The Stars That Tremble (13 page)

“Did anything… happen?”

“No. Nothing more than me following him around like a lost puppy. He was involved with a male cellist, besides. Although, they were the first gay couple I was ever really exposed to. It helped me come to terms with what I was feeling at the time.”

“The only other gay person I knew when I was a teenager was Sandy, and that hardly counts.”

“Did you and he ever…?”

“Nope.” Mike tightened his grasp around Gio. “He really is like a brother. I’ve never even kissed him. One afternoon, when we were fifteen, I decided he needed to know I was gay—I had to tell someone—so I went to his house after school and confessed that I was head over heels for this boy in my English class. Turned out Sandy was totally infatuated with the same boy. That’s always kind of been the way our relationship has been. I think it was even Sandy who first told me to go for it with Evan.”

Gio reached behind him and ran his hand along Mike’s naked butt. “Good. Just making sure I had no reason to be jealous.”

Mike kissed the back of Gio’s neck. “Are you jealous?”

“Maybe a little. I’d like to have you all to myself.”

Mike laughed, liking the sound of that. He wanted Gio to be all his, as well.

He supposed that was his answer to the hovering question of the status of their relationship.

“I’m surprised,” Mike murmured.

“Why?” asked Gio.

“I know I keep saying this, but you and I, we don’t have much in common.” Mike couldn’t think of many ways for them to be any more different, in fact. The great opera singer, a European-born, overeducated, high-class man was lying here in bed with an ex-army glorified construction worker who had barely finished high school.

“We have more in common than you think.”

“I’m not complaining. You’re just not the sort of man I would have pictured myself with. And yet, there is no place I’d rather be right now than here with you.”

“The feeling is mutual,
caro
.”

Mike chuckled. “That’s nice. Speak Italian to me.”

Gio groaned. He reached back and pinched Mike’s side. “All the boys want me to speak Italian.”

“I love your voice. You could say anything and I would sit here and listen.”

“
Ami la mia voce? Impossibile.
”

“Impossible, right? I do love it, though. It’s so… musical. Especially when you speak Italian. Dear Lord, that is sexy.”

“
E tu sei l’uomo più bello
.” Gio laughed. “Sexy in Italian is just… sexy.
Ma tu, caro, sei bellissimo
.”

“What did you say?”

Gio pressed his back against Mike’s front. “You’re the most beautiful man.”

Mike laughed. “That’s not true, but thank you.”

“You are to me.”

Proximity to Gio—and perhaps the sweetness of his words—was having the expected effect on Mike’s body. He pressed his hips forward and said, “Perhaps we should make the most of our limited alone time.”

“Mmm,” said Gio, pressing back against Mike. “I do hate to waste time.”

Gio rolled into Mike so they faced each other. They kissed gently, sweetly at first, but then things began to ramp up and Mike felt arousal rise through his body like fire licking up a plank of wood. Gio was hard too, pressed up against Mike and shifting his hips so their bodies moved together. Mike ran his fingers through Gio’s hair. He bit Gio’s lip gently and ran a hand over Gio’s chest. Gio wrapped his hand around Mike’s cock and started to stroke.

Mike had been hoping for something slow and leisurely for their second go-round, but as had happened earlier, his heart raced in anticipation of their coming together. That first time they’d been together, he hadn’t even intended to expose himself as much as he did. He loved being fucked, no doubt about that, but it was something he usually saved, held in reserve for when he really liked and trusted a guy. Something about Gio made him shove aside a lot of his reservations.

That was what happened now, as they faced each other in bed, both of them naked and writhing against each other. Gio tilted his head back, so Mike licked up his neck, over his Adam’s apple. Gio swallowed and sighed, threading his fingers through Mike’s hair. Mike didn’t want to stop touching Gio ever; he loved how smooth Gio’s skin was, how soft his hair was. He loved the texture of the hairier parts of Gio, his arms and his chest and his legs, and he loved the odd freckle and age spot and the evidence of Gio’s life and his heritage. Gio made sounds that were groans and rasps and sighs, but that voice, it still rumbled in his chest even if it was filtered through his broken throat. There was still power there, strength in Gio that wasn’t evident on the surface, and Mike enjoyed tapping into it.

Mike wanted to fuck again, wanted to open himself up and make himself vulnerable to that strength in Gio, because the way they complemented each other when they came together was unlike anything Mike had ever really experienced before. That was the funny thing about them; they were like the oddly shaped blocks that Emma had played with as a baby. They looked completely different from each other but somehow fit together perfectly.

On the other hand, as Gio kissed his skin, licked, bit, tasted, Mike wondered if this wasn’t moving too fast after all. Because there was a lot in Mike that he wasn’t ready to show Gio yet. Mike had dark places, hidden corners, places he himself didn’t like to visit.

He pulled away slightly, panicked suddenly, aroused still, but feeling distant.

“What is it?” Gio asked softly.

“It’s nothing, I just….” Mike shook his head.

The darker part of Mike’s soul took over, as if just acknowledging it was there was enough for it to burst open. He thought of Evan, of how this had compared to being with Evan, how Evan was not ever coming back. His erection wilted. Embarrassed, he said, “Excuse me,” and he got out of bed.

He slipped into the bathroom and put down the toilet lid so he could sit. Then he leaned forward and placed his head in his hands. It was an unexpected invasion, those thoughts of Evan. It was like a hole in Mike’s heart. A hole that had shrunk over the years, definitely, but a hole just the same.

He heard a knock on the door. “Mike? Are you all right?”

He wasn’t, but he didn’t want Gio to know that. “I just need a minute.” He sounded almost calm.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting.”

The worst part was that Mike was still naked. He couldn’t bear walking back into Gio’s bedroom with everything showing. His body, well, that was one thing, but the open wounds on his heart were another. Now everything ached. Now he missed Evan, missed his family, missed the life he could have had under other circumstances. Those old thought patterns took over: if only this wasn’t a man he was with. If only he wasn’t gay. He wouldn’t have this strained relationship with his parents. He never would have fallen in love with Evan to begin with.

But Mike knew he could never change that essential part of himself.

This should have been an opportunity: a man he cared about, a new chance at something important. He should have been able to just shut his fucking brain off and be with Gio, to have this fling. But instead, he found himself retreating—literally, in this case, since he’d backed out of the bedroom and into this bathroom—and panicking.

He took a few deep breaths. He stood and splashed water on his face. Then he steeled himself and walked back into the bedroom. He sat on the bed.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

“What for?” said Gio. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

Mike sighed. “I don’t know what came over me, but… yeah.”

Gio sat next to him and put an arm around his shoulder. “I know you’re not fine, so don’t lie and tell me you are, but if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s all right.”

Mike closed his eyes and leaned into Gio. “It’s not any one thing. I just sort of freaked out. Thought about some unpleasant stuff. I don’t know.”

“If there’s anything I can do….”

“No, I’m okay.”

Gio stroked Mike’s shoulder. “I can’t be that terrible in bed. Surely someone would have mentioned it by now.”

Gio’s playful tone made Mike laugh. “No. That definitely wasn’t the problem. You’re great in bed, Gio. You’re great, period. It was me this time. I just got kind of up in my own head.”

“I don’t know what that means, but it’s all right.” Gio kissed Mike’s cheek. “Would you like to just lie down again for a little while? We can just talk.”

Mike looked down and noticed that they were both still naked. Gio was half hard. That was interesting. “Okay. But maybe we won’t
just
talk.”

Gio laughed. “Oh, Mike. Come. Lie down with me. We will talk and do some other things. How does that sound?”

“It sounds wonderful.”

G
IO
’
S
mother had sometimes joked that he’d been born at La Scala.

It wasn’t that much of an exaggeration. His parents had indeed been in attendance at a performance at the opera house about sixteen hours before Gio entered the world. Gio’s mother, Elisabetta, had originally been cast to play Violetta in
La Traviata
, but she’d had to give up the part when the baby she was carrying had become a hindrance. Gio was sometimes not altogether convinced she didn’t blame him for losing the part. To hear her tell it, her career never quite recovered, although considering she continued to sing until her arthritis prevented her from standing through an entire opera, Gio didn’t see how that was true. And yet, Gio had spent a good portion of his adolescence convinced that his existence had prevented Elisabetta Boca from becoming the next Maria Callas.

She achieved local fame in Tuscany and toured around Italy through much of Gio’s teenage years, all the while encouraging him to cultivate his voice. He sang in a boys’ choir before puberty, listened to Verdi the way the other boys his age listened to U2, and was apprenticed to the
primo uomo
at the opera house in Florence by the time he was fifteen. As his star rose, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d become a proxy for his mother’s ambition.

Of course, her fame had opened a lot of doors for him as well.

She lived now in a big house just outside Florence with her ever-rotating series of lovers. Gio’s father, Gianni, had been a quiet, unassuming bank manager whom Gio had loved for his steadfastness as much as he’d loved his mother for her colorful eccentricity. Gianni had died of a chronic heart condition when Gio was a teenager, and Gio still missed him sometimes, but his memory faded with time.

His mother was deeply skeptical of cell phones, so she only ever called his landline and thus only caught him when he was home. Unfortunately, he was home one afternoon, working out the final lineup for the opera workshop final show. When he saw her number on the caller ID, he almost didn’t pick up, but it had been a few weeks since they’d spoken, and she’d complained about how expensive it was to call internationally.

“
Ciao, Mamma
,” he said when he picked up the phone.

They exchanged pleasantries for a moment, and he continued to look over his notes and only half listened until she said, in Italian, “We’re putting on
Maria Stuarda
this season.” These days, Elisabetta was running an opera company out of a small theater.

“The Donizetti one?”

“Is there another, darling? We had auditions for Maria last week. What a paltry group of singers.”

“It’s a difficult role.”

“I am considering taking it up myself.”

Gio sighed and rubbed his forehead. She often threatened to just take the lead role herself when there was no one of sufficient talent to sing it. “Are you trying to cast a soprano or a mezzo?”

“What are you trying to say, Giovanni? I can still sing soprano.”

“Yes, I know. I’m not trying to say anything. I’m just asking a question. The last few times I’ve seen
Maria Stuarda
put on, they cast Maria as a mezzo.” Gio knew his mother was aware that the part was written for soprano originally, but that the first woman to take on the role had a mezzo-soprano voice, which had set enough of a precedent that it had become up to the discretion of whoever was casting in all subsequent productions. “You have options, I suppose.”

“I do. How are you, darling? Still teaching?”

“Yes. The final show for my summer workshop is coming up.”

“That’s splendid.”

“I’ve got a student this year who would amaze you. Best teenage singer I’ve seen in quite some time. Maybe ever.”

“Oh, I’d love to hear her sing. You’ll send me the recording of the show again?”

“Yes, I will.”

A stray thought about Mike flitted through his head. Mike had been much on his mind since the afternoon they’d spent together, when Mike had suddenly bolted from the bed. Gio wanted to ask what that had been about, but wasn’t ready to push Mike too far just yet.

To his mother, Gio said, “I have also, ah, been seeing someone.”

“Seeing as in romantically?”

“Yes. His name is Mike.”

She laughed. In her strongly accented English, she said, “What kind of name is Mike?”

Back in Italian, Gio said, “Short for Michael.
Michele
. But thank you for belittling him.”