Love-in-Idleness (8 page)

 
     “It’s something we read in school. Remember
Pyramus and Thisbe
? Lovers whispering through a wall and all that nonsense?” Puck smiled and finished his drink. Francis was instantly out of his seat to fetch another.

 
     “I remember it,” said Peter. Peter did well in school and was probably the only one of this hopeless crew that might achieve future success based on his own merits instead of riding on the coattails of his family name.

 
                   Nick looked stumped. “I don’t think I took that class.”

 
                   “Yes, you did,” Peter reminded him. “You sat next to me.”

 
                   “Oh, yeah,” Nick said, avoiding Peter’s gaze. “Great play, very funny- and tragic, of course. So what’s my part?” 

 
                  
Bullshit
, Puck thought.
Nick doesn’t remember a play from English class. The idiot can barely remember where he lives half the time.
“You will be Pyramus,” he said quietly, knowing that this whole thing was going to be a fiasco. However, Miles asked for this, so it had to be done.

 
                   “Of course, I should have the lead because I’m the most handsome,” Nick boasted.”Can I cry on stage? It makes the girls hot when a guy cries.”

 
                   “Actually,” Puck sneered, “you’re not the best-looking, just the biggest. I need the little guys to play the female parts.”

 
                   “Why can’t we just get some girls?” asked Nick.

 
                   “Because women weren’t allowed on the stage back then, you ninny,” Puck snapped. “Miles wants it to be authentic. He thinks it’s funnier that way. So, Francis, you’ll be Thisbe.”

 
                   “I could do it,” insisted Nick. “My voice can go really high. Listen. ‘Oh, Pyramus, my love.” The whole table burst into laughter, which only egged him on. “Or I could do one side of my face male and the other female and play both parts.” Nick turned to one side and cooed, “Oh, Pyramus!” and then to the other and deepened his voice. “Oh, Thisbe!”

 
                   Everyone laughed deeply except for Puck, who put a stop to Nick’s showboating by making a drink fall into his lap.

 
                   “Nick, you’re Pyramus. Francis, you’re Thisbe.  Robin will play Thisbe’s mother.”

 
                   Robin came from new money and was therefore the group charity case. His father climbed the corporate ladder and made a fortune shortly before Robin was born. Robin had all of the advantages, but not all of the innate manners of Manhattan’s established wealthy crowd. He was as well-dressed as his friends, but seemed a bit more awkward in his skin. His lower social rank required a more passive stance within the group. He didn’t dare protest dressing as Thisbe’s mother, but just shrugged and grinned.

 
                   Puck continued, “Sloan, you’re the lion.”

 
                   Sloan looked concerned. “Do you have the lines written down? I should start learning them right away.” He was rich, but slow. It was commonly known that his acceptance into private school had been conditional upon a huge financial contribution made by his parents.

 
                   Puck leaned forward and spoke slowly and loudly so that Sloan could understand. “You’re a lion. It’s just roaring.”

 
                   Sloan looked a little relieved for a moment, and then his brow wrinkled. “What if I’m too scary and I frighten the women?”

 
                   Nick laughed. “Then you might get laid. Girls love to be frightened.”

 
                   “I thought they loved a man who cries,” Puck reminded him.

 
                   “They do,” Nick insisted. “Maybe I should play both parts.”

 
                   “You’re Pyramus. That’s the end of it.” Puck was ready to be finished with this conversation.

 
                   “Great.” Nick rubbed his chin. “I think I should wear a beard. Women love a beard.”

 
                   Exasperated, Puck pushed his chair back and stood up. “Okay, that’s enough. We’re going to my house.” Puck handed the bartender enough money to cover their tab and much more before he walked out, leaving the others scrambling to follow him. He wanted to speak to his father, and he knew that his friends would hang out at the penthouse indefinitely if he gave them free access to the bar. It was still early enough to make these buffoons run their lines a few times before they were all too drunk to continue and had to be sent home.  On the way out of the bar, Puck turned back for just an instant and looked at his friends. He could almost smell failure. In that moment, he understood that this was just what his father wanted. These boys weren’t meant to create a viable dramatic performance. They were comic relief. Otherwise, Miles would have set this play into motion weeks ago. Puck smiled. His father was a genius. This was going to be the best wedding ever.

             
Walking into the penthouse apartment occupied by the Oberon family was like walking back in time.  Other penthouses on the Upper East Side were sleekly arranged with furnishings by the most contemporary urban designers and filled with oversized monotone paintings that were incomprehensible, yet wildly expensive. Miles Oberon, however, had a different take on decorating. He was a man who appreciated his family history to a fault. Every item, be it decorative or functional, in the Oberon household seemed to have a story. The dining room table, created from a massive slab of marble, had served generations of Oberons in their former castle in Ireland. Also from the family’s ancestral home came the beds, massive four-poster behemoths built to be surrounded by draperies for privacy from the prying eyes of servants. Shelves were adorned with ancient empty vases, any one of which could have paid their driver’s salary for a year. The silver, the dishes, every silken drapery had been touched by a now deceased member of the Oberon family.

 
             For nearly five hundred years of their traceable history, the Oberon family had been one of the few Northern Irish families to maintain their wealth and status despite considerable historical hardships. They became prominent upon England’s initial societal restructuring of Ireland. As the clan system dissolved and more modern governmental structures were imposed, the Oberons were one of the families that benefitted.

As the years went on, their lack of interest in religious and political matters served them well. Over time, they amassed a huge fortune. Money and magic are happy bedfellows.  Generation after generation of Oberons was blessed by healthy livestock and good harvests. During tumultuous times as religion and personal safety became intertwined, their willingness to comply with the societal and religious structures imposed by King Henry VIII and Queen Mary kept them safe. As no form of Christianity influenced their belief system one way or another, conforming to the changing whims of a tyrannical monarch was relatively effortless for them. Secretly, they were pagans who kept their unconventional religious practices to themselves. As Catholicism, The Church of England, and Protestantism came and went throughout the years, they were careful to keep quiet on the subject of religion. When asked about their beliefs outright, they simply lied. To the Oberons, the only thing that kept the religious turmoil of the times from being a comedy was the needless bloo
dshed carried out in the name of doctrinal subtleties.

 
             In the same manner, famine and the outbreaks of cholera and dysentery that accompanied it were of little consequence for a family who possessed magical ability. They were able to access healing methods and defensive spells that kept them free of illness. The Oberons remained strong and healthy, and thus found themselves in a position to be charitable whenever misfortune struck Ireland. They attempted to provide help to those in need, but two Irish famines were too great for even their considerable capabilities to make an impact. In the end, they settled for protecting their immediate family and household staff.

 
             By the time World War I ended, Miles’s grandfather, Conall, decided to move the Oberon family abroad. He fought for the British in the war, only to return home and encounter more strife, as Ireland and Britain became engaged in the War of Independence. The Oberons had always prioritized the well-being of their family over the doctrinal squabbles of feuding Christians. Eventually, Conall tired of Ireland’s tumultuous political landscape and decided to move his wife and sons to Manhattan. In 1920, they settled into the same penthouse that Miles still owned.

Miles Oberon valued family as much as his ancestors did, but this affection applied strictly to blood relatives.
  For his past three wives, he showed only moderate consideration. While each was amusing in her own way, at least for a while, they had all proven to be less captivating than anyone who shared his genetic composition. With those outside his family, he could never show his true nature or talents, and the charade of normalcy inevitably grew to be a burden. There had been a time when he wasn’t so cloistered. His first wife, Claire, was quite dear to him. Her frequent illness due to an ongoing battle with diabetes made her even more precious, as Miles constantly felt as though he was in danger of losing her at any moment. After Puck was born, she was warned against having another child. Over the course of the next three years, she lived in denial about her rapidly declining health. The last year of her life was spent in and out of the hospital. When she died, Puck was three and Cameron was 2.

Because Claire’s illness prevented her from spending
much time with Puck during the last year of her life, she never knew about his bourgeoning magical ability. The issue of disclosure never came up. Miles kept the next two wives pretty busy outside the home, and warned Puck to keep the mischief in check around them. He didn’t always comply, but luckily, they were stupid, greedy women who would believe anything. If anything suspicious happened, Miles convinced them that they were overtired and needed a trip to the spa.

 
              However, the child he shared with his current wife, Titania, was causing her to be more difficult to dismiss than the others.  He could not simply wave a check under her nose and expect her to start packing. With the others, by the time he was finished with them, they had been trained in the ways of society and had enough social cache to be ensured a long happy future in Manhattan society. Titania, on the other hand, had grown up in a wealthy Spanish family and was educated in the best schools in Europe.  She had not married Miles as a social stepping stone. In fact, she hadn’t been interested in him at all when he first began to pursue her. Where his first three wives saw an attractive wealthy man, Titania saw a self-absorbed materialistic charmer. It was only when he stopped trying to impress her that he was finally able to prove that he wasn’t a shallow fool.

When they fell in love, Miles had believed that perhaps he was finished with training and subsequently dismissing gold-diggers. Then India was born, and Miles knew that continuing to keep his wife in the dark about their child’s talents would be nearly impossible. In the long run, Miles knew that he could take possession of India, even though it would mean resorting to trickery and magic.
While the temptation to tell her the truth was strong, he knew that the consequences would be potentially devastating if his disclosure backfired on him. Whether she believed him or not, there was huge inherent risk in telling his wife that he gained his fortune through magic.

 
                   The evening with Theo and his family had been taxing for Miles, and upon arriving home, he went straight to his private office and closed the door. He poured himself a large snifter of Sambucco and dropped in three coffee beans into the clear liquid; health, wealth, and happiness. Tonight, achieving two out of three would have to suffice.

 
     To add to his current troubles, Theo’s daughter was proving to be maddening.  He wasn’t terribly surprised that she hated Gianni. The two main factions of the bridge and tunnel set had an inborn rivalry, spawned from envy. Brooklyn and New Jersey had so much in common, but would each always have the lurking fear that Manhattanites would stop despising the other first. Grace had the rough earthiness, the brutal honesty that comes from a lifetime of asserting herself. However, she also had a great deal of integrity, a fact that Miles attributed to Theo’s parenting skills. Gianni’s personality would be better described as brash than assertive, despite considerable coaching from Miles. Apparently, Theo had infinite patience with the women in his life.

 
     For Miles, it had been a long day of women not doing what he wanted them to do. He was hoping that a closed office door would be enough to signal to the household that he was ready for some peace. Unfortunately, a closed door did not deter Titania in the slightest. Just as Miles settled into his leather office chair, she barged through the door.

 
                   Titania was by far the most fabulous of his wives. She was a tall, dark Spanish beauty whose wild temperament could just as easily make her the life of the party or the bane of one’s existence. Miles had been with many beautiful women, but Titania was a completely different creature. Her physical perfection was matched by a quick wit. He learned a long time ago to have his facts straight before going toe-to-toe with her on any topic that was important to her. Lately, the issue at hand was custody of their son, India.