The Legend of Arturo King

by L. B. Dunbar

  She looked at me with the heart-melting smile of a young girl and I knew even at sixteen what that feeling was within my khaki shorts. Lust. I wanted her and she would be willing to experiment with me.

  But it was the look on the young boy’s face that caught my attention. He was heartbroken, and beyond that hurt expression was anger in his eyes.

  “Who’s this?” he growled in my direction.

  “Arturo King,” Nina sighed as if kissing my name.

  I felt my lower section jerk to life even more.

  “What do you want?” the boy demanded.

  “I’m here to meet Nina,” I said with the voice of someone older despite being only a teenager myself.

  Without warning, the boy charged at me, tackling me around my midsection. I felt the wind knock out of me as the surprise attack forced me onto my back. I was able to dodge the incoming blow to my face as I rolled the boy onto his own back, and I made to grab the wild hands coming toward me again, hoping to pin the boy down, when a fist collided with my right cheek.

  I was startled at the strength of someone who seemed so small. I myself had strength, but I wasn’t a practiced fighter. The boy wiggled below me as if frantic with rage. I didn’t want to hit him, knowing the kid was younger. Taking into consideration his size, I was afraid I would hurt him, until I felt his knee collide with my balls. I groaned and rolled off the boy, who jumped onto me using a left-right punch to the gut to refocus my pain from between my legs to my abdomen.

  My anger soared at this point and I was no longer concerned about his smaller size. I flipped the boy in one swift move, pinning both his hands in one of mine as I straddled him and grabbed his chin forcefully.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I growled in his face.

  His response was to spit at me.

  At this point, I heard the sweet, innocent feminine laughter behind me and I remembered Nina. She had been watching the whole scene.

  “Boys, please,” she laughed. I was surprised. I would have expected a girl to be shrieking with fear at a fight.

  “I’m going to kill him,” the boy under me growled.

  “No, you aren’t,” Nina said softly. “Get off him, Arturo.”

  I looked at the kid before I pushed his head back, knowing the force of hitting the pebbled gravel had to hurt. He winced as I pushed off his small chest to stand. I continued to look down at the younger person before offering my hand to help him up.

  He ignored my hand, using his own to balance himself.

  “Lansing, I already told you. I can’t go out with you,” Nina giggled.

  I felt the soft touch of a moist hand circle my bicep and then felt the warm press of a female body against my back.

  “I’m dating Arturo.”

  I swallowed. Dating? I wasn’t dating anyone. I was only looking for a good time, like some experimentation with a killer young body or possibly the act itself. But dating? That was not part of the equation for me.

  “We aren’t dating,” I addressed the boy, who glared at me with death in his eyes.

  Lansing, that was his name, growled at me, knowing what I would want with this girl, and he took a stance as if to fight me again.

  “You can have her if you’d like.”

  Abashed at my kick-to-the-curb attitude, the girl gasped at my comment. I prepared for the full defense of the girl’s honor from this young scrapper, so I was surprised to see the slow smile creep across the boy’s face.

  “I don’t want her if she’s that easy,” the boy said as his eyes shifted to Nina and back to me.

  “No girl should come between friends,” I laughed and stuck out my hand to shake with Lans.

  “Friends?” Lans laughed.

  “Friends,” I said with authority.

  We shook hands and when I turned to apologize to Nina, she had disappeared.

  It was that same summer that I got my first tattoo. A long sword down my dominant arm. The hilt started at my shoulder and the point was on the back of my hand. It was a reminder of my first fight. A reminder to never fight over a woman, but for one, and a reminder to use my hand for making peace through music with the guitar.

  The guitar ended up being the common denominator in the beginning of a friendship between myself and Lans, who was two years younger than me. We both played and the concept of the band was born. Nights was the name decided upon because it was nighttime when we would practice at Mure Linn’s hut in the woods. Lansing lived with his mother and she worked most nights. We hadn’t met Perkins yet, but we were playing around with developing a sound. I was staying at Mure’s, and as my instructor and guardian, Mure’s forest oasis was the perfect place to work out our awkward collaboration until we became in tune with one another. The process didn’t take long. It was almost as if we were kindred spirits, and Lansing soon became my best friend.

  Much to Kaye’s disappointment, Kaye wasn’t part of the band. He had always wanted to be, but Mure was against it from the start. Over time I learned that Mure didn’t have faith in Kaye’s talent as much as his ability to manage. So although Kaye could play the guitar and piano, and hold a note, he wasn’t a member in the sense of performing music. He was a member, however, in every other sense of the unity of the band.

  I had been lonely in my training with Mure during those young years as he became my mentor and more of a father figure than my guardian, Hector. When Hector passed away, Mure took both us boys under his protection, but he only pushed me, as Kaye was already a man at that point. Sometimes he pushed me too much.

  Mure Linn had a plan for me, he said. He wanted me to be successful with the band. He wanted me to take over Pendragon Empire. He wanted me to grow Camelot Records. It was a big plan, more than I originally wanted for myself, but with the sudden restless feeling to write music, and the imposing pressure of the world tour in less than three months, I was beginning to think I needed more in my life as well. Maybe I did need something larger, like Pendragon Empire? Camelot Records? Or maybe I needed something entirely different, like Guinevere DeGrance.

  I missed her at dinner as the table was full of the band. Mure had mentioned that he met Guinie on the path up to the house, and Lans had arrived sometime after Morte and my swim. Tristan had already been present. Perk stopped in, but had already eaten. The conversation was energetic and chaotic as dinners with the guys always were, and I noticed Guinevere’s quiet. She didn’t appear uncomfortable, but she did seem nervous. I wasn’t sitting next to her, as I had gotten to the table too late after I drove Morte to Ingrid’s, knowing this night would be more for adults, and I was caught in a conversation with my mother, stalling again my time with Guinevere. I felt like I needed to explain in further detail my connection with Morte and Ana.

  Ingrid was warning me about my behavior toward Guinevere. Treat her like a lady, not one of my groupies. Be understanding that she doesn’t know everyone. Be respectful that she’s shy. All the time, this lecture was holding me up from returning to Guinie.

  Who excused herself early from the meal.

  I couldn’t leave the table without raising suspicion from the band, and I knew I had already had one too many to drink. What had started as a Jack and Coke eventually turned to straight Jack. The day had simply not gone the way I hoped and my disappointment was heightened when Guinevere left the table. Mure gave me a disapproving look when she excused herself and I didn’t know if the disapproval was for not engaging her enough in the conversation or for encouraging her to participate more within the inner sanctum of the group.

  When I noticed that Lans had been absent from the table for a time too long, I exited the room as well on slightly wobbling legs. Assuring the remaining group I was fine, I stumbled out of the large dining room and trailed through the kitchen to the extensive living room. The house seemed empty, as these two rooms were dressed in low lights and no staff was present. I continued to the dark front foyer and paused when I heard music softly spilling down the staircase.

  As I climb
ed the stairs, gripping the hand rail for support, the music seemed to call to me like a siren tempting a sailor at sea. My legs wobbled and I tripped forward, catching myself two steps above my feet. Shit, I muttered under my breath as I felt a slight sting in my shins where I banged the stair. I might have had one more drink than I thought. Pushing myself upward, I noticed the music getting louder, more energetic, more frantic.

  My heart began to race within my chest as if the increase in tempo was a more desperate call to me. Come to me; be with me, the beat seemed to sing. There was an abrupt stop to the sound, but only a brief pause before a slower, softer string sound vibrated through the upstairs hallway. I turned in the direction of my bedroom, knowing the music had to be coming from the room next door to mine. Guinevere’s.

  I wasn’t prepared, though, to find Lans casually perched against the wall outside Guinie’s door. My heart beat faster, if that was even possible, and the Jack, which moments ago inhibited my movement, now coursed through my veins like fiery adrenaline. I held myself upright and slowly concentrated on walking down the hall. Lans didn’t seem disturbed by my approach with one foot raised and rested on the wall. He stood with his eyes closed, his head back and his arms crossed over his chest.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I hissed harshly.

  Without opening his eyes, Lans responded. “Listen.”

  I turned my head in the direction of Guinevere’s closed door. The music played softly, sadly, but it still called to me. Her playing was focused and deliberate. I could almost picture her with her bright blue eyes closed, her head bent in concentration as she hugged her instrument to play it between her legs. Between her legs, I thought. Those sun-kissed legs that sat long and lazy in my car earlier, and rubbed against each other. My mind snapped when I recognized that the song she played sounded familiar. Too familiar.

  “She’s playing one of our songs?”

  Lans opened his eyes now and tilted his head forward to look at me.

  “It sounds beautiful,” Lans whispered.

  “She’s good.”

  “I remember,” Lans sighed, and I didn’t like the implication of Lans’ expression. His words seemed to suggest more than knowing Guinevere’s musical ability.

  I stepped forward, approaching the door with my hand outreached to grab the knob, when Lans stepped in front of me. I looked down at the hand now pressing on my chest, as if in warning to step back, and narrowed my eyes at my oldest friend.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Are you drunk?” Lans spat at me.

  “No.” But that wasn’t true.

  “Don’t disturb her.”

  I forcefully pushed Lans’ hand off me. “What makes you think I’m disturbing her?”

  “Just … just leave her be. You know how it is.”

  “How what is?”

  “To be in the zone, man.”

  I looked at the closed door again, shutting me out. I did know what being in the zone was, or at least I used to know. It was a way to shut everything out. Is that what Guinevere felt about me? Did she want to keep me out? Block me out?

  I wasn’t having it as I moved for the door again, but my lightning reflexes were strongly inhibited at the moment as Lans blocked me with his full body this time. Arms outstretched, Lans had a hand on either side of the doorjamb with his legs spread as well. He was a giant X over the entrance.

  “Move.”

  “No.”

  I sighed and the music seemed to swell in my ears as if I had been momentarily deaf. I knew this song. Of course, I knew this song. I wrote it. It was about taking time off, sitting back and letting things be. It was a promise of loving and spending time together. It was about the sweet innocence of just being with someone.

  I paused. Was that what Guinevere wanted? Did she want time off, like I said, as a means to get her to come to the lake? Did she want to slow herself down? Did she just want to be with someone?

  My mind raced with conflicting thoughts and questions, and I looked at Lans. He had that protective death look in his eyes, a look I had seen only one other time before at the birth of our friendship.

  “I won’t let you in there like this,” Lans said firmly.

  I had placed my hands above Lans’ on the door frame. I was still taller than him, but just barely. If anyone walked down the hall, they might have thought we were about to embrace, until I pushed off the frame, forcing myself to stumble backward and fall against the opposite wall. Thankfully Guinie didn’t seem to notice the commotion outside her door and she continued to play my song.

  “I’m going to bed,” I mumbled as I bumped off the wall and struggled toward my own bedroom with my song playing a new beat in my mind.

  Arturo

  The next morning I awoke with a terrible headache. It was one I recognized as having too often lately. Rolling myself out of bed to shower, I heard a noise in the room next door and walked to the adjoining door that separated me from Guinie.

  I heard the noise again.

  Concerned, I knocked softly on the door.

  Silence.

  I tried again.

  Silence.

  “Guinie? Guinie, are you all right in there?”

  The knob slowly turned and Guinie pulled the door toward her. My breath hitched. She was breathtaking as she stood with one hand on the door and the other holding a running shoe.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” and a blush came over her face. I felt my morning wood grow harder as I imagined following the trail of that blush into the tight-fitting sports tank that she wore.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” She smiled sheepishly.

  “Tell me,” my voice coming out more concerned.

  “I fell.”

  I reached for her, grabbing her upper arm as my eyes searched her body, taking in again the too-tight workout tank, the black running pants that left nothing to the imagination, one covered foot, and one bare, with pink toe nails.

  “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” My voice rose with each question.

  She laughed.

  “I’m fine. I fell over trying to balance and put my sock on.” She giggled again, embarrassed.

  Relief washed over me. Recognition took its place. She could be slightly clumsy.

  I still held her arm and I let my hand smooth over her warm skin down to her wrist. I smiled slowly at her face.

  “Are you going running?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  It was her turn to appraise me. I felt her eyes roam over my body slowly, taking in each inch with a lick of her tongue, and I noticed her swallow as she looked at my bare chest. I was on the way to the shower and had only pulled on my jeans when I heard the noise next door. Nothing else. She seemed to stop for a moment at the dark path of hair below my navel that led into my pants. I knew my hip bones were exposed, as the jeans were low and unbuttoned at the top. Her eyes flicked farther down for one second, but I caught the glance. She noticed my morning hard-on.

  “You don’t look like you’re up for a morning run.” When she said the words, the blush grew again across her skin, turning her neck brighter red and her cheeks a brush of pink. Delicious, I thought.

  “I’ll change. Be ready in five.” I pointed with a hitched thumb over my shoulder into the room behind me.

  “No, I mean, you really don’t look like you could handle a run.”

  I had to blink as I processed her words. I’d been drinking the night before and I knew I slept restlessly. My head was pounding, but a shower and some coffee would fix that. She reached out her hand hesitantly as if she was going to smooth down my hair and then pulled her hand back abruptly, thinking twice about touching me.

  Did I repulse her?

  I was still holding her delicate wrist and I reached forward to push back a piece of her hair that escaped her ponytail. Keeping my fingers behind her ear for
a moment longer, I let my fingers slide to her bare neck and wrap around her nape.

  “Let me just have some coffee and I’ll go with you.”

  She shook her head.

  “I’ve been up for a while and I’m ready to go now. Just take your shower, get some coffee, and I’ll see you when I get back, okay?”

  “I don’t want today to be like yesterday,” I blurted.

  Guinevere tilted her head as she looked at me quizzically.

  “I want to spend time with you today,” I said as I brushed back the hair that was already securely behind her ear. I looked at her ear as I said the words and then back into her eyes. The blue color was deep and matched the morning lake.

  “Were you avoiding me yesterday?”

  Her eyes opened wide.

  “No,” and she shook her head for added emphasis. “I was trying to give you space. I don’t want to be in the way.”

  “You aren’t in the way, Guinie,” I said, softly stroking my thumb up and down her neck. “You might just be the way,” I muttered quietly. Her eyes stayed focused on mine and opened farther at my comment.

  “Spend the day with me today?” This time I asked her as if giving her the chance to say no, but hoping she would say yes.

  “Of course.” She smiled.

  We agreed to go out in my boat, and I met her in the foyer with a picnic basket in my hand and a backpack with towels over one shoulder. She skipped down the steps in white shorts and a navy-blue T-shirt with sunglasses propped on her head.

  “You have a suit, right?”

  She smiled and replied with a ‘yeah’ as I opened the door for her and we headed down the sloping drive to the waterfront below. Once at the boat, I jumped in and turned to help Guinevere. She held out her hand, but I reached over the dock and grabbed her under her arms, pulling her close to me before setting her down. I held her so she had to slide down my body and her legs wobbled when she landed. She’d played it off as the rocking motion of the boat, but I knew it had to be the effect of rubbing against me. I certainly felt shaky rubbing against her. I placed my hands on her hips and gently pushed her back so she wouldn’t feel my excitement, which I seemed to perpetually have today in her presence.