by Eden Winters
“What have you offered?”
“Money. A place to stay.”
“Give him what he needs.”
“He needs money and a place to stay.” And me.
Lucas spoke calmly, the way he had the day they’d met, offering the voice of reason. “Those are the same things Charles offered. What he needs most is a career and a way to earn his own way in life. His dignity.”
“And how can I offer him that?”
Lucas’s harsh exhale wafted through the phone. “Remember how I told you I’d approached his mother with a project idea?”
“Yes?”
“She was interested at first, but in the end turned it down.”
“What was it?”
“A contemporary take on Phantom of the Opera.”
“Remakes are a dime a dozen.” Even Henri had seen one or two.
“This one’s placed in modern times, and based in an inner city.”
Oh, really? A mental image flashed through Henri’s mind of The Phantom in a high-rise office building instead of beneath a theater. “Go on.”
“The phantom is an aging rocker, disfigured in a car wreck. He hides out in his apartment all day, and only ventures out at night. A young singer moves into his building. He takes her under his wing, but never shows her his face.”
Phantom of the Opera, another secret obsession he’d never reveal to the world. Damn, but Henri had crushed on the latest movie phantom. Ah, the fantasies he’d had… which now coalesced into a clear image of him and Seb in the starring roles. “Can she be a he?”
“Why?”
“Who do you see as the phantom?”
“Why, Sebastian, of course.”
Oh yeah. Ideas whirled around Henri’s brain. “No, it’s me. Sebastian is the singer. And there has to be roles for everyone in my band.”
“I don’t know, Henri. What would the public think? No one’s tried anything this ambitious since The Who filmed Tommy.”
“They’ll think whatever they want to. Isn’t that the beauty of the theater, to set the stage and let audiences’ imaginations take them where they want to go? If they want to make this homoerotic, let them. If they want a buddy story, that’s okay too.”
“I don’t know, Henri.”
“Make it happen. But I’m not mentioning the project to Sebastian until you’ve got the story in hand. Oh, and backers, though I’m willing to put up the money.”
“Your name alone will get interest.” Lucas sounded fully on board—and fully awake—now. “Let me see what I can do.”
“You make it happen. And Lucas?”
“Yes?”
“Be here first thing in the morning for your son. He needs you.”
Henri hung up and crept back into the room to take his place beside Seb. For years he’d been surrounded by folks with their hands out, wanting more, more, more, more, more. Seb wanted comfort and Henri’s arms around him. If that was all he’d take, Henri would give whatever he could. “Everything’s going to be all right,” he whispered, pulling his sleeping lover to his chest.
Twenty-Two
Henri woke to an empty bed and a confused manager knocking on the door. Fuck. No telling where Seb had taken off to. He needed protection from Charles. No easy thing to do if he wouldn’t stay put.
“Where is my son?” Lucas demanded.
“I couldn’t exactly keep him against his will.”
“I planned to tell him.” Lucas stopped and leaned against the doorway. The light fixture wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, yet he stared at it anyway.
Henri raised a hand and Lucas flinched. Maybe Lucas had the same reasons to recoil from a raised hand as Sebastian. He didn’t need any more shit. Henri placed his fingers gently on his manager’s shoulder and lowered his voice. “I know.”
Lucas slowly exhaled, dragging his fingers through his hair. “Why’d he leave?”
“Because he’s hardheaded and determined to make it on his own. Lucas, are you familiar with many people in the opera world?”
“A few, not many.”
“Do what you can to make sure he succeeds.”
“Of course.” Lucas pressed his hand over Henri’s. This man was Sebastian’s father. Right now he wasn’t a manager. In days to come Henri might be staring at him across a dining room table full of holiday trimmings.
If they managed to talk some sense into Seb.
One thing at a time. “Any word on the house?”
“It’s yours.”
“No, it’s Sebastian’s, if I can convince him to take it.” Too bad Henri couldn’t take a month off to focus solely on Sebastian’s problems. The Christmas holidays loomed, Thanksgiving having amounted to dinner with his band in a greasy-spoon diner while on the road. Would Sebastian accept the house as a Christmas gift? No, probably not.
“Once you get your script together for The Phantom of the Parking Garage or whatever, I want you to call a press conference.” Henri turned away. Too much intimacy made him nervous these days, unless he counted Seb.
“Any particular reason? You just did one a few weeks ago.”
“Not for me. For Seb. If you can find him.”
What a disgrace. Dozens of reporters flocked to Henri’s press conferences—six measly newshounds showed up for Sebastian’s. The man deserved better.
“Mr. Unger, is it true that alcohol and drug-abuse problems led to your dismissal from Othello?”
Henri glared daggers at the asshole who’d dare imply such a thing and pulled his cap down tighter on his head. Getting recognized wasn’t an option. The Sebastian Unger Show didn’t need upstaging.
“Stress-induced illness led to my withdrawal from the role,” Sebastian replied. He sat with his shoulders back. To those unfamiliar with him, he might seem confident. To Henri, he appeared a pale shadow of himself. Still, he hadn’t taken acting lessons for nothing. “You have my word, if there’d been any other way, I wouldn’t have given up the role of a lifetime.”
There! Take that! Only, Henri wished like hell Sebastian would tell the truth, how an abusive patron pushed him from the limelight he’d fought hard for. He searched Sebastian’s face and found no traces of bruising—likely the result of a skilled makeup artist.
The questions wound down, mainly of a harmless nature like, “What’s next?” to which Sebastian replied, “We’ll have to see. Il Divo made the break from opera to popular music. Maybe I’ll learn from them.”
Finally, the woman Lucas had once planted in Henri’s question-and-answer session raised her hand. “Mr. Unger, is there any truth to the rumor that rock musician Henri Lafontaine wants to collaborate with you on a musical based on Phantom of the Opera?”
Chaos reigned. Henri’s work here was done. On his way out he stopped and hugged Lucas, who waited in the wings to change Sebastian’s life. “Who’s the reporter?” he asked. He liked having a member of the press on their side.
“Her name’s Sharon Mulcahy.” Lucas let loose a grin. “If and when I finally get to be a father to my son, I plan to introduce them.”
Henri gave Lucas a sidewise glance.
Lucas’ grin grew wider. “In six months, she’s going to be his stepmother.”
“You sly dog, you!” Henri thumped Lucas on the back. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks. Anyway, Sharon knows people in New York, Friends of the Opera, who have one hell of a lot more pull than Charles. She’s going to pay a visit. And I’m about to have a long talk with my son.”
“Good. I need to get back to the band, but if you or Seb need me, call.”
Lucas nodded, more solemn than Henri had ever seen him before. One way or another, Sebastian would make the headlines, while Charles circled the drain on his way down.
Hi, Bro! Merry Christmas! Wish you were here. I caught Mom going through some of your old things with a wistful smile on her face. And Dad talked about that Christmas when you were little and knocked the tree over. They miss you. Give them time. They don’t like admitting t
hey were wrong, but they’ll come around.
I got accepted to UCLA! I’m not sure yet what I’m going to do, but there’s no reason why I can’t go to college and do some modeling, is there? Love you!
Smooches,
Jenni
P.S. Have they caught the crazy guy yet? And how’s your boyfriend? You never told me his name. I want pictures of you two.
Henri glanced up from his laptop to stare at the wall with blurred vision. The area behind his heart tattoo squeezed. Right now Jenni would be opening her gifts. She’d squeal over the new iPhone and iPad, and he’d quietly sent an extra message with the Physician’s Desk Reference.
One day she might be a doctor… or a model. As long as she’d made the choice herself, he’d accept whatever she decided.
He discarded several more e-mails, until finding one from Lucas.
Merry Christmas and expect an interesting message from Elason Recordings soon. They’ve got a solid track record with some up-and-coming bands. As you’re soon to find out.
Lucas
BTW, have you heard from Sebastian? I haven’t heard from him since telling him the news.
“No, dammit,” Henri replied to his laptop. Where the hell was Seb? Was he celebrating Christmas with friends, hiding out somewhere? Or had dickwad Charles gotten to him? His chest tightened again. What a fucked-up holiday.
He wandered through a lonely house, heavy with the scent of holly and pine. Garlands hung over the doorway to his living room, festooned with gold-and-white ribbon, glittering gold baubles hanging from the creation. A tree stood by the glass doors leading out to the patio, echoing the theme of green, white, and gold, clear lights shining from the branches.
The decorations didn’t stop when he left the house—his housekeeper’s obsession with the holidays extended to the topiaries around the swimming pool, and pots of holly lined the walkway. The display should have been pretty, and would have been, had someone else been there to enjoy the woman’s efforts.
What a big fucking monstrosity of a place. He’d only bought the mishmash of glass and chrome at his mother’s insistence. It didn’t feel like home. No, home was in the Colorado Rockies. Still, if his sister took him up on the offer of a place to stay, she and her friends might enjoy the pool, not that he’d ever used the thing.
His bandmates were with their families, and he’d even given Arnulfo the day off. There’d been no signs of the stalker since the dead roses, and no proof they’d even come from the same guy who’d drugged him.
His next appointment with Dr. Worthington wasn’t until next week. For all he’d accomplished in his life, where had he taken a wrong turn that led to spending Christmas alone?
He looked out over his neatly groomed lawn. Except for the recently added decorations, the place showed no character at all. If he stayed here, he’d need a landscaper. Roses. He’d plant roses. And gladiolas.
His cell phone rang and he stared at the name on the screen. His heart skipped a beat. Sebastian! “Oh my God, Sebastian! Where are you?”
“A cab dropped me off at your gate. Can I come in?”
“You’re where?” It had to be a joke. But no, a familiar shape stood beyond the wrought iron gates, waving. Henri bounded up the walk and fumbled with the keypad, typing in the code to remove the metal barrier. Then he was in Seb’s warm embrace, in front of his house, for the world to see. At the moment he didn’t give a damn.
Nothing mattered but the man in his arms. Here, safe! After a moment he registered Sebastian’s shiver. “Let’s go in.”
Sebastian hesitated, staring up at the imposing reminder of the differences in their paychecks. “Maybe I should go.”
“It’s a house,” Henri said, “it’s not really a home. It will be if you come inside.”
Seb glanced around the foyer as they entered, but there wouldn’t be any motion from the other rooms to attract his eye—they were alone in the house. “I take it you didn’t patch things up with your family.”
Did Henri detect a note of accusation? “I’m working on it.”
Sebastian raised a skeptical brow in answer.
“No, really! I am. That’s why I’ve agreed to open for Hookers and Cocaine—as a sign of good faith.”
The brow rose higher. How Henri had missed that simple gesture. Sebastian knew him well.
“And to show them up.” If Henri succeeded without his mother’s help, maybe then she’d learn to respect him.
“That’s my Henri.” Sebastian’s smile seemed almost cheerful if not for the rainclouds in his eyes.
Broken. A broken man. Ah, to be the glue to piece him back together again. But Henri must move slowly. One wrong move could send Sebastian running again. “I’m afraid I’m alone here today, and I never learned to cook. Want to order takeout?”
“I didn’t come here to eat—I came here to see you.” Sebastian wrapped his arms around Henri, asking a question with his eyes. Henri answered by meeting him halfway. Sebastian moaned into the kiss, hanging on so tightly Henri fought to breathe.
Henri clung to his lover. If he let go, Sebastian might suddenly disappear. The warmth against him pulled back. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Seb’s beautiful face filled his vision. Seb. Here. Now. “Go into the living room. I’ll get us something to drink,” he said, and then he made short work of his errand, his ear trained for a door slam.
He returned to find his guest inspecting the gold record above the mantel. Henri had been proud of the shiny claim to fame once upon a time. Now he wished he’d hidden the damned reminder of unpleasant memories under the couch. “A Matter of When.” The story of a man in a relationship so bad he’d kill himself to escape. Not the kind of message Sebastian needed to hear.
He placed two cups of tea on the coffee table.
“You’ve done well for yourself,” Seb commented.
“I’ve made mistakes along the way.” The biggest being letting Sebastian walk away the last time they’d been together. Losing his old band might have been the biggest blessing of his life.
“Haven’t we all?”
Suddenly, the clouds blew away, clearly showing the disparity in their lives. Somewhere around his second album, Henri had taken the trappings of his career as his due, neglecting his body and his voice. Seb was a slave to his passion—so much so that he’d become a slave in truth to a manipulator. Years ago, before he’d clawed his way to the top, with his mother pushing him every step of the way, Henri might have done the same thing.
Rising on his toes behind Sebastian put Henri at neck-nuzzling level. “I’m glad you’re here.” In the corner a Christmas tree glittered. Henri hadn’t turned on the lights. “You like Christmas?”
“I used to. The carols, the gifts. You haven’t truly appreciated the season until you’ve experienced an opera house Christmas. They throw outstanding parties.” Seb leaned back against Henri, taking on a more serious tone. “Sometimes Mom and I went home to spend the holidays with Grandma. There’s a big hill behind the house where I used to go sledding. Since Mom died….” All alone. No one to spend the day with. Just like Henri.
Henri enfolded Seb in his arms. It was better this way, holding his lover from behind. Seeing tears in the man’s eyes might break his heart. “Did Lucas talk to you?” He better have, or he’d hear from Henri.
“He did. And I don’t know what to think. He used to visit when I was a kid, but he never stayed long. I always got the impression there was more between him and my mother than met the eye.” His back shook with his laugh. “Funny thing is, I used to dream about them getting married and him being my stepdad. Isn’t that a riot?”
Pressed against Seb’s back, Henri felt his sigh as much as heard it. “But I also can see her doing what he said she did—pretending I’m someone else’s for the prestige and acceptance. Calling herself Sebastian Unger’s fiancée opened a lot of doors.
“For years there’s been speculation, people whispering behind my back about how I didn’t look like my fath
…. Sebastian Unger. My whole life is a lie. Lucas doesn’t see a reason for me to go public, but I’m tired of lies and deceit. Hell, I don’t have a career left to ruin, why should it matter?” He gave a pained-sounding chuckle.
What the fuck? Sebastian lived for his music. And he wasn’t a quitter. “Sure you have a career. Didn’t the reporter tell you?”
Seb whirled in Henri’s arms. “The bullshit about you in a musical? I’ve heard a lot of wild tales over the years, but that’s the most creative.”
“It’s true. Lucas first pitched the idea to your mother years ago.” Sebastian winced at the mention of his mother. Henri would have to take care until the recently reopened wounds began to heal. “I’ve asked him to update the score for the two of us. That meets with your approval, right?”
“A show? A Broadway show? And you with no experience?”
Ouch. “I didn’t say this would be a Broadway show, Sebastian. I’m thinking bigger.” Sebastian’s reaction wasn’t encouraging. “I’m planning a movie.”
“You’re out of your mind. A movie? You’re planning a movie for me and you?” Seb’s face fell. “What’s in this for you?”
Poor untrusting Sebastian. Not that he’d been given much reason to trust lately. “Can you imagine the exposure I’d get? This will overshadow anything I’ve ever done with Hookers and Cocaine.”
“Yeah, especially if it bombs. Don’t you think this is a pretty big risk to take?”
Gee, show some faith, why don’t you? “It won’t bomb. I won’t let it. And my band’s fully on board.” If they weren’t, there were plenty more musicians in the world. But the misfits he’d pulled together had his back. Now to add the key player.
After a few moments of silence, Sebastian ventured a barely audible, “You’re sure you want me?”
“More than you’ll ever know.” And in more ways than one. “In fact, the deal’s contingent on you agreeing to the role of Chris.”
Sebastian quirked up one side of his mouth and shook his head. “Okay. If I can’t talk sense into you, send me the script.”
