your brother…I get thousands of letters, especially when a book comes out. I get very busy.”
I nodded and cringed when I heard the hysterical cackle that came from my mouth. “I thought about that. I can give you the benefit of the doubt for a few months. Then you know what I thought? Three months. That's how long he waited until he gave up waiting for you.” I glared, satisfied with the way he began searching the crowd beside me and behind me for assistance. I had finally gotten to him and I was insanely happy for a second. “And how many people write you three-page letters anyway?”
When no help came, he hung his head low, his mouth a tight line, and looked at me from under his eyebrows.
I backed away, and Eric took my arm. Before we turned to go down the stairs I caught sight of Barbara again, waiting at the bottom with an amused expression on her large, painted face.
“This feels like when I wrote to my father after he flaked on Tristan's graduation. Funny how I could avenge slights against my brother before I could my own. You know why?”
Eric raised his brows in expectation as he hit the elevator button.
“Because I have already accepted human fallibility, and my dear, perfect brother couldn't. He needed his gods, failures in reality or not.”
“You are a poet my love,” Eric said and eased me into the elevator. “A little confused at the moment, but you are a poet.”
Chapter 5
We rode in a cab up the hill to Neighbours. Inside I was profoundly grateful for the familiar surroundings, making it easier to put thoughts of the evening's adventures out of my mind. I danced with Eric, distractedly, and when he began to scan the crowd over our heads, I grew impatient, wanting to find someone to play with. We were here to celebrate. I had to enjoy this giddy happiness before I came down. Something about the way I felt was hollow, the sense that I'd gotten away with something huge was about to wear off and underneath I was going to be sick with regret.
The place was packed, the air smelled like powder, chalky with stale smoke from the fog machine, and every few feet my nose would pucker with the scent of especially tangy cologne, calling up images of hard wood and exotic places.
After dancing a few songs I figured it was time to give up and just get drunk. As I stood in line at the bar, I felt a pair of eyes on me. I looked up to the balcony hanging over the club to see a figure hunched over a long pair of legs, and higher up, something reflected the dim light. Did I know this guy? I didn't think so, nonetheless he was watching me. This wasn't a surprise—even in a gay bar there were still enough straight men lurking in the shadows. What mood was I in tonight?
By the time I had three drinks in me, my body moved in fluid motions, one with the air around me, channeling the beat and rhythm of the electronics thudding from the speakers. I pushed through the crowd, past a couple I'd seen there a few times before. Leo was gay, and he lived with a girl he worked with, Kate. It was obvious Kate had a crush on him, dancing as close as she could. Leo, always the gentleman, took her hand and spun heraround. She threw her head back and laughed, then fell into him. He touched his forehead to hers and pushed her back. As she lost herself in the dance, he scanned the crowd for a more interesting dance partner.
I was glad I wasn't attached to anyone; I didn't need anything. I got up on the narrow stage that bordered the dance floor; the fabric of my jacket swirled around me, taking every worry to the floor worry with it.
“Go Flashdance,” Vlad yelled in my ear with his thick Russian accent. He stood before me, working his shoulders in time to the heady beat. His chest was bare, displaying a fully defined set of muscles from stomach to forearms. What a work of art. This was a rare opportunity—usually he was off making out with someone, or surrounded by college boys and girls giggling and pawing. He came close,
I nodded and cringed when I heard the hysterical cackle that came from my mouth. “I thought about that. I can give you the benefit of the doubt for a few months. Then you know what I thought? Three months. That's how long he waited until he gave up waiting for you.” I glared, satisfied with the way he began searching the crowd beside me and behind me for assistance. I had finally gotten to him and I was insanely happy for a second. “And how many people write you three-page letters anyway?”
When no help came, he hung his head low, his mouth a tight line, and looked at me from under his eyebrows.
I backed away, and Eric took my arm. Before we turned to go down the stairs I caught sight of Barbara again, waiting at the bottom with an amused expression on her large, painted face.
“This feels like when I wrote to my father after he flaked on Tristan's graduation. Funny how I could avenge slights against my brother before I could my own. You know why?”
Eric raised his brows in expectation as he hit the elevator button.
“Because I have already accepted human fallibility, and my dear, perfect brother couldn't. He needed his gods, failures in reality or not.”
“You are a poet my love,” Eric said and eased me into the elevator. “A little confused at the moment, but you are a poet.”
Chapter 5
We rode in a cab up the hill to Neighbours. Inside I was profoundly grateful for the familiar surroundings, making it easier to put thoughts of the evening's adventures out of my mind. I danced with Eric, distractedly, and when he began to scan the crowd over our heads, I grew impatient, wanting to find someone to play with. We were here to celebrate. I had to enjoy this giddy happiness before I came down. Something about the way I felt was hollow, the sense that I'd gotten away with something huge was about to wear off and underneath I was going to be sick with regret.
The place was packed, the air smelled like powder, chalky with stale smoke from the fog machine, and every few feet my nose would pucker with the scent of especially tangy cologne, calling up images of hard wood and exotic places.
After dancing a few songs I figured it was time to give up and just get drunk. As I stood in line at the bar, I felt a pair of eyes on me. I looked up to the balcony hanging over the club to see a figure hunched over a long pair of legs, and higher up, something reflected the dim light. Did I know this guy? I didn't think so, nonetheless he was watching me. This wasn't a surprise—even in a gay bar there were still enough straight men lurking in the shadows. What mood was I in tonight?
By the time I had three drinks in me, my body moved in fluid motions, one with the air around me, channeling the beat and rhythm of the electronics thudding from the speakers. I pushed through the crowd, past a couple I'd seen there a few times before. Leo was gay, and he lived with a girl he worked with, Kate. It was obvious Kate had a crush on him, dancing as close as she could. Leo, always the gentleman, took her hand and spun heraround. She threw her head back and laughed, then fell into him. He touched his forehead to hers and pushed her back. As she lost herself in the dance, he scanned the crowd for a more interesting dance partner.
I was glad I wasn't attached to anyone; I didn't need anything. I got up on the narrow stage that bordered the dance floor; the fabric of my jacket swirled around me, taking every worry to the floor worry with it.
“Go Flashdance,” Vlad yelled in my ear with his thick Russian accent. He stood before me, working his shoulders in time to the heady beat. His chest was bare, displaying a fully defined set of muscles from stomach to forearms. What a work of art. This was a rare opportunity—usually he was off making out with someone, or surrounded by college boys and girls giggling and pawing. He came close,
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