What could be worse?
     It could be raining.
     But sometimes, Christ smiles down on us, extending His hand to shelter us when things are not going our way. There is a bottom, and His hand keeps us from finding it.
     The neighbors happen to like the occupants of 156 Dannerly Court. They're quiet, their townhouse is stunning, and they're apparently gay. Terribly fashionable these days. Being attractive and charismatic doesn't hurt, but it's not as if the pair are ever seen.
     Apparently, they work at night.
     Chester Andrews, attractive man, really, seems to live the reclusive life, but also knows some of wealth and prestige. Nice cars occasionally visit, including limousines. One neighbor hears that Mr. Andrews travels often and is in high finance. It would make sense.
     After Mr. Andrews' smart acquisition of the real estate next door, there were extensive renovations. Drove up council rates, but no one complained. The joining of two Dannerly brownstones into a rather large residence was hailed in Dannerly Court circles as a smart -- though expensive -- idea. Mr. Andrews will see a return on all his work, certainly, when he's ready to sell.
     And after all that? There appeared another. A young man, very attractive. Most just refer to him as Mr. Andrews roommate, who apparently lives in the residence. Makes sense...it works to have another help pay a large mortgage.
     Other than the occasional visits by a young woman, who apparently cleans, very little happens at 156 Dannerly Court. Jaguars come and go, so does the fancy cars that Mr. Andrews drives (he has two, you know). Or, like tonight. Another limousine idling quietly at the house, driver no doubtedly waiting on Mr. Andrews to take him somewhere, or perhaps someone visiting...

     I didn't stay at Betty's for long. Not really my scene, but Josef likes it and some of the crowd at the Purple Papaya. It's where they go when they want to feel like they are naughty. Some nights after fencing I meet them there to say hello and to smile at them, to have a drink and then to be on my way. We usually end up at the Papaya again before I go home...
      Sometimes I am lucky enough to meet Edward on the street and we spend the rest of the night out together. Some nights, and this is one of them, I simply get tired of being around people and return, hoping to find Edward returned -- but knowing better. He is not here but...
     A limousine?
      ...Someone is...
     A new car pulls into the drive and the garage door is opened by some interior switch. Open says me. Allah-din is home.
     The car is sleek, luxurious, brand new. Something from Italy, to be sure, it is green in one light, purple in another, sometimes strangely of both. It suits him. The driver does not stop to inquire as to whom is waiting outside. The car pulls in. The garage doors lower.
     Several moments later, lights come on in Dannerly 156/157...

     Ah, resident of 156 and 157. There is a knock at your door.

     There is a delay. You cannot see that it is to get his own, his very own, gun. So well taught, this one. But you hear the steps, surely. Do you see his eye in the peephole...?
      Valan Montague, in his striped pants and his off-color pullover, stands in the foyer of Dannerly 156/157 with a 9mm in his hand. The weapon of choice.
     A guard and That Woman...
     The gun is tucked back in his waistband of his trousers and he opens the door. Wide and welcoming. "Donna Maria," Montague purrs out and with a smile of golden honey, "... please... I will not have you standing out in the street." Quelle surprise. We meet again.

     The guard looks around in the foyer, considering he's the one who rang the bell. Behind him, Maria stands, dressed in a black dress with black shawl around her head and shoulders. Her hair is in a bun behind her head, and on her feet, well, graceful black heels.
      The guard steps aside, allowing Maria to pass him and enter.
     She looks around the foyer in a lift of her chin. "You have done things...it seems nice." From the foyer. She passes you and moves on into the living area proper, leaving the guard to return to the interior comforts of the limousine.

     Men live here. It is wholly modern, wholly masculine. The furnishings are simple, European. There is an emphasis on comfort, but also on sleek modernity. Those who live here cannot stay overlong, always on the move, and the home reflects it. Everything is for quickness, for ease.
     "Thank you," a nod was given to your guard. Then the door was shut and promptly secured. Again, well taught. He comes in behind you with all of his young energy, hard edges of vampiric youth beginning to smoothen. It will take a few more years for him not to seem as young as he is. That is what discipline is for, is it not.
     "Something to drink, donna?" Valan offers. "We have madiera, we have Guillaume's plum liqueuer, we have Edward's fascination for whiskey and my family's wine..." For the diferences of the year and the arguments, he is a polite boy.
     Sometimes...
     Valan stands at the ready to play the host for you. There is no nervousness. This is his home. He is comfortable here.
     "Oh," he adds, "...and mead from Wales, courtesy of Davydd." He tilts a bottle. Yes, that is right. I miss him. Too bad he is so far away.

     "You are very kind," Maria adds in Spanish, turning about to see the living area. She even peers to the archway to the left near the stairs, and through the second cathedral archway to the training space in the adjacent building. "Madeira is fine, thank you."
     Only then does Maria move further across the floor to the sofa arrangement. Her hand touches the leather arm before she maneuvers to take a dainty seat on a leather cushion. Feet together, she lowers easily, holding the tails of her scarf at her lap.
     "I had heard," with that opening, presumably not from Edward, "...that he...you...had acquired the second...building..." are these homes? "...and had done many renovations." A change, really, from a place for Edward to toss things, to something more resembling a home.

     The smile comes easily, how surprising. Maybe it is because she is in my space, for once. Valan turns, he takes the decanter of madeira and a glass. Gold-green eyes find you as he pours. "Edward did, oui... he did that when he was preparing things for both of us to live here. Before, even, I became as I Am." One of you. "He sees to everything, that one." As you know. You raised him. "We are still thinking about what to do with some of it, but it is a good home. Something we can call our place." Our home. "And London has grown on me..."
     He brings the glass of madeira to you. "I am sorry for interrupting you earlier," he mentions quietly. "I just... of all people... did not expect to see you in London." As if you stay in the Oasis always, living only there, in that place. Seeming as stuck as William, each of you in your own realities. But that is not so, is it. That is not really so. "I had to say 'hello'. But I apologize for interrupting..." your dinner?
     "I apologize also, donna," Valan exhales a touch and smiles a touch also, "...for being or seeming unmannerly. In your home, when we argued." I don't want to go through my life throwing people away.
     How shallow. How pointless. Edward is right.

     "I do...go out sometimes," Maria says softly, accepting the glass from you. "Thank you," she murmurs, cradling the stem at her lap. From her expression, she may not drink it at all. Perhaps she has heard your thoughts. "This is my third time here," Maria adds. "I only come to see Edward," a name she says softly, as if a lament. "And now you," she says, looking to your face. A sigh. He belongs to someone else now. Or maybe he was never mine.
     "And thank you for your apology," Maria says, stiffening her back. "You...are welcome to visit again. I hope you do. Some ask of your well-being."

     "I should like that and please give my regards back to those who have asked," he says quietly, in Spanish. He goes to pour himself a glass. The boy can eat and drink with the best of them. Again, due to whose tutelege? He smiles to you from his perch at the bar. "I will admit to an immaturity in thinking that others are as I perceive them to be. Not real. Perception is not reality. You are always to be in your Oasis, frozen, where I left you? Our Edward," Ours, donna, "... is a very smart man. And I am lucky to have him help me to see deeper... and with different eyes." Not with a mortal's eyes. Not with a 21st Century mortal's eyes.
     He sips at the madeira, he smiles, it reminds him of Edward, this drink. Edward would hate to hear that. It would be better for his rep if he were to taste of malt liquor perhaps. There is an inward smile reflected against Valan's eyes.
     And now me. You would rather it were another way. I see that.
     "You do not have to include me... if you do not wish to, donna." He comes to the seating area with the medeira in hand. He pauses to sip, to sit. He sits cross-legged in the leather chair. "Edward may feel differently, I won't speak for him. I cannot force anyone to like or accept me. If you do, then I am grateful. If not, I understand."

     Her expression seeming sad, now clears a little. You do not sound the same.
     "He is your Edward," is all Maria can manage to say. Her brown eyes look left and right, and suddenly, there's the feeling of imminent departure.
     "I am sorry to have bothered you this evening," Maria says politely, gathering her scarf tails in one hand and extending the untouched drink to you in her other. She manages a smile. "Will you please give Edward my thanks and that perhaps I will speak to him by phone another time. You've been delightful, Valan."

     "It was no bother, donna. This door is open to you, always." He rises to take the glass, untasted. He will not beg you to stay. He will not hinder your departure. Your choices are your own. Valan sets the glass upon a coaster resting on the table.
     "Of course, I shall. He will be sorry to have missed you," and that is true. "It was a pleasure to see you again, and a pleasant surprise, donna." He offers you his arm. I will see you to the door myself. We live simply here. Independent. Liberated. We are our own servants.
     And should you want to see Edward, you have his number. If you wish to see me more, you know where I live. Or else we shall see one another again in Spain, or perhaps in Venice some night at Girault's request.
     "I hope you have a lovely evening and wish you a safe journey..." A warm smile. "Wherever it is you are going next." To Spain, maybe elsewhere. He does not pry.

     She is quiet as you speak, her eyes elsewhere. There is the occasional nod, but other than that, Maria has nothing to add, save:
     "Thank you. Until another time."
     Maria's arm folds around yours as she's escorted to the front door.

     You will not look at me. Do you need me to save you in this? You wish to stay. You want me to ask you. Are you waiting for me to open the door to let you in, or to let you escape? What will it be, donna infanta?
     Valan rests a hand on your arm as he walks with you. "I could call him, donna..." a murmur. Gold-green eyes look to you. It's up to you. "If you wish to see him, he is easy to find." Only a phone call away.
     Here is the door. Valan pauses, turning to you. Shall it be opened or closed? What is it that you wish, donna...

     "No, thank you, Valan," Maria says. "I am sure he is busy and you have things to do with your evening. I should have called." Her hand leaves your arm and Maria adjusts the lace scarf in anticipation of the evening's coolness. She gives you a slight smile, then inhales as she expects the door to open.
     "I will call you," plural, "...another evening."

     He is like a golden shadow to your modern boy. The 9mm is tucked into the waistband at the small of his back. Fingers glance a code, calling up a program. The door is unlatched. Each thing observed, each thing learned.
      "Very well, donna. I will tell him you were here and we look forward to the call. Have a good night." Always it is donna. Always the polite respect. Even in the argument he was polite. Blunt, but polite.
     Valan opens the door for you and steps out with you onto the porch. The two of you stand in the light and on a threshold.

     The passenger door of the limousine opens, and the second bodyguard, Athol, gets out of the vehicle. He immediately opens one of the rear doors, then quickly strides up the walk and steps to the landing.

     "Good night, Valan," Maria says softly, taking a step down.
     There, Maria-Angelique turns to look at you, the sadness still in her expression. "You seem very happy and in love. I am glad for it. For him and for you."

     The bodyguard reaches the bottom of the steps, where he waits.

     "Thank you, Maria," he says softly. And what is to add to that? Thank you. And I'm sorry. And I'm not sorry. He looks to your bodyguard and nods to him again. "Have a good evening..."
     I see your sadness. I can understand why. If it were me, I'd be heart-broken. For your sorrow there is the warmth of sympathy. But he will not pity you. He will not pity anyone.
     Choices are that. They are merely choices. Some of them work. Some of them don't. It's not up to me. It's not up to any of us.
     I will try not to be arrogant...for it is the quickest road to unhappiness...

     "Donna," Athol says, extending his hand to clasp Maria's. There is a nod to you, Valan, but the man says nothing else.

     Inhaling again, Maria holds her scarf at her chest and takes Athol's hands. Her fingers are delicate and small in his, but Athol closes his hand over hers firmly. She always has him.
     They descend the steps together, making a quick stride to the limousine. The second, Serge, had exited the driver's side and stood watch to make sure all was well. Once the two arrive at the dark vehicle and Maria is ensconced within, Serge nods his head at you and slips back into his side of the car.

     The golden boy stands at the threshold, and he watches. He will wait for you to be out of sight...
     A golden-cream hand reaches behind him, taking the gun out of its resting place. The safety secured, he will place it back in the foyer table until it's time to go out again.
     But not tonight...
     Tonight, I will wait for you, Edward...

Posted by rowan at September 19, 2003 09:25 PM