Desperate Enemies 3 (11 page)

That's when he noticed that he wasn't going to be alone on the outdoor patio, two new people were making their way from the sidewalk to the restaurant and damned if he didn't have to resist the urge to get up and confront them. Danvers Converse, and at his side. . . Lauren Healy. The uncertainty he had felt while leaving the message for Marc washed over him again. Their arrival had ruined his otherwise genial mood, and he felt his eyes darkening at the sight of the pathetic little man. Didn't Lauren have too much class to be with this creep?

“Rich. . . my goodness, hi,” Lauren said, coming over to his table. “So good to see you up and about. . . you know, after. . .”

“Yeah, I know. Kind of hard not to,” Rich said.

Lauren, as though sensing his hostility, looked first at Danvers, then back at Rich. “Uh, it's not what you think. . ..”

“I don't know what to think anymore, Lauren.”

“It's just business,” she said, as though those empty words explained it all.

“Not with me, it's not,” he said through clenched teeth, sunglasses removed, his dark eyes focused on Danvers’ ugly, pug face. “Are you proud of yourself, Danvers? All the fucking damage you've caused? Your relentless pursuit of our homes and your need to fulfill some sick notion of revenge, look what it has wrought. One of our neighbors. . . our friends, is dead.”

“As is one of my associates,” Danvers said.

“Yeah, because you pulled him in front of you as a shield,” Rich said. “Well guess what, you chicken shit fuck, there's no one left to protect you, not from any of us. Trust me, Eldon Court will remain with all of its present owners—I won't allow you to win, neither will any of our neighbors.”

“Does that include Mr. St. John?”

“Parker can suck my cock for all I care about him.”

Danvers raised his eyebrows. “A telling statement, Mr. North.”

Just then the waitress interrupted the tense moment, Rich's meal at the ready. She placed the plate in front of him.

“Enjoy your meal, Mr. North,” Danvers said, “you never know when it's your last.”

Danvers pushed on, choosing to get out of the glare of the sun by taking a table inside. Lauren of course had no choice but to join him. Business. . . Rich knew that people used business as a way to excuse any kind of sordid behavior. He was guilty of it himself, the scandal back in New York having cost him nearly everything, and all in the name of so-called business. The move to Wonderland was supposed to have been a fresh start, for him and Marc both, for their relationship, but a simple job as a bank branch manager in his hometown had presented him with his biggest challenge, and his biggest enemy. Danvers Converse was dangerous because he had no morals. He saw, he took. Not this time, Rich thought..

He drained his mimosa, but pushed the food away.

Appetite gone, he considered his next move.

The ringing of the phone was almost like the hand of fate had dialed the call.

“Rich, it's Edgar Newcastle.”

“Edgar, hi, how goes it?”

“I knocked on your door a bit ago, no one was home.”

“I'm Down Wonder, Marc. . . he should be home.”

“Haven't seen him,” Edgar stated, and then pushed forward with the reason for his call. “Can you come over tonight, you and Marc? Jack and I think it's time for us all to get together, there's been a development?”

“Does it have something to do with that woman I saw hugging you last week?”

“Yeah, you saw that, huh?”

“Who is she?”

“All in good time. So, seven o'clock?”

“Should I bring some wine?”

“Oh, I think we're all gonna need something stronger than that,” Edgar said, his tone serious. “Oh, and can you bring over that book you checked out of the library?”

“The one about Wonderland's history?”

“That's the one.”

“What's this about, Edgar, really?”

“Gold.” As though that one word explained it all.

“Uh, okay, see you then,” Rich said, and then the call ended. Rich was a businessman, a banker, he knew the power of money, the seductive pull of wealth. And with the idea of gold, that rich, elusive mineral perhaps held an allure all its own, more valuable than cash to some, more valuable than life to others.

Rich North was suddenly ravenous, the food on his plate drawing his hunger to it. He felt virile again, determined, sexually alive perhaps for the first time since he'd been shot. Staring again at his phone, he wanted to call Marc and have him meet him at home, Rich wanted him with such power he could feel his cock thickening inside his jeans, thought of his chest sprouting thick new tufts of hair, imagined Marc's lithe body beneath him as he readied to be pounded by his thick cock and with new love, the kind of love and commitment Rich had promised him before the gallery opening and failed to deliver on. But Marc wasn't home and he hadn't picked up his cell phone earlier, which only led Rich to wonder just what was going on with his lover?

* * * *

Paolo wasn't up for a social visit, but the phone call earlier from Edgar was not something he could avoid, not after what happened to Aaron and what still threatened to steal their livelihoods out from under them. He owed it to Aaron's memory to find out just what Edgar and Jack had discovered, and what it had to do with that fiery-haired woman.

“Will everyone be there?” Paolo had asked.

“Rich and Marc, yes, Parker too. Not Dane or Sawyer, they're still out of town.”

“Why I do think this is no pool party?”

“Because it's serious,” Edgar had said.

“Yeah, I'm familiar with serious issues,” he said.

“Hey, Paolo?” Edgar said, his voice laced with concern.

“Yeah?”

“It will be good to see you.”

Paolo felt tears spring into his eyes. “Thanks, that means a lot, Edgar. See you then.”

That conversation had taken place around two this afternoon, and now the sun had waned and darkness was beginning to settle over the rocky bluff of Eldon Court. It was just after seven and Paolo knew he was going to be late, not that he could help it. As the time had ticked ever closer to the appointed meeting time, a constricting fear had taken command of his mind and his body. Could he handle the sympathetic nods of his friends, their tender embraces? Did he really want to be involved with whatever plot was cooking over at Number Four? No doubt the tension in the room would be so high he wasn't sure he'd be able to look anyone in the eyes, not without revealing certain facts within his own brown eyes. How could he possibly face Marc and Parker and Rich, knowing what he knew, knowing what they knew and guessing who didn't know? When had life gotten so complicated?

Paolo finished off his second shot of tequila in an effort to settle his nerves, fortifying himself for a night expected to be filled with surprises. He contemplated a third shot, staring at the bottle on the counter, then decided wisely against it. Before he changed his mind, he then made his way outside and into the surprisingly cool night. A strong wind blew off the ocean, chilling him to the bone. He was still dressed in shorts and T-shirt, flip flops, like he refused to let go of summer, even as autumn made its determined way toward land. As he approached Number Four he saw that blazing lights inside and a heard the unusual sound of laughter; since when was this a happy occasion? Doubt again crept inside him and he nearly turned around.

The sound of his name being called out stopped him. “Don't leave, please.”

It was Marc, standing in the open doorway of Edgar and Jack's house and it wasn't just his words that had Paolo reversing his direction and walking up the stairs of the house, it was the soft tone behind them. He took the final step and found himself face to face with his friend, who just reached out and embraced him, not saying another word.

Paolo felt the fresh warmth of friendship wash over him.

Maybe he had been judging Marc unfairly this past week, given what he knew.

But we all have hidden pains; we all deal with them in one way or another.

Paolo had chosen to shut himself off from the world. Marc had chosen Parker to alleviate his stress.

As the two men parted, Marc said, “I've missed my friend.”

Paolo almost said, “But you've made a new one, haven't you,” but let it drop, this was not the time, not the place. There were other issues to settle first among them all, that's why they were here. So, with a quiet smile, he said, “Shall we go inside and find out what the hell is going on in this neighborhood?”

Marc led him inside the house, where he was instantly greeted by Edgar and Jack, their familiar presence bringing a strange level of comfort to Paolo, as though this sudden circle of old friends had magically brought Aaron back to life; a quick look to his side told him that was pure fantasy, wishful thinking. Both men expressed how glad they were he could join them, ushering him into the living room where he came face to face with Parker St. John, his strong arms crossed, standing in the corner almost like a sentry. Before him was the regal red-headed woman, situated in a high-backed chair, a Queen on her throne. Now that he saw her up close he felt his jaw drop.

“But wait, you're Rose Emerson. . .”

“Ah, yes, my late, lamented career,” she said with a casual wave of her well-manicured hand, “what would it be without the gays. They're the only ones who remember me.”

“But what do you have to do with. . .”

That's when Rich North emerged, seemingly out of the darkness, shadows upon his face, an enemy in Paolo's mind, the man behind Aaron's tragedy. He'd come from the kitchen, a tray of drinks at the ready, as though nothing had happened. “That's what we're all here to find out, Paolo. You're just in time—I've mixed up some Black Velvets. In honor of our guest.”

A mix of champagne and stout, it was a bubbly, frothy, yet hearty drink. Also the name of the last film Rose Emerson was ever to make, a low-budget thriller from two decades ago in which she wrapped her garroted male victims in swaths of black velvet before drinking down a glass of champagne in celebration of her conquest. It was camp at its best. Her infamous line, “Killing may be in my blood, but I'll take the bubbles any day,” had been uttered by many gay boys during celebratory toasts and assorted trivia-led drinking games at gay bars across the country. And to think, here was this glamorous icon from yesteryear in Wonderland... on Eldon Court, and seemingly with some kind of connection to this whole mess.

Rich passed around the drinks and they all toasted, “to having bubbles any day,” and they drank, Paolo doing so while noticing a slight hesitation on Parker's part, lips to the rim of his glass but not really partaking. Their eyes locked for a moment, with Parker uncharacteristically blinking first and looking away. Okay, there must be some story there about the toast and this woman and Parker's new role as wallflower. That's when Paolo raised his glass and said, “Also, to good friends who are always there for you, even when you don't want it.”

“And to Aaron,” Marc added, and they drank, all of them, the toast serving as reminder of why they were gathered here, and before long the pregnant pause led to a shift in the tone of the meeting.

It was Edgar who took the lead, starting with formal introductions.

“We found Rose just about the same time she arrived in Wonderland, and the connection was a surprising one,” Edgar said, “an old contact of mine from my days at
the Chronicle
was helping me in my research for my book,
Fool's Gold
, and I mentioned to him the trouble we were having with Converse, how desperately he wanted our land and how he was willing to do anything to get it. Well, Miller—he's no fan of our dear friend, Converse, especially since he'd just been beaten, a message of sorts, for nosing around. But we did find out one thing: a connection between Wonderland and Rose Emerson—or should I say Rose St. John?”

Paolo and Rich stared suddenly at Parker.

“You mean?”

“I'd like you to meet my mother,” Parker said. “She's quite something isn't she?”

“You said your mother walked out on your father years ago,” Rich said, “you never said she was. . .”

“The famous B-movie actress with the arched eyebrow and the catty lines?”

“Parker thought I was an utter embarrassment,” she said, “and it wasn't really my acting he objected to but. . .”

“All the men,” he said.

She shrugged with indifference, like sleeping her way through Hollywood was so odd. “So what, I liked the attention of men. . . you sure do, too, don't you sweetie?” she said to Parker, who looked away again, embarrassed. Paolo noted how closed off Parker appeared, from his jeans and sweater, to the distant look in his eyes. Rose's wide eyes darted about the room, landing on Rich, on Paolo, on Marc, as though daring them to question her choices. None of them had any right to judge.

Just how much did Rose Emerson know about her son's sexual proclivities? Seemed like she was fully briefed, she knew what a stud her son was. Regardless, Paolo found the dynamic between over-the-top mother and conflicted son fascinating; the usually self-assured Parker St. John reduced to a simpering little boy who didn't approve of his mother's wandering eyes. Parker was one to talk, the way he'd gone through the men of Eldon Court since his arrival, he was more like a thorn off the old Rose.

“Okay, let's not get off topic,” Jack said, taking over from Edgar's beginning. “Both Edgar and I had an interesting conversation with Rose last week, and we've been trying to figure out how best to work with the information. As we know, our main goal is in stopping Danvers Converse from taking our homes, and we've already paid way too high a price for it. So we cannot go down in defeat, not now.”

“Okay, that's fine,” Rich said, “but what does Rose have to do with Danvers?”

“As we've always suspected, the key to taking down Danvers Converse is the events that happened at Number Two all those years ago, and I think we've finally got our first, real lead. You've noticed that the lawn has been dug up a bit over the last week or so?”

“Yes,” Paolo said, “we've all seen our shirtless Parker digging away, wiping sweat from his brow and his chest. He's put on quite a show.”