Chapter 13
By the next morning, Julia still hadn’t decided what to do about the
bursary. She was not in a hurry to do anything that would expose Gabriel’s generosity to the suspicious minds of the university’s administration, as she knew that would be dangerous for him.
And she was not in a hurry to do anything that would expose herself as anything other than a serious graduate student, so she was reticent to go to the chair of their department and explain that she wasn’t interested in the bursary. For the bursary would contribute an impressive line to her curriculum vitae, and serious graduate students were supposed to care about those things more than they cared about silly little things like personal pride.
In classical terms, Miss Mitchell found herself caught between the Scylla of protecting Gabriel and herself and the Charybdis of holding fast to her pride. Unfortunately for her pride, the true peril aligned with her rejection of the bursary; the peril could be avoided if she just took the money. She did not like that. Not one little bit. Especially against the backdrop of Rachel’s generosity in buying her a dress and shoes and Gabriel’s not so secret attempt at replacing her book bag.
She neglected to mention to him that she’d returned her knapsack to L. L. Bean and was eagerly awaiting its replacement. And she fully intended to use it when it arrived, just to reassert her independence.
Friday afternoon, impatient for answers, Julia sent a short text to Rachel, telling her about the bursary and asking if she knew who M. P. Emerson was.
Rachel texted her back immediately:
J: G did what? Never heard of foundation. Never heard of MPE.
MP = G’s bio-mother? Grandmother? luv, R.
P.S. A says hi and thanks
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Julia puzzled over Rachel’s text, but was persuaded by her suggestion. M. P. must have been Gabriel’s grandmother, for she couldn’t imagine him naming a bursary for someone he hated. And she was pretty sure Gabriel harbored hatred for his biological mother.
Although it was possible, Julia thought, that if Gabriel was secretive even with Rachel, that there were many things he could have kept from her. So in a fit of boldness, which was brought on by a shot or two of tequila, Julia sent another text asking if Gabriel had a girlfriend in Toronto who she could ask about the bursary. And she immediately received the following response in her e-mail inbox:
Julia!
Okay, screw texting — the buttons are too small.
Gabriel has NEVER had a girlfriend, as far as I know. He never brought anyone home to meet Mom and Dad, even when he was in high school. Scott accused him of being gay once. But Scott has no gaydar.
Did you see how Gabriel’s apartment was decorated? And the photos in his bedroom? Wait. Did you see those?? No girlfriend locally — for sure. I think just screw-buddies. Although he acted weird when I asked. He’s 33 for God’s sake — being a player isn’t cute anymore.
Are you sure he didn’t make M. P. Emerson up? I’ll ask Scott and get back to you. I don’t want to upset my dad by asking — he’s a mess and…you know.
Aaron and I are on our way to the Queen Charlotte Islands to stay in a log cabin for two weeks. No internet. No cell phones. Just us — peace, quiet, and an outdoor Jacuzzi.
Please keep Gabriel from falling off the cliff until I get back.
Love, R.
P.S. Aaron wants to say hi personally. Take it away, honey.
Hello, Julia. It’s Aaron.
Thank you for taking such good care of my fiancée while she was in Canada. She came back a different person, and I know it wasn’t because of Gabriel.
We all missed you at the funeral — would love to see you at Thanksgiving. If you aren’t planning on coming home, would you
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reconsider? It’s going to be rough without Grace. Richard (and Rachel) need their family around them, and that means you too.
I have frequent flyer miles — I could send you a ticket.
Think about it.
Love you girlie,
Aaron.
Julia wiped away a tear at the sweetness that was Aaron, feeling happy and relieved that he and his fiancée were still very much in love. What Julia would not give to be loved like that…
She wondered why Aaron’s offer of frequent flyer miles leaped off her screen as something other than charity, why she was instantly considering his very kind offer. Then it occurred to her — Grace was right. When there are no strings attached and a gift is given out of love, or friendship, which is a kind of love, there was no shame in accepting it. If Julia accepted Aaron’s gift, she could still be part of Richard’s first Thanksgiving without Grace and give the Emerson bursary back.
In thinking about Grace, Julia wondered if a small prayer to Grace for both herself and Gabriel would be efficacious, for Grace was a true saint, a heavenly mother, and one that would no doubt send help to her children. So while St. Lucy went on vacation with her beloved Aaron, Julia turned her attention upward and begged for her heavenly mother’s intercession in all of their lives, lighting a candle in the window of her small studio on a lonely Friday night in Grace’s memory. And before she crawled into her single bed with her velveteen rabbit, she resolved to accept Aaron’s gift graciously, as evidence of her own newfound openness to charity and her ability to swallow her pride when appropriate. Which meant, not surprisingly, that her deadly sin was not so deadly.
P
In Paul’s absence, Julia found herself spending a long Saturday at the library, working on her thesis proposal in Professor Emerson’s carrel. Part of her secretly hoped that The Professor would surprise her again, but he didn’t. And his words came back to her, “I’ll see you Wednesday. If I’m still here.”
Julia realized that despite what Rachel said, it was more than possible that Gabriel had a girlfriend named Paulina. Julia remembered that Gabriel had assigned the chimes of Big Ben to Paulina’s ring tone. Was Paulina in
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London? Was she English? Or was there something about the chimes that Gabriel thought was important? Julia looked up Big Ben on Wikipedia, but did not find anything particularly illuminating.
(Wikipedia can be like that.)
She wasn’t naïve, despite what Gabriel thought of her. She knew he wasn’t a virgin and that he hadn’t been when she first met him. Still, knowing it and having it flaunted in front of her face were two very different things.
Her thoughts drifted to Gabriel and Paulina or some nameless, faceless girl, skin against skin, their bodies entwined. She saw Gabriel kissing the girl’s lips and exploring her body with his mouth, his hands, his eyes. She saw Gabriel giving and receiving physical pleasure from some tall, perfect, blonde. She imagined Gabriel in ecstasy, screaming the girl’s name, gazing deeply into her eyes as his body climaxed. She thought of Gabriel becoming one with some other soul, belonging in this way to some other girl. Would she love Gabriel? Be kind to Gabriel? Would she want him to be a better man, or just want him for his body, his passion, his animalistic nature? Would she even care that behind those beautiful eyes was the soul of a man long gone, wounded now and in need of both redemption and repair? Or would she want to drag him deeper down, ensnaring him with her body and her fingernails?
The thought of Gabriel taking another girl, any girl, to his bed, perchance to his soul, wounded her deeply. But somehow, the thought that there was another girl who warmed his bed for more than just one night was absolutely devastating — because she had wanted to be his girl, forever.
However sad and sordid her imaginings were, they didn’t stop her from somewhat pathetically wearing his green cashmere sweater to the library and hugging her arms across her chest, just to embrace herself with his softness and his scent. For that seemed to be the closest she was ever going to come to having his body next to hers.
In Professor Emerson’s carrel, Julia put away Paul’s cd in favor of listening to Yael Naim. Julia loved the song Far Far, although she had no idea how apt Yael’s words were. Julia had spent most of her life waiting for good things to happen, keeping her hopes and dreams to herself. But soon there would come a day when she would have to make something happen.
She found the music soothing and distracting, and it enabled her to make a lot of progress on her thesis proposal as she worked away until the library’s close.
Leaving the library, she placed her earphones firmly in her ears and disdained the hot dog cart outside in favor of a liquid dinner. She purchased
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a very large mango smoothie and began to walk home, sipping her meal and thinking. Because she was deep in thought, wondering where Gabriel was and what he was doing, she almost missed Ethan, who waved at her as she came across the long line-up in front of Lobby.
“Hey, Ethan.” She smiled as she took the ear buds out of her ears.
He gestured to her to come closer. “Hi, Julia. Thanks again for helping with my text to Raphaela. She really liked it.” If Ethan could have blushed, he would have; his dark eyes sparkled, and he smiled widely. “She’s teaching me Italian now.”
Julia grinned, happy that he and his girlfriend were happy. “So, how are things tonight? Lots of people?” She glanced at the long line.
“I’m about to let some more people in, but I have to take someone out first.”
“Really? That sounds ominous.”
He shook his head. “Your friend is in there drinking his ass off. The bartender is refusing to serve him, which means I need to put him in a cab and send him home.”
Julia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Gabriel’s here? What about Paulina?
“The last time I tried to throw him out he took a swing at me. Right now, I’m just waiting for one of the other bouncers to replace me on the line. I’m going to have to go in to remove him and probably take back-up.” He looked at Julia appraisingly. “Unless you can persuade him to come out peaceably.”
Julia shook her head violently. “Are you kidding? He won’t listen to me. I’m not even his friend.”
“That’s not the impression I got when you were in here, but I get it. It’s cool.” He shrugged nonchalantly and looked at his watch.
Julia sipped her smoothie and began thinking about her promise to Rachel. She wondered if this constituted a case in which she was morally obligated to watch out for Gabriel. What if I walk away and he ends up in jail? He tried to be nice to me this week. I can’t ignore that — it would be bad karma.
“Um, I could try to talk to him. See if he’ll come out on his own,” she suggested somewhat hesitantly. “I don’t want him to get arrested.”
“Neither do I. We like our vips to stay happy. But he has been throwing back doubles since he got here, and they can’t serve him anymore. Maybe he’ll listen to the voice of reason and agree to go home and sleep it off.” Ethan moved the velvet rope so that she could walk in.
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“I’m not really dressed for it.” Julia looked down at her sneakers and ripped jeans and Gabriel’s heavenly scented but too large sweater.
“You’re fine. But listen, if he’s too far gone, or if you’re just not up to it, come right back. He can be a handful when he’s drunk.”
Julia knew exactly what Gabriel could be like when he was drunk, but she reminded herself that he had been sweet to her that night so long ago.
She walked into the club, hoping no one would recognize her. She quickly pulled her hair out of its ponytail and draped it around her face, using it as a veil to hide from inquisitive eyes. She prayed desperately to the gods of Manhattan-style martini bars to keep Brad Curtis, mba, away from her tonight. She didn’t want to run into him looking like this. She pulled her navy-surplus peacoat closed and buttoned all the buttons, because she didn’t want Gabriel to see that she was wearing his sweater — still.
It didn’t take long to find him. He was sitting at the bar, talking to an attractive woman whose back was to Julia. He was staring not at the brunette, whose hand was tangled in his hair and who was pulling him toward her by his tie, but at his empty Scotch glass. He didn’t look happy, but that probably had more to do with his drinking companion than anything else.
From her vantage point several feet away, Julia saw that the Emerson whore who was practically sitting on his lap, her cleavage hovering in front of his mouth, was none other than Christa Peterson. Holy shit. Is he planning on going home with her?
Julia knew without a doubt that this was an instance in which she needed to watch out for Gabriel. If he slept with Christa, not only would he be violating the non-fraternization policy and putting his academic career at risk, he would likely end up embroiled in a nasty personal situation with the hoping-to-be-future-Mrs. Emerson. It was more than possible that Christa was trying to seduce him in order to exact revenge for what had transpired in Starbucks earlier that week — actions Gabriel had taken on Julia’s behalf.
In either case, Julia was not going to allow the seduction to proceed. Not for one damn minute.
Hands off the Precious, Gollum.
She turned on her heel and walked back outside, coming up behind Ethan and whispering in his ear. “I need your help. He’s with a girl who he shouldn’t go home with. She’s one of his students, so I need to separate them before you put him in a cab.”
Ethan shrugged. “I’m not sure what I can do about that. That’s his business.”
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“What if one of the waiters spilled a drink on her and sent her to the ladies’ room? Then maybe I could talk Gabriel into coming outside.”
“Do you think you can convince him?”
Julia blinked as she took a moment to consider it. “I don’t know. If we separate them, I’ll have a better chance. I doubt he can form a coherent thought with her plastic boobs in his face.”
O gods of all graduate-students-trying-really-hard-to-do-a-good-thing-for-an-old-friend, help me pry that Emerson whore off his dick. Please.
He laughed. “A bit cloak and dagger, don’t you think? But all right, I’m sure the bartender can help us out. He has a sense of humor. If Emerson gives you any trouble, ask the bartender to call me. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Ethan made a call on his cell phone, and within two minutes, he was signaling to Julia to go after Gabriel. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked back into the club. Gabriel was laughing. Something had struck him as funny, and he was howling, head thrown back, hands clutching his stomach.
Julia had to admit that he was even more handsome when he was smiling. He was wearing a pale-green dress shirt with the top two buttons open, revealing chest hair that was poking out like a few blades of grass over the snowy white of his t-shirt. Mercifully, he’d gotten out of the fifties and lost the bow tie; the silk tie he was wearing was striped black on black and hanging loosely around his neck. He was wearing a pair of black dress pants that fit him snugly and very shiny black shoes that were far too pointy.
In short, he was drunk, but he was perfect.
“Professor?”
He stopped laughing and turned to Julia, a wide smile spreading across his face. He seemed very happy to see her. Too happy.
“Miss Mitchell! To what do I owe this unexpected delight?” He took her hand in his and pressed it to his lips, holding it there for several seconds.
Julia couldn’t help but frown. He didn’t seem drunk, but he was being friendly, flirtatious even, so he must be drunk.
(Or he must have received a personality transplant from someone charming like, say, Daniel Craig.)
“Could you help me flag a cab? I need to get home.” Julia withdrew her hand, wincing at the lameness of her excuse.
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“Anything for you, Miss Mitchell. And I do mean anything. May I buy you a drink first?” He smiled as he peeled off a few bills and handed them to the bartender.
“Um, no. I have one.” She held out her smoothie and waved it under his nose.
The bartender glared at her garish Styrofoam cup but settled Gabriel’s tab and then went about his business.
“Why are you drinking that? Does it pair well with couscous?” Gabriel chuckled.
Julia bit her lip.
He stopped chuckling immediately and frowned, somewhat roughly tugging at her lip with his thumb until he’d loosened it from her teeth. “Stop that. I don’t want you to bleed.” He pulled his thumb back and brought his face closer to hers — too close, actually. “I made a joke about couscous.”
Julia was still trying to catch her breath after the flash of heat that she experienced having his thumb in between her lips.
“It wasn’t funny, was it? It’s rude to make fun of someone’s poverty. And you are a sweet little girl.”
Julia clenched her teeth, wondering just how much of his condescending attitude she could take before she decided to leave him (and his dick) in Christa’s clutches.
“Professor, I…”
“I was just talking to someone. You know her — she’s a real vixen.” Gabriel’s drunken gaze lazily swept the room before coming to rest again on Julia. “She’s gone now. I’m glad. She’s a nasty bitch.”
Julia nodded. And smiled.
“She looked at you as if you were trash, but I fixed her. She bothers you again, and I drop her as a student. You’ll be fine, now.”
He brought his face close to hers again and licked his red and perfect lips slowly, very slowly. “You shouldn’t be in a place like this. It’s past your bedtime, isn’t it? You should be asleep in your little purple bed, curled up like a kitten. A pretty little kitten with big brown eyes. I’d like to pet you.”
Julia’s eyebrows shot up. Where the hell does he get this stuff?
“Um, I really need to go home. Now. Would you come outside and help me hail a cab? Please, Professor?” Julia gestured vaguely toward the exit, trying to place some distance between the two of them.
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He grabbed his trench coat immediately. “I’m sorry. I left you to find your way home unescorted on Thursday. I won’t do that again. Let’s get you home, little kitten.”
He held out his arm in a very proper and old-fashioned way, and she took it, wondering who exactly was leading whom. When they got outside, Ethan was standing next to a cab, holding the rear passenger door open.
“Miss Mitchell,” Gabriel breathed, placing his hand at the small of her back, gently moving her toward the open door of the taxi.
“On second thought, I can walk,” she protested, trying to move out of the way.
But Gabriel was insistent and so was Ethan, probably because he was trying to get both of them out of there before Gabriel decided he didn’t want to leave and decked him. So for the sake of time and to avoid Christa, the Gollum who could reappear at any moment and try to snatch back the Precious, Julia crawled into the cab and slid over to the far side.
Gabriel climbed in after her. She held her nose slightly so she wouldn’t get an inhalant high from all the Scotch he’d imbibed. Ethan handed a few bills to the driver and closed the door behind them, waving at Julia as the cab sped away.
“Manulife Building,” said Gabriel to the cabbie.
Julia was just about to correct The Professor and give the cabbie her address when Gabriel interrupted her. “You didn’t come into The Vestibule for a drink.” He was looking at her clothes, his eyes resting somewhat hungrily on the flesh at her knees, exposed underneath her ripped jeans.
“Bad luck. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Hardly,” he breathed, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I would say you have extremely good luck. And now that I’ve seen you, so have I.”
She sighed. It was too late to ask the cabbie to turn around now; they were driving in the opposite direction. She was going to have to see to it that The Professor made it inside safely before she could walk home. She shook her head and took a long sip from her smoothie.
“Were you spying on me?” His eyes shifted to hers suspiciously. “For Rachel?”
“Of course not. I was on my way home from the library when I saw you through the window.”
“You saw me and decided to come and talk to me?” He sounded surprised.
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“Yes,” Julia lied.
“Why?”
“I only know two people in Toronto, Professor. You’re one of them.”
“That’s a shame. I suppose Paul is the other one.”
Julia eyed him cautiously but said nothing.
“Angelfucker.”
She frowned. “Why do you keep calling him that?”
“Because that’s what he is, Miss Mitchell. Or rather, what he hopes he will become. Over my dead body. You tell him that — tell him he fucks with the angel at his peril.”
Julia arched an eyebrow at his eccentric and obviously medieval profanity and its attendant explanation. She’d seen him drunk before, of course, and knew that his drunkenness vacillated between moments of absolute clarity and complete lunacy.
How exactly does one fuck with an angel? Angels are immaterial, spiritual creatures. They don’t have genitalia. Gabriel, you are one sick Dante specialist.
They arrived shortly at his apartment building, and the two of them exited the cab. It wasn’t that far for Julia to walk home — only about four city blocks. And she didn’t have any cash to spare for a cab, anyway. So she smiled at Gabriel, bade him a good night, and patted herself on the back for doing Rachel a favor. Then she and her smoothie began the long solitary walk home.
“I’ve lost my keys,” he called after her, patting the pockets of his trousers and leaning precariously against a faux potted palm. “But I’ve found my glasses!” He held the black Prada frames aloft.
Julia closed her eyes and drew breath. She wanted to leave him there. She wanted to pass along the responsibility for his well being to some other Good Samaritan, preferably, a passing homeless person. But when she looked over at Gabriel’s confused face and saw him beginning to tilt to one side as if he was going to fall over and take the poor potted palm with him (a potted palm that had never harmed anyone), she knew that he needed her help. He was Grace’s little boy once, and she couldn’t just abandon him. And she knew deep within her heart that kindness, no matter how small, was never wasted.
He can’t even find his keys, for the love of Dante. She deposited her half-empty smoothie in a garbage can with a sigh.
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“Let’s go.” She placed an arm around his waist, flinching slightly as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze that was almost too friendly.
They listed into the lobby like a galleon, waving at the concierge, who recognized Gabriel and buzzed them into the building. Once they made it to the elevator, the Scotch seemed to hit Gabriel even harder. He stood with his eyes closed, his head lolling backward, and he groaned from time to time. Julia took the opportunity to search his pockets for his keys, which she found quickly and easily once she wrested his prized Burberry trench coat away from him.
“You picked me up, you naughty little kitty. I thought you didn’t go home with men you met in bars.”
Even while drunk, Professor Emerson was still an ass.
“I’m not picking you up, Professor. I’m dropping you off. And if you keep that up, I’m going to drop you,” Julia muttered in a fit of irritation.
It took several attempts for her to find the key to his apartment, and when she did, she helped him in and pulled the key out of the lock. Her goal was to leave him there, assuming he’d be fine on his own, but he started mumbling about feeling sick. She envisioned him choking on his own vomit and dying on a bathroom floor alone and friendless like a faded rock star, so she decided to stay long enough to get him to the bedroom and to see that he didn’t throw up (and die). She put his keys and his coat on the hall table. And she quickly took off her own coat and placed it on top of her briefcase.
Gabriel was leaning up against the wall with his eyes closed, which meant that he wasn’t going to notice that she was still wearing his sweater, like a teenage girl with a crush.
“Come on, Professor.” Julia pulled his arm around her shoulder and grabbed his waist again, trying to ease him down the hall.
“Where are you taking me?” He opened his eyes and looked around.
“To bed.”
Gabriel began to laugh. He planted his feet and leaned up against the wall, gazing down at her.
“What’s so funny?”
“You, Miss Mitchell,” he breathed, his voice suddenly husky. “You’re taking me to bed, but you haven’t even kissed me yet. Don’t you think we should start with kissing and maybe some canoodling on the couch for a
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couple of evenings? Then work up to bed? I haven’t even had a chance to pet you, you naughty little kitty. And you are a virgin, aren’t you?”
Julia bristled, especially at the last remark. “You’ve never canoodled a day in your life. And I’m not taking you to bed, you idiot, I’m taking you to your bedroom so you can sleep it off. Now come on. And cut the chitchat.”
“Kiss me, Julianne. Kiss me good night.” Gabriel’s eyes grew wide as he fixated on her. He dropped his voice to a satin whisper. “Then I’ll go to bed like a good little boy. And maybe, if you’re a very good kitten, I’ll let you join me.”
Julia caught her breath. He didn’t look drunk now. He looked remarkably lucid, and his eyes were caressing her, touching her, spending longer than was appropriate on the expanse of her chest. He began licking his lips.
Here comes the seductive smile…in five, four, three, two, one…swoon. (It was a good thing that in her current mood she was swoon-proof.)
Julia let go of him instantly and backed up, averting her eyes, for in truth, looking into the radiance of that smile was like staring into the sun. He pushed off the wall and took a step toward her. Now she was trapped. Her back was against the other wall, and he was still coming closer.
Julia’s eyes grew larger. He was stalking her. And he looked hungry.
“Please, don’t. Please don’t…hurt me,” she whimpered.
A furrow appeared between Gabriel’s eyebrows. He reached out, and soft hands cupped her face gently, tilting her so that she was staring straight into his bold, shining eyes.
“Never.” And with that he brought his lips to hers.
As soon as they connected, skin against skin, Julia lost all ability to think and simply drowned in feeling. She had never felt more embodied than at the moment, never felt as if she existed less in her head. His mouth barely moved over hers. It was warm, and his lips were wet and surprisingly soft. She didn’t know if he was kissing her like that because he was drunk or for some other reason, but it was as if their lips were frozen together. As if their connection, so intense and real, could not be broken even for a second. Julia dared not move her mouth for fear he would release her and she would never be kissed by him again.
He pressed into her firmly but gently, while his hands tenderly floated across her cheeks. He did not open his mouth. But the feeling that surged between them was more powerful than ever. Julia’s blood sang in her ears, and she felt herself flush and grow hot as she pressed forward against his chest, closing the gap between them and winding her arms around his back.
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She could feel the muscles underneath his shirt. She could almost feel his heart beating against her own chest. But he was so gentle, so tender. His mouth left her wanting more — much, much more.
She wasn’t sure how long they kissed, but by the time he released her Julia’s head was spinning. It was transcendent. It was emotional. The momentary fulfillment of her heart’s deepest longing. Memories and dreams of the orchard came flooding back. They were not the stuff of her imagination — the spark, the attraction, was real and so stirring to her soul. She had not imagined it, but she wondered if he felt it too. Or perhaps he was immune to those kinds of feelings now.
“Beautiful Julianne,” he murmured as he staggered backward. “Sweet like candy.”
Gabriel licked his lips as if he was savoring her taste, and whatever lucidity he had suddenly disappeared. He shut his eyes and collapsed against the wall, close to passing out.
When she finally regained her senses, which took more than a minute, she managed to half-drag him into his bedroom. And all would have been well. All would have been well if he hadn’t opened up his mouth at that moment and vomited all over her. And all over his beautiful and expensive British-racing-green cashmere sweater, which was no longer green by the time he was finished with it.
Julia gasped and heaved at the sight and smell, for she had a very queasy stomach. It’s even in my hair. Oh gods of all Good Samaritans, make haste to help me!
“I’m sorry, Julianne. I’m sorry I was a bad boy.” Gabriel’s voice was like a child’s.
She held her breath and shook her head. “It’s all right. Come on.” She pulled him into the master bathroom and was able to position him on his knees over the toilet before the next volcanic stomach eruption.
While he vomited, she held a hand to her nose and tried to distract herself by taking stock of his elegant and spacious bathroom. Large two-person or more bathtub? Check. Large two-person or more shower with decadent tropical rain showerheads? Double check. Large fluffy white towels perfect for picking up puke? Check, check, and check.
When Gabriel finished, she handed him a small but absorbent hand towel to wipe his mouth. He groaned loudly and ignored her offer. So she leaned over and gently swiped the towel over his face before giving him a sip of water to swish around his mouth.
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She stared at him. Despite the train wreck that was her own family and her overall skittishness about marriage, she had thought from time to time about what it would be like to have a baby — a little boy or girl who would look like Julia and her husband. As she gazed down at a very sick Gabriel, she imagined what it would be like to be a mother and to care for her ill child. Gabriel’s vulnerability tugged on her heartstrings, for she’d never seen it before except that once, when he cried in his office over Grace.
Grace would be happy that I’m taking care of her son.
“Will you be all right for a minute?” Julia asked, pushing his soft hair out of his eyes.
He groaned again, eyes closed, and she took that as an indication that he would be fine. But Julia had a difficult time letting him go. So while he sat there, moaning, she petted him a little, stroking his hair and chattering to him as if he were a baby.
“It’s all right, Gabriel. It’s all right. All I ever wanted was to be nice to you…to care for you a little…even if you never cared for me.”
When she was satisfied that she could leave him alone for a few minutes, she went into his bedroom and quickly began looking through his chest of drawers for something, anything, that she could change into. She resisted the impulse to rummage through his underwear in search of a prize that she could take home (or sell on eBay) and grabbed the first pair of boxer shorts she could find. They were black and decorated with the shield of Magdalen College and looked as if they would be too small for Gabriel’s finely shaped derrière.
Even Gabriel’s underwear is pretentious, thought Julia as she searched for a t-shirt.
She went to the guest washroom and quickly stripped off her fouled clothes, hopped into the shower just to rinse the vomit out of her hair and the stench from her skin, then changed into his things.
Afterward, she tried to tackle the disaster that was Gabriel’s cashmere sweater. She cleaned it as best she could, soaking it a little in the sink. Finally, she placed it on the marble countertop to air dry. He’d have to have it dry-cleaned (or burned). Julia took the rest of her clothes, put them in the washer, and returned to the master bathroom.
Gabriel was sitting with his back against the wall, his knees up to his chest and his face in his hands. He was still moaning.
Julia quickly cleaned the toilet and kneeled beside him. She didn’t like the idea of leaving him in vomit-soaked clothes, but she didn’t like the idea
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of undressing him either. He’d probably accuse her of sexual harassment or something, and she didn’t want to deal with a drunk and angry Professor Emerson. Or a sober and angry Professor Emerson. For like a dragon, he could turn on you in a second if he thought you were pulling his tail.
“Gabriel, you’ve thrown up all over yourself. Do you understand? Do you want to stay like this or…” She let her voice trail off.
He shook his head with some semblance of understanding and tried to remove his tie. Of course, with his eyes closed he had little success. So Julia gently loosened the tie and slowly pulled it over his head. She blotted it with water as best she could, leaving it on the counter. He would have to dry clean it too.
While her back was turned, he began undoing the buttons of his shirt. However, it was much more difficult than he anticipated, and so he cursed and tugged at the buttons, almost tearing them off in the process.
Julia sighed. “Here, let me.” She kneeled beside him once again, brushed his long fingers aside, and quickly unfastened the buttons.
He shrugged out of his dress shirt and immediately pulled his t-shirt over his head. Because he was disoriented he was unable to free his head from the shirt, so he just sat there with it wrapped over his hair like a turban.
It really was quite funny. Julia stifled a laugh, wishing she had her cell phone close at hand so she could take a picture of him. She would have loved to have used that shot as her screensaver. Or her avatar, should she ever have need of one. She gently freed his face from his shirt and sat back on her heels, gasping.
Gabriel’s naked chest was stunning. Indeed, his entire upper body was a study in perfection. He had large, muscular arms, broad shoulders, and excellently toned pectorals. He’d always seemed to have a slender build, Julia thought, especially when his physique was masked by sweaters or jackets. But there was nothing slender about Gabriel now. Absolutely nothing.
And Gabriel had a tattoo. This surprised her greatly. She’d seen photos of Gabriel and Scott with their shirts off — pictures from summer vacations taken before she moved to Selinsgrove. But she could have sworn that Gabriel did not have a tattoo in those pictures. So the tattoo was recent, within the last six or seven years.
The tattoo was over his left pectoral, above the nipple and spreading over to his sternum. The image was of a winged medieval dragon that was wrapped around an oversized heart, crushing it between its two front feet. The heart was lifelike, not stylized, and the dragon’s claws dug into its flesh so deeply that blood seeped from its wounds.
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Julia gaped open-mouthed at the dark and disturbing image. The dragon was green and black with a coiled, barbed tail and large fluttering wings. Its mouth was open and breathing fire. But what captured her attention was the black lettering across the surface of the heart. She was able to make out the letters m a i a. Maia. Or was it m.a.i.a. — an acronym?
Julia had no idea who Maia was or what m.a.i.a. was. She’d never heard the name from Rachel or any of the Clarks. It seemed to her to be completely out of character for Gabriel, the Gabriel she barely knew once and the one she was only beginning to know again, to have a tattoo at all, let alone one so large and haunting.
He has a tattoo like that underneath his clothes and he wears a bow tie? With a sweater?
Julia wondered what other surprises lurked across the surface of his skin, and her eyes wandered a little lower. Even in a seated position, she couldn’t help but notice his well-defined abdominal muscles and the deep V that extended from his hips to down beneath the waistband of his wool trousers.
Holy crap. Professor Emerson must work out — a lot. Could I take a photo of his abs — and his V — for my screen saver?
Julia blushed and turned away. She was being bad, ogling The Professor. She wouldn’t have wanted anyone to do that to her, especially at a low moment. So feeling more than slightly guilty, she gathered up his soiled clothes and the towel that she used to clean up the sick that had dripped onto the Persian rug in his bedroom, and took them to the laundry room. She quickly placed everything in the washer, filled it with detergent, and started a wash. Then she passed through the kitchen to fetch a glass and a pitcher of filtered water from the refrigerator.
In her absence, Gabriel had managed to stagger to the imposing silk-draped bed that was in the center of the room. He was now seated on the edge, barefoot and clad only in a pair of black boxer briefs, his hair sticking out of his head in all directions.
Holy cow.
Although there was probably nothing hotter in the universe than the sight of a half-naked Gabriel sitting on his bed (except perhaps for the surface of the sun), Julia averted her eyes and placed the water on his nightstand. She wanted to ask him how he was, but she thought maybe she should give him a moment. So she stood back and let her eyes roam around the room. And what she saw astounded her.
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Gabriel’s penchant for black-and-white photographs was more noticeable here, for every wall but one was adorned with pairs, each extremely large and hung in imposing black frames. However, it was the content of the pictures that Julia found surprising.
The photos were erotic. Pictures of naked, primarily female forms, although sometimes a female and male together, with the faces and genitalia either absent or in shadow. Tastefully posed, they were quite beautiful, and Julia would not have said that they were filthy. But they were highly sensual and amative, much more sophisticated than average pornography and far more arousing.
One showed a couple from the side, facing one another and straddling a bench of some kind. Their torsos were pressed together, his hands in her long, fair hair. Julia blushed as she wondered if the photo was taken before, during, or after the beautiful couple made love, for she couldn’t tell.
Another was of a woman’s back and a pair of man’s hands, one of which embraced her middle back and the other cupping her bottom. A tattoo ran across her right hip, but the writing was in Arabic, Julia surmised, so she couldn’t read it.
But it was the two larger photos that hung over the bed that caught her attention.
One of them depicted a woman lying on her stomach. A man’s form floated over hers, almost like a dark angel, pressing a kiss to a shoulder blade and splaying his left hand across her lower back. It reminded Julia of Rodin’s sculpture, The Angel’s Kiss, so she wondered if the photographer had been inspired by that work.
The other photo took Julia’s breath away, for it was the most overtly erotic, and she was instantly repulsed by its rawness and aggression. It was the side view of a woman lying on her stomach, with only her length from mid-torso to knee visible. Hovering above her was part of a male form. His hand was planted white-knuckled on her left hip and bottom cheek, his hips pressed tightly against the curve of her backside. The man had an attractive gluteus maximus in profile and long, elegant fingers. Julia was disturbed by the photo and immediately looked away in embarrassment.
Why would someone have a photo of that hanging on his wall? She shook her head. From gazing at the photographs, one point was abundantly clear: Professor Emerson is a back man.
Given his décor and his choice of artwork, Gabriel’s bedroom appeared to have one purpose and one purpose only, and that was to serve as
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a cauldron of seething lust. She knew based upon what she’d observed, that he must have intended it to be so, despite its obvious and palpable coldness — a coldness that was in keeping with the overall glacial atmosphere of his entire apartment. In this taupe-walled space, a chill emanated from the photographs, the ice-blue silk of his bed coverings and curtains, and the sparseness of the all-black furniture of the room, dominated by an over-sized bed with an ornately carved and high-posted headboard and a low and equally intricate footboard.
Medieval, thought Julia. How fitting.
But the photographs were soon supplanted in her attention by something else, something even more surprising. She stared in shock at the painting on the far wall, her jaw dropping open.
On the wall opposite Gabriel’s large and medieval bed, and strangely out of place amongst the black-and-white erotica, was a Pre-Raphaelite oil painting in brilliant and glorious color. It was a full scale reproduction of Henry Holiday’s painting of Dante and Beatrice, the same painting that hung over her own bed.
Julia’s eyes darted from the painting, to Gabriel, and back to the painting again. He could see the painting from his bed. She imagined him falling asleep at night, every night, looking at Beatrice’s face. It was the last thing he would see at night and the first thing he would see in the morning. Julia hadn’t known that he owned that painting. He was the reason why she owned it; was she, by any chance, the reason why he did?
She began to tremble at the thought. No matter who came into his bedroom, no matter which girl Gabriel brought home to warm his bed, Beatrice was always there. Beatrice was ever present.
But he didn’t remember that she was Beatrice.
Julia shook her head to suppress those thoughts and gently persuaded Gabriel to lie down. She covered him with the sheet and the silk duvet, tucking the edges under his arms, across his chest. She sat down on the bed next to him, watching him as he looked at her.
“I was listening to music,” he whispered, as if he was continuing a conversation.
She frowned in confusion. “What kind of music?”
“Hurt. Johnny Cash. Over and over.”
“Why do you listen to that?”
“To remember.”
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“Oh, Gabriel. Why?” Julia blinked back tears, for that was the one Trent Reznor song she could listen to without heaving, but it always made her weep.
He didn’t answer.
She leaned over him. “Gabriel? Sweetheart, don’t listen to that kind of music anymore, okay? No more Lacrimosa or Nine Inch Nails. Walk out of the darkness and toward the light.”
“Where’s the light?” he mumbled.
Julia exhaled deeply. “Why do you drink so much?”
“To forget,” he said, closing his eyes and resting back on the pillow.
With his eyes closed, she was able to admire him. She surmised that he would have been sweet-looking as a teenager — all big sapphire eyes and kissable lips and sexy brown hair. He might have been shy instead of angry or sad. He might have been noble and good. If Julia and he had been closer in age, he might have kissed her on her father’s porch, taken her to the prom, and made love to her for the first time on a blanket under the stars, in the old orchard behind his parents’ house. She might have been his first, in some more perfect universe.
Julia contemplated how much pain a human soul, her soul, could bear without shriveling completely, and she turned to go. A warm hand darted out to catch her.
“Don’t leave me,” he breathed. His eyes were only half open, and they pleaded with her. “Please, Julianne.”
He knew who she was, but somehow he still wanted her to stay. And the way his eyes and his voice grew desperate…she could not deny him when he looked like that.
She wrapped her hand in his and sat beside him again. “I’m not going to leave you. Just sleep now. There’s light all around you. So much light.”
A smiled played on his perfect lips, and she heard him sigh; the grip with which he held her hand loosened. She took a deep breath, held it, and ghosted a finger over his eyebrows. When he didn’t flinch or open his eyes, she softly stroked them, one by one. Her mother had done this when Julia wasn’t able to sleep as a child. But that was ever so long ago, long before her mother neglected her in order to pursue other, more important interests.
Gabriel was still smiling, and so Julia bravely moved her hand to his hair. Feeling the unruly strands running though her fingers reminded her of a day she’d spent on a farm in Tuscany during her year abroad. An Italian boy had taken her out to a field, and they had walked together, her hand
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floating over the tops of the grasses. Gabriel’s hair was feather light and soft against her hand, like the whispering Italian grass.
She began to stroke his hair, the way Grace must have done at one time. He allowed her fingertips to trail down the side of his face, tracing his angular jaw and rubbing gently against his stubble. She touched the merest hint of a dimple in his chin and began to move the back of her hand against his high and noble cheekbones. She would never again be this close to him; if he were awake, he wouldn’t let her. He’d have bitten her hand, she was sure, and gone for her throat.
His perfect chest rose and fell with his now regular breathing. He seemed to have fallen asleep.
She stared at his neck, the muscles in his shoulders and the tops of his arms, his collarbone, and the tops of his pectorals. If he had been pale, he would have looked like a Roman statue carved in cold, white marble. But the merest hint of a tan left over from the summer made his skin glow almost gold in the lamplight.
Julia pressed a kiss against two of her fingers and placed those fingers tenderly against his slightly parted lips. “Ti amo, Dante. Eccomi Beatrice. I love you, Dante. Here I am, Beatrice.”
Just then, Gabriel’s telephone rang.
She jumped in surprise. The phone was ringing very loudly. Gabriel was beginning to move, the horrible noise piercing his rest. So Julia answered it.
“Hello?”
“Who the hell is this?” a woman’s voice, shocked and shrill, demanded.
“This is Gabriel Emerson’s residence. Who is this?”
“This is Paulina. Put Gabriel on the phone!”
Julia’s heart thudded twice and skipped a beat before beginning to race. She stood up, taking the cordless receiver with her, and walked into the bathroom, closing the door.
“He can’t come to the phone right now. Is it an emergency?”
“What do you mean he can’t? Tell him it’s Paulina and I want to speak to him.”
“Um, he’s indisposed.”
“Indisposed? Listen, you little slut, roll Gabriel over and put the phone in his hand. I’m calling from the — ”
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“He can’t talk to you right now. Please call back tomorrow.” Julia pressed the end button, interrupting Paulina’s torrent of furious words, feeling thoroughly disgusted.
She’s more demanding than a casual lover. She must be his mistress — and she’s going to be pissed that I answered the phone. Maybe she’ll be so pissed she’ll break up with him.
Julia cringed at her continued misfortune and removed the towel from her hair, hanging it up to dry. She returned to the bedroom and placed the telephone on its cradle. She intended to leave Gabriel to his dreams and sleep in the guest room, because she’d promised that she wouldn’t abandon him.
Suddenly, two blue eyes opened wide and began to stare right through her.
“Beatrice,” he whispered, reaching out his hand.
Julia shuddered convulsively.
“Beatrice,” he whispered again, gazing into her eyes with unblinking recognition.
“Gabriel?” She stifled a sob.
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