The Legend of Arturo King

by L. B. Dunbar

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Guinevere. Who are you?”

  “I’m Morte.” He paused for a moment, looking around the room. “Why are you in this room?”

  “This is where Arturo said I should go.”

  “This is supposed to be my mother’s room,” he replied, angling his head to look at me straight on.

  I swallowed the gasp fighting to escape. His mother’s room? Was Arturo still carrying on with Morte’s mother? Didn’t Arturo briefly explain that Ana was this child’s mother? And wasn’t Ana Arturo’s step sister? I felt a cold shiver run over my body, the type that a young child would joke was the spirit of a ghost passing through you.

  “I didn’t know this was your mother’s room,” I replied anxiously.

  “Well, it’s not really, but my mother says it should be,” he responded honestly.

  I was thoughtful for a moment.

  “Where do you sleep?” I finally asked.

  “At my grandmother’s.”

  “Oh,” was all I could think to reply.

  I sat down on the edge of the luxurious bed.

  “Why were you sneaking in here?” I finally questioned him.

  “I wanted to see who the girl was that Arturo and my mother are fighting about in the kitchen.”

  “Oh.” I wanted to ask what why they were fighting about me, but I didn’t feel it was right to question a child.

  “They’re almost done, though, and I’m sure we’re leaving. Arturo doesn’t like us to stay here.” The boy shrugged sadly like it was no big deal when I could tell that secretly it was a very big deal to the little boy.

  “Why would you say that?” I hesitantly asked.

  “Because that’s what he just said. We can’t stay here.”

  “I’m sorry. Is it because of me?” I knew I sounded apologetic that I might have hurt the child’s feelings.

  He looked at me for a long moment, reminding me of an old man trying to decide how to answer a child.

  “I don’t know. But I think it has to do more with me.”

  I blinked several times before responding. “Why … why would you say that?”

  “Because I’m his son, and he doesn’t want to admit it.”

  The boy immediately looked abashed that he had blurted out those words, and I was equally shocked that he trusted me, a complete stranger, with this knowledge.

  “You won’t tell anyone I told you, right? It’s a secret. You can keep a secret, right? It will just be our secret. You can be my new friend.” He rambled the words so quickly they stumbled over each other and his bright eyes opened wide in horror, knowing he had spoken something he was probably told never to repeat.

  “They don’t know I know, but I do. They are sometimes fighting about it and sometimes Mother is fighting with Ingrid about it.”

  He stood up now and placed his small, thin fingers on my bare knees. His hands were cold and clammy with fingernails a tad too long for a child, but I felt sorry for him and his admission.

  “It can be our secret,” I said as I made an X across my heart as a promise.

  Morte smiled slowly at me, his eyes sparkling.

  “You are very beautiful,” he said sheepishly, and I had to giggle at the first sign that Morte LeFaye might actually be Arturo King’s son. He knew how to flirt, if that was hereditary.

  “Okay, buddy, quit trying to charm the lady,” Arturo’s strong, but gentle, voice broke the gaze that Morte shared with me. His hands slid down my legs, leaving a trail of coldness in their path. He looked up at his father and smiled slowly before walking over to him.

  “Can we swim now?”

  Arturo patted him on the shoulder awkwardly before looking up at me.

  Without thinking, I shook my head ‘yes’ at Arturo as if willing him to accept his child’s plea.

  “Sure,” he said, sounding resolute, as his eyes stayed fixed with mine for a moment longer.

  Guinevere

  I decided to take a walk down to the lake. I couldn’t resist the pull of the dark water and I needed the separation from Arturo and all I had learned. I didn’t see Ingrid or Ana, but I knew that Arturo was in the pool with Morte.

  My mind wandered to thoughts of finding out that Arturo had a son at age twenty-five. A son he clearly didn’t want to recognize, and I again felt sorry for the child. It wasn’t his fault that he was brought into this world. I was also curious about the circumstances in which Morte was conceived. How could Arturo sleep with his step-sister? I tried to process all I knew from the bits and pieces of his history that I knew. Unclear if the information was gossip or told to me by Ingrid or my father, I tried to make sense of it all. Arturo didn’t know he had a mother or father until he was older. When he discovered his parents, it would have been the first he learned of any other relations. The timing pointed to being with Ana before Arturo had knowledge of having a step-sister. Either way, it confirmed what I knew had been gossip was probably true. Arturo King was a player.

  And why wouldn’t he be? He was gorgeous, with that choppy black hair and muscular arms tattooed in dangerous-looking art. His dark eyes could hold a woman hostage, although I had heard he was a gentle lover. Women were satisfied with him once he was finished with them, and I wondered how many other children he might have sired throughout his entourage of female fans.

  I felt inadequate again as I swooped my long, light-chestnut-colored hair into a makeshift ponytail twist. The weather was warm as I wandered down the winding gravel drive, and I didn’t realize how long the drive would be, or how steep¸ as I walked carefully in my sandals. I kept the lake in my line of vision as I crept down the walk, occasionally being hidden by a clump of trees or low shrubbery.

  When I reached the road at the bottom of the long drive, I crossed cautiously as I saw the entrance to the property was partially obscured. I walked onto the long deck where a wooden antique boat was docked on one side. Sitting, I dangled my legs over the edge of the wood decking. I leaned back on my hands and lifted my face to the sunshine as my toes dragged lazily through the cold water of Lake Avalon. My iPod had been on while I walked but in my mind’s wondering I hadn’t paid attention to the music. Now I let myself become enveloped in the sound of Arturo King’s voice as one of his songs came through the shuffled playlist.

  I laid back despite the slight discomfort of lying on the hard wood and closed my eyes. I let his voice caress me and I took several deep breaths to relax into his sound. I recognized the sound of a cello in the background as I listened to his words.

  I will want you, come to me

  I will be with you, be with me

  I let my mind race with the innuendo of those words and began to imagine his voice luring me toward him with his dark eyes drawing me in. My breath hitched as I imagined his hands rubbing up and down my arms and settling on my neck. He would pull me gently to him, and I imagined how hard and firm his chest would feel pressed against my own achy breasts.

  My own hands wandered under my shirt, sliding across my stomach and up under my breasts. They had a heavy sensation as if they were full and I felt a tickle of my nipples rub inside the light material of my bra. The warmth of the sunshine on my bare skin intensified the feeling of pressure caressing my whole body and I felt an aching pulse between my legs. I squeezed my thighs and let one leg cross over the other as I continued to listen to his voice echo his invitation.

  Come to me, be with me

  I swallowed hard as I rubbed one leg slowly against the other, which increased the pulsing sensation. I needed relief as I let my foot stroke along the opposite leg.

  The sun was increasing the warmth filling my body and I tipped my head back as if allowing Arturo exposure to kiss my neck. I could hardly imagine what a kiss from him would feel like. I knew his lips would be more than all the lame experience I had had, except for one, and I refused to let my imagination replace that kiss. It was more than I could hope for that Arturo would erase that kiss. A kiss that was now a memory of o
ne of the best kisses I had ever had. One kiss. One time.

  I sighed.

  “Hey.”

  The noise startled me and I became tangled in the cords dangling from my ear buds as I tried to straighten my tank top back into place. As my arm twisted in the cords, the ear buds were ripped out of my ears and I turned toward the intruding voice.

  I blinked up at a face I couldn’t see for a moment as the sun shone behind his head, blinding my vision.

  “Lansing?”

  “Hey. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  I shifted my body to look at him and shielded my eyes from the bright light behind his head. I contained the breath threatening to escape my lips. Lansing Lotte was gorgeous. Just like Tristan. Just like Arturo. But somehow not like him either. Lansing had longer, wavy dark hair that curled at his neck. He looked more angelic, innocent compared to that dark, dangerous look of Arturo or sex-god model look of Tristan or hardcore look of Perkins. Lansing was younger than the rest of the band, and I remembered him, even if he didn’t remember me.

  “What are you doing down here alone?” he asked. He was dressed in faded jeans with ripped knees and a dark-green T-shirt that hugged his chiseled chest. He held a black motorcycle helmet under his arm and had leather fingerless gloves on his hands. He looked warm, but completely comfortable.

  “I took a walk and ended up here. It’s so gorgeous and peaceful.”

  We looked at each other in awkward silence for a moment. Lans ran his fingers through his thick hair before he spoke again.

  “Where’s Arturo?”

  “Swimming with Morte.”

  Lans made a face like a person might when he sees a mouse and says ‘eek.’ I had to laugh at the childish expression. This seemed to break the tension and Lans smiled at me. It was a breathtaking smile and I caught the gasp about to escape me.

  “I’m heading up to the house. You going to stay down here a while?”

  “Yeah, a little longer.”

  He ran a hand through his hair again as though he was nervous, and turned as if he was going to walk away. He continued the turn to form a full circle and he faced me again.

  “So? Do you remember me?” he asked cautiously, squinting one eye at me.

  “Lansing Lotte. Who doesn’t know you?”

  “Right. The band.”

  “Well, we did go to the Performing Arts High School together.” I smiled shyly at him.

  “Oh, that too.”

  He continued to stare at me as if willing me to answer the question he wasn’t asking, but I wasn’t sure I could mention that night.

  Lans waited for a moment.

  “So? Arturo, huh?”

  “Arturo what?”

  “You and him?”

  This was the second time that someone today implied that we were together and Arturo had hardly spoken to me during the car ride up to the lake. Not to mention the incomplete explanation of him having a son.

  “Me and him what?”

  He looked quizzically at me for a moment.

  “I just thought … He never brings girls to Camlann … well, not that you are any girl … but … never mind.”

  I had to giggle at his fumbling words. He clearly was becoming more embarrassed the longer he spoke.

  “What’s Camlann?”

  “The house.”

  I nodded once in acknowledgement.

  “Well, I guess I’ll let you get back to … whatever you were doing before I startled you.” He smiled a crooked smile at me as if he knew what I was up to before he arrived.

  He turned abruptly and I felt the thud of his feet vibrate on the wooden planks as he walked away from me. I kept my eyes on him as he slung his long leg over the mean-looking motorcycle parked on the small gravel strip at the end of the dock. He looked back at me as if he could feel my eyes on him. I couldn’t see his face with the dark shield, and I had no idea what his expression would be as he faced my direction.

  He started the machine with a powerful kick and it growled to life as he pulled onto the street for the brief stretch before turning up the gravel drive. I watched as he spit up the small pebbles behind the powerful bike before turning to look back at the ripples on the lake that matched the shiver crawling over my tanning skin.

  I wasn’t sure how long I sat on the dock listening to music, but I felt peaceful in this place. The lake was quiet despite the activity I could see of motorboats and jet skis. Water adventurers did not seem to grace this part of the lake, not that I would have heard them with the sound of music drowning out all noise. My mind was clearing after my near-public orgasm and I blocked any thoughts that threatened to make me think of the future.

  As the sun seemed to shift, I decided I needed to return to the main house. I began the slow climb up the steep gravel drive. My legs felt the soft burn of use and I cursed myself for not keeping up lately with my daily run. The area surrounding the lake would be the perfect outdoor retreat for exercise. Pushing myself to continue, I was suddenly startled by movement in the trees to my left.

  A bearded man broke through the dark greenery and I let out a strangled yelp.

  “Mure?”

  “Guinevere?”

  “You scared the daylights out of me,” I said, gasping for breath as I placed my hand over my heart, feeling it race under my skin.

  “What are you doing walking around the woods alone?”

  “What are you doing coming out of the woods?” I laughed.

  He smiled to ease the tension that I felt between us as I tried to avoid his two-colored eyes. I had a strange foreboding feeling whenever he was near me as I grew older. Almost as if he knew something about me that even I didn’t know.

  “I have a small home in the woods. I walked here.”

  “Well, I was taking a walk as well. I’m headed up to the house now. Want to walk together?”

  “Sure.”

  I had been walking at a brisk pace up the drive, but I realized walking with Mure I had to slow my exercise considerably. Mure was in no hurry to finish the steep hill.

  “How are you liking Lake Avalon?”

  “It’s lovely here.”

  He smiled.

  “You’ve never been here before, correct?”

  “No, I haven’t. Even though my father and I have known Ingrid for years, we have never been up here.”

  He nodded as if he understood something I hadn’t said.

  “How are things going with Arturo?”

  I frowned. I wasn’t sure what the question asked. “He’s swimming with Morte at the moment.”

  Mure’s head shot up to look in the direction of the house even though it was not in sight yet. His eyebrows pinched in concern.

  “I see,” he mumbled.

  “I didn’t know Arturo had a son,” I blurted.

  “Arturo has many secrets,” he said under his breath.

  I remained silent, and we continued to walk a few moments before he spoke again.

  “You need to be careful, my dear. Arturo has plans. He has an amazing future ahead of him as long as he thinks straight. I don’t want anything to get in the way of his direction and drive at the moment.”

  I looked at him, puzzled.

  “He will be a great man in the music world.”

  “He already is a great man in the music industry,” I corrected.

  Mure smiled sadly at me as he shook his head.

  “I see,” he muttered again.

  We walked the remainder of the path in quiet companionship until Mure started giving me a lesson about the various flora and fauna along the drive.

  Arturo

  I had missed Guinevere at every turn throughout the day. After I finally broke the ice between us in the car, I was relaxed and looking forward to spending time getting to know her better during this siesta at the lake. Until I saw Morte. And Ana.

  Then when I went to find her in her room, hoping to further explain the circumstances of Morte’s birth and the misunderstanding surrounding the
conception, I found Morte in her room eerily staring at her, as if he was trying to cast a spell on her. Morte gave that look to me more often as he grew older and I wasn’t sure what the boy was trying to communicate to me, as if I could read his mind anyway.

  I went to look for Guinie after my swim with Morte, hoping to ask her to join me for a late lunch, when I spotted her down on the dock with Lans. I took in her casual position, perched on the wood deck, as she stared up at Lans. They looked like they were in a comfortable conversation and I didn’t like the feeling that overcame me when I knew she smiled or laughed at Lans.

  I had known Lans for a long time. Almost as long as I had known Perk.

  I met Lansing Lotte in these very woods on the other side of the lake. Spending a summer with Mure after that fateful experience winning the Gibson Les Paul guitar, I often wandered the area as a teenage boy of sixteen. Kids liked to hang out on the various public beaches, making summer friends and discovering summer love. At sixteen, I was no different and that’s how I caught the eye of Nina. She was a red-haired beauty. Wavy and long, her hair had to be her signature beauty trait.

  She was slightly younger than me, and we exchanged the usual sly smiles at one another before she finally approached me. After casual flirtatious conversation, she asked me to meet her later in a more secluded place off the public beach.

  When I arrived in this space, protected on three sides from the public beach, noisy neighbors, and the street behind, I found Nina arguing with a younger boy. They looked to be closer in age; however, the boy appeared physically smaller than Nina. His dark hair was longer on his forehead and he whipped his head sideways to move it out of his eyes as he continued to plead with the beauty before him.

  “I’m not too young for you. I’m only a year younger.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “Younger,” she emphasized.

  I didn’t want to intrude, but I was eager to get on with Nina and whatever she was willing to offer my hormone-ridden body, so I cleared my throat to announce my entrance into the private space.