Gabriel's Inferno 01 - Gabriel's Inferno (20 page)

“No, Miss Mitchell, in general I do not go to
The Vestibule
to drink.”

“Then why do you go?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He frowned. Then he shook his head. “Perhaps not to someone like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?
Someone like me?”

“It means that you don’t know what you’re asking me,” he spat, staring angrily. “Otherwise you wouldn’t make me say it! You want to know why I go there? I’ll tell you why I go there. I go there to find women to
fuck
, Miss Mitchell.” He was pissed now and glaring at her. “Happy now?” he growled.

Julia drew a deep breath and held it. When she could hold it no more she shook her head and exhaled. “No,” she said quietly, looking down at her hands. “Why would that make me happy? It makes me sick to my stomach, actually. Really, really sick. You have no idea.”

Gabriel sighed deeply and placed both hands at the back of his neck. He wasn’t cross with her; he was cross with himself. And he felt ashamed. Part of him wanted to repel her intentionally—to stand naked in front of her, hiding nothing—so that she would see him for what he really was, a dark, sinister creature exposed by her virtue. Then she would walk away.

Perhaps his subconscious was already trying to do that with these ridiculous, unprofessional outbursts. For he should never in a thousand years have said what he just said to a graduate student, especially a female graduate student, even if it was the truth. She was undoing him slowly, bit by bit, and he did not understand how.

Gabriel’s blue eyes found hers. And across his pale and handsome face, Julia read remorse.

“Forgive me. I know I’ve disgusted you.” He spoke very quietly. “But believe me when I tell you that that is a very good reaction for you to have. You
should
be repulsed by me. Every time I’m near you, I
corrupt
you.”

“I don’t feel corrupted.”

He gazed at her sadly. “Only because you don’t know what it means. And by the time you realize it, it will be too late. Adam and Eve didn’t realize what they’d lost until they were thrown out of Paradise.”

“I know something about that,” Julia mumbled. “And I didn’t learn it by reading Milton.”

Just then Christopher brought their pizza, effectively ending their awkward exchange. Gabriel played the part of the host, serving Julia her salad and pizza first and taking great care to make sure that she received more shaved parmesan and croutons than he did. And it wasn’t because he didn’t like those items; he liked them both a great deal.

While they were eating and Julia was thinking back to their first silent meal together, a song began to play over the stereo system that was so sweet, she put her fork down in order to listen.

Gabriel heard the song too and softly began to sing to himself, almost under his breath, something about heaven and hell and virtue and vice.

Julia was struck by the eerie relevance of the words. But then Gabriel stopped, suddenly unsure of himself, and began focusing his attention on his pizza. She glanced over at him with a dropped jaw. She didn’t know that he could sing. And to hear his perfect mouth and voice sing those words…

“That’s a beautiful song. Who is it by?”

“It’s called
You and Me
by Matthew Barber, a local musician. Did you catch that line—the one about
virtue and vice?
I guess we know which term applies to each of us.”

“It’s beautiful but sad.”

“I’ve always had a terrible weakness for beautiful but sad things.” He looked at her carefully before turning away. “I suppose we should begin discussing your thesis proposal now, Miss Mitchell.”

Julia saw that his professional mask was firmly in place once again. She took a deep breath and began describing her project, invoking the names of Paolo and Francesca and Dante and Beatrice, when she was interrupted by Gabriel’s phone.

The ring tone sounded like the clanging of Big Ben. He lifted a finger to indicate Julia should pause while he glanced down at his iPhone’s screen. Something disturbing flew across his face.

“I have to take this. I’m sorry.” Gabriel stood up and answered his phone in one swift motion. “Paulina?”

He walked into the next room, but Julia could still hear him. “What’s wrong? Where are you?” His voice grew muffled.

Julia busied herself with her beer and her dinner, wondering who Paulina was. She had never heard the name before. Gabriel had looked deeply troubled when he saw whatever it was that he saw on the phone’s screen.

Is M. P. Emerson—Paulina? Is she his ex-wife? Or is M. P. a code for something and he’s just messing with me?

Gabriel returned about fifteen minutes later. He did not sit down. He was agitated in the extreme, pale-faced and almost shaking.

“I have to go. I’m sorry. I paid for dinner, and I asked Christopher to find you a taxi when you finish.”

“I can walk.” Julia leaned over to pick up her messenger bag.

He held his hand out to stop her. “Absolutely not. Not late at night on Yonge Street by yourself. Here.” He pushed a folded bill across the table. “For the cab and in case you want more to eat and drink. Please stay and finish your dinner. And take the leftovers home, will you?”

“I can’t take your money.” She moved as if to hand him back the bill, and he gave her a tremulous look.

“Please, Julianne. Not now.” He was rubbing his eyes with one hand.

She felt sorry for him so she decided not to argue.

“I’m sorry I have to leave you. I…”

He was sorry, very sorry, about something. He was in anguish, groaning involuntarily. Without thinking about it, she slipped her hand into his, a movement of compassion and solidarity. She was surprised when he didn’t flinch or throw her hand back at her.

He squeezed her fingers immediately, as if he was grateful for the contact. He opened his eyes and looked down at her and slowly began to move his fingers across the back of her hand, caressing her lightly. It was all so comfortable and sweet. As if he’d done it a thousand times. As if she belonged to him. He pulled her hand upward, close to his mouth, and stared at their connection.

“Here’s the smell of blood still; all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand,”
he whispered. Gabriel kissed her hand reverently, but it was his own hand he was staring at. “Goodnight, Julianne. I’ll see you on Wednesday—if I’m still here.”

Julia nodded and watched him walk outside and break into a run as soon as his feet hit the sidewalk. It was only after he was gone that she realized she was still wearing his precious cashmere sweater and that tucked into the fifty dollar bill he had left her was the Starbucks gift card, with a note written on the back of the envelope:

J,
You didn’t think I would give up this easily, did you?
Never be ashamed to accept a gift when there are no strings attached.
There are no strings here.
Yours,
Gabriel

Chapter 13

By the next morning, Julia still hadn’t decided what to do about the bursary. She was not in a hurry to do anything that would expose Gabriel’s generosity to the suspicious minds of the university’s administration, as she knew that would be dangerous for him.

And she was not in a hurry to do anything that would expose herself as anything other than a serious graduate student, so she was reticent to go to the chair of their department and explain that she wasn’t interested in the bursary. For the bursary would contribute an impressive line to her curriculum vitae, and serious graduate students were supposed to care about those things more than they cared about silly little things like personal pride.

In classical terms, Miss Mitchell found herself caught between the Scylla of protecting Gabriel and herself and the Charybdis of holding fast to her pride. Unfortunately for her pride, the true peril aligned with her rejection of the bursary; the peril could be avoided if she just took the money. She did not like that. Not one little bit. Especially against the backdrop of Rachel’s generosity in buying her a dress and shoes and Gabriel’s not so secret attempt at replacing her book bag.

She neglected to mention to him that she’d returned her knapsack to L. L. Bean and was eagerly awaiting its replacement. And she fully intended to use it when it arrived, just to reassert her independence.

Friday afternoon, impatient for answers, Julia sent a short text to Rachel, telling her about the bursary and asking if she knew who M. P. Emerson was.

Rachel texted her back immediately:

J: G did what?
Never heard of foundation.
Never heard of MPE.
MP = G’s bio-mother?
Grandmother? luv, R.
P.S. A says hi and thanks

Julia puzzled over Rachel’s text, but was persuaded by her suggestion. M. P. must have been Gabriel’s grandmother, for she couldn’t imagine him naming a bursary for someone he hated. And she was pretty sure Gabriel harbored hatred for his biological mother.

Although it was possible, Julia thought, that if Gabriel was secretive even with Rachel, that there were many things he could have kept from her. So in a fit of boldness, which was brought on by a shot or two of tequila, Julia sent another text asking if Gabriel had a girlfriend in Toronto who she could ask about the bursary. And she immediately received the following response in her e-mail inbox:

Julia!

Okay, screw texting—the buttons are too small.

Gabriel has NEVER had a girlfriend, as far as I know. He never brought anyone home to meet Mom and Dad, even when he was in high school. Scott accused him of being gay once. But Scott has no gaydar.

Did you see how Gabriel’s apartment was decorated? And the photos in his bedroom? Wait. Did you see those?? No girlfriend locally—for sure. I think just screw-buddies. Although he acted weird when I asked. He’s 33 for God’s sake—being a player isn’t cute anymore.

Are you sure he didn’t make M. P. Emerson up? I’ll ask Scott and get back to you. I don’t want to upset my dad by asking—he’s a mess and…you know.

Aaron and I are on our way to the Queen Charlotte Islands to stay in a log cabin for two weeks. No internet. No cell phones. Just us—peace, quiet, and an outdoor Jacuzzi.

Please keep Gabriel from falling off the cliff until I get back.

Love, R.

P.S. Aaron wants to say hi personally. Take it away, honey.

~~~

Hello, Julia. It’s Aaron.

Thank you for taking such good care of my fiancée while she was in Canada. She came back a different person, and I know it wasn’t because of Gabriel.

We all missed you at the funeral—would love to see you at Thanksgiving. If you aren’t planning on coming home, would you reconsider? It’s going to be rough without Grace. Richard (and Rachel) need their family around them, and that means you too.

I have frequent flyer miles—I could send you a ticket.

Think about it.

Love you girlie,

Aaron.

Julia wiped away a tear at the sweetness that was Aaron, feeling happy and relieved that he and his fiancée were still very much in love. What Julia would not give to be loved like that…

She wondered why Aaron’s offer of frequent flyer miles leaped off her screen as something other than charity, why she was instantly considering his very kind offer. Then it occurred to her—Grace was right. When there are no strings attached and a gift is given out of love, or friendship, which is a kind of love, there was no shame in accepting it. If Julia accepted Aaron’s gift, she could still be part of Richard’s first Thanksgiving without Grace and give the Emerson bursary back.

In thinking about Grace, Julia wondered if a small prayer to Grace for both herself and Gabriel would be efficacious, for Grace was a true saint, a heavenly mother, and one that would no doubt send help to her children. So while St. Lucy went on vacation with her beloved Aaron, Julia turned her attention upward and begged for her heavenly mother’s intercession in all of their lives, lighting a candle in the window of her small studio on a lonely Friday night in Grace’s memory. And before she crawled into her single bed with her velveteen rabbit, she resolved to accept Aaron’s gift graciously, as evidence of her own newfound openness to charity and her ability to swallow her pride when appropriate. Which meant, not surprisingly, that her deadly sin was not so deadly.

***

In Paul’s absence, Julia found herself spending a long Saturday at the library, working on her thesis proposal in Professor Emerson’s carrel. Part of her secretly hoped that The Professor would surprise her again, but he didn’t. And his words came back to her,
“I’ll see you Wednesday. If I’m still here.”

Julia realized that despite what Rachel said, it was more than possible that Gabriel had a girlfriend named Paulina. Julia remembered that Gabriel had assigned the chimes of Big Ben to Paulina’s ring tone. Was Paulina in London? Was she English? Or was there something about the chimes that Gabriel thought was important? Julia looked up Big Ben on Wikipedia, but did not find anything particularly illuminating.

(Wikipedia can be like that.)

She wasn’t naïve, despite what Gabriel thought of her. She knew he wasn’t a virgin and that he hadn’t been when she first met him. Still, knowing it and having it flaunted in front of her face were two very different things.

Her thoughts drifted to Gabriel and Paulina or some nameless, faceless girl, skin against skin, their bodies entwined. She saw Gabriel kissing the girl’s lips and exploring her body with his mouth, his hands, his eyes. She saw Gabriel giving and receiving physical pleasure from some tall, perfect, blonde. She imagined Gabriel in ecstasy, screaming the girl’s name, gazing deeply into her eyes as his body climaxed. She thought of Gabriel becoming one with some other soul, belonging in this way to some other girl. Would she love Gabriel? Be kind to Gabriel? Would she want him to be a better man, or just want him for his body, his passion, his animalistic nature? Would she even care that behind those beautiful eyes was the soul of a man long gone, wounded now and in need of both redemption and repair? Or would she want to drag him deeper down, ensnaring him with her body and her fingernails?

The thought of Gabriel taking another girl, any girl, to his bed, perchance to his soul, wounded her deeply. But somehow, the thought that there was another girl who warmed his bed for more than just one night was absolutely devastating—because she had wanted to be his girl, forever.

However sad and sordid her imaginings were, they didn’t stop her from somewhat pathetically wearing his green cashmere sweater to the library and hugging her arms across her chest, just to embrace herself with his softness and his scent. For that seemed to be the closest she was ever going to come to having his body next to hers.

In Professor Emerson’s carrel, Julia put away Paul’s CD in favor of listening to Yael Naim. Julia loved the song
Far Far
, although she had no idea how apt Yael’s words were. Julia had spent most of her life waiting for good things to happen, keeping her hopes and dreams to herself. But soon there would come a day when she would have to make something happen.

She found the music soothing and distracting, and it enabled her to make a lot of progress on her thesis proposal as she worked away until the library’s close.

Leaving the library, she placed her earphones firmly in her ears and disdained the hot dog cart outside in favor of a liquid dinner. She purchased a very large mango smoothie and began to walk home, sipping her meal and thinking. Because she was deep in thought, wondering where Gabriel was and what he was doing, she almost missed Ethan, who waved at her as she came across the long line-up in front of Lobby.

“Hey, Ethan.” She smiled as she took the ear buds out of her ears.

He gestured to her to come closer. “Hi, Julia. Thanks again for helping with my text to Raphaela. She really liked it.” If Ethan could have blushed, he would have; his dark eyes sparkled, and he smiled widely. “She’s teaching me Italian now.”

Julia grinned, happy that he and his girlfriend were happy. “So, how are things tonight? Lots of people?” She glanced at the long line.

“I’m about to let some more people in, but I have to take someone out first.”

“Really? That sounds ominous.”

He shook his head. “Your friend is in there drinking his ass off. The bartender is refusing to serve him, which means I need to put him in a cab and send him home.”

Julia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
Gabriel’s here? What about Paulina?

“The last time I tried to throw him out he took a swing at me. Right now, I’m just waiting for one of the other bouncers to replace me on the line. I’m going to have to go in to remove him and probably take back-up.” He looked at Julia appraisingly. “Unless you can persuade him to come out peaceably.”

Julia shook her head violently. “Are you kidding? He won’t listen to me. I’m not even his friend.”

“That’s not the impression I got when you were in here, but I get it. It’s cool.” He shrugged nonchalantly and looked at his watch.

Julia sipped her smoothie and began thinking about her promise to Rachel. She wondered if this constituted a case in which she was morally obligated to watch out for Gabriel.
What if I walk away and he ends up in jail? He tried to be nice to me this week. I can’t ignore that—it would be bad karma.

“Um, I could try to talk to him. See if he’ll come out on his own,” she suggested somewhat hesitantly. “I don’t want him to get arrested.”

“Neither do I. We like our VIPs to stay happy. But he has been throwing back doubles since he got here, and they can’t serve him anymore. Maybe he’ll listen to the voice of reason and agree to go home and sleep it off.” Ethan moved the velvet rope so that she could walk in.

“I’m not really dressed for it.” Julia looked down at her sneakers and ripped jeans and Gabriel’s heavenly scented but too large sweater.

“You’re fine. But listen, if he’s too far gone, or if you’re just not up to it, come right back. He can be a handful when he’s drunk.”

Julia knew exactly what Gabriel could be like when he was drunk, but she reminded herself that he had been sweet to her that night so long ago.

She walked into the club, hoping no one would recognize her. She quickly pulled her hair out of its ponytail and draped it around her face, using it as a veil to hide from inquisitive eyes. She prayed desperately to the gods of Manhattan-style martini bars to keep Brad Curtis, MBA, away from her tonight. She didn’t want to run into him looking like this. She pulled her navy-surplus peacoat closed and buttoned all the buttons, because she didn’t want Gabriel to see that she was wearing his sweater—still.

It didn’t take long to find him. He was sitting at the bar, talking to an attractive woman whose back was to Julia. He was staring not at the brunette, whose hand was tangled in his hair and who was pulling him toward her by his tie, but at his empty Scotch glass. He didn’t look happy, but that probably had more to do with his drinking companion than anything else.

From her vantage point several feet away, Julia saw that the Emerson whore who was practically sitting on his lap, her cleavage hovering in front of his mouth, was none other than Christa Peterson.
Holy shit. Is he planning on going home with
her?

Julia knew without a doubt that this was an instance in which she needed to watch out for Gabriel. If he slept with Christa, not only would he be violating the non-fraternization policy and putting his academic career at risk, he would likely end up embroiled in a nasty personal situation with the hoping-to-be-future-Mrs. Emerson. It was more than possible that Christa was trying to seduce him in order to exact revenge for what had transpired in Starbucks earlier that week—actions Gabriel had taken on Julia’s behalf.