Back to You (57 page)

Suddenly, Donn leans down on me with an intense, incomprehensible look in his eyes. He stops reciting the dialogue and, before I can open my mouth to speak, he begins to sing softly and help me calm down.

The sweet and soothing notes of his lullaby cradle me, as if he had read my mind. His graceful hand, under my chin, turns my head so that I can look into his face, delicately illuminated by the clear brilliance of his turquoise eyes.

I can only hear the thump of my heart and Donn’s voice whispering in my ear: velvet and honey. Will I ever get used to the warm shiver he sends through my skin?

“Have you read the book?” he asks unexpectedly, between the notes of his lullaby.

“Never. But
The Happy Prince and Other Tales
is my favorite book, the very first my mother ever gave me when I was in Italy.”

“Have seen the movie, then?”

I shrug. “Nope.”

“You haven’t read, or watched,
The Picture of Dorian Gray
?”

“Is it really that bad?” I ask, slightly puzzled.

“It is, if you already know how it is going to end,” he whispers. It is as if I admitted that I was reading his mind.

“I was just trying to guess,” I struggle to explain myself. “Sybil is too involved, while Dorian’s manners are so cold and detached. How could their tormented love story not end in the worst way? And, otherwise, where would the drama be?”

Donn bursts out laughing loudly. “And you honestly don’t know what happens to Dorian… I must confess that, in this case, I am a little jealous.” I hide my face into his neck and deeply take in the scent of his skin, thus getting my mind off the scene in which the hero repudiates the girl.

“I am envious because for him it is so easy to reject her choice, and reject her,” he explains. “For you it was so… easy! All you needed was the hope to have Jason back,” he mumbles, pinching me and giving me goose bumps.

“And that’s easy for you…?” I reply shyly, my voice barely audible.

“I am sorry,” Donn whispers in my ear, holding his arms tight around my waist. “Anyway, in order to truly appreciate
The Picture of Dorian Gray
, you have to read the novel as it is portrayed according to the intentions of Oscar Wilde,” he says soflty, his delicate lips on my temple. I sigh.

“Yes, but how can I concentrate if you keep kissing me”, I reply with a smile.

“Well, then, I will try not to distract you,” he pronounces particularly slowly. I feel his cold lips brush against my cheek. As if those did not represent a distraction! “Or, if all else fails, I will try to do my best,” he adds, less than an inch from my lips. His thumb traces a long, deep line, all the way down to my neck. “Because the only way to resist temptation is to yield to it,” he concludes, quoting the line in perfect timing with the actor. Compared to his velvety and irresistible voice, the main protagonist’s sounds weak and hoarse.

Almost all throughout the show, I sense his eyes on me, analyzing the smallest change in my expression. His turquoise eyes are lit. He stares at me, fascinated, as if I were the only one able to feel the emotions that the expressions on my face reveal.

The storyline finally captures my attention, especially thanks to Donn, who keeps whispering Dorian’s every single word in my ear. When he pronounces them, they take on a new, deeper, and more intimate meaning.

“Do you think you are going to cry?” He asks me in a soft voice, then moves even closer and his cold lips press against my chin. He is breathing heavily, and his long fingers caress my eyelids for a moment.

I close my eyes, incapable of holding back my tears.

“I think I will, if I can follow the storyline.” I try to hide my tears, but one is already running down my cheek. I remind myself to breathe in and breathe out. Too many unexpected emotions, all in one night.

And then, his embrace. Cold, and yet terribly reassuring, firm. He has the power to help me forget all of my grief.

I can tell he is smiling at my embarrassment, as I take in the delicious scent of his neck. “You know, I’ve never really understood Dorian completely,” he comments, almost halfway through the play.

“What is wrong with the character?” I ask him, intrigued.

To me, he seems like a good hero, mysterious and quite interesting.

“Well, first of all, he is in love with this Sybil. However, when she confesses that she wants to quit the theater to be with him, he leaves her. Doesn’t he sound a little fickle to you, this

Dorian
?” He reminds me of someone… Guilty of breaking her heart, he will discover she committed suicide. And it will be the portrait to exhibit the signs of his dissolute life, filled with the turpitudes caused by his sense of guilt. Not long after, he commits a homicide. He kills his friend Basil, the painter. Not too smart, really. One mistake after another. It is only thanks to his shameless luck that he doesn’t end up on the list of suspects and saves himself from Sybil’s brother’s vengeance. I don’t believe he could have done anything worse to destroy his own happiness. But ‘Each of us has a heaven and a hell in them’, he quotes. “However, I must confess that Dorian, in the end, when he rips the portrait and dies by his own hand stabbing his own heart… is not too irritating… The ease with which he fights against his demons and strikes them, how swiftly he defies them. He is not human anymore, but he is not a vampire. It all seems very practical. All he needed was a simple dagger, and… that was the end,” Donn says, lightly brushing a lock of my hair against my lips. A disheartened expression appears from the corner of his mouth.

“What do you mean?” I protest, frowning. Fear takes over my voice. My tears are flowing against his chest where he cannot see them.

“Nothing, little girl,” he whispers as he clenches his jaw, his lips tightened in a harsh line. “It doesn’t matter.”

I quickly wipe my tears and look up at him. It is only when Donn notices my eyes still filled with tears that his expression suddenly changes. His priorities are different now: he doesn’t want to see me like this. Once again, he almost puts his lips on mine, as if to take my mind off it all. He doesn’t touch me, although yearning for a kiss that, for the moment being, will remain lingering. What he really seems to want from me is a smile. And he does get one. Why couldn’t I just allow myself to spend a pleasant evening with him, without feeling embarrassed? Suddenly, I am smiling at him. One more time.

“Would you like me to watch the end of the play all by myself?” I snigger, and then I sigh.

He holds back a laugh. “No. I am staying right here, watching you,” he whispers in my ear. I blush, as he seems to enjoy my embarrassment, and I begin to cry, as Sybil’s death approaches.

I cover my eyes and hide my face into Donn’s neck. At first he slightly slaps my shoulders and rubs my back to try and comfort me, but then, with no apparent explanation, something goes wrong. Donn gently sits me back on my chair and leans forward, holding his head in his hands.

Initially, I think this is due to his exasperation to my reaction to the play. But then I hear him growl.

“Donn, is everything allright?” I ask.

As he begins growling again, a couple in the auditorium looks up at him.

He is holding on to my armrest. “Yes,” he responds, almost out of breath. “All I want to do right now is scream.”

I notice the sweat on his forehead, highlighted by the dim light coming from the stage.

Another grumble, and he is dashing for the door. I stand up to go after him, but he is right behind me.

“No. You stay here!” He roars, pale, sweat pouring down his face, by now. He doesn’t look good at all.

I decide to follow him regardless. “How could I not make sure you are ok?”

“For two hundred years, I’ve been doing just fine without you. You don’t have to… Enjoy the moment of the massacre!” He yells, as we are walking out into the hall.

He looks very unsettled. “What is going on?”

“Don’t worry. The thing is that…” He pauses. “A person who was so dear to me, committed suicide. And living all over again the moment before the tragedy… Brought back to mind… The pain came back without me trying to recall it. And it is as if a sign of her presence is still impressed somewhere else, not just in my subconscious.”

“Who, Donn? Who are you talking about?”

“She is dead. It doesn’t matter much now, does it?”

“Tell me who you are talking about.”

“I’m thinking of the only woman who has ever loved me, who gave her life for me.”

He will not say anything more about it, this evening.

“I have the impression that what matters the most to you is that nobody can see the real you hidden behind this mask you’re wearing. Why is it that you constantly avoid answering my questions?”

Donn glares at me. “You don’t need to know who I
really
am. And, regardless, you will have to deal with me, at least until the conclusion of our agreement.”

“Hmmm… Still the same old bully.”

He lifts up his gaze. I can feel his tension. “And you are the same old, stubborn, little girl!”

I break into a quick smile. “Well, congratulations for the choice of entertainment,” I mutter. “This play seems to be quite painful for you to watch, and I don’t want you to hurt.”

“It hurts me, because it reflects who I am,” he admits. Once we are out of the hall, his voice turns from a whisper into his usual firm tone. “You know, you should go out with people who know how to keep their calm, somebody who can laugh when faced with a tragedy, instead of crumbling like I do.” I shake my head. “I like you like this … but I’ll keep my eyes open.” I give him a funny look.

Now we are all alone in a smaller foyer. The second act just started. The main entrance, which I can see out of the corner of my eye, is empty. It’s so silent that I hear the whisper of the air flowing through the grills of the cooling system.

Nobody is in sight, and Donn now seems relieved by the fact that I am with him. I never would have expected it. His tormented, and yet inquisitive gaze, is trying to make something out of my teary eyes and my facial expression. Suddenly he sits on one of the red velvet chairs against the wall, taking a few moments to put himself back together. He looks surly… intense. He needs to be left alone for a while, and I know exactly what I have to do.

I turn to the exit doors.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“I think I’m ready for a snack. Popcorn sounds good. Would you like some?”

“No, thank you,” he smiles. “And I’m not sure you will find popcorn at this theater.”

I shrug. “I need to get a drink, then,” I say as I’m walking away from him.

I spend some time at the bar, wondering how much time Donn will need to pull himself back together. Ten minutes should be more than enough.

Outside the venue, I lean against one of the walls, trying not to think about the irony of the situation. I have to admit, though, that it is quite funny that I, Stella May Whitely, ended up at the theater with Dorian Grayshire. I came to watch a play where the main character wears a thousand masks, and the author -by the way, my mother’s absolute favorite- bears the same family name as my sociology professor.

How could I have ever thought of that?

I did have some dreams about being Elisabeth Bennet dealing with Mr. Darcy in nineteenth-century England, but never about turning into a theater actress who commits suicide, abused and rejected by the man she loves. I shake my head, trying to get rid of these dark thoughts. I glance at the entrance. Donn is leaving the bar. He is looking around for me. Fifteen minutes have already gone by, according to the big clock on the side of the street. I cast a second glance at Donn. He is asking one of the ushers, his finger pointing at the street behind his back. A sudden gust of wind brushes my neck, then reaches his golden hair through the open door.

He tenses up, and stops talking. He turns and calms down only when he sees me, although it only lasts for a moment. He frowns and shoots me an angry look with his penetrating eyes.

“You are missing out on the best part,” he whispers as he walks towards me. “He has almost made up his mind to rejoin Sybil in death.”

“I needed some fresh air,” and I offer him a sip of my Coke.

He leans forward and looks at me, ironically. “Thanks, little girl, but… I’m not thirsty,” he replies with a heart-wrenching tone. I know how hard it is for him to say those words.

I take the last sip, throw the empty can in the trash bin by the traffic light, and slowly walk back to where Donn stands.

“It’s been a fantastic evening. I will never forget it. It will stay with me forever. Thank you Donn. You are still capable of human instincts. They are buried somewhere deep, but they are indeed there,” I sigh, closing my eyes for a brief moment. I kiss his cheek, my face touching his tense, marble-like jaw. All I feel now is him. Breathing.

He leans over, puts an arm around my waist, grabs my other hand and gracefully twirls me around.

“I was wondering… would you go to a ball with me?” he asks on my second pirouette.

“It will be on All Saints Day… matching the theme of the evening, don’t you think?”

He brings my hands around his neck, then lifts me off the ground, holding me even tighter. For a moment, I am flying, a few inches from the ground.

I nod, then give him a smile. “Thank you for asking me. Unfortunately, I can’t dance.” His feet slide under mine. All of a sudden we are whirling outside the theater’s main entrance.

“You will have the entire night,” he reassures me. “And then, I will tell you everything about my death, and about the woman I was growling about, earlier.” It sounds like a promise.

“Donn,” my throat is so dry that can only let out a rasping breath. “I don’t think this is a good idea…”

“I was hoping you would join the dance,” he insists in his velvety voice.

I shiver, and manage a shy smile. “And where would this take place, exactly?”

“In a venue along the coast, especially set up to host parties and receptions. Here, in Massachusetts, north of Boston. It would really mean a lot to me if you came to the ball. Needless to say, I will be your escort.”