by L. B. Dunbar
“I didn’t…” I began, but she cut me off.
“It was nice to see you again, Mr. King,” and she walked away from me. Women had been throwing themselves at me all night, and I had been rejecting them. Now the one woman I wanted to throw herself at me had just walked away. I seemed to continually be faced with her sexy back to me. She was not impressed with me.
“Wait.” I followed her and grabbed her arm.
“Don’t touch me,” she growled at me, pulling her arm out of my grip.
I held my hands up in the air in a sign of surrender.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”
“You would be the biggest hypocrite, if you did. Even if I was going to sleep with someone, why would it be your concern? You’ve probably slept with every girl in this room.”
“Well, not every girl.” I skimmed her up and down noticeably with my eyes. Tight black tank that emphasized her breasts and white capri jeans that hugged her curves. Pink toes peeking out from her sandals like they did two days ago. Her hair hung down, loose and flowing, and she had some kind of thin braid pulling the front strands back. She appeared otherworldly again.
But the look on her face was pure disgust.
“I don’t know why I came,” she muttered and turned away from me again.
“Well, you didn’t come yet,” I snarked. Shit, I had to stop myself. What is wrong with me? I wasn’t angry at her, I was angry at myself. Why hadn’t I called her? Why hadn’t I invited her? Why did I have a fucking party going on in my apartment when all I wanted was to be alone with one woman?
“Wait.” I reached for her one final time, but stopped myself when I saw her shaking head. “I’m sorry.”
Her back still turned to me, she walked into the crowd of my unwanted party and exited the room.
Guinevere
I stormed into my room and slammed the door shut, fuming over my own foolishness. Damn him for looking so good. Damn him for his insulting words.
I noticed Arturo the moment I entered the room. He was all I had been thinking about for the past two days. I didn’t care about that stupid article. We did look cozy as it said and I wanted that cozy to be real. I wanted to be close to him, but I was being foolish. He hadn’t called me, and why would he after I made a fool of myself groping his chest and standing in the hall hoping for him to kiss me. I’m sure I was invisible to him and he had only paid me some small attention because my father suggested that walk.
Dressed in dark jeans hanging low on his hips and a gray T-shirt pulled up from casually leaning against the bar, Arturo was oblivious to my presence in the room. His choppy black hair looked like fingers had been run through it all day and it stood out in a fresh-fucked sort of way. Not that I would know about that, but I assumed that’s what he would look like. His brown eyes were only half-mast though and I knew he was drunk.
His apartment was huge, sleek and modern, and I would have been able to admire it more if there weren’t so many people present. The place was as crowded as I had seen my father’s bar.
I found Kaye immediately and thanked him for inviting me. After a few pleasantries, Kaye pointed me toward the bar. He offered to make me a drink, but when he saw Arturo at the bar across the room, he suggested that I ask Arturo for one instead. I told myself I could do it. I could walk up to Arturo King in his own home and ask for a drink despite the blonde standing too close to his left, but I wasn’t prepared for his rough accusation of why I was there.
After the morning scrutinizing the paper, and answering the endless questions of my father and then Arturo’s mother, I thought I deserved the night out, and I deserved the night out with him. Unfortunately, he had other plans for me, like forcing me to leave. That had to have been the shortest attendance at a party ever. I lasted eighteen minutes. Eighteen whole minutes to walk in, get insulted, and walk back out.
I threw myself on my bed and stared at my ceiling. What am I doing with my life? I needed a job. I needed a purpose. I rolled my head to look at my cello, cursing it for what was not the first time in the past few days. I needed some motivation. Despite the late hour, I knew my dad was downstairs in the bar, and I walked to my padded folding chair to take up my instrument and practice again. This would make the third time today that I used my instrument to drown out thoughts of Arturo King.
The next morning I awoke to a soft knock on my door. My clock read only seven.
“Come in.”
It was Talia.
“There’s a man in the living room to see you. I didn’t mean to wake you, but it seemed important.”
I sprang from the bed. “Who is it?”
Talia bit her lip.
“Well?” I snapped.
“He didn’t want to say, but I know who he is. That’s the only reason I let him in.”
Boston Philharmonic Orchestra? I looked at Talia in the reflection of the mirror as I ran a brush over my hair. Talia’s face was beaming, even as she bit her lip to contain her smile. I wanted to give her a menacing stare, but I just couldn’t. She seemed too proud of herself at the moment.
I rushed into my bathroom, brushed my teeth quickly, and returned to my room to pull on a long waist-flowing shirt and leggings. Talia still stood within the room, now holding the door open for me. As I rushed down the two flights of stairs to the living room, my only thought was the Boston Philharmonic had changed its mind and they sent someone to tell me in person. Ridiculous as that thought was, I didn’t expect to find Arturo King standing in my living room, a large bouquet of fresh-cut lilacs in his hand.
I stopped short, causing Talia to walk into me.
“I’ll just leave you two alone,” she said as she continued onto the kitchen.
“Arturo,” I breathed.
I hoped the disappointment on my face was hidden, but it must not have been because his cautious face fell further as he looked at me.
“These are for you.” He handed me the bouquet of flowers. I couldn’t help but inhale deeply. Lilac was my favorite fragrance.
“How did you know?” I eyed him suspiciously. Lilacs weren’t a typical flower to give.
“My mother,” he replied sheepishly.
I had to smile, if only partially. It was sweet that he asked his mom for help.
“I wanted to apologize,” he continued as he slid his hands in his jeans pocket. “I’m sure I was inappropriate last night, and I didn’t mean to be. I was just startled to see you in my home. At a party.”
The words stung.
“I understand. I’m not the typical person to be at such a thing.”
Arturo looked at me for a moment before stepping forward.
“Are you putting yourself down? Or are you putting me down?” he asked softly.
I didn’t reply. I wasn’t about to admit all my insecurities to him.
He must have decided to let the answer go and he asked me something else.
“You looked disappointed when you saw it was me. Do I repulse you that much?” his softened voice asked weakly.
“No, it’s just … nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing. Tell me?”
“It was silly.”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t want to.”
He moved even closer, and now he was in my space.
“I want to know,” he said tenderly.
“I thought you might be a man from the orchestra coming to tell me they made a mistake. Silly, I know.”
“I don’t think it’s silly, Guinie. It shows you’re hopeful.” His hand reached for my hair and pushed it behind my ear. It was a tender movement and I turned my face into the touch.
I squinted my eyes as I looked away from him and heard him sigh deeply.
“My mother is hosting a dinner tonight for the band before we head upstate for a while. I was wondering if you and Leo would like to join us. It’s casual. Just the band. Mure. A few friends of the guys. You and Leo.”
I already knew about the dinner. His mother had ask
ed me directly yesterday after the gossip in the newspaper, and I suddenly felt like Arturo had been put up to asking.
“It’s very nice of you to ask, and I’m sure my father would love to attend, but I don’t think I’ll be able to.”
“Why not?” His hands braced my cheeks, gently forcing me to look into his dark eyes.
I couldn’t think of an excuse fast enough.
“You know you don’t have a reason. Unless you have a date? But Kaye will be at the dinner.” He removed his hands instantly and my face went cool from the release of his warmth.
I was determined not to accept the invitation now.
“Again, it was generous of you to ask, as I’m sure your mother made you, but I cannot accept.”
“My mother? What does she have to do with anything.” He pinched his eyebrows together as he concentrated on my face.
“It’s her dinner. Her house.”
“It’s my invitation. My band.” His eyebrows now rose, as did his voice.
“I don’t want you to feel you have to include me. The newspaper thing was nothing. Just a photo. I appreciate your asking, but you’ve asked and I’m declining.”
Arturo leaned into me, returning his hands to my face. He standing too close now and his nose brushed my cheek as he kissed it before he spoke.
“One thing you need to know about me, Guinevere DeGrance, I never do anything I don’t want to do.”
Guinevere
I found myself seated uncomfortably between Lansing Lotte and Arturo King during dinner that night. I didn’t wish to remind Lansing Lotte who I was and he didn’t seem to acknowledge that we had met before, so I held my breath when we were first introduced until I was sure he didn’t recognize me. Although I had met the members of the Nights before, I had been younger and Leo DeGrance’s daughter, but tonight I seemed to be here with Arturo.
Although I arrived with my father, it was Arturo who immediately captured my arm and guided me through the introductions of Lans, Perk, and Tristan. Merle Linn was also present and I stayed clear of him. I didn’t know much about Mure, as he was affectionately called, but I had the sense he didn’t care for me, and I was fine with that. He was considerably older than my father despite the unusual friendship the two had. His longish white hair was slicked back off his forehead and white beard was trimmed to a goatee, but looking at his skin I guessed him to be a hundred years old when he was probably more likely in his early sixties. He had a tremendous knowledge of music and I remembered as a child he tried to entertain me with magic tricks. He seemed to be quite good at the sleight-of-hand necessary for card tricks and the impressionably young me was in awe of his ability. As I grew older, his magic was not as intriguing and as a new adult I found his presence unnerving.
Arturo stayed close to me as drinks were distributed and dinner was finally called to order. As I ate my salad, I listened to the easy banter between Arturo and his friends. They were a tight-knit group, I could tell, and there was much teasing about drunken evenings and sexual escapades. Of course, Arturo tried to cut off any descriptions he didn’t want shared, and he occasionally blushed, which caused the others to tease him unmercifully.
My father seemed at ease in the conversation as well, knowing what kinds of things band members did in his green room, in his private rooms, and in hotel rooms. He didn’t share those things with his daughter, but amongst this group of men he seemed more open to participate in the shenanigans of bands. Ingrid Tintagel sat at the head of her table with a full smile on her face.
I knew that Ingrid was pleased to be reunited with her son. Of course, I didn’t know Ingrid or Arturo until after their reunion, but I had vaguely heard the story through tabloids and innocent questions to my father about Arturo’s background. I knew that Kaye Sirs was not Arturo’s brother; however, they seemed to have a relationship that left one uncertain that they were not blood relatives. I never met Hector Sirs, Kaye’s biological father. He passed away in his late thirties from a massive heart attack.
Ingrid was still beautiful in her early forties, similar in age to my father. She wore a long dress that was strapless and casual, and looked stunning on her. It struck me suddenly that my father and Ingrid would make a striking couple, yet I never had the impression they were attracted to each other. They were definitely friends, and I had never been introduced to any other type of “friend” of my father’s, although being an attractive man, I was sure he had them.
Ingrid still had strawberry-blonde hair although I had seen pictures where her hair was more chestnut colored like mine. Her green eyes sparkled at the end of the table as she watched her son and his friends. I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to give up Arturo, but I knew that Ingrid had only been eighteen. Three years younger than I was right now. Having a child was the last thing on my mind at present.
My thoughts were interrupted when I heard Ingrid speak.
“It will be good to go north for a while and get away from the city.”
Ingrid also had a home on Lake Avalon. However, Ingrid’s home was on the north side of the lake while Arturo’s was on the west. Hers stood on the water’s edge while Arturo’s was up on a hill. I had never been to either home despite the familiarity with Ingrid.
“Ana and Morte will be up there as well.”
The air seemed to be sucked out of the room and I was suddenly very uncomfortable without knowing the reason why. I knew that Ingrid had a step-daughter who was older than Arturo, but I hadn’t heard much about her. Ana had lived in Europe for many years, Paris specifically. I also knew that Morte was Ana’s son.
Arturo took his napkin off his lap and threw it down on his plate as he stood, excusing himself from the table. I stared down at my lap, afraid to look at anyone else at the table. After a moment of silence, Ingrid spoke again.
“Dessert?”
My father helped return the conversation to the table.
“What’s on the menu?” he replied. When dessert was finished, Arturo still had not returned to the table, where shots of Cognac were being distributed. I excused myself for the restroom and headed down the hall for the powder room. In the distance I heard the faint plink of a guitar and followed the strain of its soft sound. I gently pushed open the door of the music room and continued to listen without entering. Arturo wasn’t singing, just strumming a tune. It didn’t even sound like a song, just random notes, and I was about to step away, sensing that Arturo wanted to remain alone.
“Come in?”
I did want to enter the room.
“I don’t want to interrupt you,” I said as I leaned against the open door frame.
“Come in,” he motioned with his head. This time it wasn’t a question as he continued to strum the guitar he balanced on his firm leg.
I remained silent for a few moments while he played and I looked around the room. Although I had been in Ingrid’s home, I hadn’t been in this room for a long time and I remembered the medium-sized grand piano and a set of guitars in stands off to the side. The room had French doors behind the piano that opened onto a balcony. We were on the twentieth floor of a Fifth Avenue high rise. I could only imagine the projection of the music if the doors behind Arturo were opened.
I glanced back at him. He looked comfortable with his talent. He was lost in the motion of his fingers caressing the strings and his body swayed lightly. His choppy hair was falling forward as he looked down at his hands, but I sensed his sadness.
“Is that something new?” I wondered aloud.
“Nah, just … playing.”
“You left dinner rather quickly. You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
We were silent for another moment while Arturo finished strumming.
“Ever been upstate to Ingrid’s home?” he asked as he placed the guitar in a stand near the wall.
“No.”
“Why don’t you come with us? You can stay at my hou
se.”
I was taken off-guard.
“Pardon me?”
“The band and I are heading upstate for a while. To regroup and organize before the concert tour in the fall. Why don’t you come with us?”
“Uh … I don’t know.”
“Come on. What else do you to have going on?”
My eyes narrowed as I looked at him, trying to assess if he was insulting me.
“Thank you. That’s really encouraging,” I replied sarcastically.
“That’s not what I meant. Look,” he paused, “you don’t have anything going on right now. Give yourself a break. You just finished school. You don’t have a job. Give yourself some time off. Think of it like a vacation.”
I briefly thought about how nice it would be to not think of my future for a few days and allow myself some rest from my overanxious thoughts.
Arturo tilted his head and gave me a crooked smile.
“You want to come, you know you do,” he said as he crossed his arms over his chest. His tattoos were partially exposed under his pushed-up sleeves.
“Okay,” I said as I twisted my lips to hold my smile at bay.
“Really?” He raised an eyebrow at me, and his smile lit his face, allowing his brown eyes to sparkle.
“Sure.” I did smile now.
“Excellent,” he replied and clapped his hands once.
Arturo
A four-hour ride up to Lake Avalon gave me plenty of time to think about how I would explain to Guinie who Morte was in relation to Ana and myself. The band drove separate from one another. Lans had grown up near the lake and he would be staying with his foster mother, he decided, after I told the group that Guinevere was coming to stay as well. Lans had a new Ducati Streetfighter and planned to take the long trip on his bike regardless of the distance. Perk also grew up near the lake in the woods nearby. His mother still had a moderate home there and he planned to stay there. Since Tristan grew up in Connecticut, he would be staying with me, as well as Kaye. Leo DeGrance politely declined the invitation, but encouraged his daughter’s acceptance. I knew Mure would be staying at his own small hut in the woods and travel between Ingrid’s and mine.
