Serpentine Walls (26 page)

“What?”

“We still have
L’Avventura
and
Middlemarch
to watch.”

“What a selection. Those two and
Sex in the City
.”

“They all offer valuable life lessons, Padawan.”

Pete raised a skeptical eyebrow. “
Sex and the City
offers life lessons?”

“Are you kidding? There’s tons of stuff in it about friendship and relationships and… and New York City!”

“Oh, well, when you put it that way… and what about sex in that city?”

Matthew nodded solemnly. “Much sex, but mostly of the heterosexual variety.”

“Hmm.” Pete drank some wine and then gave a decisive nod. “I’m going to go with
Middlemarch
.”

“Still a nineteenth-century lit major at heart, I see.” Matthew smiled at him fondly.

“Yep.” Pete slouched farther down in his chair. “Lay it on me.”

“Okay.” But Matthew continued to lounge on the bed, taking a meditative sip of wine. “
Middlemarch
has some heavy-duty themes. Thwarted love and all that.”

Pete took in the sight of him sitting with his back against the headboard and his long legs stretched out. “Yeah. Lots of sexual frustration, as I recall.”

“Sex in the 1800s? I’m appalled.”

“No, not sex. Just sexual
frustration
.”

Matthew glanced over at him. “Yeah.”

After a short silence, Matthew set down his wineglass, rolled off the bed, and headed over to his DVD shelf. Pete found himself studying Matthew’s ass and told himself to cut it out. He was determined to make this thing with Matthew work. It did get frustrating as hell to spend so much time in his company without being able to jump his bones. But Pete didn’t even want to think about life without Matthew in it, which is what would probably happen if he forced the issue.

Matthew started the DVD and got back on the bed. He picked up his wineglass and held it up in a toast.

“To George Eliot.”

“Yeah, she ruled.” Pete clinked his glass against Matthew’s.

As Matthew settled back against the headboard and fiddled with the remote, Pete allowed himself some pride in his ability to spend so much time with him and not have it be about the sex (or lack thereof). Maybe he was growing up, he mused. He smiled, thinking John would approve of his newfound maturity.

“H
I
, P
ETE
.”

Pete sat at a table in the Architecture School snack bar, working on his laptop. He’d been the only one in here, but now Aidan hovered next to him, a vision in newly black hair with a white streak. It was swept away from his face in a dramatic ‘do, but he was wearing his regular clothes.

“Wow.”

Aidan bowed with a flourish. “Sweeney Todd, at your service.”

“Aha,” Pete said, realizing Aidan must have come from Culbreth Theater, which was right next door. “When’s the play open?”

“In two weeks. What’re you doing here? You aren’t taking Architecture classes, are you?”

“Naw. I’m writing a paper, and I needed to hole up in an out-of-the-way place to get it done.”

“Should I go?”

“Huh? No, sit down. I can use a break.”

Aidan sat. He was more arresting than ever with black hair—his complexion pale in contrast and his green eyes appearing almost unearthly. “What have you been up to?” he asked.

“Same old, same old. Classes. Writing. Editing the film.”

“Awesome. I’m looking forward to seeing it.”

“Your part is great.”

“Eh.” Aidan gave a self-deprecating shrug.

“Oh, shut up. You’ve got to know what a good actor you are.”

“You flatter me, my dear.”

“What are you doing after you graduate?” Pete asked, persisting in treating Aidan’s talent seriously. “Broadway or Hollywood?”

Aidan laughed. “I’m not sure. It’s tough to break through. I might be going to RADA in London instead.”

“RADA?”

“Royal Academy of Dramatic Art.”

“Wow. Cool.”

“Yeah. Or maybe I’ll go be a waiter in Hollywood, or New York.”

“You need to be on the stage somewhere, not waiting tables.”

Aidan took his hand and grinned. “I love your optimism. Among other things.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” The smile slipped off of Aidan’s face as he stroked his thumb over Pete’s knuckles, staring at him with those damned green eyes.

Pete groaned inwardly, feeling the familiar wave of lust that Aidan’s touch engendered. Telling himself to get a grip, he gave him a wry smile. “This is the part where I try to seduce you and you tell me not to get involved, right?”

Aidan widened his eyes while tightening his grip. “You know the script!”

“Pretty well by now.”

Face softening, Aidan dropped his hand. “Damn you, Pete, why do you have to be so adorable?”

“And why do you have to be the sexiest thing on two legs?” They stared at each other.

“Fuck.” Aidan lunged forward, taking him by surprise, but once their mouths connected, their kiss was lingering.

Pete drank in the feel of Aidan’s lips, the warmth of his tongue in his mouth, knowing Aidan was the epitome of carpe diem. If Pete didn’t seize it now, there may never be another chance.

Aidan finally pulled away and sighed. “I hate my rules sometimes.”

“Yeah, me too.” Pete licked his lips to get a last taste of Aidan. “Well, since screwing your brains out isn’t on the table, I’m going to get back to this paper.” He moved his laptop closer and scooted his chair into place.

“Okay. But I’ll see you tonight, right?”

“Huh? Oh, right, Matthew’s Crushed Hearts party.” Pete wanted to laugh at the fitting name. “Yep.” He started typing.

“Cool.” Aidan watched him with an odd expression on his face—irresolute and wistful. After sitting for a moment longer, he stood up. “See you at the party.”

“Later,” Pete said, his eyes on his laptop, even though he wasn’t seeing the words.

Instead, as he listened to the sound of Aidan’s footsteps fading away, he marveled at the fact that he wasn’t upset, or frustrated, or even all that horny. Maybe he had gotten over Aidan Emery after all.

“I
WISH
you guys had let me dress you up,” Angie said, hand in hand with Brian as they and Pete approached the blue house.

“As what?” Pete asked. “A crushed heart? That’d be a gross costume.”

“No, I was going to put you in something from the Edwardian age so you could be one of those horribly repressed and closeted Englishmen. I’m sure they got their hearts crushed all the time.”

“Gee, thanks.” Pete followed Angie and Brian up the steps.

“And I was going to have you go as Pierrot again,” she told Brian, “but with hearts instead of teardrops.” They paused on the front porch for a kiss.

“Guys, I’m happy for you, I really am, but any more PDA and I may gag.”

“Sorry,” Brian said, although he didn’t look sorry at all.

Angie smirked at Pete, and he had to smile back. Despite his grousing, Pete thought Brian and Angie ending up together was perfect, almost poetically so.

They entered the house and stopped to survey the scene. Hearts floated in the air throughout the living room, hung on strings attached to the ceiling. Pete took hold of one—it was red on one side, but the other side was black and smattered with what looked like teardrops. Then he noticed all of the hearts had a darker side to them. Some were battered, some crumpled, and some torn in half.

Near the door, Elle was standing by a table, upon which was a stack of index cards and several pens. She was dressed in a ragged but diaphanous gown. Her hair was streaked with green, and she had made herself up so that her face was pale, with dark circles under her eyes.

“Welcome to our Crushed Hearts soiree,” she said in a sepulchral voice.

“Who are you supposed to be?” asked Angie.

Elle answered, her voice now normal, “Mimi in
La Bohème
. Here.” She pushed the index cards and pens closer. “Write down a memory of a time when your heart was crushed. We’re going to post them on a board, and then later we might do a dramatic reading of them.” She focused on a heart revolving near her, a dreamy expression on her face. “Hmm. Although burning them in a bonfire at the end of the night would be good.”

“Well, this will be easy.” Angie took a pen and began to write on a card.

Pete and Brian exchanged an awkward glance. Pete had no idea what to write, and he figured Brian might not want to write about getting his heart crushed repeatedly by Angie before he won her.

“Do we have to use real names?” Brian asked.

“No. You can make up names or not use names at all.” Brian picked up a card. “It doesn’t have to be about a romance,” she added. “Any event in your life that crushed your heart will do.”

Pete got a card and a pen and wrote,
My parents split up
. He handed the card to Elle.

“Gracias, kind sir.” She put his card on a stack without reading it.

Leaving Angie and Brian to finish writing, Pete wandered through the living room. About half the people crowding the space were wearing costumes. His eyes lit on a series of movie posters that had been tacked to the walls—
Camille
,
Casablanca
,
Romeo and Juliet
, and
Brokeback Mountain
, to name a few—and smiled when he realized all of them were tragic love stories. He made his way to the drinks table, impressed. Matthew and Parker never did anything halfway with their parties.

A hand fell on his shoulder. “My favorite fledgling filmmaker is here!”

Matthew grinned at him, and Pete blinked, taking a moment to collect himself. Matthew had on the tightest T-shirt Pete had ever seen him wear, with a cigarette pack rolled up in one sleeve, skintight jeans, and his hair slicked back like a 1950s greaser, although a few curls had sprung free over his forehead. Pete suppressed a sigh. Matthew looking like sex personified was making Pete’s don’t-jump-Matthew campaign a real trial.

“Let me guess,” Pete said, trying to ignore his arousal, “Danny Zuko. And you’re going to sing ‘Grease’ during karaoke.”

“Danny Zuko? You wound me, Pete. I’m James Dean. I hear he crushed some hearts in his time.”

“I’m sure he did.” Pete was going for sarcastic but wasn’t sure he pulled it off.

Brian and Angie joined them, and Matthew beamed at them. “Well, look at you two, holding hands and everything. Don’t you make a great couple?”

“Thanks.” Angie glowed, while next to her, Brian turned bright red.

“I think this calls for a toast,” Matthew said. “Over the karaoke system.”

“No, thanks,” Brian said at the same time Angie cried, “Matthew! You wouldn’t!”

Laughing, Matthew held up his hands. “No, I won’t. Maybe Pete and I will sing ‘You’re All I Need’ later and dedicate it to you lovebirds.”

Pete forced a smile that felt more like a grimace and took a step toward the drinks table. “What’s everybody having?” Brian, Angie, and Matthew were having so much fun chatting that no one answered. Feeling like the Grinch, Pete stalked to the table and considered the hard liquor options.

“Hey,” someone said next to him. Pete glanced over to see Lee with a beer in his hand.

“Hey, dude.” Pete squelched the urge to peer around Lee’s shoulder to see if Aidan was around. He and Lee spent a lot of time together because of their shared interests in theater and music. He picked up a whiskey bottle and poured himself a drink.

“Hitting the hard stuff, huh?” Lee asked.

“Guess so. How’s
Sweeney Todd
?”

“Coming along well.”

“I saw Aidan today in his new hair.”

“Yeah, pretty dramatic. My role doesn’t call for a new hair color, alas.”

“What role are you playing?”

“Anthony Hope. I save Sweeney from drowning and fall for the ingénue.”

“That’s—”

“Excuse me, all.” It was Matthew’s voice coming over the karaoke system. “Could everyone come into the den? We have champagne in here and something to celebrate.”

“What’s he up to now?” Lee asked, amused.

Pete saw Angie dart through the beaded curtain with Brian following. “I’m not sure. I think he might be about to embarrass Angie and Brian.” Pete refilled his cup.

“It’s not what you think, people,” continued Matthew’s voice. “So everyone get in here. Especially you, Pete.”

“What the hell?”

Lee laughed. “I think he’s about to embarrass
you
, dude. It’s probably about your film, since this is the cast party and all.”

“Come on, get in there.” John had come up behind him. “This ought to be good.”

“When did you guys get here?” Pete picked up his drink.

“We just got here. Get me some brandy, honey,” Cleo said to John and put her hand on Pete’s arm. “Pete and I’ll be in the den.”

She escorted Pete with a firm grip, weaving through the partygoers. As they went through the beaded curtain, Pete took some comfort in the fact that a good percentage of the crowd appeared to be ignoring Matthew’s instructions. In the den, Angie ran over to them with a wide smile.

“Matthew’s the sweetest thing! He’s going to toast you and your film!”

“You just think he’s sweet cuz he’s not going to embarrass
you
.”

Parker served them plastic cups of champagne off a tray, while on the other side of the room, Finn was doing the same. “Here you go, take one. And try to look happier about being congratulated, Mr. Director.”

“The film isn’t even finished,” Pete protested.

John walked up and handed Cleo her brandy. “Oh, quit whining and take your congratulations like a man.”

“Okay. Y’all have champagne?” Matthew stood by the karaoke machine, mic in hand, his happy grin negating the rebellious vibe of his James Dean get-up. “And those of you in the living room, I know you’re out there. I hope you’ll join us in lifting your glass. So, this toast goes out to none other than Pete Morgan. He’s right back there in the turquoise T-shirt, so everyone turn and look at him. He’s the one scowling at me right now. Pete, I commend you for finishing the filming on your very first movie. You wrote it and directed it, and that’s no small task. You are one talented dude.” Matthew raised his glass. “So, let’s hear it for Pete!”