The Stars That Tremble (27 page)

Mike tightened his grip on Gio. It was a little overwhelming, being held in a grasp like that, but it was wonderful too. Gio could feel all of the emotion pulsing through Mike, could feel his muscles practically vibrate. He could feel Mike’s indignation, his anger, his frustration. He felt all those things in his chest as well.

Gio had been bred for this life, practically; many of his first opportunities had been handed to him because his mother had once been a prima donna. But he and Emma had one thing in common, which was the gift of a talent so remarkable it could take them places not everyone could go. Gio had been around elite musicians long enough to know that often talent triumphed, but sometimes money did too.

“If something happens,” Gio said, “we’ll figure it out. I will do whatever I can to help Emma. All right?”

Mike leaned his forehead against Gio’s. “I know. Thank you.”

Gio sighed and leaned into Mike. Then, with some reluctance, he pulled away. “I bet you’d like that beer now.”

T
HE
beer was at a gay bar on the northern end of the Theater District that didn’t serve food, which was maybe a mistake, because Mike realized as he finished his first drink that he hadn’t eaten all day.

Gio had only had a few sips of his vodka tonic, and he kept staring at it as if it tasted funny but he couldn’t figure out why.

It had been that sort of day. But Mike reasoned that now that his brain was starting to swim around in his head, maybe he could stop reliving that half hour he’d spent talking to the Olcott School administration.

Because a lot of shitty things had happened in Mike’s life, and generally he preferred not to dwell on them. Pushing all of it aside left Mike with a lot of anger sometimes. This situation was maybe the worst, because Mike’s ethics and integrity had been called into question. Always in the past, he’d felt like he’d had that on his side. The army policy was wrong, Mike’s father was a bigot, Evan had saved the life of a child at the expense of his own. Mike could deal with these things and still stand tall. But those administrators had shamed him, had implied he’d done something morally wrong. He still didn’t believe that he had, but doubt had crept in. What if he had? What if it was his own fault for setting his sights so high? What if he was at fault for wanting things he couldn’t have? There was a moment during the questioning when he’d felt no better than dog shit on the bottom of the school president’s shiny polished shoe.

Was it worth it? He was putting his core beliefs on the line for… what? For Gio? For sex? For love?

He turned to Gio, whom he’d come to love so much so quickly, and he reached for his hand. Gio took Mike’s hand and smiled.

“My name still counts for a lot, you know,” Gio said. “That is, if the school does not take Emma, I will coach her. I will teach her to be
la prima donna
. If she doesn’t get into this program, maybe next year she auditions for Juilliard. They have a similar program for teenage musicians.”

Mr. Laughton had escorted Mike out of the room as the hearing had ended and whispered softly, “I believe you. I’ve heard Emma sing. I’ll do what I can.” Mike had found that somewhat comforting. But it wasn’t a guarantee.

He looked at his own hand, wrapped around Gio’s, and then he looked up at Gio. Their eyes met. He asked himself again if it was worth it. Was having to endure being accused of something vile—of being shamed into thinking there was something bad or wrong with his relationship, or that he’d used his sexuality to get what he wanted, that he was just as bad as Tracy Quinlan because he’d used his assets to advance his kid—worth the reward? Was having to get through that half hour when he felt like the very foundation under his feet had been pulled out from under him worth this moment here with Gio?

He couldn’t speak for a moment, couldn’t find a way to articulate what he was thinking and feeling, didn’t know how to get answers. He looked into Gio’s dark, intense eyes and started to say, “Gio, I need….” Although he didn’t know what he needed.

Gio kissed him. And there. That was it. This was what he needed. He had to know this connection with Gio was a real thing, that he loved and was loved in return, that maybe a half hour of shame was worth a lifetime of happiness if only he could find a way to make all the moving parts in his life come together. Maybe all this would work out and Emma would keep her spot and go on to great things. Maybe she’d get kicked out but get into another school. Maybe Gio’s teaching would be enough to get her where she wanted to go. And, of course, there was always the possibility that she’d get to college and decide to be a doctor or a lawyer or some other thing and leave singing behind.

Was it selfish to say that, yes, being with Gio was worth all of it?

“Mike,” Gio whispered against his mouth. “I feel like I’m losing you.”

“I’m sorry. How do you say that in Italian?
Mi dispiace
.” Mike was probably totally mispronouncing it, but he wanted to try the Italian, thought maybe it would bring him and Gio closer if he learned it. He leaned back. He squeezed Gio’s hand. “I was trying to decide if I’d change anything that happened this summer. If all this could have been avoided if I’d made different decisions. Like, maybe I shouldn’t have come to the classes every day. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you out so soon.”

“
Caro
, it would not have made a difference. Tracy Quinlan’s daughter would have gotten a rejection and she probably would have found some other reason to go after Emma or one of the other students in the class. She would have found some way to ruin something to get her daughter ahead.”

For the first time all day, Mike found himself really smiling. “Gio. I would not have changed a thing.”

Gio laughed softly and kissed Mike again.

Mike wasn’t sure if the wave of wooziness was due to the heady feeling of kissing the man he loved, or the alcohol, or the lack of food, or all three, but he suddenly got very dizzy. He pulled away from Gio and put his hands on the table. “Maybe I should get something to eat,” he said. “Do you have to go back to school?”

“Not really. I wouldn’t get anything done anyway. Too much on my mind.”

“Right. So?”

“There’s an Italian place across the street. It’s not quite
authentic
, and they drown all of their dishes in marinara the way all Americans do, but—”

“Gio.” Mike laughed. “Let’s just go there. I’m the sort of uncouth American who likes a lot of red sauce.”

Gio laughed too. He kissed Mike’s forehead. “All right. Have it your way,
amore mio
.”

M
IKE
woke up to a phone ringing. He felt movement beside him in bed. Mike stretched and looked over in time to see Gio grab his cell phone off the night stand. He greeted the caller groggily and then said, “Yes, that’s all right. Of course, sir. I will see you then.”

Gio hung up and grunted as he put his phone back on the table.

“What is it?” Mike asked.

“That was the president of the Olcott School. He’d like to see me later this morning.”

“What time is it now?”

“Almost eight.”

Mike groaned. It was later than he would have liked. He had given himself the day off to spend with Gio, but now it looked like that time would be cut short. He reached over and pulled Gio into his arms, determined to savor things while they lasted.

“When is Emma getting back?” Gio asked.

She was at Becky’s place. Mike felt bad for continuing to ship her off so he could spend more time with Gio, but Emma didn’t seem to mind much. Becky certainly liked having Emma around. She had two boys under the age of seven who absolutely worshipped Emma, and Becky appreciated having some help with them.

“Late morning, probably. We were talking about going to the Met today. The one with the art, not the opera.”

Gio chuckled, which Mike appreciated.

Mike explained, “There’s an exhibit about musical instruments or something that she wants to see.”

“Ah, yes, I heard they got a new Stradivarius.”

Mike had no idea what that meant, but he nodded. “She said she wanted to go with you, but if you can’t make it, maybe we’ll do something else.” It meant a lot to Mike that Emma was now deliberately including Gio in her plans. It gave Mike some hope that everything might work out, at least as far as this relationship went. He was overjoyed that Emma had come around, at any rate.

“Perhaps we can still go to the museum,” said Gio. “I suppose if I’m just going to get fired, it won’t take very long.”

Mike smoothed the hair away from Gio’s face. He supposed that was a possibility. “Do you really think that’s what will happen?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know what to expect.”

“At least come back here for dinner tonight?”

Gio smiled. “As if I could stay away.” He sighed. “
O caro
. I am worried about today.”

It was the first time Gio had ever explicitly admitted that. He’d been obviously agitated for a few days, but kept brushing it off whenever Mike asked him how he felt about what was happening. It wasn’t that Mike was glad Gio was worried, but he was reassured in a way to see that Gio was expressing more plainly some of what Mike had been feeling as well. Mike kissed Gio’s forehead. “I’d tell you it’s going to be all right, but I can’t really be sure of that myself. All I can say is that I’ll be here when it’s over.”

“Assuming Emma doesn’t hate me forever because she was thrown out of the program.”

Mike’s heart sank. “Do you really think that will happen?”

“No, but I can’t be certain.”

Mike was worried, but he felt oddly optimistic for a change. Maybe it was the high of waking up next to Gio after a good night spent together. He wanted there to be many more nights like that in their future. It seemed like that was in his grasp. If only he could hold on to it….

Gio lightly touched Mike’s face. “Whatever happens, we’re in it together, right? I’ll get the news and we will figure out what to do with it. It’s you and me now, and we’ll… figure it out.”

Mike liked the sound of that. Perhaps that was why things didn’t seem so dire. “Yes. Together.” He took Gio’s hand and squeezed it.

Gio smiled. “I love you,
caro
.”

“I love you too.” Their proximity to each other was intoxicating, and Mike reveled in it. “What time do you have to be there?”

“Eleven.”

“Oh, good. We have a couple of hours together, at least.”

“Indeed.” Gio slipped his hand under the covers and ran it over Mike’s ass.

“Perhaps I can take your mind off the meeting before you have to go to it.”

Gio smirked. “Perhaps.”

T
HE
administrative section of the Olcott School building smelled like old paper and chalk, which was a safe thing to focus on as Gio walked down the hall to the president’s office. It felt like he was a dead man walking.

Maybe he was.

He knew he was being too dramatic—he was still an opera singer at heart, he supposed, and thus prone to be over-the-top—but he dreaded this meeting. He hadn’t been dealing well with the uncertainty about the outcome of this situation, so much so that he’d admitted to Mike that he was nervous. He hadn’t intended to do that; he hadn’t wanted to burden Mike with his own feelings on the matter when Mike had so much to deal with himself. Then again, telling Mike had been a relief in a way, and Mike had comforted him.

Mike continued to humble Gio with his big heart and the way he dealt with adversity. And now this amazing man loved Gio. Gio held that close to his heart as he walked into his appointment.

The president of the Olcott School, an austere man named Lou Vanderbrandt, sat at his desk. Howell was in one of the spare chairs. The other was vacant, waiting for Gio.

“We do have a situation,” Vanderbrandt mused as Gio sat down.

“I realize that,” said Gio. “And I appreciate the position you’ve been put in, but—”

“Let me speak first,” said Vanderbrandt. “First, regarding the accusations that you acted inappropriately with students. We take such accusations very seriously.”

Gio’s stomach dropped. He’d nearly forgotten about those charges. It seemed like he should be able to easily defend himself from the patently false accusations, so he’d spent most of his energy worrying about what he had done and how that could affect the outcome of the situation. “Yes, I—”

“No need to defend yourself. It became clear to us pretty quickly that the charges were spurious.” Vanderbrandt fingered his wedding band. “Look, Gio, I’ll be honest with you about this one. Mrs. Quinlan stood in this very office and rattled off a viciously homophobic diatribe about how the gay teacher was obviously molesting his students. My husband was just outside the office, waiting to take me to lunch, when this happened, and I can tell you that he was not appreciative.” He shook his head and leaned forward, toward Gio. “I was already predisposed not to believe that particular accusation, I admit. But I had to follow procedure. When no students offered anything to support the charge, and indeed most of them found it completely unbelievable, the administration considered the charges dismissed. I mean, even the boy you were accused of molesting had no idea charges had even been made. We had to follow up, though. You understand.”