by L. B. Dunbar
Guinevere looked at me with her eyes a smoky blue that pierced me.
“You can’t cancel band practice? I thought you were on a break.”
I shrugged. “Things change.”
“Well, change them back,” she said, surprised.
“I can’t. The guys are lined up to come over. I’m on a roll at the moment. I don’t want to stop.”
“Well, we don’t always get what we want.”
“Steal that from a song?” I laughed, a bit bitterly.
I watched her push herself out of her bed. She had on shorty shorts and a camisole top for pajamas. Her long legs were almost completely exposed and I had a flash of her thighs over mine last night. I knew what the trouble was as I felt myself grow hard instantly. I needed to get laid. I needed it quick and fast to wipe away the mood, but it wasn’t going to be Guinevere who gave me the release I craved because she immediately turned her back on me and headed into her bathroom. I waited for a moment before I realized the shower was running and she wasn’t coming back to face me.
I made my way to the kitchen after a brief shower of my own. My hair was still wet and the edge of my T-shirt was damp from the choppy curls at the back of my neck. I entered the room to find a plethora of women. Ingrid, Ana, Guinevere. The cook. A maid. And Morte.
I sighed deeply.
“Good morning, Arturo,” my mother greeted me with some type of warning in her voice.
“Good morning,” I mumbled as I helped myself to coffee.
“What are your plans today with Morte?” she asked, knowing there must be an issue.
“No plans. I have practice. We can hang later.”
Ingrid’s face dropped at my dismissal of my own son. She pursed her lips in a way that showed her disappointment in my behavior. I couldn’t imagine how many times I would have seen that face if I had grown up under her care. The truth was I hadn’t grown up under her guidance and I wasn’t about to change for her now. Despite knowing her for years and accepting her as my mother, I did not always appreciate her admonishments of my attitude or my lifestyle.
“Morte and I have plans now.” Guinevere smiled at Morte, which only added salt to the wound. My mother’s head swung to look at Guinie.
“What are you going to do together?” she said with pinched eyebrows.
Guinevere shrugged.
“Hunt frogs,” Morte replied with excitement.
“That’s disgusting,” Ana said as Guinevere replied, “That’s right,” with a shake of her head.
Morte beamed at Guinie again, and I felt my adrenaline rush within my body. I involuntarily clenched and unclenched my fist.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said without knowing why I chose to comment.
Guinevere looked at me for a long moment. The tension in the air was thick and I didn’t like it. I wanted the euphoric feeling from the night before to return between us.
“I think it’s a perfect idea,” she said, looking at me defiantly.
“I want you to come to the barn. You have an audition tape to make.”
“Not now, later.” She narrowed her eyes at me.
“No, now,” I said as if I was a five-year-old child. “You said you would do it today. Remember … last night,” I emphasized.
“Things change,” she threw my words back at me.
“I think we should take care of it today.”
“And I think,” she looked at Morte for a long moment, “you should spend time with your son,” she blurted.
The collective gasp sucked all the air out of the room.
“What did you say?” I growled at Guinevere, narrowing my eyes almost to slits.
Guinevere looked in horror at Morte. “I’m so sorry, Morte. I promised.”
“What do you mean, you promised, Guinevere?” I continued to glare as Guinevere walked cautiously over toward Morte, who sat with his head down, looking at his lap as his legs swung under the table.
I watched Guinevere bend down to Morte’s level and stroke his long hair off his forehead again. I could feel the cold eyes of Ana burning a hole in my heart. Ingrid still had a hand over her mouth, perhaps to hold in the words threatening to tumble forward.
“I promised Morte I wouldn’t say anything,” Guinie said in Morte’s direction, “but he knows.” She turned to look at me over her shoulder for a moment before she stood to her full height again and stared at me.
“He knows you’re his father. And he knows you are ashamed of that fact.”
I felt my face fall.
“And I think you should spend time with him today, like you promised.”
“Oh, and you are so good at keeping promises; you’re an expert now.” A vein in my neck thumped with the coursing growth of my angry mood.
“I would think you of all people would be more understanding of the need for a father-son relationship,” she said softly.
I could feel my blood pulsing through my body, shaking with rage. Ingrid looked at me again in disappointed shock and tried to cut me off from speaking, warning me.
“Arturo, don’t speak to Guinevere…” she said as if scolding a child, but stopped when I glared at her.
“What? You think you know me after a week,” I turned on Guinevere before turning back to Ingrid. “She’s known me what, for all of a week, and she’s telling me what I should do? Well, I…” I returned my gaze to Guinevere, but the damage was done. The hurt on her face couldn’t have been spelled out any more than if there was a neon sign above her head highlighting it.
I saw her shoulders give in and she tucked her head down, taking a step back and bumping into the kitchen table behind her. She stood moments ago as a centurion, protective, and standing up for Morte, but now she looked defeated.
“Guinie, I didn’t mean…”
But she was shaking her head at me to stop talking. She turned to Morte and said something softly. Without answering her, he slipped off the chair and took her hand in his, pulling her gently toward the side door to exit the house.
“Dammit,” I said as I took a step forward, but Ana, who had been uncommonly silent during this interchange, blocked me.
“Let her go.”
I looked directly into Ana’s face. “No.”
She sighed as she shook her head at me.
“For now. Give her some time to cool down. And you need time as well.”
I looked out the window of the door to see Morte’s hand still wrapped around Guinevere’s, guiding her toward the front of the house and presumably the drive down to the lake.
“Fuck,” I groaned as I turned and threw my coffee mug at the backsplash above the sink counter.
Guinevere
I wasn’t sure how much time passed as Morte and I hunted the shallow waters of a creek within the woods for frogs. I wanted to tell myself it didn’t matter how much time. I would spend all day with Morte making up for the rudeness of his father. I would spend all day because I didn’t want to lay eyes on him in my anger. I would spend all day without thinking of Arturo because of the hurt he caused me.
But then I would think of last night just for a moment and seconds felt like hours of separation. I was thankful for the distraction of Morte and his enthusiasm for hunting frogs; however, I realized that if it weren’t for Morte there would have been no argument. I refused to blame the boy, though. It was not his fault that Arturo didn’t recognize him at least privately as his son or pay attention to him like he promised.
I felt guilty that I betrayed Morte’s secret and swore immediately to myself that I would spend a lifetime making it up to him even though he really wasn’t my concern. He should have been the concern of his father. His father. A man I would have thought would be more sympathetic based on all he revealed when we were on the boat the other day. A man who I was beginning to believe was better than all the gossipy rumors about him. A man I was beginning to believe didn’t keep his promises either.
I looked at Morte’s sweet face and his goofy smile, and
I tried not to let my sympathy for him show. It was hard to be the son of someone famous. My own father wasn’t half as famous as Morte’s father and I still had a hard time in his shadow. He had always been a good father, giving me what I needed, and I was never for want, but there were times I could have used more of a father and less of a businessman. I could have used more attention for no other reason than I was his daughter, rather than a good social companion. I could have used more truthful recognition of who I was, instead of who he assumed I would be. Less rock bands. More Guinevere time.
As Morte pulled me deeper into the woods, I was losing my bearings on which direction we came from. I could no longer see the path and the light was growing dimmer as the high cover of trees blocked out more and more of the bright sunlight. Before I knew it, we stumbled onto the street below the house, but I couldn’t see the building from wherever we were. I looked left, then right, not sure which way was back to the house.
“What do you think, Master Morte? Left or right?”
He shrugged as he looked both ways then turned to the right. We walked along the curving road for several feet before crossing to the water’s edge to continue our search for things slimy, bumpy, and ribbiting.
After several more minutes of no luck finding our prey, and no further recognition of where we were, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t have my cell phone as we had left hastily from the kitchen without stopping. Morte didn’t seem to have a care, but I was beginning to get concerned that more time than I might have thought had passed, and Ana might be worried about Morte.
On second thought, I recalled that Ana said nothing during this morning’s revealing interchange. Not one word. This seemed unlike her despite only knowing her for such a short time. I decided Ana saved her earful for Arturo until after I exited.
As Morte stopped again to look in the water’s shallow depths, a car pulled to a slow crawl and finally a stop just past us. I watched the taillights brake and then the vehicle reversed. It was a low, sleek, flashy red sports car and Mel Agent smiled seductively at me out the open window. His aviator glasses were placed on his head in his overly-styled blond hair.
“Hello, princess. Who do we have here?” he said, eying Morte.
“This is Morte LeFaye.”
“Ana’s son?”
“Yep.”
Mel looked Morte over for a moment before returning his dark brown eyes to me.
“Need a ride somewhere?” he asked, in a voice like he was trying to seduce me. “You know I’d give you a ride anywhere you want, Guinie.” He smiled brightly.
“Thank you,” I falsely returned the smile, “but we were hunting frogs.” I paused for a moment, hesitant whether to ask or not. “Do you happen to know which way is Arturo’s home? Camlann? I’m a bit turned around and I’m not sure if we are before it or after it.”
Mel exaggerated his look out the window behind the car then looked out the front windshield before responding.
“I think it might be up ahead,” and he pointed with a flick of his wrist that he dangled casually over the steering wheel. He didn’t seem confident in his answer and I didn’t think we had walked behind Arturo’s home, but rather in front of it somehow.
“Thanks. Do you have the time as well?”
“Don’t you have a phone?” he said as he dramatically flipped his arm, twisting his wrist to look at his large, shiny silver Tag Heuser.
“It’s after one.” He eyed me again, strolling up my exposed legs and coasting over my stomach to pause on my breasts before climbing my neck and taking in my face. “Are you alone out here without a phone?” He licked his lips and I suddenly felt devoured and in need of a shower.
I was slightly afraid to answer his question directly.
“Morte and I better get back.”
I stepped away from the car and closer to Morte, who had stopped his searching to take in the adult conversation. He looked at Mel with the evil eye only a child can pull off and be considered cute. With Morte’s pale face and emerald-green eyes, he looked almost frightening, bordering on possessed, as he stared at Mel.
Mel gunned the purring engine before he took off slowly. I had a strange feeling he was still watching me in the rearview mirror as he drove away until he turned the first bend in the road and disappeared.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and turned to look at Morte, whose gaze had followed the car.
“Are we lost?” he asked innocently, then looked up into my eyes quizzically.
“I’m afraid, I think so. I’m not familiar with around here and I have to admit I don’t know where we are.”
“We should start walking that way.” He pointed in the opposite direction from Mel’s suggestion. I agreed and we began a slow meandering along the curving road. Sticking to the edge of the water seemed to be a better plan than wandering back into the woods, and I decided the next person to pass I would flag down and ask to call the house.
More time passed and Morte began to grumble that he was thirsty. I didn’t have much experience with children and I was worried that he might start to cry or complain. To my surprise, he held my hand again and said nothing further as we continued to walk. I was becoming concerned that I didn’t recognize anything. I even tried to search along the coastline of the lake to find a hint of Arturo’s boat, but nothing was standing out to me.
More time passed.
Eventually Morte gave into to being a child and complained that he was too tired to walk any longer. I knew he was too big for me to carry and I suggested we sit down to rest for a while on a strip of grass at the water’s edge that bordered the road that wasn’t someone’s property. As we sat for a few minutes, I heard another car approaching and I said a silent prayer of thank you. This time I would not decline an offered ride.
My prayer being answered, it was Arturo.
He brought the car to a slow stop and opened the door with force. I stood quickly, brushing off the seat of my shorts. I was ready to run to him with relief, forgive him immediately for all that happened this morning, and ask his forgiveness in return, but the look on his face still spoke of his anger, and I stopped short a foot or two from the vehicle that stood dark and menacing even in the light of day. Morte came to stand in front of me as if a knight in shining armor, protecting me. He stood ready for battle with his little hands on his hips, barely taller than my waist.
Arturo stopped in his brisk pace at Morte’s stance. He looked down at his boots and slid his hands into his front pockets. He seemed to be taking deep breaths to calm himself as he considered what he would say.
“You guys okay?”
“We’re lost,” Morte blurted out.
Arturo looked up into my eyes, but I didn’t speak. I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to be bold, but I was sure the hurt from earlier was still written on my face. Arturo rocked back on his heels once.
“Want a ride?” he asked, shrugging his shoulder toward the car.
Morte turned to look at me. “We didn’t take a ride from the creepy guy, but can we take a ride with him?”
“What creepy guy?” Arturo spit out, but when I looked at him, he bit his own lip to stop himself from speaking. It was damningly cute.
“We can take a ride from Arturo, of course,” I said, forcing the best smile I could for Morte. He looked at me for a moment as if trying to read something on my face and then turned to walk toward the passenger side of the car. I followed and held the seat forward while Morte climbed into the back. I was about to seat myself in the car when a soft rap on the top of the car made me look up at Arturo. He had his hands placed flat on the roof, crossed at the wrists like in bondage.
I’m sorry, he mouthed to me.
I smiled weakly at him over the top of the dark-gray vehicle and slipped into the front seat. He stood for a moment longer outside his door then entered it silently. He started the engine and pulled into the street, turning the car in the opposite direction than Morte and I had been walking. As he drove,
I began to realize just how far the two of us had wandered. I still refused to speak, but I felt I must apologize for keeping Morte away for so long. On the other hand, I was certain that Arturo continued his day as he planned and hadn’t a care how long we had been gone from the house. Still mentally arguing with myself, Arturo spoke.
“Are you two hungry?”
“Yes,” Morte sighed dramatically and I had to giggle at the exaggeration.
“How about some ice cream in town?”
“I haven’t had lunch yet,” Morte complained. “Mother doesn’t let me have a treat until I eat meals first.”
Arturo looked hesitantly at me, and I shrugged a shoulder in response.
“Well, your mother’s not here, so how about ice cream first and then a cheeseburger at Andie’s. Our secret,” he said in the rearview mirror to Morte with a smile.
“Yeah,” Morte said, and I could hear the excitement in his voice. I could sense the smile on his pale face without even having to look at him, and I forgave Arturo a little bit more.
Arturo
She was so damn beautiful. We had only been separated for a few hours, but she was so breathtaking and I felt like I had forgotten until I saw her again. Relief washed over me when I found them sitting on the side of the lake, dangling their legs toward the water. They had been gone for over four hours, and I had spent two of them frantically pacing. I wanted to follow after them before an hour ended, but I forced myself to stay another hour in the barn.
My band mates felt I shouldn’t have stayed for one minute. I had been unbearable and I knew it. Every lick on the guitar was wrong to my ears. Every harmony was out of sync. Every drum beat was out of rhythm. I overreacted to everything. Mure finally told the boys to go home and he pushed me to concentrate for the last hour alone.
It was no good. All I could think about were the words Guinevere said and the hurt look on her face. I wanted to punch my own face for having put that look on hers. I wanted to reach out to her right now and comfort her, apologize profusely, but the vibe coming off of her demanded I didn’t try to touch her. She fidgeted in her seat, keeping her hands placed in her lap between her thighs. I couldn’t think of her thighs, not now. That had been my other thought all morning. I had destroyed what we had the night before. If I thought she slipped away a little last night afterward, she was fully removed from me now.