A Purple Winter Read online

  I’d spilled my glass of milk.

  Chapter 3

  So I’d survived another day of high school.

  I was at the top of my class in every subject, except for history. Teachers rarely paid any attention to me, and my mother didn’t even bother reading my report cards anymore because they were always so good.

  One day, after I graduated, I was going to move into an apartment uptown and become an accountant. No, a financial consultant. I was going to be a fancy gay vegetarian, and no one would ever know that I’d once lived in a run-down building in a working-class neighborhood with a mother whose main activity was organizing her pills and renewing her prescriptions.

  When my dad would come visit me in my elegant home, I’d make him take off his shoes and use a coaster.

  Lugging my art project and school bag, I came walking up to my apartment building. Boone, Nick’s younger brother, was sitting on the first step of their front porch, throwing burning matches in a patch of muddy snow. It was cold outside and he wasn’t wearing a coat. What was it about the Lund kids that made them so indifferent to the cold? Must have been their Nordic blood. “He—hey Boone,” I said, stepping up to my porch.

  “Hey, Red.” He flicked another lit match at the snow. “You made that?”

  I glanced down at my art project. It was a gargoyle I’d shaped out of clay and painted black. I’d gotten an A on it.

  Boone blew into his hands. “It’s cool. Can I have it?”

  I knew my mother would hate the thing, so I handed it to him over the railing.

  Boone turned the gargoyle in his hands. The kid was getting big for his age. He looked a lot like his father, Johan. They had the same stature and good nature. Nick was more like his refined and complicated mother.

  I sniffed, the cold air getting into my flimsy Sears winter coat.

  “I’m not allowed inside,” Boone said. “‘Cause Nico and David are downstairs and Nico says he’ll tear me out a new asshole if I bother them.”

  David was with Nick? Alone, downstairs? A fireball of jealousy bounced around my chest, heating up my face and stinging my eyes.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Boone’s eyes widened at the sight of my expression. “You want your gargoyle back or something?”

  Behind him, the door opened and I didn’t have time to hurry inside my house before David stepped out of the Lund home. His black hair was a mess of curls and his cheeks were flushed. He wore his long black coat over dark clothes and those fancy leather boots I’d seen on him before. I envied his sense of style. His parents were rich, but David never really seemed happy, expensive clothes or not.

  “Don’t sit out here, Boone,” he said, in his melodic, but slightly nasal voice. He passed Boone in the stairs and ruffled his hair. “You’ll catch a cold.” David walked off, moving like a cat on a wire, but then looked over his shoulder. “Go back inside. Your brother’s nice and calm now.” He saw me there and seemed to flinch a little. But before I could say anything, he’d hurried off, stuffing his long hands into his elegant coat.

  I watched him for a while. He was like a ghost gliding down the street. Something about him was lighter than the rest of us.

  What did he think of me?

  “Ah, Bunny Boy,” Nick said, his voice coming from the doorway next to mine. “Get in here.”

  Boone stood and gave his brother a hard look.

  “What’s that you got?” Nick asked.

  “It’s a demon.” Boone tossed his head my way. “Red made it. He gave it to me.” He entered the house.

  Nick poked his head out and looked over at me. “Mrs. Stanilos. Art class. Notre-Dame de Paris theme. Right?” He’d always been a year ahead of me in school. He stepped out, wearing a white button-up shirt tucked into a pair of fitted black pants. “She was the only teacher who liked me, so I used to get good grades with her.”

  Well, in that outfit, he was getting an A plus from me.

  “I’m off to work, so…” Nick shut the door and locked it.

  “No—o coat?”

  He twirled a set of keys. “Got my car running.” His hair was tied back more neatly than usual and the white sky was reflecting in his eyes. “Joy Division. Cool.” He pointed to my coat.

  I remembered the patch I’d sewn on my coat’s sleeve.

  “Didn’t know you were into that kind of music.” Nick looked away at the street, swallowing. I watched his Adam’s apple move in his throat. My body reacted to the look in his eye. “I’ll see you around.” He stepped down to the path and kicked some fresh snow over the pile of burned matches.

  “Nick,” I called out, courage coming from somewhere deep inside me.

  He stopped and turned to look at me, his expectant gaze piercing my heart. “Yes…O’Reilly?”

  I licked my lips and took a shaky breath. “Where d—do you wo—ork?”

  For a second, he seemed surprised. “I work at a Polish restaurant. It’s in the old port. It’s pretty bourgeois. Good tips.”

  I turned around, fumbling for the door handle. “Thank you.”

  “Well, you’re very welcome.” Behind me, Nick’s voice was smooth, but a little husky. “Hope you drop by some time, O’Reilly.”

  * * * *

  The phone was ringing somewhere.

  I sat up in my bed and wiped the drool off my cheek. I glimpsed the crumpled Kleenexes on my nightstand.

  I must have fallen asleep after my masturbation marathon.

  “Derek, phone!” my mother yelled upstairs. “And I made dinner!”

  Dinner? I stood and the room spun around me. Hadn’t eaten since lunch. What time was it now? It was dark out. I shuffled my bare feet to the phone in the next room. The basement wasn’t finished, except for my bedroom, and the floor was concrete out here—cold against the soles of my feet. Drowsily, I lifted the receiver off the hook.

  “Derek, baby, what are you doing?” Aunt Fran’s voice seemed so far away. Where was she now? What country was she visiting? I couldn’t remember.

  I hadn’t even answered really, so how could she know it was me? “Hi…” I couldn’t recall when we’d last spoke. As a matter-of-fact, I didn’t remember our last conversation. But I missed her. “Where are you?” I didn’t stutter as much when I spoke to Aunt Fran. Maybe it was because she never hurried me.

  “Okay, listen to me, Derek. Are you listening to me?” She sounded upset, nearly frantic. “You’re not doing this thing right. You’re repeating the same mistakes you made before. Being quiet and hesitant. That’s not gonna get you anywhere.”

  “What?” I blinked, feeling dizzier and dizzier. I had to sit down. The couch springs dug into my thighs and butt. My head was heavy.

  “Look, I know you think you don’t stand a chance with Nick Lund, but believe me, baby, you don’t know how wrong you are about that. So, so wrong. And you need to go after him now. Do you understand? Your time is running out. What are you waiting for? Go get that blond bombshell.”

  I leaned back against the old gray couch. What was wrong with me? I felt woozy. Or sleepy again. “He doesn’t—he’s interested in girls and maybe David Pinet,” I said, my eyes closing.

  “No, see, no. Der, no. David was always a special friend to Nick, but, hon, you can’t let that stop you from going after Nick.” She paused. “Are you listening to this?”

  I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

  “Derek, he’s afraid of you, don’t you understand? He’s always been afraid of you. He fears the power you hold over him. That’s why he runs from you sometimes when you get too close.” She let out a loud breath. “Stand up.”

  How did she know I was sitting? Where was she calling me from?

  “Stand up and go to the mirror in your bedroom.”

  Confused and weary, I obeyed. “Where are you?” I asked again.

  “Far away. It doesn’t matter. Now go and stand in front of that mirror.”

  Slowly, I walked to the wall mirror hanging behind my door and looked at mys
elf.

  “You’re sixteen years old, Derek. Look at your gorgeous face. Now look at your eyes. They’re like opal. Enchanting as a Celtic fairy tale. Now look at your chest. Your thighs. You’re not a little boy anymore, can’t you see? He wants you. He can barely contain himself. He’s trying to keep control, but he thinks about you all the time. Go get him. Change the story, but come back.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Cast your spell. Make him swoon. And don’t let him leave with David.”

  “Where’s he going?” I stared into my own eyes, that déjà vu feeling rushing over me again.

  “Nowhere, if you get your way.”

  “Aunt Fran?”

  But the line went dead. And then I was asleep again.

  Chapter 4

  Saturday afternoon, I was out in the backyard with Johan Lund.

  “All right, that’s good,” Johan said, putting his big gloved hands on his haunches. Every fall, he’d stop shaving his face, and by mid-winter, be sporting a thick reddish blond beard. Nick’s father was the most agreeable man I’d ever met. Nothing seemed to get him off balance. He was a locksmith and worked hard to support his family.

  Secretly, I wished he were my father.

  “Put those over there, Red.” He lifted his scrubby chin to the corner of the yard.

  Clutching the wood planks, I was puffing hard, trying not to look too tired. I’d been helping Johan with taking down the old shed in the yard, hoping not to have an asthma attack in front of him. I stumbled to the corner and dropped the planks on top of the pile. I had a few splinters on my hands. I was proud of those.

  “The weather’s too warm today.” Johan’s gentle blue eyes were on the sky. He was in a plaid shirt and had a foot up on a tree stump. He looked like a real lumberjack. He was so handsome. So genuinely kind. “We’re gonna be getting rain instead of snow. We’ll call it a day, all right, Red?” He patted his shirt pocket and took out a roll of bills. “Here, for your trouble.”

  I knew the Lunds struggled with money, too. “Oh, no, uh, tha—thank you, sir.” I wiped my sore hands down my gray shirt. I was sweating, my hair sticking to my forehead, but it felt good to be out here with him.

  “Ah, come on, kid. Take it.” Johan pushed the money into my hand. His fingers were rough and strong. “You’re always helping us out with one thing or another. And it’s Saturday. I bet you can find something to do with that money.”

  They were showing Dirty Dancing at the dollar cinema. “Thank you,” I said, stuffing the money in my jeans’ front pocket without looking at it.

  “So, heard your old man’s coming home for Christmas.” Johan gave me a tender look. “I’ll make sure to tell John how indispensable you’ve become to our little crew.” He winked and patted my shoulder. “Have a good one, son.”

  Son. I wanted to hug him. Wanted to push my face into his plaid shirt and ask him to put his arms around me.

  “Oh, and Derek,” Johan said, stopping in the steps leading up to the back porch, “you’re welcome to dinner, anytime, okay? Helga and Nick love to cook for people.”

  Dinner at the Lunds. I’d puke from the nerves. “Uh, sir,” I said, as though someone had slapped me into speaking up. “Is—is Nicolai working tonight, sir?”

  “Yeah, he is.” Johan laughed. “That kid’s got plans. He’s going places, now isn’t he? No stopping him from getting to the top. I bet he makes his first million before he turns twenty.”

  Johan had such faith in his son. For a moment, I was envious of Nick. My own father didn’t think I’d amount to much. I walked away to our steps and climbed up to the back door. “Th—thanks again f—for the money.”

  “You deserve it.” Johan stared at me for a moment and then stepped into his home.

  I had twenty dollars in my pocket. Was that enough for a meal at a fancy Polish restaurant?

  * * * *

  When I walked out of the Place D’Armes metro station, it was raining hard. Johan was never wrong about the weather, so remembering what he’d said, I’d come prepared. I pushed open my umbrella and hurried up the street, past the fire station, towards the Notre-Dame cathedral.

  I remembered my gargoyle. But I couldn’t remember making it. Was I losing my mind? Why were things so blurry lately?

  Walking fast, I avoided the cold puddles on the cobblestone street. I was wearing my only good shoes and didn’t want to ruin them. The black shirt I had on was a little snug, but Mom wouldn’t let me work until I graduated, and her five-dollar allowance wasn’t taking me anywhere.

  When I’d move into my fabulous home after getting my degree in finances, I’d have a walk-in closet full of suits and expensive shoes. The people at Holt Renfrew would know me by my first name.

  The Polish restaurant was somewhere on Rue Saint Paul. I’d looked it up in the yellow pages. After a few minutes, I came right up to it. Because of the rain, the street wasn’t busy, aside from a few people strolling around under black umbrellas. I’d been here before, but I couldn’t recall when.

  This whole street—the old port—seemed so familiar. I gazed down at the cheery street lined with shops and restaurants and felt like I was home. How could that be?

  Snapping out of my daydreaming, I peeked into the window, glimpsing a crowded dining room full of Tiffany lamps that hung low from the ceiling. Well, I’d come this far.

  “Excuse me,” a woman said. “Are you going in?”

  Was I?

  I was standing in her way. Flustered, I moved and let the woman by. As she entered the restaurant, voices and music came spilling out into the quiet rainy street.

  Get in there.

  Startled, I blinked and looked around. I couldn’t remember opening the door, but I was inside and it was warm and noisy.

  “Reservation?” a young man asked, his dark eyes sizing me up. He wasn’t much older than I was, but confident and good-looking, clad in a black on black suit. His name tag read Andy.

  “I—I don’t—I didn’t—”

  “Are you dining alone?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, I’m sure I can squeeze you in somewhere.” He tipped his head to the busy dining room. It was a beautiful room furnished with antique furniture and the walls were made of big gray stones. In the back, a young woman was playing the piano. I recognized Chopin, my mother’s favorite. I followed the young host through the room, avoiding chairs and trying not to bump into people. I couldn’t see Nick anywhere.

  “And look, you get a window seat.” The young man winked and left.

  It was nice. I had a view of the street. With clammy hands, I fiddled with the cutlery, looking around without actually looking at anyone.

  Then I heard Nick’s voice behind me and froze in my seat. He was taking someone’s order a few tables away at my right. The window was to my left and I could see his reflection in the rain-streaked glass. He was so statuesque in his crisp white shirt and sleek black pants. His hair was in a tight bun, slicked away from his face. I listened to his voice, his intonation and words, surprised at how different he sounded here. He was being charming and talkative. The women were laughing, clearly affected by his sex-appeal.

  This was a side of him I’d never seen. It made coming here worthwhile.

  But what would he think of me being at his work place? I still couldn’t figure out how I’d gained the courage to show up here. It was almost…eerie.

  Nick walked away, to the kitchen I supposed. I was pretty sure I was sitting in his section. A few seconds later, he came back with a basket of bread, and walking past my table, stopped mid-step and stared at me. Without a word, he went to the other table and set the basket of bread down for the women.

  I sat up straight and took a deep breath. I’d brought my inhaler.

  Nick paused by my table again, looking down at me, his cheeks coloring a little. “You—you came.”

  He’d stuttered. I felt strong all of a sudden. I looked straight into his eyes. “Yes.”

  Nick ran
his tongue over his lips and frowned a little. “Cool.” His waist line seemed even narrower in those dress pants, his shoulders wider in the starch white shirt.

  I tried not to look at the shape of his dick in his pants. “What do you su—suggest?” I asked, forcing my eyes up to his face.

  “Hmm, well, everything on the menu is half decent.”

  I looked down at the white table cloth.

  “Oh, shit, I didn’t get you a menu.” He walked away and came back seconds later with a large folded menu. “You want something to drink?” He was already stepping back. He’d been asked to another table.

  “I don’t—I don’t—”

  “A beer maybe?” Nick smiled, his blue eyes lighting up. “Good Polish beer here. It’s on me. They won’t ask for your ID.”

  I’d had half a beer with my Aunt Fran last year. “Yeah…okay.” I smiled back at him. “Thanks.”

  “Yeah…” Nick hesitated a little and then left.

  Later, I decided on the barszcz soup and traditional bigos because the names were the easiest to pronounce. The soup was sort of like Helga’s soup with beets and a lemony taste and the bigos turned out to be cooked cabbage and a mix of savory sausages. I rarely ate meat, because of my decision to slowly become a vegetarian, but I loved the meal. Nick would pop up once in a while, but we could never talk. I took my time between courses, wanting to make the evening last as long as possible. I didn’t know what time he got off. Though I was eating alone, I didn’t feel as awkward as I thought I might. People weren’t paying any attention to me and I enjoyed the atmosphere of the dining room, soaking in the energy and sounds. Something about plates and forks clinking, of people talking over plates of food, reassured and soothed me.

  It sure beat eating a Spam sandwich at home.

  I mentally added up my meal and decided to skip dessert. I wished I could have had another beer, but I’d bust my budget, and besides, I was a little tipsy from the one.

  When at last I spotted Nick, I waved him over. It was exciting to have him at my beck and call. I was planning on leaving him a huge tip.