Yes, I said it. My mother was B-list, at best.
“Blood makes me queasy,” I interjected on your behalf. Lena raised her sculpted brow.
“Well, I thought it was awesome,” you said. “And you were so terrifying. I read an article that said you actually drank animal blood to get into character.”
Lena’s smile was gruesome. “I’m something of a method actor. Anyone can do it, darling. It wouldn’t take much effort at all to make you a star.” Her eyes glowed with fervor as she stared at you, trying to overwhelm you with her allure. But you were already on your fated path, or so I assumed. I realized there was no sense in denying our relationship. If I tried, she would know I was lying. She could probably smell you on my skin. Instead, I wrapped my arm around your waist and hugged you to me.Mine.
“Orlando has a very promising dance career to pursue,” I told her, a subtler signal she should retreat.
“So I’ve heard. Is it true you made a deal with the devil in exchange for your talent?” she asked. I wondered if that was the piece of information that alerted her to our relationship in the first place. I should have been more careful.
“Those are just silly rumors,” you said shyly and then with a rueful smile, “if only it were that easy.”
“If only,” she echoed and shot me a meaningful look. It was that easy. “From what I saw of your performance, I’d certainly believe it.”
You smiled, proud as a cockerel. Meanwhile I went through, in short order, who might have tipped her off. That meddling Malakhim Santiago was at the top of my list. Perhaps he’d discovered I was using his former lover as a host and this was his revenge.
“What a wonderful coincidence that I was invited here tonight,” she purred and glanced between the two of us. “As you know, the arts are my passion, but it was so gratifying to see someone on stage who I’ve met in person.” My mother turned to me again, drawing me out of my head and back to my most immediate concern—ridding us of her bloodthirsty presence. “And, Henri, it’s been too long. What a lucky man you are to have such a charming companion.”
“Very fortunate,” I replied neutrally. You glanced at me with a worried expression, having picked up on my subdued, tense mood.
“That kind of good fortune is rare. I’m not staying in town for very long, or I’d insist we have lunch. Next time, perhaps.” She turned to you and touched your chin lightly. “It was so nice to meet you, Orlando. I’ll be keeping a close eye on your career, and please do remember what I said. Any friend of Henri’s is a friend of mine.”
“Thank you, Gianna,” you said, but your smile was a bit dimmer. Only after she vacated the room entirely, taking her oppressive energy with her, did my shoulders relax.
“Henri,” you said in a voice barely above a whisper, “whowasthat?”
I sighed and drew you to me, burying my nose in your silky curls. No matter how much I prepared you, you’d always be an innocent. If I weren’t so selfish in my pursuits, I’d have left you a long time ago. But I’d coveted you, I’d claimed you, and then and there, I vowed to defend you to my death.
“That, my love, was my mother.”
25
Orlando
You hardly said a word to me on the drive home. You’d offered to “escort” me to dinner, but I didn’t think you were in the mood to hang out with me and my friends, and I’d be seeing them again tomorrow. Tonight, I only wanted to be with you. I asked a few times about your mother, but your answers were clipped and cagey. So many secrets.
In Xavier’s condo, I suggested we take a shower. That was a good reset button for the both of us. This time, I took over washing you, since you were still so dazed. When we were clean and toweled off, I suggested a snack. Food always made me feel better, and while you were ultra-aware of my needs, you weren’t always as mindful of your own.
I wasn’t much of a cook, but I was excellent at microwaving frozen food. I’d grown up on Stouffer’s French bread pizzas and Swanson’s chicken potpies. Xavier kept his freezer stocked for me. He probably thought I ate like a child.
In any case, there was some macaroni & cheese, which I heated up and then popped in the oven to get that prime crusty cheese on top. I served it up with some Jell-O pudding cups, topped with a dollop of Cool Whip for dessert. Fancy stuff.
“What a feast,” you said with a smile that seemed forced.
“Dorm life,” I used as my excuse.
I was starving, so I probably took more than my share of the food. When we’d finished, you poured a pot of hot water for me and mixed in Epsom salts with a little bit of scented oil as a treat. I assumed your knowledge of essential oils was left over from your masseur lover. One day I might work up the nerve to ask you what happened to him. But for now, there seemed to be more important things on your mind. You were a serious guy, but this kind of somber intensity wasn’t like you.
“Henri,” I said once we were settled in the living room with me soaking my feet and you sitting across from me on the couch.
“Yes?” you asked and stared at me pensively.
“What’s up with you?” I was going for something light, but you only looked more troubled.
“My last job is weighing on my mind.”
I was relieved. Maybe your black mood had nothing to do with your mother. I knew to tread lightly when it came to your work. There was only so much you felt you could share.
