“Oh, you stink,” I said as I pushed away from him.
“Yeah,” he slurred.
He let go of me and grabbed my bags, reaching past me and nuzzling against my breast as he did. I scratched the top of his head like he was some big clumsy dog. Stinky and drunk or not, I did love this man.
“How long have you been drinking?” I asked.
“I dunno, since before you left Nashville.”
“Okay then, let’s get you to bed.”
“Can’t make babies,” he slurred heading up a flight of stairs, “whisky dick.”
“I didn’t mean sex,” I said as I followed him. “I meant sleep.”
He was drunk and probably not even aware of what he was saying.
I followed him up into what was actually a flat.
The stately home, it turned out was three rather size-able flats. The matching house to the left, was actually a matching house, apparently exactly the same but in mirror image. These were the condominiums of the nineteen-twenties.
His front door opened onto an entry. There was a long table on one side with a large leafy green plant, it appeared to be a mail and keys collection table, a bike leaned against the opposite wall. A pair of boots, and an umbrella stand completed the furnishings. A framed print of Persistence of Memory by Salvador Dali hung above the bike. Above that, and disappearing beyond the stairs was a half wall of glass bricks. The entry was maybe eight feet deep before the stairs began. They led straight back and up from the front door. After what seemed like a full flight up there was a small landing, then the stairs turned to the right and another short flight into the flat.
I didn’t see much since everything was pretty dark, the only lights seemed to be on in the other end of the flat. What I could see were the floors were hardwood, the ceilings were tall, and the walls were pale and covered with framed prints and bookshelves. I’d explore in the morning, right now I wanted a bathroom and a bed with a large Ares teddy bear. My romance novel inspired lusts were quelled by his drunken state, and smell. Even so I wanted a good kiss, and I had not yet received one.
Ares dropped my bags just inside a door, and pointed to the bathroom around the corner.
“Don’t move, I’ll be right back.” I said as I made for the bathroom.
I returned and put on my sleep shirt and pants. It looked like Ares literally hadn’t moved, he swayed in place where he dropped my bags.
“You need to go to sleep,” I said as I guided him toward his bed. I pushed him into a sitting position on the end of the bed.
“Can’t.” he slurred.
“Sleep not sex,” I said as I helped off with his shoes, and pulled the Y-shirt he had on over his head.
I began to unbutton his pants, and he grabbed my hands. “I can do that,” he said, as he slipped them off the rest of the way and crawled under the comforter.
He had a large bed. I thought my queen at home was large, but this was huge. As large as the bed was, I was pulled into Ares’s gravitational field. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders as he nestled his head onto my chest. He was snoring within seconds.
Fourteen
The phone jangled loudly and woke me into reality with a disorienting yank.
I scrambled in my bag for the phone
“Mommy!” squealed from the phone.
“Good morning baby.”
I slipped from the bedroom, not wanting to wake Ares, and went in search of a place to sit.
Immediately outside of the bedroom, next to the bathroom was a contemporary, slightly funky print love seat. I headed the opposite way down the short hall into what turned out to be the living room. I took one glimpse at the detritus of Ares’s drinking last night and returned to the love seat by the bathroom.
“Did you sleep okay sweetie?” I asked.
“I miss you Mommy,” Bree trilled.
“I miss you too, are you being good for Nana?”
“Nana is making us pancakes,” she announced.
“Oh wow, pancakes, are they good?” Four year old conversation styles leave much to be desired, especially if I was actually seeking information. But right now I was just happy to hear Bree’s little voice.
“Is Cassidy there? Can I say good morning to her?” I asked.
I heard the phone being set down, I could hear Miss Angie’s voice, but I couldn’t hear anything specific.
Bree had yet to master the art of passing the phone, and hanging it up. She usually just set it down where she was and would wander off.
“Miss Angie! Angie!” I barked into the phone, hoping she could hear me.
“Elizabeth is that you?” she asked as she found the receiver and picked it up. “Why are you calling so early?”
“Yes, hi, Bree called me. She must have just set the phone down. Is Cassidy awake? I’d like to say good morning.”
“Why certainly let me get her. Oh, I did get your message last night. I am glad you arrived safely. How is your friend?”
“He is grieving, he’s asleep now. I really won’t know more for a few more hours. Basically he passed out as soon as I got here.”
“Please give him my condolences.”
“I will, thank you.”
I heard her pass the phone over to Cassidy. “Mommy!”
“Are you getting ready for school?” I asked.
“I am, can I say hi to Ares?”
“Not just now, he’s asleep.”
“I made him a picture. Nana said he must be really sad right now, and so I made him a picture, so he won’t be sad anymore,” she told me.
“That sounds very sweet, I’ll give Nana the address, and maybe you can mail it to him. I bet he would like that.”
Cassidy passed the phone back to her grandmother, we made arrangements for me to call just before bedtime, and for the girls’ drawings to be sent. It wasn’t until after we hung up that I realized it was five in the morning local time.
I felt wide awake, my body clock thought it was seven.
I opened the door to peek in on Ares. The room had the cloying closed in smell of a sick room. When he woke, I would give it a good airing out.
I thought of how if this was a romance novel I would sneak in, gaze upon his beautiful face, marvel at how his hair spread like a smoldering halo on the pillow beneath his head, become aroused by his manly musk. I would delicately move the covers and awaken him by taking his manhood into my mouth and gently tease him to consciousness. But this was reality, I couldn’t see his face, he was a lumpy mound under the covers. Tangles of black hair stuck out in all directions, and there was nothing erotic about his smell. With a snort and a grunt he rolled over. Stifling a giggle I grabbed my things and headed for the shower.
I gave myself the nickel tour of his apartment. There was a wide central hallway, stairs to the front at one end, one side was lined in bookshelves. The hall widened into the living room at the other end. It was furnished in non-matching, older styled, but high quality items. The couch was striped, the one chair was a floral, the other a classic leather Eames lounge chair and ottoman. I figured the Eames was probably originally his and the rest hand me downs from his sisters and mother. The side tables were covered in plants. There was a small tree in the corner. Clearly Ares had some plant magic, it wasn’t just being capable of taking care of my yard.
A sound system and large screen TV were along one wall, and a built in bookcase along the opposite. The walls were hung with several gold albums and late eighteen hundreds French posters.
I noticed under the plethora of bottles the room was actually quite tidy. Actually the entire flat was. I wondered if Ares was the type to clean in his grief, was he actually a neat freak, or did he OCD clean on a regular basis? I can’t say I noticed any of these tendencies previously. I had no way of knowing.
The living room was opposite from and opened onto a kitchen and dining area. What I first thought was a second bedroom, that shared a common wall with the kitchen, turned out to be his music room-slash-office. There was
a computer desk in the corner along with several home office accessories. The room was full of musical instruments. There was a small stack of amplifiers in one corner, three guitars leaned against those. An electric piano keyboard was on a stand, and more electric basses were scattered around. A large classical stand up bass was propped in the corner. And there was a hard case for another smaller instrument that looked like a cello. It wasn’t a band practice space by any means, but an individual practice space, and probably where he did most of his writing. The walls were covered in performance posters for AudioVox and other bands I didn’t recognize.
The kitchen was separated from the living room by a half wall, and a dining table. Through the kitchen was a back entrance that led to a laundry room, back porch, and a back set of outdoor stairs.
I decided before I could make any decisions, I required coffee. As I made and drank my coffee the early morning gloom set in. The sky lightened but never cleared of cloud cover. A light rain sprinkled drops on a large corner bank of windows in the kitchen. It was a lovely kitchen, clean and white with updated stainless steel appliances, with black and red tile accents. He even had an herb planter, much larger than the one he set up for me at home.
I finished my coffee and decided to find out what a goth-punk rock musician listened to when he was depressed.
Opera of course.
The CD changer was loaded with Carmina Burana by Orff and Wagner’s Ring. I hit play. Ride of the Valkyries blasted forth. In a panic I turned the system off, then I found the volume. Turning the volume way down, I hit play again. The music was big and dramatic, it seemed fitting. I perused his CD collection. It was extensive, and alphabetized. He had some obscure new wave stuff, lots of heavy metal, classic rock, opera, electronica, punk, rap, jazz, even some country. He had a diverse collection. I’m not sure why, but this surprised me.
I located some classic Queen, and set to collecting bottles. There were empty beer bottles all over in the living room. There was a collection of half empty wine bottles on the coffee table. Something spilled, at least I hoped it was a spill and not bodily fluids, on the couch covered with a wet towel, and a bottle of wine was on its side on the floor resting in a pool of red liquid.
All the bottles went onto the kitchen counter. After some poking around I located cleaning supplies. I mopped the pool of red wine, fortunately it completely missed the area rug, as that had been kicked up, assuming out of the way.
I pulled the covers from the couch cushions, and was pleased to see the spill had not soaked into the cushions. The towel soaked up most of the liquid. The covers and the towel went into the laundry, I wiped down the table, and finished by giving the floor a once over with a Swiffer mop. I opened the window to let some cool fresh air in.
I moved to the music room next, after collecting a few beer bottles, and an empty bottle of bourbon, nothing needed doing in there.
Back in the kitchen I located some ibuprofen, Echinacea, and vitamin C pills. I set these aside, and filled a tall glass with water from the filter on the sink. I didn’t know if he would be hungry or hungover when he woke up, so, I decided to be prepared for both.
In the refrigerator I found two covered casseroles. He said he could cook, but I didn’t really know if he was much of a cook, since I had done most of that when he was at my house. Casseroles and death typically meant someone had cooked for him and delivered the dishes.
After I rinsed the bottles, and located a bag to store them in for recycling, I was at a loss. Nothing in the flat needed me to clean it, and the one person who did need me was fast asleep.
I had some “me” time, so I retrieved the book I had been reading from my pile of bags and positioned myself in the Eames to read.
This time I didn’t mentally replace the novel’s hero with Ares. Ares was too big, too real. He was entirely too drunk and human right now to be much of a hero. I couldn’t help myself but to chuckle at the story. In classic romance novel fashion, in the midst of peril the protagonists found time and place to have mind-blowing sex, and yet they were in a clear mental state to return to the danger at hand, and reign supreme. Just the thought of mental focus after mind-blowing sex with Ares, well that is just not possible. This author really had no concept of how mind numbing a really good fuck could be. There was no functioning after Ares delivered the big O. I certainly had no plans on renting Ares out to demonstrate for her.
I just finished the chapter when Ares’s ringtone blared from my phone. Perfect timing.
“Good morning sleepy head,” I cooed.
“Shh, don’t say head,” he grumbled in a sleep-laden voice. “I got extremely drunk last night, and I don’t want to give the hangover gods any ideas.”
“Um, okay then.”
“I woke up and my pillow smells like you, I just had to call, I miss you so much.”
“Ares, I’m in the living room,” I explained.
“Oh, so when is your flight? How soon will you be here?”
“You were drunk, sweetie, I am in your living room.”
I heard the phone drop, a few thumps came from the bedroom, and he was barreling down the hall to me. He was a disheveled mess. His huge stature was emphasized by the huge bed-head birds’ nest hair.
His brows were drawn together in confusion and pain. Clearly the hangover gods were not going to be nice this morning.
“You don’t remember me getting, here do you?” I asked as he engulfed me in his arms.
His chest rumbled as he spoke. “I thought I dreamed that part.”
I couldn’t hold him tight enough, he was warm with that just woke up sleepy body warmth. He dipped his head to kiss me.
His breath was hot and fetid. He smelled of sickly sweet sweat and sour urine, and tasted of drunk-- stale whisky, sour wine, and beer, and morning after mouth, the kind that feels and tastes like a rodent nest. Love compensates for a lot, because right then at that moment, I was happy to kiss him, as gross as he was. I knew I had missed him, but not how badly until then. He slid his hands onto my back, one up under my shirt and the other slid further down into my waist band. He started to undo my bra, and was massaging my bottom. He started to deepen the kiss. Another romance novel moment spoiled by reality.
“Eww, no, Ares, you stink.” I squirmed his hands out of my clothes.
“But I missed you so much,” he purred.
“And I missed you, but no, you’re disgusting.” I shoved at him to get him to back off.
“And still drunk.” He sighed with remorse squinting at the front of his shorts. They were not tenting up romance novel fashion.
Giving him a quick squeeze I turned him around and pushed him toward the bathroom. “Take a shower now, romance me later.”
“Head first,” he said pointing to his forehead. He followed me into the kitchen where I handed him the ibuprofen and vitamins, I had set out earlier. He tossed them down then drained the glass of water. “I’m going to be hungry.” He warned.
“I’ll heat this up,” I said as I pulled the lasagna from the refrigerator.
He mumbled something as he shuffled away to the bathroom. The shower started and I quickly pulled the sheets from the bed. I didn’t want to miss my opportunity. I must have been tired to be able to sleep with that stench, and he had sweated so much in his sleep. Clean sheets and an open window would fix the smell in the bedroom.
I cycled out the laundry, found a non-upholstered chair to drape the couch cushion over for drying. I tossed in the bedding, and set the load to wash as soon as Ares was out of the shower.
I busied myself getting food ready, I turned on the oven, found a plate and silverware, located a baking dish, cut a few servings from the casserole, and set that into the oven to warm up.
I rummaged through his cupboards, just trying to orient myself in his kitchen, when a woman entered through the back laundry porch. She was tall, and well dressed. She appeared to be in her late forties or early fifties. She had on too much make-up and was in need of a root touch u
p for her shoulder length dark hair. She wore a classic grey pinstripe Chanel style suit. Everything a fashion magazine would identify as female power business executive. Her sudden appearance, rather brash attitude, and the fact that I was snooping through Ares cupboards caught me off guard.
“Um, can I help you?” I asked, not that I could have, having just gotten here the night before.
“Who are you?” Her words were clipped and precise.
“Excuse me?” I was clearly at a disadvantage, and not appreciating being in this position at all.
“What are you doing here?” She rephrased her question.
“Ahh.” No words came to me.
“Right, I think you need to find your way right back out of here.” She indicated the back door she had just entered through. More to herself she muttered, “I swear these fans get a little more brazen and a little older every year.”
“I’m sorry,” I finally found my voice. “Who are you? If anyone needs to leave it’s probably you barging in here.”
“Well,” she began, our attention was drawn to a few loud thumps in the hallway. She raised her voice considerably, “Tommy, who is this girl in here, do you need me to get rid of her?”
She called him Tommy, clearly, she was one of his sisters. I looked closer, looking for similarities. She had the same sharp nose, but her eyes were a different shape and a clear green.
“Ah geez, not so loud, would ya,” he said as he lumbered into the kitchen. We were clean, wearing sweats, an aged T-shirt, and had a towel turban style around his head.
The woman stood in the middle of the kitchen with her arms crossed, purse hanging from her shoulder, and foot tapping. She was clearly used to being in charge, and not happy that she was not fully in control of the immediate proceedings. I leaned against the counter and glared at her.
“Relax,” he said as he came to my side and put an arm around me. It was a move that both claimed me as his, and protected me from this antagonist.
Ballad Ares Page 13
