Completely Smitten (18 page)

And, if he told the truth to himself, he had also run from the contempt in Blackstone’s voice.

The TV room was in Darius’s basement, a space he had designed especially for solitary entertainment. The basement had no windows. He’d carpeted the walls, put in a fireplace for rainy days, and set up a theater-quality surround sound for the huge television set. He had a high-end DVD player as well as two VCRs, every movie channel in existence, and most movies available on video.

He had lived alone for almost 3000 years. He knew the importance of a comfortable hole to hide in when he was down and discouraged, like he was now.

He had run away from Quixotic. Sure, it had been in a moment of pique, but still. His stability for the past ten-plus years had been that restaurant. He had no idea what Blackstone would think when he realized that Darius had really quit, but he doubted his old friend would approve.

Darius had to find something new—somewhere else to go, some new city in which to reinvent himself. The problem was that he didn’t want to leave Portland. He loved it here, and he loved the house.

He had built it to his own specifications. Everything in it was designed for a person less than five feet tall—including the stairs. In fact, he had insisted on making the stairs just right for him. Most staircases were designed for six-foot-tall people, and he tripped on them.

The staircases in this house were fit for his little legs, just like the shelves were in proportion to his little arms and the counters were in easy reach. Even the stove was artificially short.

Blackstone liked to call it Andvari’s Playhouse, which in some ways it was. One of the reasons Darius left for his full-size two weeks was that he didn’t fit in his own house anymore.

Suddenly he paused in his surfing. One of the pompous get-an-education-by-watching-too-much-TV channels was running a special on the facts behind Greek mythology. What caught his eye was a very famous statue of the Fates, as they had once appeared to Homer (the time Darius had dragged him along to one of his meetings).

As the announcer gave the Fates’ names, the TV screen showed ancient portraits of the three of them in their long flowing robes. They were always depicted as they examined the thread of someone’s life. Clotho held the spindle of thread, Lachesis carried rods, which she shook to decide a person’s fate, and Atropos held a tablet on which she wrote the decision.

“Any good or evil men experienced in their lives,” the announcer said, “came from these stern, gloomy, elderly goddesses.”

“Oh, God,” said a voice behind him. “Let’s hope they never hear that description.”

Darius didn’t have to turn to know the voice belonged to Blackstone. Even though the house was locked as tightly as possible and the alarms were on, Blackstone had gotten in. He must have spelled himself to whatever place Darius was at.

“They’ve heard it before.”

“And you wonder why they’re mad at you,” Blackstone said. “You bring Shakespeare to them and he portrays them as the witches in
Macbeth
. You take L. Frank Baum and he makes them the prototype for the Wicked Witches of the West and East.”

“They were mad at me before that,” Darius said.

“Oh?” Blackstone came around the sectional. He sat on the other end and stretched out his long legs on the leather. Then he peered at Darius as if he had never seen him before. “What happened to your clothing?”

Darius looked down at his shirt. The T-shirt was stained as well as ripped, and its logo had lone since flaked and washed off. The gym shorts dated from the 1970s and were made of pilling polyester.

“It’s the perfect couch-potato clothing,” he said. “You know I always dress for every occasion.”

Blackstone laughed. When it became apparent that Darius wasn’t going to laugh with him, he stopped.

“Time to change, my friend. We have work to do tonight.”

Darius shook his head. “I quit.”

“You can’t.”

“I did.”

“You run the restaurant.”

“You can find someone else.”

“You’re good at it.”

“I was good at it. I decided I don’t want to be anymore.”

“Because of the woman?”

“Because you were going to make me talk to her.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

Nothing, Darius thought. She was the most perfect woman he’d ever met.

“Is it because of your meeting in Idaho?”

Dar’s breath caught. “She told you about that?”

“She says you lied to her when you got off the plane.”

Darius sat up straight. She had recognized that? She knew him? Was that why she was pursuing him?

“She says that your friend knew things about that house of yours that no casual observer would know.”

Darius leaned back on the couch. He grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it to his stomach.

“I certainly didn’t know anything about it.” Blackstone picked at the leather fabric. “I didn’t know you had a house in Idaho, one that’s apparently been in your family for a hundred years. Careless of you, Andvari, letting people take pictures of you for that length of time.”

Darius clutched the pillow tighter and stared at the blank TV screen. Maybe he should just turn it back on and ignore Blackstone. Maybe he should tell his old friend to go away.

Blackstone was watching him closely. “You never told me you knew Hemingway or that you even liked the wilderness.”

Darius closed his eyes.

“You never told me you knew Darius.” Blackstone shifted his weight on the couch.

The movement went through the sectional, and Darius nearly lost his balance. He had to open his eyes, let go of the pillow, and brace himself with one hand.

Blackstone had a strange look on his face. “I always thought Darius and his inability to finish his sentence was a legend, you know. To teach us all a lesson. Like Sisyphus.”

“Sisyphus is still rolling that rock uphill,” Darius said.

“You’re saying Darius does exist.”

“All legends are based in fact. You know that, Aethelstan.” Darius sat up and tucked his legs underneath him.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew him?”

“Why should I?” Darius looked at him. “You clearly hold him in contempt.”

“I don’t know him.”

“This afternoon you said—”

“I know what I said.” Blackstone ran a hand through his thick hair. “I’ve always thought he had it easy, considering what he’d done. All he had to do was put people together who loved each other.”

“It’s not easy.” Dar’s voice rose. “It’s damn hard. People don’t pay attention. They don’t like to be united. They’d rather fight. Or pick the wrong lover. Or find an excuse to stay away from their beloved for ten years.”

Blackstone’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t about me and Nora. Any reason you tacked on that last sentence?”

Darius made himself take a deep breath. He couldn’t afford to get any angrier than he was. “I don’t want to deal with Ariel Summers.”

“Why not?”

“She’s obsessed with Darius.”

“So?”

“It won’t be good for her. I won’t have anything to do with it.”

“So don’t tell her about him.” Blackstone stood, went to the downstairs refrigerator, which stood in an alcove near the microwave and shelves full of popcorn, and took out a pale ale from the Rogue Brewery.

As he opened the bottle, he paused. Darius slid down among the sections, not wanting to see Blackstone’s face, but the man was so tall his expression was unavoidable.

“You’re in love with her,” Blackstone said, with something like awe in his voice. “That’s why you don’t want to tell her about Darius. You’re in love with her.”

“I don’t know her,” Darius mumbled.

“That explains why you run from her, why you won’t talk to her.” Blackstone came around the sectional and sat down near Dar. “The man saved her life. She’s going to be obsessed with him until someone or something else gets her interest.”

“And you think that’ll be me?” Darius swept his hands down his tiny body.

“Not in those clothes,” Blackstone said.

Darius snorted. “She falls for a guy who looks like paintings of the angel Gabriel and you think she’ll go for me?”

“Why not?”

“Have you ever seen me with a woman?”

Blackstone clutched the bottle, as if he didn’t know how to drink from it. His epiphany had apparently interrupted his ritual. “I’ve never seen you interested in anyone before. You are usually so rude, you push them away.”

“I was rude,” Darius said.

“And she didn’t leave.”

Darius sighed. “She wants to find out more about Darius. It’s not about me at all.”

“Why couldn’t it be?” Blackstone asked.

Darius pushed himself upright. “You handsome guys have no clue, do you?”

Blackstone blinked at him, clearly astonished at Dar’s tone.

“It’s never about guys like me. We’re the villains of the piece. Or we’re the comic relief. You see it everywhere. The evil trolls or the cute dwarves—the little men who take care of Snow White and sing ‘Hi-ho!’ And then, when Prince Charming shows up, we’re supposed to step aside because a beautiful woman wouldn’t want one of us when she can have you.”

Darius stood and stomped across the cushions, careful to avoid the cracks between the sections. Blackstone watched from his seat at the edge of the sectional.

“And why wouldn’t she want you?” Darius asked. “Look at you. Exactly what the fairy tale ordered: tall—”

“I can’t help that,” Blackstone said.

“Dark.” Darius flicked at a lock of Blackstone’s black hair.

Blackstone touched his scalp as if Dar’s flick had burned him.

“And handsome. The whole package.” Darius jumped off the couch and landed on the floor. He was shorter standing full height than Blackstone was sitting down. “You don’t have to be smart or brave or funny. Those are just bonuses. All you need to be is pretty and you get the girl, every time.”

“I only got the girl once,” Blackstone said, clutching his unopened beer bottle as if it were his lifeline.

“Really?” Darius crossed his arms. “Just once?”

“Yeah,” Blackstone said. “Nora. And, as you so kindly pointed out, that took ten years.”

“Nora,” Darius said with emphasis, “is your soul mate. I’m talking about all the other women around you.”

“What women?” Blackstone asked. “I didn’t see your Ariel make any passes at me.”

“Emma thought you were good enough to kiss.”

“A thousand years ago,” Blackstone said. “Ten years ago she was throwing dishes at me and begging you to take her out of my life.”

“The next time you go into a crowded room with me,” Darius said, “watch the women. See how they look at you, then see if they even notice me.”

“They notice you.”

“Sometimes,” Darius said. “They think we’re Mutt and Jeff.”

“You have to update your references. No one remembers that comic strip.” Blackstone retreated into sarcasm and superiority when he was nervous.

“Usually though,” Darius said, ignoring the sarcasm, “they don’t notice me unless I say something rude. Then they look at me as if I’m a bug they want to squash.”

“Most people don’t appreciate rudeness,” Blackstone said in that same superior tone.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Darius asked. “When I speak normally, rationally, calmly, they don’t hear me at all. I could be talking to myself, although sometimes I even wonder why myself would listen.”

“That’s not true,” Blackstone said. “I’ve never noticed anyone ignoring you.”

Darius let out an annoyed puff of air. “Of course not. I’m always rude.”

“Even before you were always rude.”

“You didn’t know me then,” Darius said.

“I’ve been around you when you’re not rude. People notice you then.”

“I’m only polite to friends,” Darius said. “And only when I’m having a bad day.”

“Well, you’re not having a bad day today then,” Blackstone said.

Darius clenched his fists. For the first time in their relationship, Darius felt like punching Blackstone. “I’m having a terrible day. I found out that my best friend holds me in contempt.”

Blackstone raised his eyebrows. “You?”

That was a slip. Darius hadn’t meant that to come out the way it had. Blackstone had only obviously held Darius in contempt, without realizing Darius was before him.

“Yes, me,” Darius said. “You seem to think I’ve been happy all these years, that I’ve chosen to live like this.”

“I think every lifestyle is a choice,” Blackstone said, pulling his beer closer to his chest.

“Really?” Darius leaned in and swiped the beer bottle. It was warm from Blackstone’s hand. “You think I like looking like someone’s lawn ornament? You think I planned to be the sarcastic sidekick?”

“You’re not my sidekick.”

“Oh?” Darius stalked to the small counter, found the bottle opener, and opened the ale. Then he walked back to the couch. “What do you call our relationship?”

“We’re friends.”

Darius shoved the bottle at him. “If we’re friends, how come you’re surprised I have a home in Idaho?”

Blackstone looked at the bottle as if it were a bomb. “Because you’ve elected to keep parts of your life secret.”

“Have I?” Darius asked. “Or have you just failed to ask me about myself?”

Blackstone’s dark gaze met his for a moment. There was something in Blackstone’s expression that Darius hadn’t seen before. A fear, a vulnerability, maybe even a sheepishness.

“I don’t think friends have to quiz each other,” Blackstone said.

“I’m not talking about quizzing.” Darius pushed the bottle into Blackstone’s hand, until Blackstone had to grab it in self-defense. “I’m talking about simple, ordinary, polite questions.”

“I ask you questions,” Blackstone said.

“Do you?” Darius asked. “Then when I go away for ten days every year, where do I go?”

Blackstone shrugged. “You take vacations.”

“Yes,” Darius said, letting sarcasm creep into his voice. “What kinds of vacations?”

Blackstone was beginning to look trapped. “You went to Cannes once.”

“Once?” Dar’s voice rose. “Once?”

“I think,” Blackstone said. “You told me about the starlets, I’m pretty sure.”

“Pretty sure? Does that sound like a man who is paying attention?”