(Blue Notes 2)The Melody Thief (19 page)

“Is this my room?” Massimo stuck his head out from one of the bedrooms.

“If you want it to be,” Antonio replied. “You can choose that one or the one next to it.” He squeezed Cary’s hand and pulled him close again. They had discussed giving Massimo his choice of the two smaller bedrooms. Cary would take the other one for his practice studio.

“I like this one.” Massimo disappeared once more into the room, singing and talking to himself.

“I called Francesca,” Cary said in a low voice. “She’ll come over and paint his room before we move in.”

“It was a great idea. Wait until he sees it. He loves surprises.”

Cary grinned and kissed Antonio. “Happy?”

“Are you serious?” Antonio said with a sigh. “Very happy.”

“Me too.”

Cary led Antonio over to the balcony and opened the glass doors. The air was warm and slightly humid as they walked over to the railing and looked out on the city. The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, and the street lamps had begun to light up around the neighborhood. The sounds of modern jazz filtered on the breeze, an open-air concert—one of many throughout the summer as part of Milan’s Notturni in Villa. In a few weeks’ time, Cary himself would be playing several unaccompanied cello pieces in a downtown park.

Cary loved this time of year in Milan with its festivals and markets. He and Antonio had stayed out all night the Friday before for “La Notte Bianca,” a nightlong celebration when many Milan bars, restaurants, shops, and movie theaters stayed open until six in the morning. In the past, Cary had used the festivities as just another excuse to spend the night out cruising the bars. With Antonio at his side, they had eaten at a new restaurant, shopped for artwork for their new apartment, and even gone swimming at 3 a.m. in a pool a few blocks away from their apartment.

“I have a surprise for you too, caro,” Antonio said as he closed the doors behind them.

“I’m not great with surprises.”

“I think you’ll like this one. At least I hope you will.” Antonio swallowed hard and reached into his pants pocket. With a hopeful expression, he pulled something out, keeping it hidden and taking Cary’s right hand in his left.

Cary felt the faint tremor in Antonio’s fingers and realized Antonio was nervous. Really nervous. Cary decided it was kind of cute.

“I know things are… different here. In Italy,” Antonio began. He glanced over Cary’s shoulder into the apartment, and Cary guessed he was looking to see if Massimo was still occupied. “I… I only wish that it could be different. But I… I want you to know how much I love you, caro. I want to show you. I want to give you something that will remind you of me.”

Antonio slipped a ring on Cary’s finger: a simple white gold band. Their eyes met, and Cary could see the question burning there. Antonio put his hand back in his pocket and pulled out a matching ring.

“Will you stay with me, Cary? Be my partner? Forever?”

Cary’s hand shook as he took the ring and slipped it over Antonio’s finger.

“Yes.”

The word was whispered on the breeze and barely audible above the sound of the traffic from the street below.

Cary blinked back tears as Antonio took him in his arms.
He wants me? Forever?
He was beginning to appreciate his inner Disney princess.

“I love you, Cary.” Antonio’s voice cracked as he spoke the words.

“I love you, Tonino.”
More than I can ever say.

“Papà! Cary Papà!” Massimo ran out onto the balcony, laughing. “I can see the park from my room!”

Cary turned away in an effort to master his emotions. A small hand tugged at his, and he looked down at Massimo.

“Are you all right, Cary Papà?”

“I’m fine, Massi,” Cary answered with a broad smile. He caught Antonio’s eye over Massimo’s head and saw that he wasn’t the only one whose eyes were watery. “Just happy.”

“Grown-ups are weird. You say you’re happy when you look sad.” Massimo crossed his arms over his chest and frowned.

“Your father just gave me this,” Cary said, squatting down so his face was even with Massimo’s and showing him the ring.

Massimo’s eyes grew wide. “Is that like the one Mamma wears? The one Marissa gave her?”

“Yep. The same kind of ring.”

Massimo threw his arms around Cary, nearly knocking him off his feet. “I told you we’d make you stay, Cary Papà! Didn’t I?”

“Yes. You did. I didn’t believe you back then.”

Massimo walked over to Antonio, took his father’s hand, and turned it over to inspect Antonio’s ring. “Grown-ups think they’re smart,” Massimo said, doing his best imitation of Antonio. “But really, kids are smarter.”

“I think you’re right, Massi,” Cary said with a wink in Antonio’s direction. “We just need to listen to you more.”

“
W
HAT are you thinking about?” Antonio asked as they lay in bed that night in Antonio’s apartment.

“Lots of things. You. Me. Massi. Sometimes it’s a little overwhelming.” Cary played with the ring, turning it around on his finger. “I just never expected… I never really thought, you know, that this would be me. I never thought I deserved it, I guess.”

Antonio’s lips brushed Cary’s cheek, and Cary sighed.

Chapter 16

P
RELUDE

New York, New York—September

A
NTONIO rolled over and began to follow the line of Cary’s neck with his tongue, his hand probing beneath Cary’s pajama bottoms.

“Even jet-lagged, you’re a morning person,” Cary said as he rolled onto his side and caught Antonio’s lips.

“Are you complaining?”

“Nah,” Cary said between gasps. “Besides, I need to get up anyhow.”

“I think you’re already there,” Antonio teased as he cupped the globes of Cary’s ass and pulled him tight against him.

Cary wrapped his arms around Antonio’s chest and murmured happily, “This is much,
much
better than any wakeup call I’ve ever gotten.”

Two hours later, having devoured a bagel with lox and cream cheese in a small deli next to the hotel, Cary left Antonio with a brief peck on the cheek and headed for the subway. It was a short walk over to 42nd Street to pick up the Q train, which would take him directly to Sheepshead Bay, at the southern tip of Brooklyn.

For the past few months, Cary had been corresponding with his father by e-mail, short and impersonal messages that revealed nothing of the turmoil in Cary’s heart. Still, the communication had given him the courage to take the next step: meeting his father at his new apartment.

Cary had called his brother not long after that first call to his father. “Jus,” he said after they had discussed plans for Cary, Antonio, and Massimo to spend Thanksgiving in St. Louis, “there’s something I need to tell you. Something you need to know.” He then proceeded to tell Justin about the Chicago concert several months before, and of John’s visit.

“I kind of figured he was still alive,” Justin told him, an admission that had Cary nearly forgetting how to breathe.

“You…
what
?” Cary spluttered.

“I remember him. How he and Mom used to fight. And then, one day, he was just… gone. I asked Mom, years later, why I didn’t remember his funeral. She said something like I was too young, so I didn’t go. But then Aunt Charlene would always make a face when I mentioned his name. And Mom never really defended him. Later, I started to wonder….”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Cary bit back his anger. “I mean, he was
my
dad too.”

“I didn’t know if I was right. I really didn’t. The last thing I wanted to do was have you worry about it or get your hopes up. I knew I could be wrong. And what then? And if it was true, that he was alive… what kind of a jerk did it make him, staying away so long?” Justin’s sigh was audible, even through the receiver.

Cary wanted to protest. He was so damn
angry
. But he knew he wasn’t really angry with his brother. He was angry with his mother for lying to them, and angry with John for not having tried to contact them, even after his mother’s death.

“It’s okay,” he said at last. “You only did what you thought was best. You didn’t really know either.”

“I’m sorry, Cary.”

“I know.” Cary inhaled slowly, trying to clear his fuzzy head. All of this was so overwhelming. “So do you want to talk to him?”

“Me?” Justin’s voice was bitter. “No fucking way.”

“But—”

“But nothing. Bastard left us. He left Mom too. He can’t wait twenty-eight years and then just expect me to come running. My father’s dead. Rest in peace. End of story.”

In the end, Cary made his uneasy peace with Justin’s decision not to contact John. He had felt the same way, after all. If Justin was going to come around like Cary had, it would have to be in his own way and in his own time.

N
OW that Cary was sitting on the nearly empty train, his heart raced. It had been Antonio’s idea to tag along on this gig, and Antonio had offered to come with him for this first meeting. Cary had turned him down. “I’ll probably regret it later, but I think I need to do this myself,” he had told his lover. And as he walked the two flights of stairs up to the apartment, he regretted his decision. It would have been nice to have Antonio by his side.

Breathe
.
What do you have to lose?

His hand shook as he knocked on the door.

“Cary,” said John Redding as he motioned him inside, “it’s great to see you. Please, come on in.”

“Thanks” was Cary’s mumbled reply. Funny, he thought, how much more nervous he was for this meeting than he had been to rehearse with the New York Philharmonic the day before.

The one-bedroom apartment was tiny but bright. Cary looked around, more to avoid meeting his father’s eyes than out of curiosity. The place reminded him of his college apartment: sparsely furnished but neat and clean. The couch, he guessed from the way it sagged in the middle, could double as a bed. An old dresser stood beside the tall windows at the far end of the room. The kitchen was small but serviceable. The bedroom door was open, the bed neatly made.

“Something to drink?” John asked as he walked over to the fridge. Cary caught the faint scent of spearmint from the gum John was chewing. “Water? Juice? Beer?”

“Beer.” It was barely lunchtime, but Cary didn’t care. It would help calm his frayed nerves.

John pulled a bottle out and popped off the cap. “Need a glass?”

“Nah.” Cary took the bottle from him quickly, hoping the other man didn’t notice the way his hand continued to shake.

John pulled a glass down from a cabinet, tossed a few ice cubes in, and filled it with tap water. “Please, Cary, have a seat.”

“Nice place,” Cary said after a long pull from his beer.

“Thanks. I moved in about a month after I saw you in Chicago. Been wanting to move back to the city for a few years now, and a friend of mine told me about this place. It’s a little farther from Midtown than I’d like, but the rent’s reasonable.” John sipped his water, then asked, “Did Antonio come with you on this trip?”

“Yeah. He tries to travel with me when he can. We’ve got tickets to the theater this week, and a friend of mine got me tickets to an opera he’s singing in at the Met.” Cary took another drink of his beer and felt the tension in his shoulders ease ever so slightly.

“Nice, to have friends like that. What’s your friend’s name?”

“Aiden Lind. We met through David Somers.”

“Aiden Lind?” John appeared both pleased and surprised. “I heard him sing at Chicago Lyric.
Don Giovanni
, was it?”

“It’s his signature role.” Cary smiled, and this time, the smile reflected the comfort of the familiar territory of the conversation. “Bread and butter, although he prefers Italian
verismo
to Mozart.”

“I could see—hear him—singing Verdi,” John agreed.

“I didn’t know you knew so much about music.” As always, the words were out of Cary’s mouth before he realized how they might sound, as though he had expected his father to be uneducated, uncultured.

John just chuckled. “I’ve always enjoyed classical music, although I knew nothing about it. It was one of the things that first attracted me to your mother. She was ushering at an orchestra concert at school when I first saw her.” He looked away for a moment, as if recalling the scene in his mind’s eye, then said, “You might say I became much more versed in music as a way to woo her.”

In spite of himself, Cary smiled. He tried to imagine his mother as a young, carefree college student, with little success.

“She saw right through me. Eventually, though, I learned from her. I can still guess the composer when I hear a piece on the radio.”

The next few moments passed in silence. Cary fought the urge to hum, as he often did when he was nervous. John studied his glass intently, then drank once more. Finally, he said in a tentative voice, “I… I’d have understood if you had never called me, after Chicago.”

“I almost didn’t.” Cary’s face warmed with the admission, but at the same time, he felt his anger flare.