A Matter of When

by Eden Winters

  “Wow, reminds me of ‘The Lady of Shalott.’” Sebastian had been lying back with his head on the pillow. Now he sat on the end of the bed, staring at the TV screen. “That’s gorgeous.”

  “Thank you.” Time to take a chance. “You said you wanted to rebuild your life on your own, but I have a huge favor to ask of you.” More than a favor. Henri simply didn’t trust anyone else with this all-important assignment.

  “What?”

  “You heard the raw version, with Michael singing.”

  “Yes.”

  “This is his song, not mine.” Henri took a deep breath. “He should sing on the video and on the CD. Not me. Can you help him?”

  “I’m not a music teacher. I’m too young, too raw. I could recommend someone.”

  “I don’t want anyone else. And it’s more than teaching I’m hoping for. Michael’s extremely shy and will need lots of convincing of how talented he is. I’m not going to get what I want from any old teacher. I believe I will get the kind of coaching he needs from you. What do you say? I’ll pay you, of course.”

  Blood rushed to Sebastian’s face. “Oh, this is another way to sneak me a handout, is it?”

  “No. It’s an honest business arrangement. I appreciate what you’ve done for me, and want you to work with Michael, as a trial. If everything goes well, I’ll ask you to take on Tessa and Jake too.” As good as they were now, under Sebastian’s instruction, they’d thrive.

  “What about the other one. Your keyboardist?”

  Some things even a musical genius like Sebastian couldn’t fix. “He’s a lost cause, vocally.”

  Sebastian lay back on the bed, tracing the rose on Henri’s chest. After a moment he smiled. “He won’t be if he listens to me.”

  Hallelujah!

  They curled up in the bed. Never before had Henri been so comfortable in this room. He sifted his fingers through Seb’s chest hair. A chime brought the foreplay to an early end.

  Seb jumped. “What’s that?”

  “The gate.” Damn the timing. Henri punched a button by the bed. “Yes.”

  “Dude, open up. We brought you Christmas dinner.”

  Oh shit. Jake.

  Of course, Ms. Ethereal herself didn’t even slow down at the front door. She nudged past Henri and beelined for Sebastian. “Hi, I’m Tessa, and, oh my God, Henri, the house looks awesome!”

  Henri couldn’t recall ever being so outmaneuvered. No choice but to face fate. “I’d like you to meet my… friend… Sebastian.” He should have worked out details a few minutes ago, before the band walked in. Was Seb his friend? Boyfriend? Significant other? Henri sure as hell wouldn’t settle for “fuck buddy.” No way, no how. The fact that the larger Seb now wore some of Henri’s too-tight clothes spoke volumes.

  Tessa squealed and bounced up and down. Colton saved a vase from her elbow with a lucky grab. “Oh my God! You’re Sebastian Unger. I loved you as Rodolfo in La Boheme.”

  Tessa loved opera. No surprise there. She loved everything.

  Michael nudged Henri to the side. “Coming through.” He carried a foil-covered pan. “Kitchen or dining room?” The scent of turkey and dressing trailed in his wake.

  “Dining room.” Might as well finally get some use out of a table for twelve.

  “Hi, I’m Maggie. You have a lovely home.” A pretty blond followed on Michael’s heels, carrying a cardboard box. Looked like Michael had a girlfriend.

  Jake stepped through the door. “Wait up, Mags.” Okay, Michael hadn’t gotten lucky.

  Colton steadied the vase before following the others, a bulged-out bag hanging off one shoulder.

  Colton stepped through the front door. “I’ve got green bean casserole.” Huh?

  Henri did a double take, eying the Colton in the doorway and the one now entering the dining room. Oh shit. Someone had perfected cloning and hadn’t told him.

  “Yo, Parker,” green bean casserole Colton bellowed. “Did you meet Henri?”

  The first Colton turned around, shouted, “Hi, Henri,” and resumed his march through the house.

  No one but Tessa dwelled much on Sebastian’s presence, too busy hauling food from the cars to the dining room.

  “Tessa!” Michael called. “Find plates and silverware.”

  “Oops. Duty calls. See you guys at the table.” She scrambled away. Sebastian grabbed the wobbly vase she hit before it fell. He examined the bottom and rubbed a finger across the marble table. “Velcro. I’d suggest Velcro.”

  The band had met Sebastian. Sebastian had met the band, and the world hadn’t stopped spinning. Meteors hadn’t destroyed the earth. Yet.

  Clinks, clanks, a crash and one “Oh shit! I hope that wasn’t real china,” summoned Henri to the dining room. Having never cared to own such a thing, he certainly wouldn’t miss the brown ceramic bowl lying in pieces on the floor. Good riddance.

  Sebastian responded to a tearful Tessa before Henri. “Here, I’ll get it.” Sebastian knelt to pick up the pieces.

  “I’m sorry, Henri!” Tessa scrambled around on the floor beside Seb.

  Henri joined them in retrieving tiny shards. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

  “I’m okay.” She sniffed. “But the bowl isn’t. I’m so sorry. I’m such a klutz!”

  “It’s okay, Tessa. It’s a bowl. I have plenty of those, and they didn’t cost a small fortune like the ones you play.” Actually, his mother had paid a couple thousand for the monstrosity. Henri couldn’t find it in him to care. Perhaps Tessa’s playing left her with a special affinity for bowls in general.

  With a festive tablecloth hiding them from view, Sebastian met Henri’s eyes. Something in their coppery depths hadn’t been there before. Under the guise of reaching for the same broken pottery, Seb clutched Henri’s hand for one brief moment.

  “What?”

  “Tell you later,” Seb replied.

  Because of the joint effort of the band members and their assorted “plus ones”—or perhaps in spite of—soon the table filled with a holiday feast. Turkey, dressing, gravy, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, corn, and rolls lined up in various dishes. “You didn’t have to do this,” Henri told them. “I said I was okay spending the holiday alone.”

  Colton (or was it Parker?) said, “Yeah, but you didn’t handle the ‘alone’ part well, so why trust you to manage feeding yourself?” He glanced from Henri to Sebastian and back again, a smirk on his lips. No use telling him, “He’s just a friend.” For all his Bruce Lee delusions, his powers of observation otherwise worked fine.

  They sat down at the table, Jake with Maggie, Colton with his brother, gangly Michael with petite Tessa. “Why didn’t you bring someone?” Henri asked Michael.

  Michael’s face purpled and Tessa gave a tinkling laugh. A cough barely disguised Michael’s, “I did.”

  “Where?”

  Tessa laughed again. Oh. Oh!

  Tessa and Michael? Someone needed to be the voice of reason. “Will this affect the band?”

  “Dude, where did you think ‘She’s Ethereal’ came from?” Michael picked up Tessa’s hand and kissed her knuckles.

  Tessa nodded at Sebastian and then focused on Henri. “Not all affects are bad. You’ve been hanging around the wrong bands.”

  A “Hey, pass the green beans” from Jake ended relationship conversations and started the feast.

  No one questioned Sebastian’s presence in Henri’s house or life. Instant acceptance. Whatever capacity he filled met with the band’s approval, apparently. Henri relaxed. “Sebastian here is the reason I can now hit a high C.”

  “Oh, that must have been a wild night.” Colton snorted, and Jake guffawed at Michael’s casual comment.

  Henri buried his face in his hands. Sebastian patted his back. “You have your hands full with these folks, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  The sniggering died. After a while Michael asked Sebastian, “You’re a vocal coach?”

  Tessa answered for him. “He’s a star
performer with the North American Opera.”

  “I’ve asked him to work with us, refine our sound.” Henri hadn’t considered mentioning future plans yet, but why not take advantage of the moment? Michael might not be open to the idea of working toward replacing Henri’s vocals with his own on the “Ethereal” video before its release. He’d recruit Tessa to help convince the guy.

  “Can you help me?” Michael broached the question on his own. Good, better for him to accept the challenge voluntarily. Those lyrics needed Michael’s vocals, especially since he’d written the song for Tessa.

  Sebastian fit right in to the group, wrapping a huge hand around the back of Henri’s neck. “If I can get him to stop huffing like a marathon runner in the middle of a line….”

  Either they’d already decided Sebastian was Henri’s lover and didn’t care or his status didn’t matter. Period.

  After dinner an enthusiastic Michael disappeared into the study with Sebastian. “Loo, loo, loo, loo, loo, loo, loo, loo,” reminded Henri of his first week at Sebastian’s house, what seemed like years ago instead of months.

  As they were leaving, Tessa rose up on her toes to whisper in Henri’s ear, “You have our approval. He’s a keeper.” She pecked Henri on the cheek and climbed onto a chair to repeat the process with Sebastian before joining Michael by the door.

  The band left, leaving Henri with Sebastian in the foyer. “Earlier you said you’d tell me later. What did you mean?”

  Sebastian took Henri’s hand. “There’s been too much going on in my life to consider adding someone on a permanent or semi-permanent basis. And I’d sworn not to use you as a crutch to prop me up while I regain my footing. But seeing you there, not caring about an obviously expensive broken bowl and more concerned for Tessa and her embarrassment, it finally hit home what a decent person you are.”

  Now there was an accusation Henri didn’t hear every day. “Sebastian. I’ve been in and out of rehab for years. I was front man for a band called Hookers and Cocaine, for crying out loud, and for the first few years tried to live up to the name. I’m anything but a good person.”

  “Yes, you are.” Mimicking Michael’s earlier gesture with Tessa, Seb brought Henri’s fingers to his lips. “And in that moment I realized something.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve always dreamed of someone like you.”

  Best Christmas gift ever.

  Twenty-Four

  Lady Gaga? Really? Henri followed the strains of “Bad Romance” straight to his kitchen. Sebastian danced across the floor, bumping the refrigerator door closed with his hip and belting out the song.

  Henri leaned quietly in the doorway, admiring a relaxed Seb. Finally he asked, “How’d it go with Dr. Worthington?”

  Sebastian came to a full stop, regarding Henri with wide eyes. His momentary fright disappeared. “Fine. She helped me see my relationship with Charles in a different light. I know it up here….” He tapped fingertips against his temple. “Now to learn it here.” He tapped the area over his heart.

  “That’s good. You also were doing one hell of a job with a rock song.”

  A lovely flush crept up Sebastian’s cheeks. “Char… my patron scoffed at me listening to anything but classical or opera, calling popular music a waste of my time.” He studied the sandwich in his hands. “I hid your CDs when he visited.”

  “You listened to my music?” Sure, Henri’d found the evidence, but they’d yet to discuss the matter.

  “Yes. And I used to envy you. Instead of singing someone else’s songs, you created your own. I imagined how you’d be… someone so unlike me, never letting anyone push you around.”

  “But I’m not like that. My mother controlled my life, like Charles controlled yours.”

  Sebastian raised his gaze to meet Henri’s. “Yes, and now we’re both free. Would you like a sandwich? And I could really use some help backing up Ms. Gaga.” He smiled.

  “How’s he doing?” Lucas sat at the dining room table, in the same spot his son had occupied during breakfast.

  “Pretty good, considering. Look, he has a lot on him, but he’s seeing Dr. Worthington. He’ll be okay.”

  “Sharon’s New York friends are working on a way to expose Charles for the asshole he is, while keeping Sebastian out of the line of fire. Has the bastard contacted him?”

  “No.” Henri would kill him if he did.

  Lucas nodded, running his finger down his coffee cup handle. “I have a lot of making up to do.”

  “Why not forget what can’t be changed and work on the future?”

  “I want to be a father to my son.” A world of pain dwelled in Lucas’s eyes.

  “He knows. Give him time.”

  “Has he had any luck finding a new company?”

  “Not yet. He’s auditioning now with a group out of LA.”

  “Sharon’s friends….”

  “Sebastian wants to succeed on his own.” Damned the luck.

  “Stubborn, like his mother.”

  Did Henri detect pride in Lucas’s tone?

  After a sip of coffee, Lucas changed the subject. “Any word on your stalker?”

  “No. Maybe he’s given up and gone away.” Henri could only hope.

  “Maybe. Even so, I think we should consider beefing up security for your tour.”

  More security, following him around. Or rather, following Sebastian, though the man might be upset to discover Arnulfo keeping a discreet but watchful eye on him. Charles could be anywhere.

  Lucas opened his computer bag and pulled out his laptop. “While it’s booting up, take a look at this.” He slid a magazine across the table. “Enough bad news. Here’s something you might like.”

  Henri stared at the latest edition of American Drummer. Oh, wow! Tessa had made the cover. Resplendent in her fingerless gloves and dressed entirely in lavender up to the tips of her glitter-frosted hair, she posed behind her drum kit, seemingly in motion even in a photo. The headline labeled her, “Little Drummer Girl.” About time the band members got their own accolades.

  Lucas’s smile turned grim. “I’m glad you’re sitting down.” He tapped a few keys on his laptop, then turned the screen toward Henri. “A friend brought this to my attention.”

  Had an offer from Rolling Stone come through? “Henri Lafontaine’s Biggest Fan,” the website proclaimed. Images of Henri filled the page: shirtless and sweaty onstage with Hookers and Cocaine. Damn, Tessa was right. He had looked a bit ragged, with his flyaway hair and grungy jeans.

  He focused on a post made the previous day, judging by the time stamp.

  At first he didn’t find anything wrong with the beautiful landscapes portrayed. The mountains, hazy in the early morning. A walking trail. A log and stone two-story house, Seb standing on the porch. Oh shit! Where had those come from? More pictures, taken from a tour bus window… his old band. His new band. His sister’s last birthday party. His family.

  Oh God! The air suddenly left the room. “The motherfucker got my cell phone. He’s been here!” And likely knew about Sebastian. Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap. “I need to send this link to Arnulfo and Detective Shepard.”

  “Already done.” Lucas studied Henri, face grim. “You be careful.” And look after my son remained unsaid.

  Sebastian ambled into the room. Henri minimized the fan page he’d visited far too often since Lucas’s visit two days ago. Better not to cause needless alarm. Secure arms surrounded him. He could get used to this. “You’re coming to the concert tonight, aren’t you?” Taking on the world worked better with Sebastian at his side.

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  Good. Tonight, not only would the fans get one hell of a performance, if all went according to plan, they’d hear an exclusive new song. Henri melted into his lover’s arms, enjoying the calm before the storm. Sebastian hadn’t mentioned leaving, and he also didn’t “loo, loo,” throughout the day. Which would be worse, him leaving to pursue his career, or him giving up on his singing altogethe
r? Singing was Sebastian’s world. Henri couldn’t imagine him without his opera.

  Time enough to worry later; right now he had a band to shame and a psycho to evade.

  Lucas chatted with Margo. At an elbow nudge from Sebastian, Henri waved. So far his mother hadn’t blabbed to the press about his coming out, though the widening of her eyes and slight twitch of her lips when she regarded Henri standing so close to Sebastian equaled her adding one plus one and getting two gay musicians. Now wasn’t the time to let Sebastian in on the “I’m in love with a man” conversation he’d had with his family. Not talking about his folks meant not mentioning his parting shot. Margo fluttered her fingers and disappeared backstage, no doubt to hover over the dregs of Hookers and Cocaine. Two-to-one odds said her new lead singer wouldn’t show.

  “Remember,” Lucas said, “no matter who gets star billing, the audience paid their money to see you.”

  If only Henri could convince himself. He huddled backstage with his band to shouts of “Henri, Henri!”

  “Tonight we kick ass and take names,” he said, considering them each in turn. “And Michael?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Tonight, fifth song? Slide in ‘A Matter of When.’”

  “But we’ve never done that one in public before.”

  Henri grinned. “It’s high fucking time, if you ask me.” Not only would the song blow his old band’s version out of the water, Henri’s secret weapon even now settled on the front row. Henri joined Tessa’s preconcert ritual, bouncing on the balls of his feet, adding a bit of “loo-, loo-ing” to the mix. Calm down and warm up at the same time. Win! And the best part? Henri didn’t need pills to get him out on the stage tonight. Tonight, thanks to Seb’s teaching, the band joined him in vocal warm-ups.

  Tessa had clothed herself in peach lace and chiffon, bringing to mind Stevie Nicks back in the eighties. She rocked the style. Colton wore a silk dashiki over his jeans. At least he wasn’t channeling Bruce Lee. Henri and Jake both wore jeans and T-shirts. No fucking way would they wear leather and be mistaken for members of the headlining act. Michael’s button-down shirt and khaki pants had become “Starman’s” trademarks.