Gay Fiction, Volume 1 Page 15

  I wouldn’t be able to do this. How could I? How could I be alone in my basement with Nick Lund after what I had just done to myself?

  And what I had been thinking of as I had done it?

  I clutched the edges of the magazine, my fingers imprinting them with sweat, and kept my heated face hidden behind it. “Hey.”

  A weight sank into the couch, a foot away from me, at my left. I guessed Nick must have sat down. I didn’t care to check. Just wanted to keep from hurling.

  “You like that stuff, huh?”

  If someone prays to die really really hard, why can’t God listen?

  My eyes had been staring at the magazine, but they hadn’t seen anything. Just colors. Out-of-focus faces. I realized now, I was holding Aunt Frannie’s Spin magazine. I knew the cover. Had seen it lying around for the last two weeks. Michael Hutchence.

  Jumping.

  Wearing very tight leather pants.

  “No-not really, just bo-bored.”

  The magazine was gently slipped out of my hands. “Do you mind?”

  Nothing Nick does, I mind.

  “You know INXS? They’re pretty decent.” Nick leafed through the magazine. His long fingers turned the pages, and his blue gaze moved over their content. “A little too pop for my taste, but there’s a couple songs I like off their album.” He glanced up. “You have it?”

  I don’t have anything. Why would I have something?

  I shook my head.

  He smiled. “Didn’t think so.”

  I folded my arms around myself and curled my knees under me.

  He stretched and yawned. “Got cable?”

  I looked around.

  We don’t even have a TV downstairs.

  Nick stood, and I watched him walk to the window. It’s more like a ship porthole. No light comes through in winter, on account of the snow piling up against it. I noticed Nick had to tilt his head a little. Slouch down. He’s taller than the basement ceiling.

  How is that possible?

  He was staring out, but there isn’t anything there to look at. Just white.

  “I like the smell in here,” he said, half to himself.

  What smell?

  Nick walked off, heading straight to my bedroom. “This your bedroom?” He pushed on the door.

  Nick Lund was in my bedroom.

  I was frozen. Completely unable to move, or speak. I clutched the edge of my shirt, watching the open door.

  Nick appeared in the doorway. He leaned on the frame, wearing a half-smile. “Nice Hot Wheels.”

  I don’t even play with those anymore. Just rearrange them once in a while.

  Heat shot up in my face, and I couldn’t find anything to say.

  Nick’s smile straightened. “Nothin’ to be embarrassed about.” His eyes paused on my lips again. “You have a lot of books. Read a lot, huh?”

  What else am I supposed to do with my time?

  “That’s cool. Probably why you’re so smart.” He turned away and went back into my bedroom.

  I rose. The nervousness in my stomach was no match for the desire to be alone with him. In my bedroom of all places.

  Nick sat by my bookshelf, with his back to my bed, fumbling through the books on the bottom shelf. That’s where I keep all the ones I’ve read more than twice.

  He plucked Lord of the Flies off the overpacked shelf and scanned the cover. “What’s this one?”

  I fidgeted by the bed, and sat down. “It’s the-the-the sto-o-ory of—” I couldn’t get any more words out. My stuttering was out of control. I knew exactly what I wanted to say, because I know that book by heart, but I couldn’t relax my mouth and tongue.

  Nick glanced up. His blond hair is coming in by the roots. “O’Reilly,” he said softly. “Take a breath. Try one word at a time. Not the whole sentence.”

  Not the whole sentence.

  I had never thought of that. I always think of the complete thing I want to say, never break it up into fragments. One word is easier than ten. Just like reading.

  I tried again. “It’s-the-story—of—these—school-boys—” I paused, stringing the words in order. “That-get-stranded-on-an-island-and-built-their-own-society.”

  Nick cracked a smile. “See. It’s easier that way.” He looked down at the book. “Sounds interesting.”

  “I eenjoy-oyed the-the—” I stopped, took a breath, and stared into his eyes, witnessing him staring right back. My throat loosened. “I-enjoyed-the-social-comment. Like-Animal-Farm.”

  Nick belted out a great big rumbling laugh and tossed the book back onto the shelf. “Social comment, huh? Fuck, man. You’re something else.”

  Upstairs, Aunt Frannie was calling.

  “Looks like dinner’s up.” Nick got to his feet.

  I followed him out of the room and up the stairs.

  Aunt Frannie pulled a chair out for Nick. “You can sit in John’s seat.”

  Lene was already sitting. Her eyes flickered on my mouth for a second, and I cringed at sitting opposite her, but that was the only chair left, so I slid into it, trying to avoid her ardent stare. “Hello, Derek,” she said. “I made the salad.”

  I looked down at my plate. The salad appeared normal enough.

  She smiled. She’s missing so many teeth. How does she manage to chew? Her smile broadened. “Did you know that Nicolai put blue ink under his skin, on his—”

  “Lene, what did I say ’bout that?” Nick drove his fork into the meat pie. “Looks good Ms. Saint-Jacques.” He was obviously trying to change the subject. “Real good, thank you.”

  Ink? I let my eyes roam over his arms and hands. Didn’t see any ink there.

  Aunt Frannie dabbed her painted lips with a napkin. “So, you’re going off to Cegep next year, huh? What do you plan on studying, Nicolas?”

  My eyes darted up to her face and Aunt Frannie caught my murderous glance. She shifted a little, smiling. “Or maybe you don’t intend on going. At any rate, what are your plans for your future? What are you interested in?”

  The meat pie was scalding hot. It fumed inside my mouth. I flicked my gaze to Nick’s face. He was eating ferociously. Didn’t seem to mind Aunt Frannie’s interrogation.

  “Traveling,” he said with his mouth full.

  Aunt Frannie livened up on her chair. “Oh, really? You’d like to be a travel agent? That’s a solid choice, lots of potential for growth. Good money too.”

  I don’t think Nick meant he wants to sell traveling to anyone.

  Aunt Frannie wasn’t finished. She took a long swill of her red wine and sharpened her gaze. “Ever think of modeling?”

  Yes, Bump, modeling, she asked.

  My eyes shot back to his face. I swallowed the salty contents of my mouth.

  Nick raised a brow. His lips seem to glisten. “No ma’am.”

  Suddenly, I realized Aunt Frannie wore her blue blouse. The one with the missing button on top. She skimmed the rim of the glass with her red fingernail, and smiled. “Well,” she breathed, “you should. You’d make a killing.”

  Something passed over Nick’s features. His eyes moved over Aunt Frannie’s mouth, then lowered their attention to the opening of her blouse. “You think?” he asked under a breath.

  “Oh yes,” said Aunt Frannie, her eyes devouring his face. “Would you like a small glass?” She pointed to the open bottle of Rioja wine on the table. “I know Johan let’s you have beer once in a while—”

  “That’s right.”

  Oh, the nerve on her. She didn’t hesitate for a second and poured a very generous dose of the red wine into his glass.

  It wasn’t small at all.

  Nick immediately raised the glass to his nose. “Spanish. Oak aged. A bit of a vanilla taste. Dry enough. Good choice for a table wine, Ms Saint-Jacques.”

  My jaw hung loose.

  Aunt Frannie gasped. “Oh my, you’re quite the connoisseur. Where did you learn about wines?”

  Nick took a mouthful of the wine. I watched his Adam’s apple
move up and down as he swallowed. “Drinking, ma’am.”

  I hadn’t touched a bite. Nick was on his second serving.

  Lene was busy feeding our baby. “Just another tidbit, Cassandra. And then you can have dessert.”

  Nick scooped the last of the mashed potatoes. “Lene, you’re freakin’ O’Reilly out. Eat your supper.”

  Lene pouted, but when Nick’s eyes hardened, the fork jumped to her mouth, and she started eating with voracious appetite.

  “Don’t like the meat pie, hon?” Aunt Frannie’s eyes were full of reproach.

  I shrugged. “It’s okay-kay.”

  “Nicolas seems to have enjoyed it,” she said softly, watching Nick clean his plate.

  “Yes ma’am. Just enough cloves and sariette to my liking.”

  Sariette? Cloves?

  I wiped my mouth and pushed my plate up.

  “Nicolas, please stop calling me ma’am.”

  My eyes nearly shot out of my head.

  “All right,” said Nick. “But only if you stop calling me Nicolas.”

  “What should I call you, then?” Aunt Frannie’s voice was barely a whisper. Like her dress was on too tight.

  Nick’s eyes flickered with fun for a moment. Then he laughed.

  Never answered her question, just laughed and winked.

  Winked, Bump. At Aunt Frannie.

  My fingers clasped the edges of the dish. I had an inclination to hurl it at her.

  “Hon,” she said, without making eye contact, “why don’t you and Lene put on The Grinch Who Stole Christmas in the living room. Nicolas—Nick and I are going to clean up in here. Then I’ll serve dessert.”

  “No.” The word had gunned out of my mouth.

  Aunt Frannie shrank back a little, setting her hand on her chest. “No need to yell, Derek.” She turned to Nick and rolled her eyes. Not much. Not in a very noticeable way.

  But I saw it. Yes I did.

  Nick smiled. “Don’t blame you, O’Reilly. That green freak gives me the willies too.” Nick rose and pulled his chair up, then began gathering the plates. Aunt Frannie seemed to hesitate, but she soon followed his lead. Lene and I helped too.

  While Aunt Frannie and Nick whispered at the table, Lene and I washed the dishes.

  Lene pulled on my sleeve. “I have my Strawberry Shortcake panties on.”

  I stared into her face for a second, then went back to scrubbing the glasses.

  She set her chubby fingers on my wrist. “I love you, Derek.”

  I glanced over at her.

  She stood on the stool, rubbing the rag up and down the same spoon, like she hadn’t even said it.

  She’s really pretty when she isn’t talking. But I’m not going to marry her.

  “Hello?” Aunt Frannie had picked up the phone. We all turned and watched her. “Oh good, then,” she said. “Have they’ve got the cast on him already…Oh, I see.” She gestured for me to get the cobbler out of the oven. “Right…Johan, listen, Nicolas and Lene are here. We’ve just finished dinner…No, please, it’s my pleasure…Of course, yes…All right…We’ll see you soon.”

  Nick cocked a brow. “So? Bunny boy okay?”

  “Yes, he’s fine. Your father says they expect to be home within the next two hours.”

  Two hours. 120 minutes. 7200 seconds.

  “Watch it, hon, you’re spilling the edges over.”

  Indeed.

  “Set it over there, please. Let it cool off a little. Nick, would you like me to brew some fresh coffee?” She didn’t bother waiting for his reply, just started busying herself with the making of the stupid coffee.

  “O’Reilly.”

  I looked up.

  Nick mouthed the word bathroom. I pointed to it and watched him strut away. His blue jeans were torn on the bum part.

  I saw his underwear, I think.

  Aunt Frannie helped Lene draw a picture of a seahorse. “You should talk to him more.” Aunt Frannie’s fingers kept drawing. “I think Nicolas is lonely.”

  Lonely? Who knew Aunt Frannie was so delusional.

  She sighed. “Sure has the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Like some kind of cold ocean nobody can ever swim in.” She glanced up. “Get the bowls from the chest, the brown ones. And the vanilla ice cream. I’m in the mood for some sweets. With all this snow we’ve been having, we should be filling our bellies with some comfort, don’t you think, Lene?”

  Lene was concentrating on her drawing. She clutched that blue crayon so hard, looked like she was about to pop a vessel. “Yes, Francine. Comfort is sweet.”

  The doorbell rang, and Aunt Frannie looked over at the front door like it had farted. “Who can that be?” She rubbed the crayon wax off her fingers and went to the entrance.

  “I bet it’s the Bogyman,” whispered Lene.

  A chill crawled up my back and I let out a nervous giggle. “Ri-right—”

  “Because I called him. The other night. I said his name seven times.” She traced my chin with her finger. “He only comes for the redheaded ones, because their hair reminds him of the licking flames of hell—”

  “Enough, Lene.” Nick had strutted back into the kitchen. “Stille.”

  I figured that meant something close to “shut up.”

  “Oh fuck me,” Nick cursed under his breath, staring at the front door.

  I looked over.

  Officer Di Paglio stood in our entrance, chatting it up with Aunt Frannie.

  “Fuck.” Nick pulled something out of his pocket. “I’ve got some major karma issues.”

  He had pulled out a small container. It looked like White-Out. He threw his head back and squeezed the little bottle over his left eye, then the other. He blinked a few times, widened his eyes, and dropped more of that stuff into them.

  “O’Reilly, look at me.”

  I looked.

  “No, closer. Into my eyes.” He took a step toward me and bent his face close to mine. “They red?”

  My heart thundered inside my chest. Like some kind of crazy drummer boy. “No,” I whispered between two worlds. “They’re nothing but bl-bl-u-ue.”

  Nick cracked a smile. “Cool. That Italian bastard’s had a hard-on for me since day one. Always looking to pin something on me—”

  “Nicolas,” cheered Aunt Frannie, pulling Di Paglio into the kitchen. “You know Scott, don’t you?”

  Nick looked Scott up and down. “Yeah.”

  Scott returned Nick’s cool stare. “Hello, Nicolas.”

  I expected one of them to draw a pistol at any time.

  Could almost hear the cowboy music playing.

  “How’ve you been, Lund?”

  “Just peachy, sir.”

  Scott didn’t seem to enjoy that. “Yeah? Some folks been complaining about some vandalism—some obscenities being spray-painted on the wall of the—”

  “Obscenities, sir?” Nick’s arrogant smile stole a giggle out of me, but Aunt Frannie shot a hard glance my way, so I glued my eyes to the floor and held it in.

  “Yes, that’s right, Lund. Obscenities. You know, garbage. Filth.”

  “Well, that’s a shame, sir. Verdun being such an upstanding city and all.”

  Scott’s brown eyes blazed. “They thought maybe they’d spotted the Pinet boy’s car down there, right about last week—”

  “Last week, huh? What time exactly?”

  Aunt Frannie tugged on Di Paglio’s sleeve. “Come on, let’s have some of this cobbler, the ice cream’s melting—”

  “’Bout seven p.m.”

  “Is that right?” Nick rubbed his chin. “Seven, you say?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Derek, can you set a place for Scott. Scott? Can we enjoy this cobbler?”

  The tension was electrifying.

  “Not right this minute, Frannie,” said Scott, his eyes still hard on Nick’s face. “I’d like to get to the bottom of this—”

  “Well.” Nick ran a swift hand over his face, like he was trying to keep some beast from
pouring out of his pores. “You should check your sources, you soft-cocked middle-lifing prick of the earth. ’Cause David’s got a job flipping burgers every night of the week. You know, working minimum wage, fattening your ass up—”

  “Nicolas!” Aunt Frannie’s cheeks were flushed with pink. “Hush now!”

  The color on Di Paglio’s face had drained out. A thin blue vein throbbed on his forehead. “You cocky piece of—”

  “Scott!” Aunt Frannie’s voice had shrilling pitch to it. “Stop! Nicolas is my guest, now quiet down, please. No sense in getting confrontational.” She squeezed his hand. “Besides, Scott, you aren’t even on duty tonight.”

  My body was wired, like when I’ve had too much Cap’n Crunch.

  I glanced up at Nick’s face.

  His blue eyes were veiled with passion. It almost looked as if he was enjoying this.

  I looked down at Scott’s hand. His fingers twitched a little, folding around Aunt Frannie’s hand. “All right,” he grumbled, keeping his eyes steady on Nick’s unflinching stare. “Let’s have some of this cobbler.”

  Nick drew in a short breath. “Okay,” he said at length.

  Everyone’s shoulders sank with relief.

  “Look,” said Lene, holding up her drawing, “I made a seahorse centaur.”

  We had all eaten in silence, listening to ourselves chew.

  “Sweetie,” Aunt Frannie said, pushing a curl out of Lene’s drowsy eyes. “You look pooped.” She then turned to me. “Why don’t you get Lene settled in my bed? Just over the covers, and spread the green blanket on her. It’s in the closet, under my suitcase.”

  Why do I have to do these things?

  “Go on, she’s tired.”

  Nick lifted Lene out of her chair, and strapping her thighs around his chest, carried her down the hall to Aunt Frannie’s bedroom. Well, Mom and Dad’s bedroom.

  I followed close behind.

  “There you go Madame Lund.” Nick’s voice was thick with tenderness. His movements were slow and gentle. “Let’s get these socks off you.” He pulled Lene’s socks off in one quick motion, rolling them up neatly. “Can you get her a glass of water? Not too cold. Thanks.”

  I went to the kitchen, wondering what “not too cold” meant. Didn’t want to get it wrong.

  “Hon, Lene settled in?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, listen.” Aunt Frannie’s eyes twinkled. Her nose was a little red too. She had the hiccups. “Scott and I were thinking about going to catch a movie, I mean, if it’s all right with you. Johan and Helga will be here any minute, and it’s almost bedtime for—”