The water is running. I can hear it as you stand beneath it. You turn, the water sounds different. I want to be in there with you. You would think after last night I would have my fill. But that is the truth of it. I smile. I can never get enough of you, Edward. It... is not possible. Not even if I had a hundred years...
     Or two hundred...
     Valan crosses the room, dressed only in a towel. His hair is disheveled from the towel that is now hanging to dry -- orderly only where his hand has raked the still damp golden hair back. He busied himself with unpacking and glancing over the presents in bags. I wonder -- will you like what I have gotten you? He smiles. Not worried. Curious. And he unravels the towel around his waist, letting it drop...

     Somewhere, in the muss that is the bed, there's a soft chirping noise.
     From the shower, there is a loud singing noise. Choose.

     Soft, the laughter. Ah, ami. You have a lovely voice. I adore it. Bending to grab his pair of cotton flannels -- deep green, they make the green of his eyes the dominant color of his three.
     Chirping. Like a mechanical bird. Wasn't there a movie once with one like that? One leg in flannels, Valan reaches, fumbles, searches, "Aha... there we are..." And by the fifth chirp, it is answered. "Hello..." In English. Just in case. It is... obviously not his primary language...
     What can you tell of the voice? Warm and smooth in intonation. Quite French. From the Loire Valley. Like your Edward... oh, but very much not your Edward...

     There's a pause before noise, that moment of dead air so common in satellite conversations. Then, it begins.
     A slur of words races across in Spanish, more than likely never hearing your English hello. Ah, momentary delays. Time again. This time, expanded. The quick study can catch a woman's voice, thick and trilling with liquids. A crashing R, a molten l. But something odd about this Spanish, to be sure...familiar and not. Some thoughts are certainly clear. Edward. Call. Where are you? How can you go on holiday? But she goes on for a series of questions and statements before her voice halts.
     "Um...hallo? Who...is dis?" A switch to English when there was little resistance shown and her brain realizes what greeting was given...
     "Eduardo, speak, mm?" For the life of me, what's with the...seconds...of silence? "Dis thing work right? Eduardo..."

     It is good it is not a video call. You would see a very lovely, tall and golden Frenchman with only one leg in his deep green flannels, otherwise utterly bare. Ah, perhaps then it is Pity this is not a video call...
     Valan bends, breathing, pulling on another leg as he heads away from the sound of water. Maybe that will be better. "Ah... you are looking for Edward?" comes the Spanish. Modern. The Spanish of Madrid. And then he snaps -- oh, that was English. Valan stands upright, a smile upon his mouth. His eyes.
     You can hear the smile. "Eduardo... he is in the shower. This is ... can I help you?" Again, in Spanish...

     Ugh. Modern Spanish. That foul beast. But it is easier than English. "He is what?" comes her altered voice. It is thick and heady, certainly a woman who has not seen much outside of some guarded villa. There is the sound of a breeze and a male voice softly speaking in Spanish, offering a beverage of some sort...
     "Who...is this?" she asks again, this time in the modern tongue. "Why are you on Eduardo's phone?" Not harsh, her questions, but pressing. Like a mother's. Unfortunately, she is now interested in you...as much as she waits for any answer.
     "Do you work for him? If so, speak up..."

     "Ah... non... no..." You speak in such a flurry! He quite nearly laughs, but the grin resides in his voice. "I am Valan... I am a friend..." A pause. He does not say more, quite purposely. "I can take a message...? He is still singing in the shower so... it may be a while...?" You can tell he is indoors. You can tell he is in motion. Can you hear the singing in the background? Can you hear the water running?
     There is a soft laugh. "I do not work for him... but I can take a message if you like..."

     "A friend?" the woman chimes, distracted a moment. She must be having that drink. "Singing?" Eduardo singing? If he is doing so then....ah! Well. Knowing silence fills the line for an instant, then, "So, what sort of friend are you ? You take messages, you called Valan? You must be good friend, then, hmm?"
     Somehow, she'd probably say that even if the shower information had not been gleaned....she seems to be the type who cannot refuse such an open opportunity for such salacious commentary...
     "Come now," she goes on, "...tell Maria, hmm? You are Eduardo's friend , so you can tell me. He tells me everything!" Oh, certainly.

     And then the thought occurs to him... Oh god... is this his mother? Oh shit! You cannot see the flicker of panic, but you do hear him take a breath. Hold it a moment. "Si..." he murmurs, and then composure settles. Next time, leave the phone alone, Valan. "A good friend. Valan Montague," mark that down, Madame, "... y usted?" Soft and warm again. Polite. The formal You used.
     You can hear, perhaps, him sitting upon a bed. Yes, a very good friend by that...

     She laughs brightly, seeing the emperor as he is. "Ah, yes," the formal noticed, the first real pause in the conversation. Thinking. You can almost her the tick-tock and tap of her fingernails.
     The singing has dimmed much, your man finishing up in the other room. Soon the shower follows, suddenly coming to a quiet.
     "Valan Montague...so you are French, si? Tsk, he should like a French boy," she says matter-of-factly, "...you are...hmm...you are from near Blois, si? I can tell, in your voice. Poitou? Bordeaux?" Poitou? Who calls it that? "You may call me, Maria, Valan Montague of ze country. Eduardo is my grande nino." Nino? She sounds...not a day over thirty. Twenty, even. "He has told you of me, si?" How could he not?!

     You laugh like the singing of angels. I should be worried, non? "Maria," trying on the familiar, his French coloring your name. "He has not spoken at length, non... but I am pleased to meet you..." He chuckles, quietly. Suddenly. There is warmth to it. A natural warmth that only mortals can truly have. "I am French, si, and you are good with accents. I am of the Loire, generally... Bordeaux and Tours in specific..." Around Poitou...
     Valan turns his head, twisting upon the bed. Edward, now you choose to sleep erect in the shower!

     "Damn!" comes his voice, Edward sounding as if he's struggling with a towel. "How big are these damned things," he laments loudly. Most would be happy to find such an oversized, thick wraparound.

     "Si, it sounds so. Hmph. You must be a handsome boy for my Eduardo to look at you," almost accusingly, "...well, that is enough, Valan Montague, where is my Eduardo? Get him, please." You can almost hear her fingers snapping...

     The doorway to the bath darkens with the figure. "Fuck if you can't get swallowed up in these things," Edward says, coming out with his arms wide. The robe is a bit large, and he shakes his head, stopping when he sees you're on the phone. Too loud. Wait. Is that an out or one that's come in? Edward's brow furrows a little and he mouths: who is it?

     "Ah..." Drawn out throughout your ... you make such entrances, ami. And you see a mixture of What Have I Done? and I Am Glad To See You! upon his face. A bit wide-eyed. He looks to the phone. "I have heard this... but I should let him tell you... ah, and here he is..." Holding out the phone -- Take It! -- Valan mouths: Maria. And a half moment after, his mouth forms: Forgive me...
     I will cross myself and pray to a saint as soon as I am done with this! Never again shall I touch that phone...
     As for the robes and the towels... well, Georg is a figure of legendary proportions. He is a great Norwegian tower of a man. The Two Ton Tuetonic as he is called in some circles. The robe? It is his. The towels his as well. So, he is a generous giver.
     Valan looks like every other man who's crossed Maria's path -- wide-eyed and simultaneously charmed. Who could not love her?!

     Ugh. Maria? What in the Hell? Edward halts, not sure for a moment whether he should take the phone from you or not. But he sighs, face contorted an instant before brightening to take the phone from you quickly.
     "Dona!" comes his chime, almost like an entirely other personality has been put on the line. Spanish is florid, full in bloom as if he has spoken such for ages. "Come come...you are talking over me, flor." He bobs his head, and ears can pick the prick of quickly moving syllables and words, a veritable river pouring into your Edward's ear. "Si, no..." Edward says, shaking his head at you, "...no, I'm not in Angleterre or home...I'm...elsewhere. Well," he waves a hand, "...dona! Look...I'm sorry I did not call, hmm? It is the Lord's Time...why should I not take time away, hmm?" Yadda, yadda. Edward's hand circles as if he is guiding her through this entire interview process.
     All the while, Edward occasionally winks at you, holding phone at his ear while he strips himself of the arms of the robe. It remains tied at his waist, draping downward, leaving his upper body exposed.
     Uh oh. Suddenly, Edward looks at you. "Yes, I have a friend holidaying with me. What am I not allowed to have friends?" He rolls his eyes then smiles sheepishly at you.
     "Yes, he's hand-- alright, beautiful, dona Maria, but what's that -- huh? Why should I tell you ? I have to tell you everything? No, no, Maria," ah, the polite titles disappearing, "...no...I have a friend, we are holidaying. Where? Nowhere, Maria! Do not worry on it flor, alright? I will be home later. Yes. Later." No dates given...
     Don't we have somewhere to go? Edward looks at you, as if requesting a cue. Say something!

     A sigh. Grateful. Relieved. Lying back upon the bed -- he collapses, ah, like all men do beneath the ministrations of Your Maria. You can tell these flannels on him -- they are new -- and newly worn. He rubs his eyes, then halts. Could she hear that the bed has twice the weight? And he sits upright. Funny... well you can imagine that the next hundred years should play out just like this...
     Your look, and he clears his throat. Ah yes... I did tell her... something. Facial expression is a visual shrug -- what could I do, ami? She was coming at me so fast! And then he turns to the compliments, a blush hidden. Ah, he knows he's handsome... it is just that you said it, non?
     Crossing the room, Valan drops the flannels... he has the time now to change his mind. But in a glance, he sees your... desperate look. He grins and inclines his head. "Edward! We are going to be late... !" Golden eyebrows lift. More? He can barely hold the laughter in. "They will not wait for us all night," he finishes in French. As if you were meeting others. As if...

     "Dona flor!" Edward chimes, grinning at you, "I have to go! Si, Maria, I will call you back later. What is the problem? You can't tell me now?" Edward sighs, walking over towards you to kiss your cheek.
     A blink and Edward stiffens, "When I have been -- I...no, I cannot believe you'd even say that! When have I been that way? Christ, Maria..." and he looks at you, as if something is being said. Bad idea, taking the Lord's name. Edward sighs now, clearly not having this in hand. "Si, I am sorry for saying baby Jesus' name in such a way, especially this time of year..."
     "Si, si," Edward sighs defeatedly, "I will call you back and explain...it will be...yes, hours from now. Yes." Okay, he will assent to everything . And he thought he could assert his independence. Not at Christmas. That's the worst.
     "Si, si, flor, I am sorry, I will call you back and hear your tale. Si, dona. Si..." he bobbing his head now, hand covering his eyes.

     His arm is around you and he pulls you into him. His expression is both warm with empathy -- a sympathy that is shared -- and with some amount of humor. He nearly lost it when you said Baby Jesus. So, in understanding does he draw you to him, and he rubs your back -- fingers kneading at your back. It is true... when you are near... I cannot keep my hands off of you. Valan leans in, his mouth to your free ear. A whisper there: I love you -- it is more breath than word, more kiss than speech. Do not worry, say his hands, it will all be over soon and you and I will bolt down the mountain...Oui. Ah... the challenge! It is the day of reckoning...

     Click.
     Edward jerks with the sudden disconnect, he shaking slightly under your fingers. Not anger, just...disease.
     He sighs, closing the phone and tossing it across towards the bed. Both hands cover his eyes, and Edward takes a moment to breath deeply. In. Out. In. Out. Not needed, save as a meditative technique. Fuck. Let's go. "You ready?" he says, as if nothing's transpired. But your Eduardo is not a good liar. "Let...me just toss my suit on..." skisuit, that is. "Damn," he glances at his watch, "...we're losing good slope time..."
     Ignore that woman on the phone.

     "I am sorry, Edward..." Not Eduardo. No more Spanish. It is too spicy -- it will give us gas to go along with Maria's heartburn. A hand reaches up and massages the nape of your neck, your shoulder. "I... promise you, hmm? I will never answer that phone again.." And he pats your back, and then lower still -- another pat. He cannot help this.
     And if you look, when your eyes clear, you will notice he is naked and in need of clothes. It is now getting chilly. He heads to the side of the bed, sitting upon it -- hiding the brief wince -- ah, but it is followed by a grin. Hmm. Oui. And then he digs in his bedside bureau. "Ah, it will be dark... but that will just make the game more interesting... hmm? We are in ... no rush, ami..." Softness. Easiness. Is it a welcomed change?

     It is. Edward smiles, grateful to watch and feel you. Something soothing. "Oh, don't mind the phone...you may use it, but yes, I would...ignore when it rings and I do not get it myself," he weakly smiles, moving to step into a bright pink spandex bodysuit. He is quiet a moment as he finds legs from arms, then proceeds to wiggle within, filling the suit out to its seams.
     "She wanted to know about you ... Maria's ... well...like a...um...surrogate mother, you know? You sorta have to just forgive most of her ranting..." he explains, snaking left and right as he covers himself. It's almost as stunning as uncovering. "I'm sorry if she...upset you or anything."

     He is silent for a moment. Watching you dress. In bright colors. In spandex. That body. Hmm... you said something? Golden eyebrows arch upward slowly and realization dawns as slow upon a wakening expression. And then he grins. "Ah... non, not at all... she is just... hmmm ... exuberant?" No, that is not it . "She has a way that... hmm... demands one pays attention, yes?" He chuckles, and his smile is brilliant. He is not upset. "She sounds charming though. It was an odd introduction, but... I will see to it that she likes me... do not worry. I am... as you know... French..."
     He rises from the bed, his clothing outlaid upon it. He will be in red and gold. He will be reflective. Easy to see. Hmm... better colors for the evening. Perhaps... he is getting used to your hours...afterall...

Posted by rowan at February 06, 2001 10:16 PM