February 13, 2012
Two weeks had passed, and Michael had done no more than add Raymond Chance to his contacts list and stalk his last-seen time aggressively, day in and day out. Ashamed, he eventually began applying himself to the hatching of small, petty schemes.
"Phil," he said casually one Friday after school, "you're no longer grounded, right?"
"Hmm?" Phil was examining the side of his Styrofoam coffee cup, though it was closer in size to a bucket than an average beverage-bearer. "Dude, she spelled my name Philip."
And so she had. The three of them huddled at a tiny round table in the corner of the room, perched uncomfortably on tall, narrow wooden stools. Starbucks was thronging with high-school students let out for the weekend, and the sweet-faced, chubby girl behind the counter looked flushed and harried. No wonder the poor thing couldn't be bothered whether Phil was short for "Philip" or not.
Danny snorted. "Even though you specifically told her you were named after the great Phil Collins? Wow, man, it's a wonder she's not having sex with you right now."
"He's a classic," Phil said, hurt. "Like you'd say no to sex with him if the opportunity arose."
"True, I wouldn't say no to him. You're not my type though."
Phil flung a packet of brown sugar at Danny, who caught it deftly and emptied it into his own steaming machiatto. "Thanks."
Michael cleared his throat. "You guys wanna hang out tomorrow night?"
"We're already hanging out," Danny remarked, stirring his coffee vigorously.
"I mean, you think we should go out? We could each get a couple drinks and strike up some conversation with pre-Valentine's day loners."
"It wouldn't kill us," Phil said wistfully, staring at the busty girl behind the counter who'd misspelled his name.
As it turned out, luring two naive seventeen-year-olds out on a Saturday under exaggerated promises of alcohol and loose women was not the most difficult enterprise in the world. Michael felt rather pleased with himself as he stood before the full-length mirror in his bedroom. His jeans were skinny, his sweater tight and his finest dark grey Burberry overcoat lent him an air of (he hoped) sophistication and maturity. This wasn't a bad look if he was to entertain hopes of seducing someone twelve years older than him.
Chance's was moderately full.
"Wow," Phil breathed as they stepped out of the elevator and into the chilly night air.
Michael did not need to follow his line of sight to know what he was referring to; Casey Chance weaved between the tables, a vision of pure delight in a short, skin-tight black dress that made her auburn hair gleam like fire in the moonlight. He wondered idly which parent she and Raymond had in common - their mother or father had to have been gorgeous.
"Come on," he said, pulling his friends along by the elbows. Danny was still gawping at her as if he'd never before seen a woman in his life, and it was beginning to embarrass Michael. "Let's sit up by the bar."
They had hardly begun their awkward shuffle across the floor when Casey, who was handing out beers at an overcrowded booth looked up - and right at Michael. To his surprise, she smiled and waved. "Hey, boys. It's honorary happy hour going on for a bit, so get seats by the bar while you still can."
"Does she know us?" Danny hissed, digging his nails into Michael's forearm.
Michael bit his lip to suppress a grin. "I guess she does."
Soon enough Casey resumed her post behind the counter, greeting him with a wide, dazzling smile. "What'll it be for you boys?"
Michael could feel Phil and Danny fidgeting beside him, waiting for an introduction. "Gin and tonic for me," he answered, "and I think these guys will have-"
"The same thing," Danny said smoothly, leaning an elbow on the table. "Have we met, you and I?"
"Possibly. Michael may or may not have introduced you, I don't remember much else apart from him that night." She winked at Michael, simultaneously cracking open two cans of tonic water.
Michael grinned. "Was I that good?"
"Honey, if you hadn't been, I wouldn't even remember your name." Casey reached over and ruffled his hair. "How could I forget these big blue eyes and beach-blonde hair and this face? You remind me of a golden-retriever puppy ."
"Hey!" Michael said indignantly, brushing her fingers from his forehead. "Getting it to look this way takes time and effort, you know."
Casey only laughed, setting down three thimble-sized pegs of clear, viscous gin. "I know you do. My brother hates it too, that's why I do it."
"Sadist," Michael muttered. "By the way, guys, this is Casey Chance - and Casey, this is Danny and that's Phil - not Phillip, but just plain Phil as in Phil Collins. He was probably going to tell you that anyway, so I figured I'd save him the trouble."
"Oh, I love him!" Casey crooned, clasping her hands together. Her dress tightened around her cleavage when she moved her arms, instantly drawing the attention of all three boys - Michael's in a purely aesthetic sense, of course. "Another Day In Paradise is one of my all-time comfort songs."
"Really?" Phil breathed. "I was named after him!"
Michael soon tuned out of the conversation, which quickly progressed to other popular retro artists. He glanced with fleeting interest around the bar, watching the post-work-corporates unwind by the pool table and affluent college students blowing cigarette smoke over the parapet wall. After waiting patiently for the talk of Seals And Crofts to wind down, he intoned, "So what're your Valentine's Day plans, Casey?"
She took a seat behind the counter. "None," she sighed. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a guy who isn't screwing ten other girls on Tinder?"
Michael laughed. "I understand perfectly, actually."
"My brother has a date tonight, and not me. That's fucking new."
"Oh?" For the first time, Michael was glad he was Katherine Black's son. His voice remained calm and even, betraying not a trace of the lump that had risen in his throat.
"Yeah, I mean I'm happy for him. He's been bitching and moaning for the last six months, it's time he sorted things out."
"I see," Michael said.
He could not bring himself to ask any further questions. Excusing himself, he set down his empty glass and walked unsteadily to the restroom, leaning against the cool wooden door when he was inside. What was wrong with him?! Why had he decided upon pursuing this abysmally foolish whim, when he knew nothing of the man upon whom he had bestowed all his affection? They'd met once, for fuck's sake. Did he honestly expect a man like Raymond to put his life on hold for two weeks in anticipation of a call from a teenager he hardly knew? Maybe he could convince Phil and Danny to leave after they finished their drinks; they'd get some fro-yo and call this horrible day to an end. Michael washed the tear streaks off his face and tossed the wad of damp tissues into the Eco-waste bin. When he pulled the doorknob, he was surprised for a moment at how easily it swung open - only for a moment. Someone stood on the other side, who'd pushed on the door at the exact same instant Michael had pulled.
"Hey." Instantly the breath left his body in an abrupt whoosh. There was Raymond, as breathtaking as ever in a dark grey suit, a half-smile of recognition on his face.
"Michael, right?" he said, entering the room; the door swung shut. Michael stood awkwardly with fingers suspended in the space where the doorknob had been. It took him a few seconds to collect himself.
"Yeah," he answered, hastily pulling his hand away. "Ray. I mean, Raymond. What're you doing here?"
Ray gave him a look as he stood over the sink, meticulously scrubbing his hands. "I own this place."
"That's not what I meant," Michael said quickly, feeling a familiar burn creep along the back of his neck. "I just met Casey. She said you had a date."
"She doesn't know I'm here yet." Ray winked conspiratorially in a manner identical to his sister's, drying his palms on a tissue. " I called that off. I'm here preparing myself for her wrath."
"Really?" Michael laughed, a warm, bubbly sound that seemed to draw from his soul.
"No." Ray swiftly unknotted his tie, yanking it off before hastily rolling up the lilac silk into a clumsy bundle. "My little sister doesn't scare me, though she thinks she does. I'm just done looking like a walking courthouse for the day."
With considerably less mirth, Michael nodded at the tie. "I don't think you're supposed to do that. You can't iron that kind of silk." He'd called off this date, but did it mean he had something else planned?
"I've a fuchsia, a mauve and a lavender. No big loss." Now he undid the top two buttons of his shirt, glancing at Michael as he did so. "You here alone?"
"I've friends at the bar."
"Okay then, I'll see you out there in a minute."
So Michael took his cue and left, his brain whirring. He navigated slowly between booths, trying not to trip and embarrass himself further. In a minute Ray fell into stride beside him, and Casey gave them a wary look as they approached. Phil and Danny had their heads bent over a phone; a few more patrons were drinking at the counter than when he'd left.
"What're you doing here?" Casey asked politely, as Ray took a seat on the other side of Michael. He looked uncomfortable, eyes darting about the room to avoid his sister. Not afraid of Casey, my ass!
"Where's Craig?" Casey said, louder this time when her first question did not receive an answer.
Craig? The mysterious third owner of the bar and Ray had had a date planned?
"I called it off," Ray said, but a perfidious quaver shook his would-be confident tone. "Called him an hour ago."
"Why?" Casey snapped. "Why do you have to be so ridiculous about everything? He just wanted to talk, goddammit. Can't you be mature for just one night?"
"I can't do it, Case," Ray said through his teeth. He glanced away, apparently fixated on a single distant star, valiantly visible in the sky.
"Ray?" Abruptly Casey's tone changed; she stared at her brother with an expression of such tender concern that Michael immediately felt like an intruder. He pretended to be swiping through Pinterest on his phone. She walked around the counter to their side and held Ray's face in her hands.
"It's okay, sweetie," she said softly, kissing his forehead.
Ray's hands were tightly folded. She pried them gently apart and clambered onto his knee, and he wrapped his arms securely about her waist, burying his face in her silky auburn hair. Phil nudged Michael, his expression inquiring. Danny peered at him from behind Phil's shoulder.
"They're siblings," Michael explained under his breath.
"You sure?" Danny whispered back disbelievingly. "Look like a couple to me."
"Yes I'm sure," Michael replied crossly, not bothering to keep his voice down. There was nothing unusual about the two, and it bothered him that his friends thought so. Matt and he had always behaved similarly, back when they actually saw each other. They were as close as two people could be - wasn't physical affection the most natural means to express that? People had given them the same disconcerted looks too, their father included.
Casey was whispering something in Ray's ear, and he nodded along, his fingers brushing idly at the shiny sheet of hair that hung down her chest. In a few minutes she returned to the bar, taking drink orders from a couple at the other end of the table. Ray lifted his black metal lighter to the cigarette dangling between his lips.
"Didn't I give you a business card?" he suddenly asked, his lips wrapped around the filter. He blew a long trail of smoke into the night.
Michael maintained his composure, though he felt as if his blood pressure had suddenly spiked by a hundred points. "My mother found it," he said smoothly. This was true. The not-calling was entirely his own fault, but he could see no earthly reason to bring that up.
"Mothers," Casey chimed wisely, reappearing magically at their end of the counter. "Was she suspicious?"
"You could say that," Michael offered. "Hence, I could not call, as the card has been in her possession ever since." What was one harmless half-truth? It barely mattered so long as they both attributed his prolonged absence to the subtle but dire implications of his mother.
He glanced over at Ray, and the breath caught in his throat - he hadn't realized Ray'd been watching him. Then, to Michael's utter confoundment, he said, "What're you doing later tonight?"
At once both his friends' heads snapped up, and he could feel their curious looks burning into the back of his head.
"Nothing," Phil said loudly. "He's doing nothing. We were winding up here anyway."
Ray cast an amused look at the nearly full gin-and-tonic glasses perspiring benignly on the countertop. "Sure. Anyway, Michael. I scored some great pot today, would you do me the happy honor of joining me for the first smoke at my place?"
Michael's mouth opened to answer, but his jaw - and the rest of his limbs - felt jelly-like and unhinged at the joints.
"He would," Danny said. He nudged Michael in the side. "Go," he said softly. Ray was smiling, looking away, clearly feigning oblivion of this little exchange. "Tell your mom you're staying at my place. Conference-call me at any time if you need to."
"Thanks," Michael said, but the words were only a mime; the ability to produce sound had failed him.
Ray stubbed his cigarette. "So, are you ready to go?"
Michael nodded. At the moment he seemed to have lost control of most voluntary bodily functions, like talking or thinking, yet he'd never been more ready in his life.