by Alexa Land
“There’s not much left to do. Besides, you know Mrs. Dombruso wants to keep everything a surprise, so she wouldn’t let you help anyway.”
“Oh man,” Charlie exclaimed, “I forgot to tell her I invited eight more people to the wedding. Is that going to create problems with seating?”
“It’s fine, I’ll let her know. Out of curiosity, who’d you invite?”
“I reconnected with several of Jamie’s family members at his Christmas party. I practically grew up at their house from the age of fifteen on, so his sisters and a few other relatives apparently consider me family and want to attend the wedding. I assumed they all thought I was a jerk after the way I broke up with Jamie. But they were so sweet when they saw me, and I wanted to include them.”
Dante had ducked into the bedroom, and now emerged with an overnight bag. He was trying to be subtle about the fact that he was also carrying a metal briefcase, which I happened to know was full of sex toys. I grinned at that. They were so going to get kicked out of whatever bed and breakfast they landed in, since neither of them could be quiet to save his life when they were messing around.
“Have fun, you two,” I said as I walked them to the door.
“Thanks. Take care Christopher, see you soon.” Charlie kissed my cheek before stepping out into the hallway.
“Bye, Christopher. We’ll be home late Wednesday,” Dante said with a smile, before following his fiancé out of the apartment.
It was so quiet once they left. It was going to be weird living here by myself when they moved into the loft – even though they were already gone half the time. But then, I wouldn’t be living here for long. Charlie was subletting this apartment from Jamie, and the lease was up at the end of March. Then I was going to have to find a more affordable place to live.
Dante had been trying to convince me to move into a unit one floor down from his and Charlie’s new place. He wanted to give me the apartment rent-free, in exchange for painting a mural in the restaurant he was renovating on the main floor of that building. But that was so obviously charity. No way was one mural equivalent to a whole apartment.
I hated the idea of people trying to take care of me. I’d learned to be independent at a young age, out of necessity. Ok, maybe I didn’t always do the best job taking care of myself. But still, it was important to me to know I could survive on my own. You really couldn’t depend on other people, they always let you down. I’d known that since I was five.
I glanced at the time on my phone, then went to change my clothes. I had an appointment today at the Tremont Gallery, and was equal parts nervous and excited. I changed my outfit three times before finally heading to the bus stop.
The Tremont Gallery was housed in an imposing art deco structure in Pacific Heights. Ian Tremont was old money, using his trust fund to buy this place and his influence among the city’s elite to turn it into a powerhouse in the art community. He wasn’t just a rich kid with a hobby, though. Ian had a great eye and a keen understanding of his subject, and was highly respected coast to coast. People at school called him a star maker, since he’d discovered several painters and sculptors that had gone on to become international icons.
I stood outside the building for a couple minutes, killing time because I was a little early. I was also trying to calm my nerves. Ian intimidated me. Actually, this whole place did. I’d met him twice, once at a dinner arranged by Dante, who was a poker buddy of Ian’s, and again a couple weeks ago when I brought several of my paintings to the gallery at his request. He’d selected eight of them to be included in his annual new artists show, which still absolutely floored me.
At the designated time, I gathered my courage and pushed open the door to the gallery. The place was huge, an open central hub connecting several rooms, every wall dotted with artwork. Ian was in the center of it all talking to a couple of people, one of which held a camera. I thought I shouldn’t interrupt them, and waited my turn off to the side. But as soon as he spotted me, Ian gestured at me to join them.
“Ah, here he is,” Ian said, beaming at me. He gathered me in a hug when I came up to him, which I returned awkwardly. I had gotten the impression that Ian had a bit of a crush on me. He’d been so attentive both times we’d met, and seemed to find excuses to touch me. I almost didn’t know how to respond to that. I mean, on one hand I was flattered. Ian was a handsome man of around thirty, articulate and well-educated. On the other hand though, it was really important that we kept this relationship on a professional level. He had to know that. I took my fledgling career seriously, and messing around with gallery owners was inappropriate to say the least.
The two people with Ian turned out to be a reporter and photographer from the San Francisco Chronicle, here to do a story on the new artists show. The reporter asked me several questions about my work, which were sort of tough to answer. All my paintings were photo-realistic, small moments in time captured on canvas. And they were almost all autobiographical, though I never actually painted my likeness in any of them. Since I wasn’t about to discuss my childhood, or any of my past, really, with a reporter, and certainly wasn’t going to tell him I was a rent boy, I could only answer his questions in the vaguest terms.
It was odd being interviewed, I’d never done anything like that. I could tell the reporter was a bit frustrated by my clipped answers. He did seem genuinely impressed with my paintings though, which helped put me at ease…slightly. As we talked, the photographer snapped a few pictures of me standing self-consciously beside a couple of my paintings. I wished I’d dressed better than jeans and a sweater.
Finally, when the interview was over and the reporter and photographer left, Ian led me with a hand on my lower back to his office. The gallery was empty except for the two of us, since it had been closed for the holidays and wouldn’t reopen until after New Year’s.
I settled into a chair in front of his big desk, and he took the chair beside me as he asked, “Was that your first interview?”
“Yeah. I didn’t know that was happening today.”
“I told you there would be some press prior to the event. There will also be several reporters at the show itself. Giving interviews is an important skill, any artist has to be able to sell himself.” I almost grinned. I knew all about that, actually. “You did fine today, don’t get me wrong. And with practice, you’ll get even better.”
“I was nervous,” I admitted.
“You have no reason to be. Your work is exceptional.” Ian leaned forward and rested his hand on my knee. Was he hitting on me? He changed the subject by saying, “So, how are you, Christopher? Did you have a nice Christmas?”
“Yes sir. Did you?”
He smiled at me. “You don’t have to call me sir. You know you can just call me Ian.” His hand slid up my thigh.
“Ian….” I began, and his hand slid a little higher. Oh yeah, definitely hitting on me.
“You’re such a beautiful boy, Christopher,” he said, his voice low and seductive. “I felt drawn to you right from the start. Did you feel it too?”
When I first met Ian, I’d been star struck. Here was a legend in the art world, paying attention to me, actually listening to me, talking to me like I mattered. It had been a rush. And yeah, ok, I’d also found him attractive. But no way would I to do something as stupid as sleeping with a gallery owner. Something like that could destroy my reputation in the art community in two seconds flat. It was basically the equivalent of a starlet sleeping with a director in order to get a part, and no one would take me seriously as an artist if that reputation preceded me. “I think we just need to keep this professional, Ian,” I said, getting up from the chair.
To my surprise, that wasn’t the end of it. “No one has to know,” he said. “I don’t kiss and tell.” He got up and stood too close to me, and ran his hands down my arms. I was really thrown off. He had to know how inappropriate this was, especially given the power he held over me, my entire future resting in the palm of his hand.
�
�I’m sorry,” I said, taking a step back as he moved toward me. “We can’t do this.”
“Sure we can,” he persisted, his hands on my body.
I tensed up and said firmly, “Please stop, Ian.”
He quit advancing and watched me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he smiled, but it didn’t reach his grey eyes. “Ok,” he said pleasantly, taking his seat again. He turned the discussion to the upcoming show, and I sat down warily.
That entire encounter had left me shaken, but I was careful not to let it show. I was good at pretending everything was ok, given my line of work. I’d told Charlie once that I lied for a living. In a way, that was true. I could lie with every part of me, my face, my voice, my body. I used that skill on a daily basis when I was working, pretending I was enjoying whatever my clients chose to do to me. It was surprising that I would have to use that skill now, in this environment.
We made small talk for maybe five minutes before he told me he had to prepare for another appointment. He was obviously dismissing me, and I was relieved. I hoped that the next time I saw Ian, we’d be able to put this behind us.
Chapter Four
“You should feel so proud, Christopher Robin.”
“So should you,” I told Mrs. Dombruso, whose arm was linked with mine.
“We did good, no doubt about it.”
The first guests for Dante and Charlie’s wedding were going to arrive at any moment. Valets stood at the ready outside to park the cars in a nearby rented lot. Downstairs, a small army of caterers were putting the finishing touches on the food. And here, in the completely transformed ballroom of Mrs. Dombruso’s Queen Anne Victorian, the scene was pure magic.
The space was lit by the soft glow of hundreds of white candles, the big crystal snowflakes hanging from the ceiling sparkling and reflecting the candlelight. Clusters of pine trees filled in the corners of the space, decorated with white lights and smaller crystal snowflakes, adding to the forest effect along with the mural. It really was beautiful.
“Oh my God.” We hadn’t heard Dante come up behind us, but now we both turned toward him. He looked absolutely astonished as he took in the space, and grabbed first Mrs. Dombruso and then me in a hug. “Thank you, both of you. I can’t believe you did all of this. I love it, and Charlie will too.”
“Yeah, wow, it looks like Disneyland!” A little old man with a garish red toupee had come up behind us, dressed in a light blue leisure suit.
“Boys, this is Rodney,” Mrs. Dombruso said with a huge smile. “He’s my date. I met him on the internet!”
Dante and I both tried to cover our surprise as we shook hands with Rodney. And Mrs. Dombruso leaned in and whispered, “Told you my husband wasn’t the only one who could reel in a young babe. Rodney’s only seventy-two!”
After a few minutes of conversation, I excused myself and went and found my best friend in one of the guestrooms. He was already dressed in his tux, as was I, and he looked absolutely gorgeous. When I pulled him into a hug, I could feel his entire body shaking with excited energy. “I can’t believe I’m getting married today,” he said happily.
There was something in his green eyes though, some sort of shadow, and I asked, “Are you ok, Charlie?”
He nodded and smiled at me. “Yeah, fine.”
“Did something happen between you and Dante?”
“No! God no.”
“So what’s wrong?”
Charlie sat on the edge of the big bed in the center of the room and said, “You can really read me, Christopher. How are you so good at that?”
“It’s easy when you love someone,” I told him gently, sitting beside him and gathering his hands in mine.
“So,” Charlie said quietly, “my dad called me a few minutes ago. He said he’s coming down with a cold, and can’t make it to the wedding.”
Anger welled in me. His father was a homophobic asshole who’d kicked Charlie out of the house when his son came out to him. Later on, probably when he realized he needed Charlie more than his son needed him, his father had tried to make amends. The two of them had been slowly working on building back their relationship, getting together about once a week for a couple beers or to watch a game. Charlie had been optimistic when his father had agreed to come to the wedding. It would have been a big step toward truly accepting that his son was gay, instead of just tolerating it because he had no choice.
I grabbed him in a hug and held him tightly, and he sank into it. After a while he said quietly, “I knew that asking him to come to the wedding was maybe more than he could handle. But I wish he’d told me sooner that he wasn’t coming. I’d kind of gotten my hopes up. He was going to be the only family I had here, besides you.”
Charlie was an only child and his mother had also declined the invitation, saying she couldn’t afford a ticket to San Francisco. When Charlie had told her he’d pay for it, she’d made another excuse. It just broke my heart, and at the same time it enraged me. Charlie was such a good person. He didn’t deserve to be treated like this, especially by people who were supposed to love him unconditionally.
“Your dad’s not worth it,” I said quietly. “Please don’t let him cast a dark cloud over your wedding day. You’re about to go out there and marry Dante, a man who loves you with all his heart and soul. That’s what you need to focus on.”
“You’re right.” Charlie still held on to me, and I stroked his back reassuringly. “I’m incredibly lucky. I have Dante, and I have you. What more do I need?”
“Well, you don’t necessarily need ‘em,” I said with a little grin, “but you know you’re getting a package deal with your fiancé. Along with him come about four dozen Sicilians that all love and accept you, chief among them, Nana.”
“Yeah, that’s true. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Charlie let go of me and sat up, giving me a smile.
“It’s a good thing. Mostly.” I smiled too.
He reached out and picked up my hand. “Thank you Christopher, for always being there for me. You know when I call you my family, I mean it with all my heart, and in the best possible sense of that word.”
I looked down at our joined hands. I’d been a loner before I met Charlie, afraid of letting anyone get close to me. Initially, he’d kind of been forced on me. Thank God. I couldn’t imagine my life without him now. I said softly, “You’re my family too, Charlie.”
Why did I feel like I was saying goodbye to him? It wasn’t like he was moving to the Moon. He and Dante already spent almost every waking moment together, it’s not like things would change that much once they were married.
But still, some irrational part of me felt like I was losing him. I pushed down the sadness that had no place at a wedding, and pulled up a smile. “It’s about that time,” I said. Charlie flashed me a brilliant smile and nodded, and we headed for the door.
Charlie and Dante had decided to walk down the aisle together, and when they met in the hallway in front of the closed double doors to the ballroom, they smiled at each other with pure adoration. “I love you so much,” Charlie told his fiancé.
“I love you too, angel. More than anything,” Dante replied.
They started to lean in for a kiss, but Mrs. Dombruso smacked her grandson’s arm. “Save it for after the ceremony! It’s about to begin, so look sharp. Come on, Christopher, walk me to my seat. And you two: no smooching before the I-dos!”
We slipped through the double doors (the room still hadn’t been revealed to Charlie, and I was looking forward to the big ta da moment), and I walked down the aisle with Mrs. Dombruso on my arm. She wore a sparkly white velvet gown, her hair piled in an elegant up do, and I told her, “You look beautiful, Nana.”
She patted my hand. “You’re such a good boy, Christopher Robin. And you look very handsome in your tux, even if it isn’t blue.”
The string quartet played, and the assembled crowd smiled at us as I led Nana to her seat in the front row, beside Rodney. I then took my place up on the littl
e stage beside Dante’s brother Mikey. Dante’s brothers Vincent and Johnnie stood on the opposite side of the stage, and the wedding official, a little round man with a ruddy face, took his place in the center.
The music swelled, and the crowd rose to its feet. Two of Dante’s cousins pulled open the big double doors, and the couple walked down the aisle hand in hand. All the hard work to pull this wedding together was worth it when I saw Charlie’s expression of delighted amazement as he took in his surroundings.
They stepped onto the stage and turned to face each other, joining both hands. The love and trust in his eyes as Charlie looked up at Dante was breathtaking. That was what I needed to focus on, not my own misplaced sense of loss. I loved my best friend and wanted him to be happy, and here he was, claiming his happiness.
The official began the ceremony, welcoming the guests. And then he just kept talking. In a way that was good, it gave me a chance to calm my turbulent emotions. It would have been kind of inappropriate for the best man to burst into tears during the wedding.
I had plenty of time to get a grip, because it turned out that the man was incredibly long-winded and actually launched into a huge speech about the entire history of marriage. This guy should have been an actor, he clearly loved being up on stage with everyone listening to him. I would have been annoyed that he was throwing off the ceremony, but Dante and Charlie were so wrapped up in each other that they clearly didn’t mind the soliloquy.
As the official went on and on, I began idly scanning the crowd. There were at least eighty people here, the majority of which were related to Dante. Nana had obviously told them all what to wear, because most of the crowd was dressed in white and shades of blue. She’d gotten them to match her color scheme, even if she’d failed with the wedding party, all of whom were wearing basic black.
