“Hello there, Sebastian, isn’t it?” he greets him. My cousin nods, giving him a look which plainly says if you try to kiss me, I will hurt you, so the host refrains. “What do you think the members of this survey might have said?”
“Frankly, any reasons they could give would be wrong,” my cousin pontificates. “But I’ll play along and guess,” he hastily adds, being on the wrong end of a glare from Cat. “Because he is lonely?”
“Survey says!” Dawson yells, and suddenly we hear ding ding ding ding as a piece of the board flips over, and the number five reason is revealed: Because Max is lonely. The audience dutifully applauds.
On to Rachel now. “Hello, love.” Dawson kisses her, and I hear her, too, giggle. Why do women act so goofy on national TV?
“Hello, Richard.”
“Yes, we have two Richards here, don’t we?” the smarmy host schmoozes. “And what does Rachel have to say about the other Richard? What do you think our audience found to be the top reason for Max to take him back?”
“Because Max thinks he’s sexy?” she suggests. Ding ding ding ding! More applause as the second reason graces the board: Max thinks Richard is sexy.
Well, they’ve done their part; now it’s up to us. Here comes the genial English host, closing the space between the two teams. First he addresses Maggie, who is at the other end of our line. “Hello, sweetness.” He kisses her as well, and Maggie blushes. “Have an answer for me, love?”
“Yes.” She nods. “Because he is innocent.”
“Because he is innocent!” Dawson yells at no one in particular, and once again the crowd goes wild, and over flips the third reason. Only two more to go.
Cat’s turn now, and she is ready with her answer. “Because Max is an honorable man,” she says once she receives her obligatory kiss. Which is the fourth of the top five reasons. Only one left. It’s strictly up to me. If I get this right, we win. Or is it that I win? I can’t be sure.
Dawson stands before me now. “Hello, Max. No pressure, mate, no pressure,” he reassures me, “but if you get this, you’ll win the grand prize, and I think you know what that is, don’t you?” Of course I know, and I feel like everything that I have ever dreamed or hoped for is at stake, riding on my answer. “What do you think the top answer is to the question: What are the top five reasons that Max Montague should take Richard Burke back into his life? What do you think, Max? I mean, surely you have some insight into the matter?” And he winks at me most roguishly.
The audience begins to chant, “Max, Max, Max, Max!” As do all my family and friends—they have materialized suddenly from nowhere; they are all here now, including Diana and Jackson and Nathaniel, even Moonsong, encouraging me to reply. Have to think, have to think, have to think—but do I really? Surely I know the top reason why I should take him back. Without further ado, I blurt out, “Because I still love him!”
The crowd goes wild! Confetti falls from the sky in mysterious shredded waves of color, and noisemakers are ratcheting loudly while a band is blaring, everyone is cheering, and a lone spotlight falls into the center of the audience. I watch, mystified, as a figure detaches itself from the rest and begins to move toward the stage, closer and closer now, until I can see a familiar silhouette, and then suddenly I know who it is, and my mouth goes dry, and I turn hot and cold at the same time. He’s almost there now; I can see his handsome face clearly as he reaches for me, and I reach for him, and our fingers just begin to touch….
I WAKE with a start, still sitting in my chair, still in my own home, still quite alone. And more than a bit shaken. This can’t go on, I decide. I have to do something. And I have to do it now. The dream, though, has definitely given me an idea. I intend to take a survey of my own, of my closest friends and family.
Beginning with my mother. Who better than the woman whom I began my life with? I shake my head to clear away the last little vestiges of my odd dream. For some inexplicable reason, I feel the need to change my clothes, so I search through my closet and I come out bearing a suit—one of Richard’s favorites in fact, and mine as well—a soft, fawn three-piece which has many lovely memories associated with it. It is like I am girding myself for battle. Maybe I am in a way. A battle for my life. And the love of my life. Onward to Webster Groves now.
Ever since we outed my mother’s boyfriend—ex-boyfriend I should say—she has been as good as her word and has had no communication with him. Her choice, of course. She simply closed that chapter of her life and moved on. He, on the other hand, either in a fit of rage or having figured out that Josiah played some part in what occurred at the church, has let him go. What a compassionate man. But Rachel, having the kind heart that she has, has found employment for him at the Tribune and is allowing him to stay in her apartment temporarily, since she is basically living with me, just until he can get on his feet again. So for all concerned, all’s well that ends well. Mother doesn’t talk about him, and things between us have gone back to the way they were before. But even better. No more blind dates. No more jabs at Richard and I, either singly or together. It’s a shame this couldn’t have happened while we were still together.
I pull the Monte into the drive, assuming she will be there, which she is. I waltz into the house, bursting with a nervous energy that I just can’t seem to shake. “Mother!” I call out. “Where are you?”
“Here, Max.” She is coming down the hall from the kitchen. “No need to yell, I’m right here.” She greets me with a hug, then looks at me critically. “Are you all right? You look paler than usual.”
“Yes. I mean no. I mean—” I grab her hand and gaze earnestly into her eyes. “Have you talked to Cat?”
“Cat? Yes.” A knowing look steals into her eyes. “She told me her theory about Morgan.”
“And? What do you think?” I look at her anxiously.
“Max, I don’t know,” she admits. “I know what you want to hear: that this makes everything all right, ’cause he didn’t really do anything, it wasn’t his fault, right?”
I nod, saying nothing.
“Max, maybe I don’t have a right to speak, but I do love you, and I want what is best for you, you know that, don’t you?”
Again I nod.
“Then I have to tell you that only you can decide what is right for you. You’re the one that has to live with what you decide. Not me, not Cat, not anyone else. What I think doesn’t matter. I love both of you, despite evidence to the contrary. And whatever decision you make, I’ll respect, honey.” She takes me into her arms. It feels good to have my mother back again—the new, improved Juliet Montague.
“Okay, I’ll accept that,” I say. So far, one neutral opinion.
“So, what’s the occasion?” She smiles. “You’re looking very nice, by the way.”
“No occasion,” I maintain. “Laundry day?”
She laughs. “I know you better than that; you’re never out of clean clothes. Okay then, Max, I can tell you’re on a mission of your own. It’s just too obvious. Call me later and let me know what happens?”
“I will,” I promise as I kiss my mother good-bye and move to the next stage of my quest.
Next stop is the St. Louis Tribune. I can kill two birds with one stone here. Hopefully avoid Amy in the bargain. Not that I am afraid of her, mind you, or whatever she might be attempting to do to me. But I am so very angry with her, because she has brought this about with her witless machinations, her need to have someone who has never had a thought for her beyond simple friendship. It is so totally inane and pointless, that it’s frightening. I take the elevator to the third floor and disembark. Maggie is where I expect to find her, at reception, and she has a big hug and a kiss for me.
“Max, I didn’t know you were working today; Rachel never said a word,” she says.
“I’m not. I just decided to come in,” I return. “Um, Maggie, have you talked to Cat recently?”
Maggie nods. “Uh huh. She told me all about it.” Good, that saves long explanations on my par
t.
“What do you think I should do?” I look at her most earnestly.
“I think you should take him back,” she says promptly, predictably. “Since you’re asking. I mean, he didn’t do anything, Max; it wasn’t his fault. And he misses you terribly. I know he does.” Her big doe eyes look into mine, pleading my lover’s cause.
“Have you seen him?”
She nods. “Once. He came into the office, hoping you were here. I’ve talked to him on the phone, though, a few times.”
“Do you know where he is staying, Maggie?” I’m almost afraid to find out he’s living with old friends, boyfriends even.
“Some motel, I think. I’m not sure.”
That’s better than what I was afraid of, anyway.
“Max, sweetie? Everything okay?” Rachel’s voice. I look up to find her striding toward me, concern written in her eyes.
“Rach, I know you know everything. What do you think I should do?” I ask anxiously.
“Max, I don’t know. I mean, okay, maybe he and Morgan weren’t together in the way that you thought they were, and maybe you misjudged him that one time. But what about the other times? You have to be honest with yourself. Surely those other times weigh on your mind? Of course they do. You need to discuss those with him before you allow him back into your life again. Let him know that he can’t do that to you anymore. If he’s coming back, he’s coming back to stay. Period. Tell him you don’t run a hotel where he can check in and out whenever it’s convenient to him.”
I can’t deny the truth in her words. But do I have the strength to do that? Talk to him about what is bothering me, what’s been bothering me for years? If I had that kind of strength, wouldn’t I have done it before now? And do I really want to hear about those other men? What if he decides to come clean and confess to everything? Can I handle that? Or will it hurt more to hear the intimate details, the things which I can only guess at now?
“Max,” she continues, “you have to do what’s best for you. It’s your decision, honey. Whatever you do, you know I’m here for you, don’t you? Always have been and always will be.”
“Me too,” Maggie echoes.
My eyes mist as I regard my two dear friends. What would I ever do without them? I don’t even want to think about it.
I get hugs all around, make my farewells, and once more I am on my way. One for, one against. One more person to see, and then I need to think. I already know Cat’s opinion.
I call my cousin and end up meeting him at a gas station which is actually on the way back to my house. He is in between stops himself, which is why we are meeting here. Not that I can’t go to his home or office, he just happens to be very busy. Whatever. It works for me. I pull my Monte in behind his SUV, and we converse as we fill our tanks.
“I know Cat told you about Richard,” I begin, “and what happened between him and Morgan Arthur.”
“Of course,” he says, watching the numbers flip quickly by on the pump. Ridiculously quickly, in fact. “We keep no secrets, Max. We tell each other everything.” I know that, of course, and that’s fine with me. Cat knows everything about me, has known for years. Sebastian is free to discuss anything in regards to me, as far as I am concerned.
“So, let’s cut to the chase. What do you think?” I ask point blank.
“What do I think? I still think he’s not good enough for you. I don’t care about that other stuff,” he says bluntly. “Frankly, I think you can do better. Why put yourself through it? How long has this been going on, Max? You never know when he’s going to disappear. You can’t rely on him; he’s just not dependable.” His pump clicks off, and he pulls the nozzle out of his gas tank, repositioning it on the pump as he waits for the receipt.
“But he didn’t do anything with Morgan,” I point out, attempting to play devil’s advocate.
Sebastian shrugs. “Okay, so one time he wasn’t guilty. Big deal. Don’t you want someone you can rely on all the time, not just sometimes?” He opens the slot, removes the slip of paper. “But it’s up to you, Max, it’s your decision. You have to live with it, not me. I would never dream of giving up Cat because you asked me to, and I don’t expect you to give up Richard for me.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to do that. Cat’s a wonderful person.”
“Well, there you go.” He smiles archly and gives me a hug. “Gotta go, I’ll talk to you later.” And he takes off while I finish gassing up my car, grimacing at the ridiculous price of gasoline.
Once I’m done, I’ve nowhere to go but home, so I do.
There’s so much to think about now. Serious thinking. In-depth thinking. The kind I’ve been avoiding for years. I’m the bloody king of avoidance, I am. But see where it’s got me? I have to think about it anyway. This should have been resolved a long time ago. Maybe I’d have saved myself a lot of unnecessary suffering. Or maybe I’d have lost Richard earlier? I wish I knew.
I greet my princess with the proper hugs and kisses and let her outside to romp. She is happy to see me, but she is even happier to be able to run free. I merely stand there as if I have been turned into a lycanthropic piece of statuary while she frolics in the grass, chasing the butterflies as they flitter and barking at the birds which threaten her so viciously. Silly puppy.
So, what have I learned from this impromptu survey I’ve taken? I know what they all think now, what their advice to me is. But ultimately, it is my decision to make, and I know it.
So many years, so many memories. I have no intention of replaying them all right now, like this is the final chapter in my life, time for the recap, the totaling of the score, the tallying of the points to see who has come out ahead in this game we call life. At this moment, I don’t see it as a matter of winners and losers. That isn’t what is important. People are important. Love is important. And Richard has always been the most important person in my life. So what am I questioning? And what the hell am I going to do?
Are his physical infidelities important enough to lose him over permanently? To give up the love which unquestionably lies between us because of a few indiscretions? Okay, I don’t know that it’s a few. I have no idea what the number is, and I don’t want to know. I do know that he loves me; I don’t think I’m mistaken there. And I do know that we have something that few people ever achieve in their lifetimes, a certain harmony of spirit and soul, a balance within ourselves that transcends everything else. But at the same time, isn’t fidelity an important point in a relationship? Doesn’t it also have to do with respect for oneself as well as for one’s partner? The comings and goings, the uncertainties have preyed upon my mind for years. Not to mention the question of AIDS, which is a life or death issue, unquestionably. Doesn’t that count for something? Shouldn’t he be made to at least account for his actions, if not explain them?
I’m back to square one, and no better off than when I started. Principessa has gotten hold of one of her toys that she sometimes leaves outside and has settled down to contentedly gnaw on it. I hear the crunch of tires on gravel from the front of the house and wonder idly if Rachel wants to go out to dinner, seeing as she’s worked all day. I don’t really want to cook, not right now. Maybe later.
Principessa barks, throwing her toy aside, and she scampers past me as if I’m not there. That dog loves Rachel very, very much. I can’t help but smile at the wild excitement with which she greets her, as if she hasn’t seen her in ages, instead of just this morning, her barking rising to a fever pitch.
And then I hear it.
“Max.”
It’s not Rachel. I should have known from the reactions of my princess; she is far too excited. It’s Richard. He’s here. Behind me. Right now.
I turn around, and my heart is fighting to escape my chest at the mere sight of him. Oh my God, how incredibly handsome he is, and so very sexy, and how much I want to throw my arms around him and smother him with my body, tell him I love him, beg him to stay, to never leave me again. But my common sense holds me back. I know, you’re
questioning that I even have any, but apparently I do, ’cause it’s got me locked in place at the moment, simply staring at him, drinking him in with my eyes.
There is something different about him, even as I realize that he looks the same. His eyes are the same midnight blue, but they are subdued, and I see a few fine lines I hadn’t noticed before in his forehead. His eyes, so beautiful, so expressive, and yet they seem to be filled with pain at the same time.
“Richard.”
And then I notice that he is wearing his three-piece suit, the one he got when I bought this one, except his is a pale brick color that accentuates the blond of his hair. And it looks damn good on him. Kathump, kathump, kathump. If it gets any louder, I’ll have to scream to make myself heard over the beating of that monstrous heartbeat. Not that I am saying anything anyway. Merely looking. And wishing. And hoping. Why am I always hoping? What is it exactly I am hoping for? A miracle? Or merely to be saved?
“You look well,” he says softly.
“So do you.” Both liars. I know we both look like we’ve been to hell and back. Even as we speak, we step closer to one another, as if we are polarized, one to the other. Step by simple step. Until he halts his forward momentum, stops where he is, as if he is determined to speak first.
What do I mean “first”? I think you know what I mean. Isn’t this where Max gives in and allows himself to be used again? To bend over and simply take it? To allow the prodigal son back into the fold? Or is that sheep? My brain isn’t functioning at the moment; I don’t know much of anything right now.
“Max, I wanted to talk to you, because, well, because there are things that we’ve never talked about,” he begins.
Kathump! I think it’s going to explode now. Get ready to pick up the pieces, everyone. Dear God, what now, what now, what now?
“There’s something I have to tell you, to try to explain to you.”
This is it. This is the big speech where the hero lets down—what, the other hero?—gently, as gently as possible, the big send-off, the kiss-off, the “I love you, Max, but…” speech. But there’s someone else, or there isn’t someone else but I need space. Or just I don’t need you.
To the Max Page 39
