Lexington Black (25 page)

He grinned at her. 'Thanks, Pearl.'

The way she had said "when" not "if" was not
lost on him. It was strange how at home he felt already.

I examined my battered face in the mirror.
Rob could pack a wallop, that was for sure. My lip was swollen
where it had mashed against my teeth, and there was a deepening
bruise around one eye. One half of me felt angry, humiliated and
regretful. The other half was imbued with a sense of pride. So my
angel could fight. Good. I wasn't interested in a man who didn't
stand up for himself.

The only person who would possibly know where
Rob had gone was Peter, but I was aware that he might be reluctant
to give over that information. I found him in his gallery, talking
to a potential client. He shot a disdainful look my way and turned
his back on me. It was not as if I did not deserve it.

His reflection was pale, a stark contrast to
the black shirt and skinny jeans he always wore at work. He looked
as if he were in mourning.

I hung around until he left the client alone
to browse. As he approached me, I felt slightly sick.

'I'm sorry,' I said before he could
speak.

'There's a first,' he huffed. 'Are you
apologising because you want me to tell you where Rob has gone? If
so, you've wasted your time. I don't know.'

I felt a stab of annoyance that he had seen
through to my original plan.

'I could really use some help ...'

I was halted by the look of absolute contempt
on his face.

'Okay, I fucked up. I over-reacted and I was
wrong.'

'Wrong? That's a bit of an understatement,
isn't it? After the way you treated me, I wasn't going to stand by
and watch you deceiving him a moment longer, especially after
learning you had put a ring on his finger. How dare you think you
can get away with hiding a secret like that? It's insulting! Why
did you lie to him, Lex? Surely you don't have to do that to get
laid?'

I backed away from his onslaught of words. 'I
love him. No, I'm crazy about him and I thought...'

'You didn't think at all! I was with Gavin
for so long because we trusted each other. Start an affair on a lie
and it's dead before you even begin.'

I knew that now. Jesus, I still had so much
to learn. I slumped on one of the square leather seats and stared
down at my hand-made shoes. So much fucking money, and no fucking
clue how to deal with love.

After a while, Peter sat next to me and
nudged my shoulder. 'Why don't you just go to him? What's so very
hard about telling someone you fucked up and promising never to do
it again?'

'How about making a total fool of
myself?'

'I'd hazard a guess that's happened already.'
Peter's voice was dry.

'Do you know where he is? He isn't picking up
his calls. He won't answer his door.' I spread out my hands,
wishing the solution would just drop into them.

Peter sighed deeply. 'I did talk to Justin
last night. Apparently, the last person to see Rob was Philip. And
that was at the Central Park Hotel the night before last.'

I felt a cold hand clutch at my chest. 'What
does that mean, exactly?'

'Justin didn't say.'

'Give me Philip's card,' I snapped.

He arched an imperious brow. 'I think there's
something you need say first.'

'Please give me Philip's card,' I said,
trying not to grind my teeth.

'Something else,' Peter said sternly. He
folded his arms and cast his eyes towards the painting we were
standing next to. It was the truly nasty one of a woman's lady
parts, left over from the weekend's exhibition. 'It was the only
one that didn't sell.'

'Why doesn't that surprise me?'

'Despite what you think of my taste, the
exhibition went very well.'

So that was it. He was looking for an
apology. Fine, I could do that.

'I'm sorry I said your artistic taste stinks.
It doesn't. Now please give me Philip's damned number.'

'You don't get off that easily, Lex.' He
looked at the painting again. 'It's a shame it didn't sell. I think
it's rather good. Apparently, it was a portrait of his mother.'

It began to dawn on me what he was getting
at. 'No. You can't be serious.' I looked at the price. 'Twenty five
thousand dollars? Are you fucking kidding me?'

He sighed heavily. 'What you should be
saying, Lex, is "Peter, I'd love to buy that painting."'

'No way. If I wanted a cunt on my wall, I'd
take a picture of you!'

'Then you don't get my help.' He turned away.
'Goodbye, Lex. Nice knowing you.'

Deep breaths, Lex. Don't lose it.
'Please, Peter, don't do this to me.'

'Gallery's closed now.' He gave a "talk to
the hand" gesture as he went back to his desk. I glared at the
hideous painting for a moment. The damned thing would give me
nightmares and no mistake.

But Rob was worth it. Was he ever.

'Fine, I'll buy the painting,' I said
loudly.

Peter looked up from his desk. 'Cash or
card?'

'Bastard.' I went over and drew out my
wallet. We did the transaction in silence.

'And I hope that every time you see it,
you're reminded of how not to treat your friends,' Peter said, a
gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. 'He's at Central Park Hotel.
Room 401. Nothing happened between him and Philip, by the way, but
if he doesn't want to see you, it isn't my fault!' He called as I
ran from the building.

At the hotel, I was informed that Mr. Robin
Martyn had checked out the day before. No, they had no information
as to where he went next. The trail had gone cold.

I walked down the street in a daze, wondering
what to do. Almost without thinking about it, I walked back to
Black Tower.

Outside his door I paused, wracked with
indecision. If I did what I wanted to do and use my master key to
go into his suite, I would be crossing a line I promised myself I
would never do.

If he was there, he would never forgive
me.

If he wasn't, at least I'd know.

Jesus, what if he had taken an overdose and
was unconscious on the floor?

The last thought galvanised me to run the
short distance from the elevator to his door. I unlocked the door
using the electronic key and went inside.

He had gone. No clothes, no computer bag,
just a few beers in the fridge. It was as if he had wiped the place
clean like a criminal covering his tracks. I sat on the couch,
wondering what my next move should be. If he really didn't want to
be found, I would have to wait until he returned to the UK before I
could contact him. An email or text just wouldn't cut it.

As I was musing the problem, I noticed his
phone on the coffee table. It was still on full charge. Decisively,
I called his sister's number. Too late, I realised it was probably
after midnight in the UK.

'Rob? Why are you on this phone? You didn't
go back to that prick's apartment, did you?'

I closed my eyes, feeling sick. 'It isn't
Rob, Geri. It's Lexington Black.'

Silence.

'Are you still there?'

'Yeah, I'm here. Is he with you? Let me speak
to him.'

'He isn't with me. I'm trying to find him. I
don't suppose you'd care to tell me where he is?'

'Go screw yourself.'

The line went dead.

I clenched the phone, willing myself not to
throw it across the room. Patience wasn't a virtue I was born with,
and neither was a whole lot of humility. I would have to learn how
to swallow massive doses of both if I wanted my man back.

I slipped the phone in my pocket and walked
numbly up to my palace in the clouds.

Two hours later, my phone rang. I grabbed for
it, thinking it was Rob but it wasn't. I felt sick when I heard the
word "hospital." My father had had another stroke.

It was no good. Rob would have to wait. That
night, I flew down to Miami. Some gut instinct told me it might be
for the last time.

When I arrived at his bedside, I kissed his
withered cheek and one crepey eye fluttered open. The affects of
his latest stroke could clearly be seen. One side of his face
seemed to have melted like candle wax. But there was nothing wrong
with his brain, and his eyes were sharp.

'You're sad. Man trouble?' His voice was
slurred and weak.

I could never get over how quickly he could
pinpoint the crux of a problem. It was part of what had made him a
formidable opponent in the Boardroom. I also felt a wave of
affection for him as he had actually acknowledged Rob's
existence.

'Yeah, but I'm here to look after you.' I sat
by his bed and took his hand. It felt painfully light and
delicate.

'Huh. What's he like?'

I was surprised. 'You really want to
know?'

He gave a tiny shrug and gestured slowly with
his good hand. 'Pictures?' Talking was difficult. Every word seemed
to hurt him.

'Sure.' I reached for my smartphone and
brought the first one on the screen, then held it up. 'Can you see
okay?'

'Uh huh.'

I swiped through the selfies we had taken
over the last few weeks, most of them slightly goofy.

'That's Caressa. She's my closest friend. Or
was.' I pointed her out.

'Pretty woman.'

'He'd be pleased to hear that. I was at
school with him. He's a drag queen.'

'Oh.' I sensed his puzzlement but didn't go
into any more details. I came to my favourite one. Rob had taken it
as we kissed on the balcony of the apartment, the skyline behind
us. Holding the phone steady between us, we had locked lips and
taken the photo. I felt my father draw breath beside me.

'Happy,' he said, stroking the image with a
trembling finger.

'Yeah,' I sighed, putting the phone away. 'I
was. I mean, I am.' I tried to hide the pain but I knew he could
see it. 'It's a long story, if you want to hear it.'

His breath hitched in a way that could have
been a chuckle. 'No choice,' he breathed.

'Okay. Do you remember years ago, when I was
at Melville School? Do you remember the Headmaster, Mr.
Martyn?'

The thin lips tightened on one side. 'Pervert
killed himself.'

'He wasn't a pervert, Dad, he was homosexual,
just like me.'

The old man's eyes glinted. 'There a
difference?'

'Damned right.' I paused. 'Dad, I slept with
him six months after I left the school. Someone found out and made
it public. That's why he killed himself.'

My father's old eyes flashed. 'Done is done.
Can't look back.'

Yeah, what's done is done. And because of
that, my man was headed back to England with a broken heart,
leaving me with the same.

'The thing is, Dad, I found out who the
bastard was who went public with the film. He was running this
transport company in London. The Eaves Group, remember? That's why
I bought it and broke it up.'

My father's eyes glinted. 'Uh huh,' he said
again, yet I had the feeling the old bastard already knew exactly
why I had done it.

'And while I was there, I met Rob. He's the
most wonderful man but he's now walked away because I didn't tell
him the truth about me and Mr. Martyn. And the reason I didn't tell
him is because he is Mr. Martyn's son, and he thinks I seduced him
because of some sick fantasy even though our meeting was pure
coincidence.' The words had begun to pour out of me like tears. I
couldn't stop them. 'I love him, Dad. I love him more than I love
all the money and the power and the flash, cushy job in Manhattan.
I'd give all that up for a spoonful of humility, in the vain hope
he might forgive me.'

There was a sound, rather like a gurgling,
which stopped me in my tracks. My father's eyes were wide, bulging
even, and he clawed at his throat with one hand. The other flailed
around.

Immediately, I jumped up and yelled for a
nurse. They rushed in as if they had been listening outside the
door. I stood back as they checked his oxygen and the drip. One of
them called for the doctor.

Oh Jesus, what had I done?
Panic swept
over me as I watched him struggling. I was ushered out of the room
whilst the doctors worked on him.

'I'm sorry,' I whimpered as I watched through
the glass. 'For fuck's sake, do something.' The thought that I
might lose him before we had a chance to make peace with each other
horrified me. Blindly, I let a nurse guide me to a visitor
room.

After an anxious wait, I was joined by the
doctor. He looked serious.

'He's had another stroke, a major one, this
time. He can move his arm and hear a little but his functions are
failing. I'm sorry, Mr. Black, but it's likely your father won't
last the night. '

I nodded, understanding fully. 'I'll stay
with him.'

The new stroke had fixed his face into a
death mask. One eye was frozen, staring at the ceiling, the other
fixed on me as I approached the bed. I sat next to him and picked
up his hand, unsure whether he knew I was there.

'Hey, Dad.'

He blinked but did not speak. I stayed with
him, talking at him about Rob, about my mother, about moving him to
Manhattan to be with me. In the last few days I had begun to make
arrangements to have him transferred back to the apartment so we
could be together. Now that would never happen, but I talked about
the view from his bedroom window, and the beautiful nurse I had
employed to look after him, who looked just like Elizabeth Taylor
in her role as Maggie in A Cat On A Hot Tin Roof. I warned him that
he would never be short of company, as my drag queen friends were
waiting to dance attendance on him. All of it was absolutely true,
and I hoped to God he actually believed me. All the while, his good
eye was fixed on me, and I knew he could hear what I was saying. I
was just grateful that I had heeded that sixth sense which had
compelled me to go to his bedside.