by L. B. Dunbar
“Dude,” I snapped at him, forcing him out of his flirtation.
“Lans, man.” Tristan reached for me and slapped me on the shoulder.
“What happened?”
“Arturo got her pregnant.”
“Obviously.”
“I came to see her this afternoon. Talia said she was resting and I said I would wait. As long as I was there, Talia wanted to go to the market. She said Guinie wasn’t feeling well, so I said I would stay. I heard Guinie crying, moaning actually, and when I entered the bedroom she was in the bathroom. Man, the blood.” Tristan stopped and shuddered.
“I rushed her here when she told me she was pregnant. I don’t think that much blood was normal, but I’m no expert.”
My hands were locked in my hair, holding my heavy bangs back as I took in deep breaths of air. It wasn’t what she needed. It was the last thing she needed.
A female doctor came out of the room. The same doctor as the night of Guinie’s kidnapping.
“Gentlemen.”
She began to walk away, almost as if she knew neither one of us was the father.
“What happened?” I asked, cutting off her retreat.
“She’s had a miscarriage.”
I choked and it was Tristan’s turn to run his hands through his dirty blond hair.
“How…how far along was she?” I questioned with concern. She didn’t seem like she was comfortable answering, and she eyed me for a moment before she looked at Tristan. I watched him step into her space and smile a crooked smile at her. That was all it took.
“Eight weeks. It’s not uncommon for this to happen, due to the amount of stress she’s under.”
“What happened?” I asked again.
“Her body simply rejected the fetus.”
“The baby,” I corrected without a thought.
She narrowed her eyes at me. I remembered that glare from the last time I stood before her.
“She needs rest. Her body will need time to heal…and so will her heart,” she added softly, before she broke her stare with me, nodded at Tristan, and stepped around him to continue down the hall.
I watched as she signed some papers. Then the blonde nurse approached Tristan to say Guinevere could be released, and she got off in half an hour. I left Tristan in the hall to finish working out his plans and entered Guinie’s room. For the first time in weeks she looked at me, tears slipped down her face as she shook her head at my approach. I swallowed hard before I spoke.
“I’m taking you home. The nurse said you can go. Do you need my help?”
“No,” she sobbed. “No, thank you. Just give me a minute to dress.”
I nodded and exited the room to wait for her. When she opened the door after a few moments, I noticed again how thin she was. She looked sunken in; her added sadness at the sudden loss only magnified the pain she wore within her face. She moved slowly, reaching for the wall to balance as she walked down the hall.
“Guinie,” I pleaded gently, as she walked ahead of me.
“I got it,” she grumbled, as she gripped the safety rail on the wall.
“Stop it,” I snapped as I reached for her. Slipping an arm around her back, I bent at the knees and picked her up, carrying her out of the hospital like Arturo had only months ago.
I had completely forgotten about Layne Ascolat, again, for Guinevere DeGrance.
When I drove to Arturo’s place, I texted Layne at stoplights to apologize.
Me: I’m so sorry. Something came up. Explain later.
Layne: Sure
Me: I promise. Later. Tomorrow?
Layne: Tomorrow would be perfect.
There were those words again. A promise of tomorrow with Layne, but I needed to take care of Guinie that night.
Arriving in the private garage, I guided Guinie out of my car. She didn’t speak and I didn’t encourage conversation. There wasn’t much to say at that point. What could I say? I didn’t know how Guinie felt, but sadness was written all over her.
I helped her into the apartment where Talia immediately began fussing over Guinie as I waited in the living room. I stood at those same windows, staring out into the city lights, cursing Arturo King. I’d never been angry at him. I never questioned him, but if he was alive, and he had let her suffer to the point of losing a baby, I was definitely damning him. God forgive me, I hated him at that moment. For a split second, I swore he better be dead. How could Arturo desert her?
Talia suggested I go home after a while, but I refused. I said I’d make myself at home in one of the guest rooms. It seemed that we had made Arturo’s home a revolving door of support, whether we needed to be here for Guinevere or for ourselves was undecided. The room was always ready for whoever stayed the night. Often times it was Kaye Sirs, as I wasn’t exactly comfortable spending the night without another person in the place. Deep down inside, I knew I didn’t trust myself to be alone with Guinie. I wouldn’t hurt her, but I wanted answers to her cold war against me. The unknown pregnancy could certainly have added to the guilt she harbored.
Around midnight, I heard a soft cry as I stared blindly at the late night television program. I don’t even know what I was watching. I was deep in thought instead, thinking about missed opportunities, when I heard the sound a second time. I wandered down the hall and stood outside Guinie’s door, listening. A whimper stole the silence.
“Guinie,” I said softly, leaning my head against the solid wood.
The air was heavy with breaths held and after several minutes, I heard the strangled sound again. Pushing open the door, I found Guinie curled into herself, hugging a pillow between her arms and chest. She didn’t turn in my direction as I spoke her name again. When she didn’t respond, I simply crawled onto the bed saying her name one more time. I slipped in behind her, my arms slowly encircling her, smoothing my fingers down her bare skin then clasping my hands over hers. I expected her to flinch. I anticipated it, but she didn’t move other than to slowly relax into me. Her back nestled into my chest, and I felt her shoulders slowly release tension. It was almost as if it was falling off of her, and I was more than willing to take the weight from her.
Eventually, I heard the even breathing of her and I could feel her racing heart of sadness slow into a steady pattern. I laid there for a long time in Arturo King’s bed, holding onto his girl, and cursing him further for making her suffer.
I was having the most glorious dream. A dream I’d often conjured after I kissed Guinevere DeGrance, all those years ago. I dreamt that I took her on that date I planned, and she kissed me again. Only that time, the innocent kiss led to more. Much more. I could feel her hand skim up my chest and slide around my neck to hold me tight against her breasts, as she whispered across my lips that she had wanted me as much as I wanted her. I imagined those lips gracing mine sweetly before turning into something deeper. A passion that simmered until a boil of kisses everywhere: my lips, my jaw, my neck. I could almost feel her breath mixed with mine, breathing me into her.
“Arturo?” she whispered, and I woke with a jolt.
“Where have you been?” she continued into the crease of my neck, skimming her nose along the juncture between my neck and shoulder. She kissed the muscle at the top of my arm and paused. I held perfectly still as she pressed a hand onto my chest and pushed herself upward.
“Lansing?”
Dazed blue eyes looked at me in utter confusion. She scanned between our bodies to find herself wrapped within my arms, her own chest hovering over mine, and her leg between my legs as her hips rested on mine.
“What are you doing here?” she said softly.
I blinked at her, afraid to answer other than the truth.
“I heard you crying.”
“Why are we like this?” She narrowed her eyes at me, as if I had done something.
“I feel asleep after you did.”
She rolled off of me and I felt empty, as empty as the look in her eyes. She lay on her back next to me, staring up at the ceiling.
<
br /> “I think you should go,” she said softly.
“Guinie,” I pleaded. “Don’t do this. Let me help you.”
“I don’t need your help. You need to stop trying to rescue me. Everyone needs to stop hovering.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Well, you need to stop getting into trouble,” I retorted. I sucked in a breath as I recalled the severity of what happened to Guinie. She hadn’t done that to herself. She had lost a baby.
“What happened?” I asked after a moment.
“I was pregnant.”
I waited knowing there was more.
“Arturo didn’t know. I was told that the tests the night of the kidnapping showed a positive, but it would have been so early…like literally, only two or three weeks. I wanted to wait until I knew something more definite.”
She paused and I gazed sideways at her. She sighed deeply before she continued.
“I found out for certain a few days before the fundraising concert. I wanted to tell Arturo before he left on tour. I wanted to tell him that night,” her voice began to shake. She didn’t need to say more. Arturo King had obviously not known he was to be a father, again.
When Arturo found out he was a father the first time, things were complicated. He had only recently been reunited with his mother, acknowledged by a father, who died before they could meet, and discovered that he had passionate sex with his unknown stepsister. Add to that the fact that he had a son whom he didn’t know existed. Arturo was a mess in his private affairs. Publicly, he was becoming a shooting star and with it rose the band.
I had my own personal demons along with Arturo. I had found out within those years that, I too, had come from a powerful man named Ben Wicke, and his beautiful wife, Ellen. Unfortunately, Ben had died from a heart attack when I was only a toddler and Ellen had a nervous breakdown. I wasn’t raised by my natural parents, just like Arturo hadn’t been raised by his. I had a foster mother, though, who turned out to be a liar. I didn’t like to dwell on Vivian DuLac. I was always conflicted when it came to my feelings about her, but I did think of her as I questioned what type of mother Guinevere would have been, and what kind of father I could be one day, as well.
As a band we hadn’t discussed our postponed concert. Kaye Sirs took care of things as our manager, and my mind had been such a blur, the last month or more, I didn’t stop to question the process of that postponement. I assumed ticket sales were returned, venues cancelled, and an announcement made. I was beginning to think the world tour needed to be on indefinite hold. I hadn’t felt sorry for the band collectively as an entity, but suddenly I did. I added to my list of curses at Arturo King: the loss of not only his person, his baby, and his troubled girl, but the loss of the band. We didn’t know what to do without him. We functioned in a routine of numbness, wandering in and out of his apartment. Perk had been lost to me lately with his new girl, and Tristan was losing himself in booze and women at a rapidly growing pace. I realized I was barely functioning myself. When Guinevere told me a second time I should go, I decided to leave. I needed something for me. I called Layne.
Layne answered on the second ring, as if she had been waiting for me. I couldn’t do a date, but I didn’t want to wait to see her. I asked her to meet me for coffee. It was only late morning anyway and I just wanted to share an apology with her.
“Something happened to Guinie and I needed to be there,” I said, once I sat across from her at the coffee shop between our two apartment buildings. Layne nodded once before looking out the window at the busy street life. I noticed she wore her hair looser, but the front was still pulled back with some elaborate braid. Tons of thick curls swirled around her neck and down her back. I briefly wondered what it would be like to wrap my hands in that hair and place my lips on her china white neck. She wore a red sweater that somehow accentuated her highlights when it should have clashed. Her brown eyes looked troubled when they returned to mine.
“You always place her first.” She smiled weakly.
I didn’t know how to respond. I did pick Guinevere all those years ago over Layne, but nothing happened between Guinevere and I after that one moment. Somehow, I think Layne knew that.
“We never dated.”
“I know,” she sighed deeply, “but you wanted to. What happened?”
I couldn’t tell Layne. I wanted to be honest with her, but I couldn’t tell her the truth of what I had learned the following day.
“It’s a long story,” I said and stalled by sipping my coffee.
I felt Layne watching me, waiting, but I wasn’t going to answer. She seemed to know that so she asked me something else.
“Why not me?”
I blinked. I didn’t know how to respond to that any more than I could plan to respond to the question of what happened.
“It isn’t you…” I started, but she held up a hand to stop me.
“Don’t say it…” she laughed softly, bitterly. She seemed to be thinking and I let her have her thoughts as I questioned myself. Why hadn’t I picked Layne? She was pretty, though I don’t recall her being as beautiful before. She was sweet, but I sensed an eagerness in her. She was unknowingly seductive, despite her innocence. Not for the first time, I felt myself slowly react to Layne. I had to admit I enjoyed spending time with her.
“Wanna do something today?” she said breaking into my thoughts.
“Sure,” I blurted. With no concert, no band practice, and no Guinevere, I didn’t have anything else to do.
I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was, when Layne had the cab drop us off behind the Lexington Opera House. We were able to enter the backstage doors as someone else was leaving.
“Did you get a gig here?” I asked. I wasn’t sure that was the right term for singing opera, and Layne only shook her head, but smiled. We wandered through the narrow halls, and even narrower ropes for curtains, as Layne said hello to various people. They all knew her name. When we finally arrived just off stage, we were greeted by an older gentleman, who Layne introduced as Hank.
“Layne, honey, you’re going to wear yourself out,” he laughed at her, as she beamed up at him.
“Lock up when you’re done and don’t get caught.”
I didn’t question what he meant as Layne hugged the gray-haired man, who blushed before releasing her.
“Now, none of that, honey. You know I’m a sucker for the ladies which my wife doesn’t appreciate.” He winked at Layne and addressed me, “You’re a lucky man.”
My mouth opened to deny that Layne and I were together, but I decided it wasn’t worth the explanation. She reached for my hand and dragged me onto the stage. The opera house was dark except for a dim spotlight highlighting the center of the wooden floor.
“Have a seat,” she said and waved her hand toward the red velvet rows. I wasn’t sure I wanted to jump down. I was looking over my shoulder to the backstage to see that it was suddenly pitch black. I wouldn’t have known where to go to find a staircase.
“Here,” she said and she guided me to the edge of the stage. “Just sit here, let your feet hang over. I don’t know if I can do this after all, knowing you’re watching me.”
I did as she directed. She seemed nervous but giddy.
“Now, close your eyes,” she said softly to my ear, as she placed her hands on my shoulders once I sat.
“What’s going on?”
“Don’t you trust me?” her voice hinted at a smile. Her face was lit up like the day before and I had to smile slowly back at her. She was flirting with me and I was being an idiot not to catch on.
I turned my back on her and let my eyes close as I gripped the edge of the stage. My legs dangled. I could hear Layne’s heels click softly across the wooden floor then stop. She cleared her throat and began a slow melody. I didn’t recognize the song or the words. They were distinctly foreign, but her voice. My God, her voice. If her appearance was beautiful, her voice could only be described as heavenly. A sissy sounding word, but it was the best I
could think of. Her voice was soothing and romantic. I felt as if I was being seduced.
The tempo was changing and I swear, despite the language, it sounded like she was building up to have an orgasm. Her voice rose in speed as if she was trying to catch her breath, as if I were pleasuring her and the pressure was building. I couldn’t help myself; a body part of mine began to rise, as well. I had to adjust my jeans and her pace quickened. She was suddenly taking sharp, short breaths, gasping as if she was being pounded at the pace of a heartbeat while she was entered over and over and over. I was rock hard in my jeans and had to lean back on my hands to allow for the growth in my pants.
My palms were beginning to sweat. I let her voice consume me, wash over my body and tempt me. Her voice rose to that strangled height of release, she called out my name in song as if I had caused her to burst forth the glorious tension. She sucked in a final breath and let it out slowly, finishing her piece with a sigh of relief. I might have actually jizzed a bit in my pants.
I was still so enthralled with her voice and the sensation of it over me, that for a brief moment I understood how all those women claimed to orgasm at the sound of Arturo. I was still in my daze, when hands slid around my chest and legs straddled my body from behind. She breathed into my ear.
“Did you like that?”
I could only nod with a slight moan. I felt worked over even though nothing had happened.
“Lansing?”
“Hmmm…?” I tilted my head back knowing she was resting hers against my neck.
“How much did you like it?” she asked, as her hands cautiously descended down my chest, across my abs, and brushed lightly over the bulge in my jeans.
I sat up immediately, like an embarrassed school boy, and Layne pulled back directly.
“I didn’t mean…I’m so sorry…I just heard…” Layne was rambling so quickly. Her own embarrassment was just as evident in her voice.
