To the Max

by Julie Lynn Hayes

  Richard’s voice breaks into my thoughts. “Max, it’s Juliet.”

  Mothers are confusing creatures at times.

  Trying to be patient, to the max, and grateful for my Richard.

  Chapter 14

  Beware the Jabberwock

  MY FIRST instinct is to pretend we aren’t home, but I know right away that won’t work, since we are in plain sight.

  “She’s not alone,” Richard observes. He tightens his arms around me protectively.

  I have my eyes closed in serious denial. “Please tell me she didn’t bring the preacher?” I groan.

  “No, it’s Rachel,” he reassures me, and I breathe out again.

  “Thank heaven for small favors.”

  Richard strokes my hair tenderly, affirming that he is mine and that we are indeed in this together. “Baby, you do what you want to do. She’s your mother, but you know that I’m here for you, don’t you, no matter what?”

  I turn my head, draw his lips down to mine, and kiss them gently. “I know.” But there’s no time for anything else. The car has stopped; Rachel has already reached the porch in her inimitable swift style. Apparently she’s just passing through, though, doesn’t intend to stay, as she lets out, “Hi, can I get a drink? Thanks.” and breezes on into the house without pausing. That’s Rachel for you, direct and to the point.

  And then I realize that my mother is also there. She stands poised at the top of the steps, in mid-stride, as if she is unsure of her welcome; watching us kiss, I know she is unsure, not saying anything. It’s impossible to tell what she’s thinking; she’s seen us together for years. Why is she so against us now? I would have thought she would have accepted Richard as more than my live-in lover. He’s my eternal mate, my one and only. She, better than anyone, understands my particular needs. She just seems to be indifferent to them at the moment. I’m afraid that is the influence of her new boyfriend, for now I have no doubt that is what he is. Isn’t there some sort of commandment? Thou shalt not mess around with thy parishioners?

  “If you want me to leave….” she begins. She knows damn well I’m not going to ask her to leave. It’s just a ploy. Richard is already nudging me as he sits up, so I am forced to sit up also.

  “Of course not, Juliet,” he asserts. “Max?”

  Damn, I wish I weren’t so weak. “It’s okay.” I nod. He squeezes my hand reassuringly, manages to maneuver his long leg around me, unfolding himself from me so that he can stand up—he is remarkably limber; I think I would have just made me get up rather than attempt such gymnastics—and he offers my mother his vacated seat. “I’m going to make sure Rachel isn’t stealing the silverware,” he jokes, and then he mouths to me, “Call me,” which I understand to mean if Mother gets to me, he’s close at hand. That, at least, is reassuring. And then he disappears inside the house.

  I scoot over, and Juliet comes up onto the porch at last, placing her big clunky handbag between us as she sits. “Your carry-on luggage?” I attempt to joke. She smiles weakly, but it’s forced.

  “I know you’re upset with us,” she begins.

  I bite my lip at her use of the word “us.” “How would you like it if I told you that he wasn’t good enough for you?”

  “You don’t know him well enough to make that judgment,” she protests.

  “And you know Richard too well to make yours,” I counter. “I thought you loved him. You’ve always acted like it, anyway. You treat him like he’s your son, most of the time. You laugh at all his jokes, and you love it when he flirts with you.”

  “I do know Richard very well,” Juliet agrees. “And I do love him. But you’re my son, Max. I love you more, and it hurts me to see what he does to you, how he tears you up when he leaves without a word and comes back to you whenever he feels like it. And God knows what he does while he’s gone. You don’t think he’s faithful to you, do you?”

  I refuse to answer that question. That’s no one’s business but mine and Richard’s.

  “Okay, don’t tell me. But that doesn’t mean that you don’t know it, whether you admit to it or not.”

  I decide to change directions. “You don’t accept me for what I am, which is gay, Mother, completely gay. Never been anything else.”

  “Max, I know that you think that you are, but you’re just confused. It’s not natural, Terranova says—”

  I cut her off with an indignant howl. “Not natural? And being a werewolf is? What does he know about it, anyway?” I rise from my seat and begin to pace in agitation back and forth across the porch. “Mother, I was born this way, both gay and a werewolf. I didn’t choose to be either one. Why can’t you just accept that? Why do you insist on trying to change me? Aren’t I good enough for you?”

  “Max, you’re being melodramatic. Calm down, and sit down.”

  On general principle, I refuse.

  “Max, I didn’t come here to argue with you. Please sit down.”

  Of course I do. Damn.

  “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you ever since the other night. I know you were upset when you left. (My, how perceptive!) I just wanted you to meet Terranova, get to know him. He means a lot to me, Max.”

  “So I’ve noticed.” A bit sullen, that, but I don’t care at the moment.

  “Max, he’s a good man, a brilliant man, and a very kind one. Look at me.”

  I reluctantly raise my face to hers.

  “We’ve been discussing marriage.”

  What? “You haven’t known him long enough,” I protest, trying hard not to raise my voice at her.

  “Look how long you’ve known Richard, why doesn’t he marry you?”

  “That’s different, and you know why.”

  “If he wanted to, he could. You know there are ways….”

  I can’t argue with that. The truth of the matter is that I’ve always been afraid to bring the subject up. I have no fear of commitment on my part; I committed myself to him heart and soul a long time ago. But what if I asked him and he said no? What would I do then? I don’t want to find out. “You don’t want me marry him anyway. What do you care?”

  “No, I don’t,” she bluntly admits, “because I know he’ll hurt you.”

  It’s a stalemate. Nobody can move except in the same tired directions, and nobody wins.

  I close my eyes wearily. “Mother, did you come here just to insult Richard in his own home?”

  “Your home.”

  “Our home, Mother!” God, how I just want to scream!

  Several minutes of silence ensue.

  “Max, do you remember: when you were ten, you wanted your own bicycle, just ’cause Rachel had one and you wanted to keep up with her?”

  I nod, saying nothing.

  “I tried to talk you out of it, but you wouldn’t listen to a word I said. You just had to have it. So I gave in and I bought you one. Remember it? Red, it was, with streamers. It had to have a banana seat too. And monkey handlebars.”

  Again I nod. I remember that bike. It looked just like Rachel’s, except that hers was blue.

  “Do you remember how you fell off the first few times you rode it and scraped up your legs so badly that they bled? And even after I put Mercurochrome on them and bandaged them up, you insisted on climbing right back on, even though it must have hurt like hell? And that you fell off again?”

  “Mother, I remember, yes. What’s the point?” Is she trying to tell me that I’m clumsy? I already know that.

  “Max, I’m just trying to keep you from being hurt again.”

  If she expects me to fall into her arms, crying like a baby, with that tactic, I surprise her, ’cause I don’t. But it’s not easy.

  “I don’t want to see you get hurt either,” I say instead. “And have you told him about me?”

  “He knows you think you’re gay.”

  “Does he know that I think I’m a werewolf too?” Two can play that game.

  “Of course not.”

  “Good. Keep it that way.”

>   “Max, if I’m going to marry him, I have to tell him at some point. I don’t want to start out with a lie between us.”

  Aargh! I rise once more, pacing again. I kick the table leg as I pass by it. It doesn’t make me feel any better, and I nearly topple the potted plant perched atop it. I hastily move it back out of harm’s way.

  “Max, you know that I didn’t marry your father, and you know why. And you know that I didn’t marry Diana’s father because I couldn’t, he already had a wife. Not that I wanted to, anyway. Have you ever heard me say that I wanted to get married, Max? Ever? This is the first time I’ve ever felt this way, at my age, even. Please, try to understand and try to get to know him better. For me?”

  Women! I swear if I live to be a hundred, or two hundred even, I’ll never understand them. The closest I ever get is Rachel, and sometimes that’s not very damn close.

  One of the advantages of having a driveway that is made of gravel is that you can hear someone coming as soon as they turn off the main road. Well, at least I can. I can hear someone approaching now. As it’s far too late to be the mail carrier, besides which she came ages ago, I can’t imagine who the newcomer is, but it’s not likely to be anyone I want to see. “Mother, you expecting anyone?”

  “Me? Why would I be? Unless maybe it’s Amy.”

  I look at her sharply. “How could it be Amy? She doesn’t know even how to get out here.”

  “Sure she does. She asked me.”

  Damn! “Didn’t you think maybe there was a reason that she didn’t know?”

  “No, what reason?”

  I roll my eyes, mutter something about a drink, and storm my way into the house.

  Richard and Rachel are seated at the kitchen table, deep in the midst of some discussion or other, all I manage to hear is “Greek dynasties,” “Jerry Springer,” and “Cleopatra” before I bury my head in the fridge, looking for the bottle of wine that is usually there. Ah, there it is, hiding behind the asparagus. It’s already been opened, so no need to pop the cork. I merely pull it out, throw my head back, and chug it like a freshman at a frat party.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Richard is at my side. He pulls the bottle away from my sucking lips, spilling it in the process. On me, of course. “Slow down there, Max.” He pushes the cork back into the bottle with a thunk and slides it back into place. Seeing as I haven’t even bothered to close the door yet, that isn’t hard to do. “Here, take that shirt off, before it stains,” and before I know what I’m about, he’s pulling my T-shirt over my head and taking us both to the kitchen sink, running cold water over the stained fabric and kissing me. What a Renaissance man he is; he can handle both me and dirty laundry at the same time.

  “Why didn’t you just call for me, instead of letting her get to you like that, love?” he asks, his voice filled with concern.

  I’m about to answer when I hear voices from the front porch, one undoubtedly Amy’s, I have no idea who the other belongs to. I can’t even tell if it’s male or female. Rachel, not being shy, rises and pats me on the arm. “I’ll see who it is, Max. Just stay here.” And she is gone before I can say yes, no, or maybe.

  Richard licks the dribbles of wine that cling to my lips, sets the shirt into the sink for the moment, and wraps his arms around me, pulls me to him. I don’t resist; I rest my head on his chest, close my eyes, and sigh. My heart is pounding with unexploded emotions, like a grenade with a hair-trigger, set to be detonated at the smallest vibration. His fingers move through my hair gently, soothingly, the other hand stroking my back in small circular motions. “Was she giving you trouble about us, love?” he asks.

  I refuse to answer the question. I hate when my mother gets likes this. It’s like she is trying to make me doubt my lover. I know Richard loves me; I know that. Why is she so determined to see me unhappy? At least that’s the way it appears to me. He doesn’t press the issue, continuing his tender ministrations and making soothing noises into my ear. I relax a little in his embrace.

  A discreet cough behind us. Rachel is back. “Amy’s here,” she announces. I’m not surprised. “She’s not alone, either. And they’re looking for you, Richard.”

  “For me? That’s a surprise.”

  He’s surprised? I’m surprised. We’re all surprised. What does this portend? Curiouser and curiouser.

  “Should I send them in, or do you two want to go out?”

  “We’ll be out in a minute,” I hastily interject, and she nods understandingly and exits, stage left. Okay, maybe not, but still. I am simply not in the mood for visitors inside the house; let’s keep them outside for right now. At least until I decide how to handle them.

  “Why is Amy here? Do you know?” Richard asks me.

  “No clue. But we can blame Juliet for giving her directions,” I grumble. I look at him, clearly concerned. “Just be careful, Richard.”

  “Of course.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “C’mon, handsome,” and he leads me out to the slaughter.

  Out on the porch now. It’s getting crowded, and there aren’t enough seats, so Rachel makes herself comfortable on the top step, Mother and Amy are sitting on the swing, the newcomer sits between them. My first impression of the boy, for that is indeed what he is, just a young boy, maybe twenty or so, is that he is very pretty. My second is that he is gay. As for the third, something about him is making my hackles rise for no apparent reason. Maybe it’s something the wolf senses, I don’t know.

  “Hello, Max darling!” Amy rises to greet me, envelops me in the scent of Chanel which clings about her as she first hugs me, which makes me uncomfortable in my current shirtless condition, then hugs Richard, crying, “Richard!” in the same annoying voice. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve made our peace. But at the moment, everything seems to be getting on my nerves. “I’ve brought you some business, Richard,” she continues, directing our attention to the pretty boy, who is smiling at us in a very practiced manner, particularly at Richard, I notice. That isn’t helping my nerves any, I assure you. “I’d like you to meet my nephew, Morgan Arthur. Morgan, these are my friends, Max and Richard. Richard’s the photographer I was telling you about.”

  He moves with all of the sinuousness of an alley cat on the prowl. When he stands I am surprised to see that he is taller than he seems at first glimpse, only a couple of inches shorter than Richard, in fact, so somewhere around six foot. And lean, but a compact lean, which hints of a muscular grace just beneath the surface. A conservation of energy, as if it is beneath him to expend too much at one time or on any one person. His hair falls to his shoulders in a tawny veil that defies the laws of normal hair by refusing to be disrupted by his movements, remaining in one coherent whole, while his golden eyes promise much, as do his bee-stung lips. All these details I notice in the short time that it takes him to move from the swing to where we stand, extending his hand in greeting… to Richard. I am hard put to still the wolf, who wants to take a chunk out of that sculpted ass and spit it out with great disdain.

  “Amy has shown me some of your work, Mr. Burke. I find it very impressive,” he says, his voice most oily. He fairly drips of grease. At least, that is my opinion.

  Richard takes the boy’s hand in his, and it takes all the restraint I can muster not to leap between them and snatch back what belongs to me.

  “Thank you,” Richard says easily. Am I crazy, or do I hear some sort of connection being made here? I glance around me in confusion. Does anyone else see what I see, hear what I hear? Neither Juliet nor Rachel seem in any way alarmed. And when I look at Amy, her eyes lock with mine, and for a brief second I see something disturbing, something I find rather disquieting. But then it is gone as quickly as it came, and I am left shaking my head, both at myself and at my overactive imagination.

  “I am looking for someone to shoot my portfolio for me,” little snot continues, “and I’d like to discuss the possibility with you. Maybe over lunch one day next week?”

  Son of a bitch! In my own home yet! How ballsy is that? Befor
e I can react, though, (translate that as leap upon him and tear into his jugular) Richard answers most smoothly, “Sorry, I don’t do business lunches. But if you give me your number, I’ll be glad to call and set a time for the shoot.” And then he proceeds to very noticeably put his arm around my waist, smiling at his prospective client as he makes his point—to him, to Amy, and to Juliet.

  God, how I love that man!

  “I can live with that,” Junior nods as he proceeds to hand Richard his card. He certainly comes prepared, doesn’t he?

  Without even glancing at it, Richard slides it into his pocket.

  I seem to have emerged the victor in this round, or is the inevitable merely postponed?

  Feeling confused, to the max, and trying to deal with it.

  Chapter 15

  Interlude

  LIPS, warm lips, lightly brushing across my cheeks, caressing my own lips. Nice lips, tender lips. A soft voice coaxes my attention, “Max, wake up, wake up, Max….” Damn, it must be the middle of the night, surely? But no, as I tentatively open one eye, I see a little daylight trying to poke its way through the curtains. Oh, okay, it’s sunrise. Much better.

  Sun’s not up yet. Neither am I. I try to roll over, pull the blankets around me like a cocoon. Richard climbs over me, and he’s on the other side of me now. “Max, wake up, babe, I’ve got a surprise for you,” he coos into my ear.

  “What,” I grumble, “have you signed us up to take the day shift for Count Dracula?”

  “No, better than that,” he continues to kiss me, cajole me. He’s awful cheery for this time of the morning. Or night, actually. To me, day doesn’t begin nearly this early. Not for me, anyway. “I’m taking you away, just you and me, for the day. No one else but us. And I’m not telling anyone where to find us.”

  This catches my interest. “Can you tell me where I can find us?” I finally open both eyes, and he rewards me with a wet kiss.

  “At the river,” he says simply. The river. For that, I’ll wake up. Get up, even.

  When we say the river, we’re not talking about the Missouri River that flows outside our backyard. No, we don’t even have access to that from where the cottage sits. The river to which we refer is the Big River, which is a misnomer, for it isn’t very big, at least not the parts that we are familiar with. Even the Missouri starts out somewhere as just a trickle, and I’ve been told that you can step over the Rio Grande in sections. Go figure.