To the Max

by Julie Lynn Hayes

  Mother starts to scowl, but instead allows it to pass. “Morgan was able to use some of the earlier photos you took of him, and he has already found an agent who has shown them to a TV producer in LA, and he will be embarking shortly upon what promises to be a successful career there. He leaves at the end of the month.” She beams as if this is the best news in the world.

  “To stay?” I ask hopefully.

  “At least for now, I’m afraid. Amy was all excited for him, of course, as we all are. What a marvelous opportunity, don’t you think?”

  Richard and Moonsong mouth the appropriate polite words; I, however, say nothing, for my first thought is good riddance, but I suppress the urge to say that. He’ll be out of our hair and I can breathe a little more easily. At least I hope that will be the case.

  “In any event, Amy and I are going to throw a farewell party for him on the sixteenth. We’ve already booked a room at the King’s Regency. I trust that you two will be there?”

  A party to send him on his way? I guess I can live through that. And then her words actually get through to me, and I jerk my head in surprise. “The sixteenth? It has to be that night?”

  “Why, yes, Max, it’s what we could get,” my mother replies, as if she doesn’t know exactly why I am questioning her on this.

  “Mother, that isn’t a good night for me—” I begin, but she cuts in.

  “Just make an appearance, please. Terranova and I would appreciate it.” She knows, she knows, she knows, and yet she sees nothing wrong with this. And she has brought up his name again. Not to mention not once have I heard anything to indicate that she is sorry, has missed me—none of that. Bullshit, bullshit, and more bullshit. I start to rise angrily from my seat, but Richard is ahead of me, and he continues to anchor me, whispering into my ear, “Sshhh, sshhh, my love, it’ll be all right. We’ll leave well ahead of time. At least she is asking us both.”

  I turn to him, and his eyes are soft and love-filled, so I give up and cease with the arguments. But it makes me uneasy, for normally we never plan anything on full moon nights. And as for the Regency? Well, we won’t go there right now. I swallow a whimper, lean against him, forehead to forehead, and draw on his strength. We merely sit there for a moment. Aloud he says simply, “We’ll be there, Juliet.”

  “Don’t they make the sweetest couple?” Moonsong chuckles softly, bringing me back to a greater awareness of my surroundings. I can just imagine my mother’s face, but I don’t bother to turn my head to look. “How can you think they’re wrong together?”

  That gets my attention. We both look now. My mother’s cheeks are flushed, but she doesn’t deny the words.

  “You can plainly see how much they love each other, Juliet. How can that be wrong?”

  “God made man and woman to be together, not man and man, the Bible says so—” Juliet starts, but Moonsong breaks in.

  “God made us all, honey, to love one another, including Max and Richard. Are you saying he made a mistake?” It’s apparent that this discussion has been going on for a while, and I wonder exactly what it is we missed.

  “I’m saying that it isn’t what he intended,” my mother continues. Ladies and gentlemen: my mother. Great, isn’t she? “It if were meant to be, then he wouldn’t have made it so that only men and women can procreate to continue with his plan.”

  “So you’re saying that if you can’t have kids, you shouldn’t make love or have sex?” Moonsong queries, her voice never rising, as if she is simply seeking information. I open my mouth to protest, but Richard places his fingers against my lips and shakes his head slightly, as if to say “Let’s listen to this first.”

  I see my mother’s hesitation, and I realize what shaky ground she is on. For if this continues, the whole question of premarital sex could arise, and here Mother is with two children and no husband to show for it. But she doesn’t let it stop her. Not my mother. “Yes, that is, during your childbearing years,” she replies. Which she is long past. And now that brings up a new image: she and the Reverend Fuckface…. I resolutely push that picture out of my mind. It doesn’t bear thinking about.

  “Well, then, what about couples who are infertile? Does that mean they don’t have the right to make love? Or women who have had their tubes tied or their uterus removed? Men with vasectomies? Couples who practice birth control? I mean, where do you draw the line?”

  “Terranova says that people like our sons have a problem and should be helped,” Juliet goes on, skirting the question, “and I’ve been trying to do that, introducing Max to good women instead.”

  “So my son isn’t good enough for your son?” Moonsong’s voice takes on a little harder edge.

  “I didn’t say that. I love Richard, and he knows that.” Here Juliet finally darts a look at my lover, who remains quiet. “I want to see them both with the right women in their lives. Not each other. I mean, as friends yes, but not as more.”

  That hurts. A great deal.

  “Max, you know I love you,” my mother’s voice pleads with me to look at her, and unwillingly I do. I know she means it; I know she does mean well, but dammit! How can she do this to me, deny who I am, what we are? It’s not right! For how many years now have I been trying to get her to accept the idea that not only am I a werewolf, but I am gay? I’m getting too old for this, I realize. Too old to still be explaining myself to my mother.

  Richard’s mother accepts it. She obviously gets it. Why doesn’t my mother? Okay, maybe Juliet has never been totally accepting of the idea, but she’s never been so much against it as since she met this unholy minister, who seems to have fucked up her thinking from the inside out. She’s never gone so much out of her way, at least from my perspective, to cause me pain.

  It is on the tip of my tongue to retort: What kind of love is that, then? But the front door suddenly opens and closes, and my blood freezes at the thought that the enemy has arrived. Richard and I glance at one another, and I see that our thoughts are the same: we want no part of him today. The sound of feminine laughter allays my fear, however, and is quickly followed by the appearance of both Rachel and Amy.

  “Maxie! Richard!” Rachel squeals, and she embraces us warmly. Amy waits her turn to do the same, although in a bit more restrained fashion. They both look at Moonsong, for neither has met her. Juliet performs the introductions, and polite greetings are exchanged.

  “I should have known,” Rachel confesses. “He looks just like you, except for the color of his hair. We didn’t mean to interrupt, but we saw Max’s car, and Amy was wondering if Morgan’s pictures were here.”

  I rise smoothly from my comfortable seat, pointing to the portfolio where it still rests between Juliet and Moonsong. “There it is. You’re not interrupting. We were just leaving.” I grab for Richard’s hand, and he rises without a word.

  “Leaving? We haven’t had lunch yet,” Moonsong protests. “You can’t leave yet. I haven’t seen my boy for two years, and Max, I’ve not seen you for what? Twenty?”

  My eyes meet my mother’s—hers are just as baffled as I suspect mine are—but she doesn’t say a word. “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well,” I lie, “and besides, we’ve left the baby home alone, I want to make sure she’s okay.”

  “The baby?” Now I’ve confused them both.

  “Yes, the baby. Our puppy. The only grandchild you’re going to get from us. You can see her next time you come out.” I reach down for my glass of wine, finish off what is left, and swallow any other words I am thinking, along with the vino.

  “You are coming to Morgan’s farewell party, aren’t you?” Amy asks, and my mother answers for us before either one of us has a chance to reply, “Yes, they’ve promised.”

  Moonsong has her arms around us now, and I can see my boy is totally uncomfortable with this and just wants to go as badly as I do. So I pull him out of her grasp with, “Richard, I really don’t feel well.” He lays a supporting arm about me, and we make short work of good-byes, with promises to Rachel to call soon,
and are quickly out the door, heading away from them all, homeward bound.

  “Do you want to stop and pick up something for lunch?” Richard asks after a few minutes, as I sit as close as I possibly can without being in his lap. Given half a chance I’d do that, but it’s a physical impossibility to sit that way and drive too. I know, we’ve tried it.

  “No, I can make something,” I sigh wearily as I lean my head up against his comforting shoulder, nuzzling him tenderly.

  “Too bad, I thought if you wanted to, we could stop by Mario’s and get some pasta con broccoli, maybe some cheese garlic bread? But if you don’t wanna….”

  I perk my head up at this. “Mario’s?”

  “It was just a thought,” he says casually. “Never mind.”

  “Well, if you’ve got your heart set on it, who am I to naysay you?” I pretend as if it doesn’t matter to me, one way or the other.

  “You’re too good to me, Max.” He kisses the top of my head.

  “I know,” I answer smugly as I snuggle against him all the way to our favorite Italian restaurant.

  Richard and I together to the max—screw what other people think!

  Chapter 20

  Alarums

  “I KNOW that you don’t want to go, and you’re just looking for an excuse to get out of it.” Rachel pulls no punches. Like I’ve said before, that girl tells it like it is. I am draped in my chair across from her desk, sullen poet attire again. Richard laughed when he dropped me off, asked did I want him to call Verlaine for me, but I chose not to dignify that with a response. The only reason I am even here is that she has called me down here under pretext that I had to sign some very important papers that could not wait, or some such bullshit. The papers are nothing urgent; she could have mailed them to me. But then she wouldn’t have been able to do this.

  “And of course it being the night of the fucking full moon is just a little quirk on my part,” I contribute in a petulant manner.

  “Max, I know it is, and I know Juliet knows it, too, but sometimes it can’t be helped, sweetheart. And that isn’t the big reason you don’t want to go anyway, and you know it. It’s because of Morgan. You hate Morgan. You think he’s after Richard, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do,” I admit, and I sit back and wait for her big “Max is paranoid” speech.

  “Well, I think he is too,” are her next words. That takes me by surprise. “Amy doesn’t see it; she tells me I’m wrong. But I see the way he looks at him. And given Richard’s history and all, I think you have reason to be worried.”

  Isn’t that fucking great? I scowl contrarily. The last thing I need is to be reminded of Mr. Burke’s infidelities. That just makes the possibility of this one that much greater. “Don’t blame it on Richard,” I protest, rather lamely, I admit.

  “I’m not, but maybe if he were a little more reliable and not so damn free with his cock, then you wouldn’t be quite so worried about this, now would you?”

  I feel my face flush, and yet how can I tell her she’s wrong? When she knows damn well what has been going on with us for over twenty years? And never, not once, have I had the nerve to confront my lover about it, to ask him any questions, demand any answers. Why should now be any different? “Richard loves me. I know it. He doesn’t want that little prick,” I counter.

  “He might love you, Max, but he makes a habit of spreading his body around like he’s the free sample lady at the supermarket. What kind of love is that? I realize you’re not married, but there is a certain amount of fidelity that you can expect in a committed relationship, you know? And after twenty years, I’d say you’ve got a committed relationship.”

  I shift uncomfortably in my chair in a vain attempt at blocking out her words. It’s not like we haven’t had this conversation before, because we have. Many times. It’s not like I listen, either, ’cause I don’t. Not really.

  Rach takes pity on me and changes the subject. “I don’t know if you want to hear this or not, either, but a certain Cadillac has been seen lately parked overnight at your mother’s house.”

  I groan and roll my eyes. Not unexpected. Still, I didn’t exactly want my suspicions confirmed either. Does this make me an ostrich? That I prefer to bury my head in the sand rather than face the world around me?

  “Mother’s of age. I just wish she had better taste.” And wish she weren’t quite so hypocritical, I add mentally, remembering her lecture on sex for procreation’s sake. At her age, she sure as hell isn’t reproducing, this I know.

  Rachel nods her agreement. “I don’t trust that man,” she says bluntly. “He may come off as all holier than thou, but there’s something he’s hiding. I just wish I knew what it was. I’ve been going to his services on Sundays, just to see if I can figure him out.” She leans back in her executive chair, twisting strands of magenta-laced hair in her fingers thoughtfully.

  “And have you found out anything?” I ask curiously as I pick nervously at the skin of my thumb, a terrible habit of mine since childhood and one which I find I cannot break. That and biting my nails.

  “Quit that, Max,” Rachel says automatically, the same thing she’s been telling me for over thirty years, and yet I keep on doing it. “No, but I’ve been getting to know his assistant pretty well. Josiah King? And I think he knows something. I’m just not sure what it is yet.”

  “What are you thinking? Maybe he’s a closet alcoholic or a drug user or something?”

  Rachel shrugs. “Who knows? Ex-con maybe? Or maybe he’s married already? Or he’s not married, and he’s hiding some illegitimate children somewhere? Or maybe he’s just a thief taking the members of his congregation for all their money before he slips out of town in the middle of the night?”

  “Interesting ideas,” I have to admit, “I’m just not sure if they have any validity. Be sure to keep me posted, will you, Rach? I’ll see what I can find out too. Have you tried asking Amy?”

  “Kind of, but not too much. I’m not sure she would tell me the truth, Max, to be honest, and I hate to say it, but I don’t entirely trust her anymore. They seem to be too tight, if you know what I mean, but not in a good way. Morgan too. I think he’s got them under his evil influence or something.”

  I nod. I know exactly what she means. Except it’s hard to tell just who is influencing who, from my perspective.

  “Well, at least he’ll be out of our hair after the end of the month. Let LA have him, I say. I’m sure he’ll feel quite at home there,” I say snidely.

  A concerned expression crosses Rachel’s face, and she opens her mouth to speak, but just then a friendly rap on the door is followed by Maggie’s cute face poking through the doorway. “There you are!” She grins. “I should have known you’d be in here, since you weren’t at your desk.”

  “Max at his desk? Heaven forbid!” Rachel teases while I simply roll my eyes, not giving her the satisfaction of a retort. True, but not necessary.

  “Anyway, a gorgeous blond just called to say he’ll pick you up in a few minutes. Isn’t he simply the most thoughtful man?” Maggie’s eyes take on a dreamy expression, a gentle smile gracing her face. I can’t help but smile myself at the way she carries on over my lover. Rachel looks like she is about to make a caustic comment and tear apart Maggie’s illusions, but I give her a pleading look, and for once she desists and does not avail herself of the opportunity to denigrate Richard. At least not at the moment. Perhaps she got enough of that before Maggie’s entrance.

  “Thank you, Maggie,” I reply politely, “but you didn’t have to search for me, you know, you could have just used the intercom.”

  “Oh, no problem, Max,” she reassures me. “I was looking for you anyway. I wanted to verify what time I should be there for the Fourth.”

  “What time? I dunno, usual time I guess? Late afternoon, whenever you want. Do you have somewhere you need to be first?”

  Maggie just looks at me and blushes. What am I missing? I glance back and forth between her and Rachel.

  Ra
chel laughs. “I think she doesn’t want to walk in on you two unannounced, so she’s trying to get some idea of when it might be safe?”

  Oh good Lord, do they think we are really that bad? Or are we that bad? “What have you been telling her?” I fix her with my stern Max eye.

  “Only the truth,” she yelps.

  “You have the memory of an elephant,” I shake my head.

  “As long as I don’t look like one.”

  “Well, now that you mention it….”

  Maggie giggles as the office door opens and in saunters the gorgeous blond himself, looking like something fresh from a GQ shoot and definitely looking good enough to eat. “Afternoon, ladies,” he greets my coworkers with his usual boyish grin before flashing me a warm smile and a blown kiss. He walks past Maggie, tugging her hair playfully as he passes by, which only produces more giggles from her. I shoot Rachel a quick warning look, but it’s probably unnecessary on my part, just me being anal. I don’t think she’s really looking for a fight; she’d have done that years ago if she wanted to. I think her love for me keeps her from saying more to him than she does, for which I am grateful. “Hello, cutie,” he greets me, bending down for a kiss and chucking me under the chin as he does so. I slide into an upright position, and he perches on the arm of my chair, crossing his long legs negligently and regarding the room at large. “Did I interrupt something?” he asks, as the room has fallen silent.

  “Maggie was just asking what time she should come for the Fourth,” I smoothly insert. Which is true.

  “What should I bring too,” Maggie quickly adds.

  “What were you thinking of?” I ask, leaning forward and laying one hand over that nicely muscled thigh. “You don’t have to bring anything, you know. We always have plenty.”

  “Oh, but I want to. What would you like, Richard?” And again she looks at my lover with those big moonstruck eyes.

  He tilts his head, as if carefully considering the question. What a tease he is, when I know damn well he knows that she’ll make anything he asks. I elbow him surreptitiously and mouth “behave.” He smiles. “Anything you bring would be perfect, Mags, but if you’re looking for a particular suggestion, I really love your taco salad.”