A red tainted Silence (34 page)

“Did you go to the same high school?”

“No.” I took a drink of my Dr Pepper and pushed away from the counter. “I’d best be getting back.”

“Wait, I’ll figure it out. What year did you graduate? Or have you yet? You don’t look that old.”

“Nick’s robbing the cradle?” the short guy said, covering his mouth in amusement.

I hesitated, then shrugged. “I didn’t graduate.”

“Shit,” Spike said. “You didn’t? Jesus, what the fuck would someone like Nicholas want with a flunkie like you??”

“I didn’t flunk. I quit,” I said, feeling the familiar shame rise up.

“You must be damn good in bed or something then,” the short guy said. “You a good fuck?”

I was too shocked to do more than stare at him.

Spike punched the other on the arm, saying, “That wouldn’t matter. Nick’s always sopped over pretty, stupid guys. You know that.”

“Yeah, he don’t care how they look. Even did me once.”

“Shut the fuck up. Really?”

The short guy snickered. “Yeah, anything with a hard dick is good enough for Nicholas.

He’d probably’d even take on you, except you might have to wait a turn after pretty little boy here.”

He eyed me speculatively. I clenched my soda -- it was all I could do not to shatter it against the wall. Embarrassment flushed my skin all over, and an edge of panic made my stomach clench. What were these guys saying? What if they were telling the truth? I was just drunk enough to question. What I’d thought earlier pushed into my mind -- I didn’t know Nicholas that well. Who he’d been with. Every time I turned around, there was another one. Now this short guy was claiming to have been with him, too?

I had to bite my lip as tears threatened. I tried to push past them, but Spike blocked me with his chest.

“Why you crying, little boy? What are you, sixteen? Seventeen? Not old enough to keep up with the big boys, I reckon.”

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Carolyn Gray

“Yeah, maybe you should go home to mamma and leave Nicholas to Chad. He’ll take real good care of him.”

“Yeah, he must’ve felt sorry for you or something.”

“Mercy fuck.”

They broke into laughter, well pleased with humiliating me.

Definitely too much beer. I slammed my drink down and pushed the short guy against the refrigerator, my blood boiling with anger. “Shut the fuck up, you little creep.” He threw his hands up and laughed. He laughed. “Oh, you gonna hurt me? I doubt you could hurt a bug, you’re such a skinny boy. Delicate-like.” Spike looked me up and down and snorted. “Jake’s right. How do you two decide who’s top? Draw straws?”

When I looked at him, puzzled, Spike and his buddy burst out laughing. I learned later what he meant, but right then I had no idea. There was a hell of a lot I had yet to learn, but I did know that I was embarrassed and humiliated, and all the fun and enjoyment I’d found in the evening totally left me, thanks to them.

I pushed my way past them, their laughter following me down the hallway. I passed Karen. She had her hands full of empty bottles.

“Brandon, what’s wrong?”

I didn’t answer, just hurried down the hallway. I wanted nothing more than to forget everything. What I’d feared would now happen. Now Spike -- Chad -- and his scrawny friend would tell everyone that Nick’s new boy toy was a dropout, a failure.

Mercy fuck.

I couldn’t go back to Nicholas. Not until I calmed down. I almost ran down a hallway I didn’t recognize, my breath coming in gasps. I hesitated, glancing from left to right, then for some reason felt myself pulled down the hallway, away from the party, away from my humiliation. Double-doors leading to a closed-off room beckoned to me. Curious, I opened them, and with a gasp spied the one thing guaranteed to make me feel better: a piano. I brushed the tears off my face and went inside.

I approached it, ran my fingers over the keys, did a one-handed scale, then caressed the keys again. Beautiful. This was a piano to rival the one I’d played as a child, at my parents’

friends’ house on the coast so long ago. The room wasn’t nearly as magnificent, but the instrument itself was, bathed as it was in light from a single lamp next to a chair.

And in that chair sat an elderly gentleman, watching me.

“Oh, sorry,” I said, jerking my hand away. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He set down the paper he’d been reading and smiled. He wore a smoking jacket. I’d only seen them in movies, but the silver-patterned black satin leant him an elegance I found A Red-Tainted Silence

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fascinating. He had an unlit pipe clenched between his teeth. When he realized my gaze had settled on it, he removed it with a sigh.

“Not the same, not lit. But my granddaughter would have my hide if she caught me smoking. So I pretend.”

I found a smile. “Karen?”

“The same. You’re a friend of hers?”

I hesitated. “Actually, a friend of a friend.”

“I know all her friends. Which one?”

“Nicholas Kilmain.”

The man eyed me, then slowly nodded. If he noticed my upset state, he didn’t let on.

“Brandon Ashwood, you’d be, then. Karen’s told me about you. You like to play?” I turned my head and looked at the piano, clenching my hands into fists, wondering what exactly Karen had told him, remembering what Nicholas had said about him. This guy was a psychiatrist, of all people to encounter. “Any time I can.”

“Please do. Treat an old man. These old hands simply won’t cooperate for me anymore.”

“You play ... played, sir?”

“Until arthritis set in. Take care of your hands, son. There’s much I could’ve done to keep on playing, and I didn’t do it.”

I nodded, then walked over to the piano and lifted its lid to let the sound out better. I sat on the bench, pushed it back a little, and trailed my fingers down the keys, closing my eyes as I did a simple warm-up scale with my right hand. I moved my left hand onto the keys to join in, letting the familiar scales acquaint me with the tone, the pitch, the feel of the keys.

I smiled in appreciation.

“Nice, isn’t it?” the old man said.

I nodded, then bent over the keys and began to play.

As always, the music immediately began to lift my spirits. The man’s presence didn’t bother me -- it was kinda nice, playing for someone who so enjoyed music. The last effects of the Corona whisked away, and the embarrassment over the encounter in the kitchen tempered as I lost myself in what I was doing.

I played songs I thought my audience of one would enjoy, a little classical, show tunes from the thirties and forties, some ragtime, choosing pieces with an upbeat tempo. I couldn’t do melancholy right then. At some point I sensed rather than heard someone else come into the room, and then another followed by other silent, whispery bodies. But by then, I was so entranced and involved with what I was doing that I didn’t bother to look up.

198

Carolyn Gray

I broke into an old favorite, a haunting piece that my mom once told me moved her to tears the first time she heard me play it. I poured everything I could into that song -- the hurt, the anguish, the sadness I’d experienced all evening.

My longing for Nicholas.

Not until I felt familiar hands on my shoulders did I look up and realize just how many people had come into the room, drawn by the music, I guessed. I twisted my head, took in Nick’s smile as he gazed down at me, and overwhelmed by what I saw in his eyes, closed my own. I didn’t want to think about all those eyes watching us, so I let myself be drawn back into the song until I played the final note.

Then I stopped, head bowed, my hands resting on my thighs, nervousness immediately coming back in a rush until the impromptu audience broke into enthusiastic applause.

Nicholas squeezed my shoulders. I dared look at them then, at the smiling, surprised, and even shocked faces. Chad and his scrawny companion were there, gaping at me. And Karen stood behind them, a grim smile of satisfaction on her face.

I guess she’d made sure they knew Nick’s boyfriend wasn’t just a pretty fuck after all.

I started to stand, but Nick’s hands held me in place.

“No, wait.” He caressed the back of my neck. As he had in my parents’ house, he tilted my head back and kissed me on my eyes, then full on my mouth. My body instantly responded to him -- I couldn’t help myself.

“Nick,” I all but whimpered.

He chuckled, cradling my face, pressing his body against my back as he whispered in my ear, “You are so unbelievably beautiful when you play, when you think no one’s watching. I’d take you right now if I could. And I will. Tonight. Promise.” I imagine the whole room heard him, and I didn’t care. I nodded.

Then he kissed me again, capturing my gasp of inflamed shock, making his possession of me clear to everyone watching as he calmly ran his hand down my chest. I arched against his touch, losing myself in the sensation of Nicholas. How he could stay so in control, I couldn’t fathom. How he could send me so out of control, I didn’t care.

“Go, Nicholas!” one of his friends yelled, and laughter broke out.

I broke away from him, buried my flushed face in the warmth of his chest, and closed my eyes, my breath hard, my heart pounding. He bent his head down and breathed softly into my ear.

“Let’s show them what we’re really all about,” he said. I knew what he meant. I pulled away from him, reluctantly, and began to play the intro, a thrill running through me as Nicholas placed one hand on my shoulder, pressing himself against my back as his voice joined my piano. I watched Nick’s face as he sang, enraptured by the sheer beauty of his spirit as the words rose up inside him and glimmered into the room. I couldn’t take my gaze off him.

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He moved about the piano, gesturing to the audience, eliciting murmurs from the crowd. But always with every glance to them, he’d come back to me, our gazes locking with an intimacy that I knew everyone in the now-packed room had to be experiencing along with us. I found myself unable to stop smiling at him, at the magic he wrought on me and on everyone else. I poured all I had into my part, bringing the keys to life as Nicholas did the melody, melding my music to his until perfect harmony was the only possible result.

He looked at me with such tenderness, I felt my eyes well. I blinked and fought against the drowning. He didn’t falter, just walked up to me and brushed the falling tears from my cheeks.

He swooped down and kissed me, breaking the rhythm to whisper in my ear, “I love you, Brandon Ashwood.” I gasped, faltering, but he sang on, pulling away from me to face the audience again. I couldn’t see their faces except out of the corner of my eye. But I didn’t care about them. All I could see was Nicholas.

He loved me.

When the last note faded into silence, not a further sound was heard, until a single voice said, “Oh, my God, that was fucking unbelievable!” And then they began to clap. Roar. Shouts of approval. I looked at them, dazed. The room was full; they spilled out into the hallway, and I drank it all in. As did Nicholas. I looked at him, the triumph on his face as he accepted his due accolades until the clapping wound down at last -- then he froze, his eyes widening on something across the room.

Something was wrong.

“Nicholas?” I said, getting up and moving quickly to him. “What is it?” I put my hand on his shoulder. At my touch, he shook himself and smiled at me, though his eyes remained clouded.

“Nothing. I just thought I saw someone --” He shook his head. “I was mistaken.” I glanced where he’d been looking, but saw nothing strange, nothing wrong. “You sure?”

He nodded then and threw his arms around me and kissed me as his friends gathered around us. Whatever had stopped him, he was over it. I laughed as his excitement returned and he twirled away from me again. This time it didn’t hurt, watching his friends take their little pieces of him.

Little by little the room emptied as our audience returned to wherever they’d drifted away from, several lingering to talk to him and give him a few extra hugs. I even got one or two, though I sure didn’t have the art of hugging down like Nicholas did. Left alone at last, I closed the piano’s lid and put the seat back. As Nicholas was finally released from the last hug, he danced over to me again and wrapped his arms happily around me from behind.

“Remember what I told your dad, Brandon?” he said in my ear.

I grinned, wrapping my hands over his. “I remember.” 200

Carolyn Gray

“Well, it’s going to happen. We’ve already got groupies! Have groupies and that’s half the battle!”

I laughed at that. “Good point, Nicholas.”

“Well, count me in then. You fellows are phenomenal together,” Karen’s grandfather said, pushing up from his chair, where I’d completely forgotten about him.

“Uh, thanks.” My face heated -- what had he thought of Nick’s kiss? The way he held me now? I glanced worriedly at him, but he winked in reassurance.

Nicholas must’ve sensed my sudden embarrassment. “Don’t worry, Brandon. Dr. Hart and I go a long way back.”

Dr. Hart nodded, a genuine smile of pleasure making his eyes dance. “I’ve known Nicholas and his family since he was a toddler. I’m glad you came by, Brandon. I enjoyed your playing very much, especially with Duckie.”

“Duckie?” I said, pulling away from Nicholas so I could see his face.

Nicholas rolled his eyes. “I’ll explain later.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” I said. “Thank you for letting me use your piano, Dr. Hart,” I said, taking his offered hand and shaking it.

“Any time. I’d love to hear more. What other songs do you boys know?”

“Give us a few weeks and we’ll show you,” I said, drifting off as the two guys from the kitchen walked up, Karen behind them. I stepped away; Nicholas noticed, a puzzled look coming to his face.

“Go on,” Karen said angrily, poking Chad.

He grimaced and looked pleadingly at Karen before glancing not at me but at Karen’s grandfather. She frowned pointedly. “Go on, Chad, Jake. What do you have to say to Brandon?”

Chad stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I came to apologize to you for what I said in the kitchen.”

“And me, too,” the other, Jake, said.