Masquerade

Nine

I call Lana from the taxi.

‘How was it last night?

‘Absolutely fantastic.’

She laughs. ‘Good. Shall we have lunch?’

‘Royal China?’

‘One o’clock.’

‘You’re bringing Sorab, right?’

‘Of course.’

‘Good. See ya later.’

By the time Lana arrives with my godson—he’s cuter than a six-week-old puppy—I am already on my second glass of orange juice and vodka.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she apologizes. ‘You look amazing, by the way.’

But I don’t really listen. Lana is always late. I take Sorab in my arms and he smacks me one straight on the mouth. I giggle because he is actually a very serious baby. I guess he’s like his father. Hard to get him to crack a smile for the most part. He has shiny bright eyes that watch you carefully. Sometimes he looks at me as if he is about to tell me off for smoking too much or drinking in the morning or eating stale pizza.

We settle him into his high chair with a coloring book and a couple of sticks of crayons and order our food. As soon as the waitress goes away with the menus Lana fixes me with her beautiful eyes. Did I ever tell you, my best friend is to die for gorgeous? When I was younger I fancied her something rotten. I might even have been a little in love with her. OK, OK, I was a lot in love with her. Me and a few other guys I know. I never told her, though. I thought it might make things awkward. Maybe one day I’ll tell her and we’ll laugh about it.

‘So,’ she says, leaning forward eagerly, her eyes inquisitive but warm, the way your best friend’s eyes should be. ‘Tell me about Mr. Pecs, Abs and Bulging Biceps, then.’

‘Still throwing me against walls and ramming his cock into me.’

For a moment she looks surprised then she throws her head back and laughs. ‘Oh, Billie. You are priceless.’

‘No, really,’ I say with a straight face. ‘That is what he does. Fuck hard. All the time.’

Lana glances at her son. ‘I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do if Sorab’s first word is made up of four letters.’

I look at Sorab. He is scribbling furiously in his coloring book.

‘I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t want him to learn such a versatile and useful word. It is the only word in the English language that serves as an adjective, a verb and a noun. Besides, I think it is really cute when babies swear.’

She looks unimpressed.

‘You’ll be telling me next you don’t want Sorab to play with fire.’

She laughs and so do I. The sound comes easy. Life is wonderful. I think about Jaron. I want to remain cynical and detached, possibly even emotionally articulate, but I can’t. It’s like having a gift-wrapped Ferrari delivered to your door, and having someone say, ‘Act cool.’

‘So you’re really into this guy, then?’

‘Well, I’m still stuck on sixty-eight, but other than that all is just swell.’

‘Sixty-eight?’

‘He’s gone down on me, but I still owe him one.’

Lana gasps at my directness and I wink at her.

Suddenly she smiles warmly. I’m not in love with her anymore but I do so love her. ‘I’m so glad for you, Billie,’ she says. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so happy.’

‘Don’t go making any wedding plans yet,’ I say dryly. ‘The sex is out of this world fantastic and everything, but there’s something not quite right about it all.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He wears masks for different occasions. Sometimes I think I’ve seen the real him, but I’m not sure. The other night I was staring at him, looking into his moss green eyes, and suddenly I had this crazy thought. I wished I was a wolf. You know how they have enhanced senses. So every time he’s anxious and sweating or lying I would hear his heartbeat change. How fucking crazy is that?’

‘Are you in love with him, Bill?’

‘No,’ I say immediately. ‘Of course not. He’s a liar.’

‘You said he has moss green eyes. When was the last time you looked that deeply into anybody’s eyes?’

‘I’m having sex with the guy. Obviously I’m going to look into his eyes.’

‘Oh yeah? What was the color of your ex’s eyes?’

‘Blue.’

‘Not sea blue, or light blue, or flame blue?’

I frown. ‘Her eyes weren’t her best feature.’

‘I rest my case.’

‘It’s not love, OK? I’ll admit that we do have some kind of strange connection. And while it is also true that I’ve never had it with anyone else, the relationship is not straightforward by any means.’

Lana immediately looks worried. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Well, he deliberately shrouds himself in mystery. He has defenses, strong defenses. He is like a castle with a moat around him. Every time I try to cross that moat he disarms me first with one of his wicked smiles and then we are thrashing around the room in the wildest sexual behavior imaginable and I have forgotten what I wanted to know until he is gone.’

I stop and take a large gulp of my drink. I feel hot and bothered. I wonder if they have turned up the heat in the place. Lana leans forward and takes my hand. She has a small, narrow hand with delicate fingers, the nails painted white. The difference between her hand and Jaron’s is the difference between an elephant and a blueberry muffin: incalculable. It’s strange how much I suddenly miss Jaron’s large, powerful hand. I look up at her. She is frowning and full of protective instinct. God, I love this girl.

‘Shall I ask Blake to check him out?’ she offers.

For a second I am tempted. After all, he checked me out. He knew where I lived and that I have jam for breakfast. Who knows what else he knows? But the second passes. I don’t want to check him out. I don’t want to snoop around. I kinda respect him. I want him to have his privacy. Besides, if I find out something awful and I suspect I might do, I’d have to do something about it, and I’m not ready to do that yet. Let it just be liberated me having fun for a bit.

‘No, I don’t want him checked out,’ I say.