Chapter 16 #2
“I’ll perform oral sex,” I add, trying to sound like the ‘devil may care’ gay boy I’m not. “I’ll give you the head job.”
Milo shakes his head, grinning from ear to ear.
“Alright!” I bark. “I’ll get on my knees and drink your load.”
“Hey, what’s the matter?” He places his hand on mine. “You’re agitated, as if I accused you of something.”
“It’s just I’m not good at this.”
“Not good at what?”
“Intimacy.”
I want to disappear. And I have the means to do so. That is until Milo’s wide-eyed astonishment settles into a gentle stare. I’m being studied, my awkward nature analysed by someone who commands his world.
“We were intimate,” he says. “We had sex.”
I nod because I know he’s right, yet I can’t help feeling foolish. I’ve been comfortable with Milo before but my distress is not just the product of my past rejections. It’s guilt about the zombie mum thing.
“Grayson, what’s wrong with my mother?” Milo just read my thoughts.
“Yeah. Hmm. I wish I knew for sure.”
“For sure? You have a theory?”
“I meant I wish I knew. I don’t have a theory.” My lie reeks of bad body odour.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Milo, did your neighbour show up? The one who disappeared?”
“You think that has something to do with Mum?”
“I’m not sure.” I ignore the stewed cabbage smell.
“And now Summer is gone.” Milo thinks and thinks. And as he’s about to say something, he closes his mouth and thinks some more.
Penelope has two cocktails, one in each hand. This is nothing new. But this time, Sam is also holding two cocktails, and neither of these divorcees are sipping slowly. They’re having a race to see who finishes first.
Perhaps Milo and I should do the same. It will encourage me to tell the truth and Milo to do whatever he does when he’s drunk.
“Grayson, my mother isn’t...?” Milo can’t say it.
A guy stands on the opposite side of the table we’re sitting at, running his thumb under one of his suspenders. And he’s giving Milo a seductive gaze. Milo is half acknowledging the man’s good looks, while half-distracted.
“Can I join you?” he says, only looking at Milo.
We answer in unison, me with a “no” while Milo invites him to sit.
“I’m Sylvan.”
What a snooty name. I start giggling.
“What’s the matter?” But Sylvan is directing his query more at Milo than at me. “Is your friend always this rude?”
“Don’t mind him,” Milo replies.
“Why not?” I ask.
But the warmth Milo showed me not long ago is gone.
“It seems I’m the third wheel here.” I stand.
“Were you ever the second wheel?” Milo’s stare is chilling.
“Meaning what?”
Now Milo rises. “You weren’t in a hurry to return my text after we first met. Then you weren’t in a hurry to respond to my museum invitation.”
“Hey! We had sex. That should quell your doubts.”
“And you seem flippant about Summer’s disappearance.”
“But I asked about her.”
“Yes, but more in a small talk way than with actual concern.”
“I’m worried just as much as you are.” There’s no bad odour. It confirms I am concerned, and for good reason. “Milo, has anyone else disappeared around you, especially others your mum didn’t like?”
“What are you getting at?”
“I’m sleuthing.”
“You and Penelope did something to Mum. She’s never been the same since your visit. What have you done?”
Penelope is returning without Sam, zigzagging on approach. And she’s clutching two new cocktails.
Sylvan has gone. We never noticed he’d left.
“Now boysss,” Penelope says with a lisp. “Your bad energy is disrupting my drinking.”
Young people look particularly haggard when they have a drinking problem.
Their youthful skin becomes weathered more quickly after a trip to the bar.
Even if they haven’t touched a drop for a while, there are sunken eyes and spider veins on their nose and cheeks which tell the world they’re not happy.
At this moment, the bags under Penelope’s eyes look like charcoal smudges.
Her nose is red and her cheeks are slightly rosy, yet there’s beauty there.
Sad beauty. Her long flowing hair is just as lovely as it always is.
And her fashion sense presents her best self once again.
But these attributes can’t hide her sorrow. Especially now while she’s drunk.
She plonks onto a chair like a dropped sack of rice.
“You two are tight,” says Milo. “But the fantasy of having magic mates who can whisk me away to a dated nightclub—”
“The Mystic Moon,” says Penelope.
“What?” Milo’s body is rigid.
“We’re at The Mystic Moon.”
“Who cares?” Even in a tutu, Milo means business. “I thought I’d have fun with people who can pretty much do anything they want. Appear anywhere they want. Conjure anything they want.”
“We had fun,” I say. “When I created that sex room.”
“Yes, we had fun one time, Grayson. One time. But you’re awkward.” He grunts. “And don’t get me started on the ridiculous outfit you wore to the restaurant. You’d think with your powers you’d arrive as something cool. Like a superhero or a pop star.”
“Or a sailor,” Penelope says. “Gay sailors are sexy.”
“I had no control, Milo. I sneezed and Robin Hood happened. I can’t help what occurs when I sneeze.”
“But if you were cooler, Grayson, you would have been a superhero or a pop star,” Penelope adds. “You should do Prince. You know, with that whole purple vibe. You’d look good in purple.”
“I thought you were on my side.” My flapper dress constrains the angry rise in my chest. “And for someone who’s been watching me for a while, it seems odd you haven’t mentioned my last relationship. But that’s the thing. No one is here for me. Not you. And not the people who are meant to love me.”
“You aimed that last comment at me,” Milo assumes. “I’m being hounded by a guy addicted to solitude and a woman addicted to alcohol.”
“And we’re being hounded by a guy addicted to social media,” I counter.
Someone is clapping. The Mystic Moon is silent enough for the sound to echo.
“Do you want to continue your act on stage?” Des asks. Her pianist is just as gobsmacked as she is.
“Oops,” says Penelope.
So many stares. So many open mouths. And too many shaking heads.
“There’s only one ssss...” Penelope is dribbling. “One sss...”
“Just say it!” I cry.
She attempts to snap her fingers. She succeeds the fifth time.
The three of us are in a court room. Milo is still in ballet gear and a top hat. I’m in my dress and my handbag is on my arm. I place it on the table in front of us, trying to act defiant in this ridiculous outfit.
As for Penelope, she is wearing a smart blue jacket with matching gloves. And I’m miffed she didn’t change our outfits.
People are snickering. The judge looks so angry, his head is sure to explode.
“We’re not supposed to be here until next week,” Milo says, softly.
“It is next week,” Penelope replies. “Just think of it as a blackout. You know, when you’re thumwhere one minute and thumwhere else the next.”
“Like when you drink too much?” Milo mumbles.
“Oh, is that the reason for blackouts?” She smirks knowingly.
I open my handbag and discreetly check my phone. There are many missed calls from my boss and just as many texts. Then I see my wand. I consider what waving it may do.
“Defendants, please stand.” There is nothing pleasing in the judge’s voice.