To the Max

by Julie Lynn Hayes

  Feeling kamikaze to the max, as if we are riding to certain doom.

  Chapter 23

  Luna

  TAKE a deep breath, take a deep breath—come on now, Max, just breathe—I repeat it to myself, over and over. Inhale, exhale, repeat. As often as necessary.

  Here we are, once again, after so many years. The hotel is intact and in business, and we are still together. Come to bid farewell to another troublemaker, a disturbance in the pool of our placidity, this one a relative of the first one from so many years ago. Can this be a mere coincidence? I think not. Serendipity? I’m afraid not. And will this one return in twenty years to bite us in the ass? I hope not.

  As we walk through the big wooden doors that lead into the lobby, the clock begins to tick, a countdown for a timetable which we cannot afford to let slide. Two hours and counting. In two hours, we should be back on the road, heading back to St. Charles and to our shelter in the woods, and even that is cutting it closer than I like. Perhaps I can get us out of here sooner, hopefully without a lecture from my mother on how very anal Max is or any snide comments on the same subject, but with a more twisted meaning, from her ungodly lover.

  Two hours. We approach the front desk and ask for directions to the Arthur affair and receive them. And more? Am I imagining things or is the clerk giving my Richard a rather appreciative eye? Damn, damn, damn! I clench my fist so tightly that the fingernails leave little crescent-shaped marks in my palm. I’ve never had an anxiety attack that I know of. Is this what they feel like? Like breathing has just become an impossibility, and if this feeling doesn’t stop soon I just might hyperventilate? Slow down, Max, slow down. Luckily, Richard doesn’t seem to notice as we head for the banquet rooms. This one is not being held in the same room as Amy’s party; I think if it were, I’d simply refuse to go.

  We walk into the party like we are walking onto a yacht… no, no, no, that’s not it. My mind is reverting to old song lyrics for some reason, probably thinking of Morgan, ’cause he’s so vain, and I know it. My apologies to Carly Simon. Where is the little man, I wonder as we stand there for a moment, simply absorbing the atmosphere. We are far from the first to arrive. That I had expected.

  It may not be the same damn room, but the setup looks hauntingly familiar: the buffet, the band, even down to the table with Richard’s photos of Mr. Prissy set up to look like a damn shrine. I want to hurt him so badly I can taste it. It’s far too close to the moon for comfort, the wolf is hovering just beneath the surface, and my self-control is minimal. Richard slides his hand comfortingly along my arm, even as he leans in to me and whispers, “Love you, Max.” God, he can be so sweet.

  Where to first? What to do, what to do, what to do? I don’t want to go down the road once traveled already; it scares me. I know I should relax, but my heart is in my throat, and I am terrified that if Morgan gets a chance, he’ll use it to seduce my Richard away from me. It’s silly, I know. Richard has never been anything but professional with the simpering child, and yet… and yet…. Dammit, my mind is working in such strange ways, it refuses to let go of images, let loose of the past, when right now I should be concentrating on tonight, getting through that, letting the rest take care of itself.

  I almost jump out of my skin when a hand touches my arm, but it’s just Rachel, with Mark closely in tow. I don’t think it’s any coincidence that she has found a man who is very understanding of her and my relationship and never questions phone calls at three in the morning or the need we have to talk to one another about everything. I suspect she has terminated other relationships over the years that did not fit her requirements—or should I say our requirements?—although I would never request it of her, just as she would never ask me to give up Richard. But that doesn’t keep her from giving me her honest opinion of him and us.

  “Max, you look pale,” she criticizes. “Are you okay?”

  “I think he’s coming down with something,” Richard responds, “I told you we should have stayed home, Max.”

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” I hastily interject, “but I could use a drink.” I turn to my lover with the question left unspoken.

  “Of course, be right back.” He kisses me on the tip of my nose, my gallant knight.

  “Bar is that way,” Rachel points helpfully.

  “I’ll come with you,” Mark offers, and the two men walk off together. I watch Richard’s hips ’til he disappears from view, and I turn back to my companion.

  Rachel is still eyeing me as if she isn’t happy with the way I look at all. “What, you don’t like the suit?” I quip.

  “Max, after tonight, it’ll be all over,” she attempts to reassure me. “I don’t see him coming back here once he gets a taste of life in the fast lane, do you?”

  But all I hear is it’s over… it’s over… it’s over… pounding like a death knell in my brain. Can’t breathe, can’t breathe. But I do, finally, draw a deep breath. Again.

  “Where is the twit?” I ask, exhaling all my unspoken presentiments in a small sigh.

  “Somewhere, him and Amy both.”

  “Yippee.” I can barely contain my enthusiasm, even as I begin to worry. What if he’s found Richard first? What if they are alone somewhere? Where is Richard, I fret, even though maybe three minutes have passed since he left my sight. Maybe I should have belled him? No, I’m being ridiculous. And very juvenile. And behaving as if I do not trust my lover… all right, let’s not go there, please…. “Has he asked about Richard?”

  “He hasn’t asked me,” she replies. “He and Amy have been together ever since they arrived, though, hanging out with your mother and Reverend Fisher.”

  “Oh?” Friends? Or conspirators? Or paranoia on my part rearing its ugly head? I think I’ll go for door number three at the moment and hold on to my options.

  “Max, we’ll get through this night, I promise.” She pats my arm and smiles at me with a knowledge born of long familiarity with me and the wolf both. “You know I’m always here for you.”

  “I know,” I acknowledge her words, “believe me, I know, and I count on you, Rachel, probably far too much, but I do, and I always have, haven’t I?”

  “Yeah, but you can’t help it if you’re one of the weaker sex.” She winks at me as she leans in to kiss my cheek.

  “Hardy har, I can barely contain my laughter.” I feel a cold glass thrust into my hand—he is here, he is here, he is here—and I smile with relief and take a sip from the drink, not even noticing what it is.

  “Whiskey sour,” Richard says. “Thought it make take the edge off, but you’ll have to limit those, of course.”

  I nod my agreement, and everything is right again. For the moment.

  ONE hour, forty minutes to go. Here come Cat and Sebastian, with Maggie accompanying them. Richard and I have made the circuit of the room already but have had the great luck not to run into the man of the hour. Good. Or my mother and her boyfriend. I already feel better because of it and decide to indulge in a second drink. Richard turns his watchful eye on me, tells me to take it easy, but makes no other objection.

  “Max, are you okay?” Cat asks solicitously.

  Sebastian laughs at her concern. “He always looks like that, pasty pale.”

  “Rather be pasty pale than have a fat ass,” I mutter half under my breath.

  “Surely you’re not referring to me!” he snorts, “’cause I have a very fine ass, well-toned for a man of my age, if you don’t believe me, just ask Cat—”

  “Yeah, sure,” I needle him.

  “Quit teasing Max,” Cat admonishes my cousin. She gives him a stern look, as if mentally reminding him what tonight is. Like he doesn’t know and hasn’t been fully aware of each and every full moon ever since he first was told the truth about me. And like he doesn’t call me on each and every one to make sure I am okay. She turns back to me. “Have you checked out the food yet?”

  “No, not yet.” I shake my head. “I’m not hungry. Richard, why don’t we get you something to e
at, we won’t have time later—”

  “We have plenty of time, don’t worry, Max,” he reassures me, and to tease Sebastian, as well as to comfort me, he draws me to him and kisses me sweetly.

  “I trust you two have a room?” Sebastian asks dryly.

  Richard doesn’t bat an eye. “No, we don’t, so we’ll have to make out here, sorry.” Cat merely giggles. I return Richard’s kiss, and for a moment, time stands still.

  FIFTY-FIVE minutes. The band that is playing is no better and no worse than the band that played twenty years ago. I honestly couldn’t tell you the name of either group. The major difference between them lies in the selection of music in their individual repertoires. But oddly enough, they do play some of the same tunes, which I tell myself I shouldn’t make too much out of that. They are popular songs, after all. We move gracefully together, still very much in sync even after all these years, our timing perfect. And in between our own dances, I graciously give my lover to both Rachel and Cat to squire them about the dance floor. And Maggie, too, of course.

  We have gotten exceedingly lucky. Although the greasy little git has been sighted, we have not had to talk to him once, as he was always been outside of our immediate vicinity. And our time is over half done. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.

  I have seen my mother, of course. And him. For some odd reason, the Right Reverend Fisher is going out of his way to be uber-friendly to both of us, which in itself is odd. He even compliments Richard on his photos of Morgan. I look at the smug expression on his whiskered face, and I simply want to slap him and ask him what game he is playing. But of course I don’t. Mother wants to know if I’ll have time to come for lunch sometime soon. I tell her I’ll check my schedule and get back to her.

  What of Richard’s mother? Moonsong is gone, apparently, according to Juliet. She drove off just this morning, in fact. I know that she didn’t call and talk to Richard; I can see it in his eyes when he hears the news, but I can see he also isn’t surprised or very much interested. Funny how the members of that family come and go without a thought or a by-your-leave or a—damn, I shouldn’t go there, not now, not now. I can’t help it; I clutch at his arm possessively. Of course he has no idea why, and he simply allows me to do so. Isn’t this night over yet?

  FORTY minutes. I’ve never seen fifteen minutes go by so slowly. I look at my watch and groan. Diana has finally arrived, fashionably late as she calls it, and on her arm is a man I’ve never seen. She introduces him to me as Oliver. Sticks her tongue out at me behind his back, as if to say “you asked for it, you got it.” Little sisters! He seems friendly enough, about her age I think, and from what I can see of him, he likes my sister, but I am simply too distracted to delve into it too deeply. Any other night, I’d be grilling him thoroughly about his intentions toward her, so I guess in a way this is a good thing, at least for Diana.

  I’ve managed to talk Richard into sampling some of the offerings from the buffet table. And he has made me eat a little bit as well, even though I insist I’m not hungry. The bacon-wrapped water chestnuts are good, though, I do admit, once I actually eat them. Richard simply gives me one of his piercing glances and reminds me that if I want to make love tomorrow, after the change, I will need my strength. Damn, he surely knows all my weaknesses too well, doesn’t he? A major one being him, of course. I manage to sneak in another whiskey sour in a futile attempt to relax. Actually, my sister gets it for me, and although he clearly disapproves, Richard holds his tongue. I try to smile at him reassuringly, but I think he knows better. And I continue to cling to him like a barnacle on a sunken ship.

  THIRTY minutes. Richard hasn’t left my side all night, other than the few times he has been dancing with the girls. He has been exceedingly attentive and affectionate, and even Sebastian seems to realize that there is this total bond between us, and he lets up on the snide remarks for once. I still think that is Cat’s influence; she is nothing but good for him. No contact whatsoever between Richard and Morgan. Could I have been wrong about what I thought I saw? I like to think so, but my paranoia cannot be assuaged quite that easily. We’ll just have to see, I decide.

  Maybe we can leave now? Get there early…. But just as I think this, I am handed a fluted glass of something bubbly, and there is a clinking sound from the front of the room and a clearing of throats, the kind that usually presages speeches or announcements.

  There stand my mother, Reverend Fuckface, and the pretty boy himself. Fisher is tapping his glass for attention, and of course he is getting it. “We’re here tonight to say farewell and good luck to Morgan Arthur, and to wish him well in his new career.” Light applause here. “We’ve had the pleasure of getting to know Morgan and to appreciate what a fine young man he is, an upstanding member of the church and of the community, and although we will miss him, we wish him only the best of luck!” More applause stronger. “Let us drink now to this fine young man!” Here he turns to face Mr. Prissy, raises his glass, while everyone dutifully mimics his actions. Other than me. I refuse to drink to him. No argument allowed.

  Richard catches my eye, sends reassurance my way. God, will this feeling in my chest never go away? A tightness around my heart that refuses to relent, no matter what I do or what Richard does. At least he’s up there, and we’re back here, even though that is too close for my taste.

  FIFTEEN minutes. I’m about to jump out of my skin any moment now, dammit! I want to go and I want to go now! Richard lays a soothing hand on my arm, brushes his lips over mine. “Almost, my love, almost. We’ll be out of here and gone before you know it. I won’t let anything happen to you, pretty baby, don’t worry.” That isn’t what I’m worried about, but I merely sigh and bite my lips so hard that I draw blood.

  SEVEN minutes. I excuse myself to use the facilities, and when I return Maggie tells me that Richard has left me a message: he has gone outside to have a smoke—he has refrained the entire time we have been there—and will be back as soon as he gets some nicotine in his system. I have to admit he has been rather calm this night, considering, so I don’t begrudge him that. He is being considerate, knowing that I don’t like it around me; otherwise he would have just waited ’til we left. And by the time Richard gets back, it will be time to leave. I glance around automatically, as I have been doing all evening, searching for Little Lord Fauntleroy. But I don’t see him anywhere. But I do see Amy. Alone. First time tonight I haven’t seen them together, come to think of it. “Where did junior go?” I ask sarcastically.

  My blood chills at the answer. “He went outside, too, right after Richard did,” Maggie responds innocently.

  I swallow hard and have to remind myself to breathe. “Do you know where outside they went?”

  Maggie shrugs. “Sorry, I have no idea.”

  Gotta go, gotta go, gotta get out of here, now, immediately! I don’t know why, but I just know that is what I have to do.

  “Max, what’s wrong?” she asks me. Undoubtedly I look as if I have just seen a ghost.

  “Nothing,” I mutter in an attempt to stay calm. It fails miserably. “Just tell Rach where I went, will ya?” I call over my shoulder as I rush toward the exit.

  What do I expect to see? I don’t know, I can’t imagine. Okay, maybe I can imagine. I berate myself for having such an imagination, for being so mistrustful of Richard. But it’s Morgan I don’t trust, not Richard. Yes, but it comes down to the same thing, ’cause it takes two to tango, doesn’t it? After all, he doesn’t mistrust me even though Amy tries to wear me like a cheap suit every chance she gets. He knows how I feel about him, how faithful I am to him and always will be. Damn! That tears at my heart, even as I keep repeating rhythmically to myself, no, no, no, no, no….

  Once outside the building, I glance up into the overcast night and shiver. Not yet. Not yet, but almost. We have to leave soon, get the hell out of here. I glance around, see nothing. Then I remember something: Richard left his pack of cigarettes in the car, just so he wouldn’t be tempted to smoke in the hotel. Th
at’s where he must be. I turn my steps toward the parking lot. We’ve parked the Monte away from all the others, as is our wont. She sits in the shadows in a corner of the lot. Being black, she doesn’t stick out, either, but I catch the gleam of her chrome in the faint lighting that manages to creep back that far. And my lupine eyes see more than that now: a figure, no it’s actually two figures, standing by the side of our car. I had thought at first that it was one because of their proximity to one another. What the…?

  Everything takes on the quality of a dream at this point. I approach the car on silent feet, watching the terrible tableau that unfolds itself before me and feeling like every ounce of breath has been forcibly expelled from my body. It’s Richard and Morgan, together, literally, their lips so close that I can actually see the silhouette of their tongues battling for supremacy, and their hands—my God, their hands, like cock-hungry suckers—they are inside one another’s pants, visibly jacking one another off, before my very eyes, my very unbelieving eyes, these eyes that I wish I could tear out of my head, along with this heart of mine, which has just died a very horrible death inside my chest.

  They seem unaware of my presence, intent on their horrible rutting, until they raise their heads at the sound of a terrible scream which fills the night air, a discordant note in the otherwise silent night. It takes me a moment to realize that the scream came from my own lips.

  Richard turns, sees me, and disentangles himself from… what? His lover? Is that what he is? I don’t know. I mean, it’s one thing to think about things that might be happening with other men when he’s not with me, when he’s out of range, but to have it thrust into your field of vision, to actually see it, makes it all the more immediate and heartbreaking.