe that is the point.” I was used to these arguments, having had them with myself many times before. “What’s the point of any artistic endeavor? Let someone else figure it out.”
He stared at me, on the cusp of believing. “You really think it’s good?”
“I think it’s extremely good.” Seeing the residual doubt cloud his features, I cleared my throat and took his hand, trying to convey the gravity of my next statement. “Arden Evans, I have sworn many times that I would never fall in love with another writer, and now, my only excuse is to say that when we met, you were a model. Yes, your memoir is wonderful. You have an incredible talent. Brown thought so, and so do I, and so will your readers. And it would be a disservice to the world if you kept all of that wisdom and insight to yourself.”
His smile was cautious at first, but it blossomed before my very eyes, shining as brilliant as the dawn.
“All right, let’s do it. Why not?”
Part IX.
It took the boy, who was now a man, a long time to understand his own value. To not reduce himself to the services and acts he could provide to others. To see his own inherent worth reflected in the eyes of his lover. More importantly, to recognize it in himself.
The boy still had moments when he wanted to run away or swear into the raging storm or scream underwater. There were still fights and even worse, silences. But he was learning yet another language, how to express himself openly, how to convey his fears and doubts and whatever insecurities were plaguing him in a healthy and constructive manner.
The man he loved saw beneath his shiny veneer, recognized his flaws for what they were and loved him still. He didn’t seek to control him or extract anything from him; he only wanted to share in his triumphs and his failures as a partner and a friend.
The boy was wholly loved. There was no greater gift.
Acknowledgments
I set out to write Madness as a departure from my normally heavy subject matter. I wanted something light and summery with a dash of passion. I envisioned it as a modern-day Pride and Prejudice, but I think I arrived at something more like Sex in the City. Regardless, I struggled with balancing the lighter elements with the darker, and how to achieve depth without sacrificing levity. Perhaps that’s a fault of my writing where darkness equates to character development, though I do believe many of us are galvanized by our more challenging life experiences.
A bit of trivia. I am from Florida’s Gulf Coast, and I did, in fact, live on a boat named Tondaleo for a few years in my youth. During that time, I read the Bible cover-to-cover in my desperation to stave off boredom. I did not, at the time, own the Complete Works of Richard Shakespeare, though I do now. I admit I’ve not read it in its entirety. It’s a big-ass book and great at flattening things. I attribute my time on the boat, which was sometimes lonely and isolating, to my love of fiction and fiction-writing. It’s funny how one’s life experiences shape our future.
In my first draft of Madness, I didn’t include excerpts from Arden’s memoir. I’d like to thank my beta readers for that addition. I think it offers more depth and insight into Arden’s character and rounds out the story as a whole. To that end, I deeply appreciate these readers’ thoughtful feedback: Amanda D., Cassie H., Julie U., Nicoline S., and others who would prefer to remain anonymous.
I’d also like to thank Sarah M., my BFF since high school, who reads all of my work and opens all of my newsletters. (I know because I see the stats on the backend). Your longtime friendship is one that I treasure, and you’ve always been so supportive of my art in whatever form it has taken over the years. I still remember that long-ago tarot card reading where I predicted you’d become a mother, and you predicted my writing career would be a long, bumpy road but ultimately rewarding in the end. It seems both our dreams have come true.
The complete Mortal and Divine Trilogy
Book of Orlando
Bloodborn Prince
Parousia
Other Works
Andre in Flight
Hiroku
The Bravest Thing
When Everything Is Blue
About the Author
Laura Lascarso wants you to stay up way past your bedtime reading her stories. She aims to inspire more questions than answers in her fiction and believes in the power of storytelling to heal and transform a society. When not writing, Laura can be found screaming “finish” on the soccer fields, rewatching Avatar: The Last Airbender, and trying to convince politicians to act on climate change. She lives in North Florida with her darling husband and two kids. She loves hearing from readers, and she’d be delighted to hear from you.
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