Chills ran down my spine. I pictured his scarred shoulder blades. Did he bloody sell his soul to the devil? “Your wings, Gabe?”
“My wings, luv.” He leaned forward to kiss me. He meant to speak no more. With that kiss, he sealed his words. “Am I scaring you to death?”
I knew better than to press the matter. “No,” I said, resting my forehead against his lips. I searched myself for fear or uncomfortable feelings, but all I found was peace and acceptance. “Are you in pain?”
“Not the physical kind,” he said after a second. “Not anymore.”
“You have nightmares.” I thought about his scream and the shadow slithering away in the shattered stillness of the night.
He stared straight into my eyes, “Yes. But, you do too.”
“My nightmares are a joke compared to what you must have gone through.”
“No nightmare is a joke. I learned that a long time ago, luv. You need to learn to respect your fears. That’s the only way you’re going to be able to conquer them.”
“I need to worry about my own monsters and you’ll take care of yours?” I asked quietly.
“Yes.”
“Where does all this leave my love for you?”
“In my heart, Porzia. I’ve put my life on the line but my heart is free to love as I choose.”
I cupped his face with my hands and drew him closer. I smiled a soft smile and kissed him. “This love I’ve got for you . . . well, it’s sort of out of control . . .”
That night our lovemaking reflected the newly acquired reassurance that no matter what the past had been or what the future held, we were going to happen. Surrounded by silence, as if nature respected our decision, our movements had a liquid slowness, an unhurried, smooth rhythm, a stillness that held its breath. It lingered along with darkness right outside my windows until mounting pleasure shook every cord of our beings, rippling against the hot summer air, stirring a surreal breeze one shade darker than night itself. The profound connection of our bodies and souls in that velvet darkness reset the matrix of our destinies.
I woke up in the night stillness with my mouth parched. Gabe’s arm weighed heavily across my lower waist; for a second, I felt trapped by it in the darkness. With both hands, I lifted his arm so I could get up. I walked silently to the window to stare out at night itself. Nothing moved out there. The sky, in its impossible vastness, struggled to accommodate my heart. Right after the past life regression, Evalena had said that the immensity of my soul would be capable of embracing knowledge, and yet I struggled with the mystery surrounding Gabe’s accident.
Bulging storm clouds pushed against one another like giant, confused pachyderms. A few raindrops fell; slowly at first, as if not quite sure falling from the sky was their intent, then faster and stronger. The seams tore and the rain crashed down all at once.
Peridot’s tail coiled around my ankle as lighting struck, giving shapes to darkness around me. I knelt to pick up his soft body and held him in my arms. At the flash, I counted mentally: uno . . . due . . . tre . . . quattro . . . cinque . . . sei . . . sette . . . otto . . . nove. The thunder arrived. I divided nine by three, figuring the storm to be about three miles away.
“The gods are tilting buckets up there, micio,” I whispered to my kitty. It was an old expression Joséphine used when thunderstorms like this struck back home.
In the tear of another lightning bolt, Gabe appeared. Face down, sleeping undisturbed with a sheet wrapped carelessly over his lower back, and a bent arm supporting his head half-buried beneath the pillow, he faced away from me. I left the window and walked in darkness until my knees found his side of the bed. Above the rain, his peaceful breath filled my ears. Oblivious to the storm outside, the rhythm of his breathing stilled my heart. I waited for the next burst of lighting and used that instant of brilliant illumination to look at his back. I didn’t see the scars. I waited for another lightning flash and tried again, but it didn’t work. The flash didn’t last long enough for me to even focus. It came and went; thunder walked toward us in the sky above.
I wondered why I was so set on looking at his scars. I wasn’t going to get answers from looking at his back. I pondered what he had told me earlier. How much it must have meant to him to share such a painful part of his life with me. My heart bled in pain at the thought of him trapped in the metal wreck. I imagined him coming out of the coma to face what had happened, having to deal with it, to ultimately accept it. I knew that, except for the thin scars along his shoulder blades, he was in perfect physical shape. He had proven it to me. Whatever kept him from racing now must be something entirely spiritual and extremely profound.
Was I relieved he wasn’t racing anymore? How would I feel knowing he would be going off for weeks, risking his neck at every turn? I honestly found no answers to such questions. All I knew was that racing was what he loved the most and that I would not be the one keeping him from it.
No. No matter how dangerous.
I followed the edge of the bed to my side, balancing Peridot on my left arm. I took a sip of water from the glass on my nightstand and waited a second, holding my breath, listening for Gabe’s.
“Xavier?” I asked softly.
Peridot’s purring was my only answer. I scratched his chin.
Sleep eluded me and I didn’t feel like laying back down. I fumbled in the dark to find my robe, all the while holding the cat. Barefoot, I walked into the den to work a little. I sat at my desk, slipped into the robe, and readjusted the folds along my bare legs. Peridot jumped off my lap and went to sit on his favorite chair, fascinated by the rivulets of rain streaking the dark window. He completely ignored me. I flipped open my laptop and hit the on switch. Oscar wanted the article by the end of the week so I went to work. I barely had to glance at my notes, picking up where I left off; as my fingers flew over the keyboard I recalled the magic of Delilah’s recipes from memory and captured Aeson’s charming hospitality and the intriguing energies of their restaurant.
Rain poured relentlessly as night collapsed under the weight of a gray dawn. My brain begged for coffee. I made a cappuccino and sipped at it as I re-read my words, correcting here and there, stifling yawns. I stretched my aching body and went through the motions of saving the article, e-mailing and faxing a copy to Oscar. The sleep that so eluded me earlier now filled up my brain like a wet fog. It was still raining cats and dogs when I crawled back in bed.
*
For being a gourmet writer/critic, my fridge was looking pretty depressing, I thought a couple of hours later as I poked through the rubble of yogurt and San Pellegrino mineral water for something more substantial.
Gabe fidgeted by the stove with the Moka. “I can’t believe this bloody thing is supposed to make coffee.”
“I can’t believe I have such an empty fridge.” I stared straight at a jar of salted capers on the top shelf next to some clarified butter. Empty fridge, but still gourmet.
“Never mind.” I shut the refrigerator, giving up on breakfast.
I walked up to him. “It’s an espresso machine, amore mio,” I explained, tickling his bare toes with mine as I filled the lower part of the Moka with fresh water, set in the filter, and added the ground coffee. He folded his arms against his chest and watched every move I made. I screwed the top part of the machine back on and fired the stove burner.
“Once the water boils, it percolates through the little funnel filter, soaking the coffee up, making magic happen . . . et voilà! Espresso shoots up from the tiny chimney into the top chamber.” I wasn’t done speaking yet when the little Moka, as if prompted by my words, began to huff and puff, letting us know it was happily doing its duty.
I took two small cups from the cupboard and asked Gabe how much sugar he would like.
“One.” His arms were still crossed against his chest.
I scooped one spoon for him and one for me into a small stainl
ess steel creamer. I then added a little steaming espresso from the Moka and, using a small spoon, beat the sugar and coffee, whipping up a frothy cream in a matter of seconds. I added the remaining espresso to the creamer and stirred gently until a thick, sweet, creamy foam rose to the top. I poured the espresso into the small cups and handed one to Gabe.
“Am I supposed to drink this with my little finger standing at attention or what?” he asked, taking the cup.
“You do whatever, just let me know if you like it or not.” I raised my cup to my lips, anticipating the pleasure of the flavor that already intoxicated my sensitive nostrils.
“This is great!” He licked the frothy cream from his lips.
“Of course it is,” I said, laughing at his surprise.
“Can I have another?” He looked to see if there was any espresso left in the Moka.
“Be my guest. Now that you know how it works you can make your own while I watch.” I handed him the coffee can and sugar bowl.
“Do you want another?”
I shook my head. “No, thanks.” I hugged his waist and planted a kiss on his bare shoulder.
“So, what would you like to do today?”
The phone rang. As I reached for it, the doorbell rang, too. I motioned to Gabe to get the door as I picked up the phone.
It was Oscar calling from La Guardia airport, all twitters and delights over the article and the excellent photos Jason had just sent him.
Chirp . . . chirp . . . he went on . . . and pardon for such short notice, but would I enjoy an invitation to the grand opening of Chez le Chat, an old New Orleans brothel just turned restaurant, scheduled for tomorrow evening? It could turn into a great piece . . .
How could I refuse? Oscar is such a colorful creature, a real pleasure to work with. His bubbly enthusiasm is not only contagious, but also so powerful he can turn water into champagne just by giggling.
I turned my head to ask Gabe if he would like to see New Orleans and caught him winking at me. Still wearing only his boxers, grinning from ear to ear, he pointed to a stunned and entranced Benedetta now standing in my kitchen. Above Oscar’s tweeting I heard him tell her to have a seat as he left to grab something to wear. I waved at Benedetta from where I stood, but she didn’t notice me. Her busy eyes followed Gabe as he walked away. Her already impossibly purple cheeks darkened even more.
I finished my phone call and walked back into the kitchen. I put my left hand under Bene’s chin and my right on the top of her head. With a quick professional move—one of those you struggle to follow when they happen in karate movies—I shut her mouth, forgetting that her tongue might have been hanging out. I did hear the gritting of tooth against tooth, so I assumed her tongue was safely tucked out of danger.
“Buongiorno! Would you like some coffee?”
She blinked, looked at me, scratched her head, and nodded. I poured half of the fresh espresso Gabe had just made and stuck a cup under her nose. I pushed the sugar closer to her, too. She shook her head and looked at me. “That’s him?”
“Nope. That’s the holy ghost, Bene.”
“Wow!”
“Drink your coffee before it gets too cold.”
She picked up her spoon and added sugar to her tiny cup as Gabe walked back into the kitchen. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed what Benedetta was doing.
“Is that the fresh espresso?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in that sexy way of his.
“Si. Yes. She likes a bit of coffee with her sugar in the morning,” I teased, watching Benedetta stir her syrup. My affection for her spilled outward, as if summoned by my friend’s silly, sugary habit.
“I like it really sweet,” Benedetta confirmed, smiling as well. She tapped the spoon on the rim of the cup to make sure it was clean of any sugar and drank her coffee. She pushed her glasses up her nose and smirked at me.
“Is it alroight?” Gabe asked, pouring the rest for himself.
“Yes, it’s excellent. I didn’t mean to bother you guys, but she didn’t tell me you were visiting.” She shot him a shy look.
“She didn’t know I was coming until I showed up.”
“And you never bother me,” I assured her, still basking in my idyllic state.
“I was wondering if you could check on Eros for a few days next week.”
“You’re going back to Georgia, aren’t you?”
Benedetta’s plum checks were just about ready to be picked and made into jam . . . This was the most I had seen her blush in such a short time frame. “Yes. Eros didn’t like the pet-sitter place much. It will only be for a couple of days.”
“And school?”
“School’s fine, I’m only taking off two working days. The other two I’d have free anyway.”
“Are you driving?”
“No, I was thinking of manifesting myself Star Trek-style, Porzia.”
Gabe chuckled.
“Look, if it’s too much trouble because you’ve got company, I understand.”
“No, he’ll be back home by then.” I looked at Gabe for confirmation. He nodded.
“Of course I’ll check on Eros. It’s the least I can do after you took such good care of Peridot and the house while I was in Australia.” I reached over to hug her.
“Not to mention the countless times you were out there somewhere stuffing your face,” she said, returning my squeeze.
“OK then, it’s settled. Now, let’s have a bit of feed,” Gabe said.
“I’d love to feed you two but I’ve got no food. The cupboard is bare,” I apologized.
Benedetta stood and brought her cup to the sink. “It’s OK. I’m off to work anyway. But I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.” She looked at Gabe. “But then, you’ve got no shoes.” She grabbed her bag, chuckling, and hit the door waving good-bye.
“That’s your best friend?” he asked as he walked over to hug me.
“Yes, that’s Bene all right.”
“You’re from two different planets.”
“Maybe that’s why we get along so well.” I lifted my lips to kiss his chin. “How about I get dressed and you do too.” I tugged at his quickly thrown on shirt. “And we hit a good place I know for breakfast; then we go grocery shopping.”
“Roight.” He kissed me. It took a while to find clothes.
*
We had breakfast at Napoleon Bakery where Etienne waltzed around us with fluffy truffle and brie omelettes, warm baguettes, fresh orange juice, and fruit salad.
When I introduced Etienne to Gabe, he said, “Breakfast is on the house,” and then sat down next to me. With a deep sigh he asked Gabe how it felt to beat Tonacci.
I tensed waiting for Gabe’s response. I wasn’t sure he would be comfortable talking about his racing days with perfect strangers.
Gabe set his fork down to give Etienne his full attention. “Piece of piss, mate,” he said. “Roight before start-up, Tonacci had actually come up to shake hands. To wish something like ‘break a leg.’ Gomi, my head mechanic, whose blood is worth bottling, actually thought Tonacci wasn’t fair dinkum and accused him of coming up to check things out, to see what we were up to. Gomi told him he stood Buckley’s of beating us this time.
“Since we’d be his most difficult opponents, and he wasn’t inclined to share the limelight, he didn’t take it nicely. We’d heard he’d been too busy circulating in the VIP’s scene to actually get a solid ride. So this time, the bloke was driving a bodgy car not up to his usual standards and began having minor trouble with his performance soon after we crossed over into the Northern Africa territory.
“I had to give it to him; up until then, he’d been as cunning as a dunny rat and had stamina to sell. Nothing to jeopardize his pozzy quite yet, then he still had a fair go. But once things got heated up, he started spewin’ and I gained distance until he wasn’t within cooee of beating m
e to the finish line. He got as mad as a cut snake.”
“Mon Dieu!” Etienne exclaimed, raising his hands to heaven as if having just witnessed a miracle.
Stunned by the way Gabe’s colorful speech whirlwinded me into a vastness of speed, control, focus, endurance, and Oz slang, I felt his rush, his fever brewing, his adrenaline pumping through the challenge, and a flutter of wings erasing it all in the blink of an eye.
Etienne went off to find a menu for Gabe to autograph.
“You don’t mind people recognizing you all the time?”
“It doesn’t happen so much anymore,” he said, finishing his food in two forkfuls. “I used to have to do it to promo the business, especially when sponsors got involved—TV appearances and newspaper interviews. I never did media endorsements, though. I remember when I first started and was scraping to put a vehicle together, I told myself I would never do commercials. I never did.”
“So, when you were a little kid and adults asked you what you wanted to be when you grew up, what did you tell them?”
“A driver,” Gabe said, cracking a grin. “Clark gave me a pedal car when I was about four, I reckon. I drove it everywhere and parked it at the foot of my bed every night before going to sleep. It drove my mother bonkers. By the time I was six, I had outgrown it. I asked Clark to help me mount the lawnmower engine on it so I wouldn’t have to bloody pedal all the time anymore, and we opened up the frame, turning it into a go-kart. The rest is history.”
“That’s amazing. You were able to fulfill your childhood dream and become a racer.”
“It took a lot of hard work. But, yes, you’re roight. I made it happen.” He took a long look at me. “Did you tell people you wanted to eat for a living when you grew up?”
Among The Cloud Dwellers (Entrainment Series) Page 23
