Louisa invited me to a Halloween party in Soho this Saturday. I’m going to go, of course, because it beats sitting around, hoping and praying he would come for me. If only there was something I could do to exact some sort of revenge for leaving me in the lurch, for making me wait, for making me hope, for making me want him here with me.
*****
On Saturday, I was getting myself ready for lunch with my mother. I hadn’t seen her for a while and was looking forward to it. My mother was something familiar and soothing right now. I needed her distraction and I needed her motherly comfort. No matter how old you get, a son or daughter will always need his or her mother.
Grabbing my keys, I left the apartment to check on my car. For some reason, I felt a pang of sorrow when I saw that it was where I left it yesterday. I was so used to coming down and seeing it parked the other way. In a sense, it kind of felt as though my stranger was abandoning me, or punishing me for something. I wished I knew what it was. I didn’t know what I would do about it, but it’s the not knowing that was driving me crazy.
Walking the twenty minutes or so, I approached the Italian bistro on High Street. I had always loved Italian food. Dean probably had a lot to do with that. His family, of Italian descent, introduced me to all sorts of Italian dishes. He told me his parents named him after the famous singer/actor, Dean Martin. It was a traditional thing to do, considering his uncle was named after a famous actor. I think it was Humphrey Bogart, but I wasn’t too sure. I had never met Dean’s uncle.
“Darling,” my mother chimed, rising out of her seat to give me a kiss. My mother, as always, looked pristine. She always kept her blonde hair immaculately tied up in a bun, her long eyelashes were always accentuated with the perfect amount of mascara. Never a hair out of place, never an imperfection to show us that she was normal. She only ever dressed in the finest designer clothes, only ever mixed with the highest of society. And who could blame her? She had worked really hard to get to where she was now. She earned fantastic money and commanded only the finest of clients…because she could. Everyone wanted her to be their lawyer. She was once nicknamed the “Rottweiler” simply because she was a vicious beast once she got in the courtroom. Her reputation was such that every other defence lawyer secretly hoped and prayed they weren’t up against her in court. She simply never loses, and I thought that was what made people cower away from her.
“Hi, Mum. How are you?” I asked, sitting down in the seat opposite her.
“I’m happy now I get to see my other favourite daughter.” She smiled. It was a lovely smile. No matter her reputation, she always had the most tender smile for me.
“So, how is life, Tyler? Met a man yet?”
Yes, I have met a man. I haven’t a clue of his real name. I don’t know what he looks like or who he really is, but he fucks like no other man out there and no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about him.
“No. No man for me as yet,” I replied with a smile.
My mother frowned a little. “What about Ian? I thought you two had this little pact going. You’ll be turning thirty soon.”
I shook my head. “Please don’t remind me.” I had another ten months to go yet, but it was the one birthday I was dreading.
“Ian’s a nice boy.”
I laughed. “He’s not a boy anymore,” I replied, thinking about the very un-boyish things he liked to do, especially once he’s had a few to drink. He was like an unstoppable force, grabbing my ass or copping a feel of my breasts.
“I always thought you two would get together, especially after Dean disappeared.”
The pain hit me as fresh as it was on the last day I ever saw Dean. On instinct, I grabbed a hold of my angel wings and stroked them, hating myself for wanting something back I never truly had.
“Why did you hate Dean so much?” I had to know. My mother and father were always pushing me towards Ian. The more they pushed, the more I rebelled. It was Dean. It was always Dean.
My mum crossed her legs. “I never hated Dean. I just thought he was a bad influence on you. Ian was always the one who had your best interests at heart. He cares for you and always has.”
I shook my head, and was about to retort when a waitress came over with two glasses and a bottle of Prosecco. “I took the liberty of ordering the Prosecco. I hope you don’t mind.” I shook my head, but I was itching to get back to our conversation.
“What would you like to order?” the waitress asked, looking from me to my mother.
“I’ll have the Spaghetti di Mare,” my mum replied.
“Molto bene,” the waitress replied with a giggle, then turned to me.