The Story of Lansing Lotte (19 page)

I blinked several times, tears stinging my eyes. Another young face was directed at me. Stern, with a bit of disappointment, he saw me in that precarious position, pinned to the wall.

Josh Tucker.

“S’up Josh,” my assailant said with a head nod.

“Coming to get my girl,” Josh answered, a demand in his tone. I smiled falsely at his words as I used a shaky hand to wipe away the feel of the singer’s mouth on mine.

“So take her,” the lead singer nodded at Jenn. He obviously misunderstood, or I did, and my smile slipped a little.

“Not her,” he said, slipping an arm around Jenn. “Her,” he said pointing at me. I bit my lower lip and I saw a sparkle hit his blue eyes. He smiled slowly on one side of his mouth and I reached for Josh. He tugged me so hard I fell into his chest. He kept an arm around Jenn and escorted us both in the opposite direction of the greenroom. I hadn’t known it yet, but I had just been saved from a notorious scandal with someone carving a reputation for kidnapping and abusing women. Josh Tucker had been my hero that night.

It had been almost two months since Arturo’s disappearance. Fall was in full force with the color change of leaves and the cool drop in temperature. New York City was abuzz with Halloween decorations, but the hint of the holidays was overshadowing the season, a bit. We would have been halfway around the world ourselves at that time, if we had been in concert. I wasn’t even sure what city we would have been in, but it would have been in Europe somewhere.

Instead we were planning a trip upstate. Perk wanted to take Hollister to meet his mother and his sister, Raine. I agreed to go, but I wasn’t altogether thrilled about the visit. I had invited Lila, but she declined saying she had school and Fleur had pre-school.

I dreaded seeing Vivian. I felt I’d just visited her during the summer, when we travelled to Arturo’s home in upper New York for some rest, relaxation, and regrouping before our scheduled tour. Who knew that trip would result in my undoing with Elaine, the birth of Guinie and Arturo’s relationship, and the motivation for a third major album. It was there that sparked Arturo to begin writing lyrics. Well, it was actually his feelings for Guinevere that sparked ten of thirteen songs for an album.

I declined a ride with Perk and Hollister, stating I needed my own wheels in order to escape my mother, if need be. Perk laughed, but he knew the truth. Vivian DuLac wasn’t really my mother.

When I was three, my parents took a trip to upstate New York. They were young and in love, but supposedly on the run from a set of their parents who disapproved of the young marriage. My father, Ben Wicke, came from a wealthy family, who owned a construction company and worked at acquiring property. Not quite on the scale of Arturo’s father, who owned the Pendragon Empire, a multi-billion dollar realty group, but still largely profitable. My mother, on the other hand, was not someone my grandparents approved of and the young couple eloped when she was pregnant. They lived a carefree life, until that fateful vacation to the north, so I was told later.

They were camping on Lake Avalon at a local camp resort when they left me unattended, or at least that’s what I was told. I don’t know if I wandered off, or if they truly were negligent, but I was found by another woman.
Vivian DuLac
. In truth, I was kidnapped by her. Raised to believe I was her son, without a father present, I never questioned my fairy-like mother. She was eccentric and earthy, but kind and fair. She allowed me to learn the guitar when I asked and provided an open home for practice. The one thing she refused was any trips to New York City until I was sixteen. It was then that I earned of the mysterious scholarship and was allowed to move to the city to live with Ingrid Tintagel. While Arturo and Perk attended college, I went to the Performing Arts Academy.

I was thinking of those things when I drove the winding road around Lake Avalon. In the unseen distance to the west was Camlann, Arturo’s family home. On the north end of the lake was Ingrid’s, but also on this lake was the home of Elaine: the refurbished estate of the Corbin’s.  That would be my destination tomorrow evening, after a brief visit with my mother.

Elaine had called me, after weeks of no contact that I took the blame for, and asked me to attend her annual Halloween masquerade party. It was a must-attend, society party full of political powers, religious leaders, and talented entertainers from the New York area. Being as I was from Lake Avalon, Elaine included many of her long-standing local friends, too. I knew that Guinie had been invited and Layne Ascolat convinced her to attend. The two girls would be staying at Ingrid’s, despite Ingrid’s sudden dash to Europe. 

Elaine had an ulterior motive for my invitation, though. She said she had to talk to me and it must be in person. I was already over my head, questioning how to let Layne go, and my feelings for Guinevere, plus I had Lila living in my home. Then, Elaine wanted to speak with me.  I was a mess. To top it off, I had to face Vivian.

As I pulled up to the small home surrounded by flowers and decorated with wind chimes, wrought-iron outdoor ornaments, and hanging fall plants; I took a deep sigh. I blamed Vivian for everything. My parents searched for me, as I’m told. They returned to the city and my grandparents forgave them immediately when they learned they had a grandson, who was now missing. I’m assuming task forces were sent to scour the Lake district, but I don’t know how well they could have searched and not found the small home on the very edge of the lake. It might have been a bit hidden from the road, but not from the lakeside. Apparently, my father had a heart attack, despite his youth, at the stress of my loss. I’d like to selfishly think he died of a broken heart. He’d lost his son, literally. My mother, on the other hand, couldn’t have been a strong woman, and she had a nervous breakdown. She’d lost her son, and her husband, and eventually she lost her mind.

But Vivian was of sound mind when she took me to be her child.
How could I forgive her one might think?
I didn’t know any better. It wasn’t until I was eighteen that I learned the truth of my history. 

I exited my sports car, a good substitute for the loss of my bike. I didn’t have the will to replace that powerful machine and the white Camaro with a red strip was a testament to the thrill of speed I craved from my bike. I walked up the short gravel drive to the low front porch. Inside I heard music playing as I entered the smallish cottage. I found Vivian swaying to some older music as she stood at the kitchen sink. She didn’t hear me as I approached and she continued to wash the dishes, lost in her music.

“Hello Vivian,” I said behind her.

Suds splashed her as she dropped the dish into the soapy water and squealed in fright.

“Lansing, darling. You scared the daylights out of me,” she laughed placing a wet hand against her chest. She reached for me, but I stepped back. 

It was habit on both our parts.

She was an affectionate mother, and I would return those hugs until I was eighteen. Then when I learned the truth, I couldn’t have her touch me anymore. She was a stranger to me, regardless of the label
mother
. Her hands dropped to her side in exasperation and she huffed a little as she returned to washing her dishes.

I wasn’t sure what to say next. That was how our relationship went. Awkward.

“How is Elaine?” Vivian broke the tension with her back still turned to me.

“I haven’t spoken to her, in a while,” I said, as I sat at the small two-person table. Vivian looked at me over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes. She nodded once and twisted her lips like she had something to say but was holding back.

“It will be quite a surprise to see her then,” Vivian spoke toward the sudsy sink.

“I’ve been seeing someone else,” I blurted, for some unknown reason.

“Who?” Her face brightened as she glanced at me briefly.

“Layne Ascolat.”

Vivian dropped another dish into the water causing soap to splash upward again.

“Oh, Lansing, do be careful.”

I pinched my eyebrows at her.
Why did people keep warning me of that?

“What about the girl in your apartment?”

How could she know about her?
Before my thought was finished, she continued as if she read my mind.

“This isn’t the back country. We still get news from New York, especially when it’s my son saving a child from a burning building.” She smiled at me over her shoulder.

I cringed at her reference to me being her son.

“I’m no hero,” I said, trailing the wood grain of the table with my finger tip.

“Yes, you are, darling. You saved that child, and I heard you saved her mother, too.”

“I did not save, Lila,” I said sharply.

“Aren’t they living with you now?”

“How do you know that?”

“I have my sources,” she giggled softly.

“Well, if you have
spies
then they would know I did not save Lila,” I snapped at her.

“Hhmm.”

“What does that mean?” My tone was growing in anger.

“You like this girl.”

High school all over again like Galehaut saying Guinie likes me.

“I do not,” I said, which was a lie. I did like Lila. Not in any particular way, but as a friend. She was good to look at, and I admit I had some troubling fantasy about being with her curvy body, but I shook it away. She was fun to have around. Her presence in the apartment was a welcome distraction from me and my issues.

“Maybe she’ll save you,” Vivian said quietly.

“I don’t think so,” I laughed.

She stopped washing and turned her body to face me. Her hip rested on the edge of the sink as she spoke.

“Again. I think you’ll be surprised.”

It was more than surprise I felt that Halloween; a night celebrated in some cultures where families remember their dead and worship them. In America, the night was a celebration, but in reality, it was a sad, scary night, as the dead were rumored to walk the land, haunting those they’d left behind. How true all that would be for me that night.

Shock started the night. Three women gathered together all dressed the same. They were the three Fates of Greek mythology. Not old and raggedly like the traditional witches, but sexy, sleek, and causing quite a stir as they were masked and gowned in fitted, draping black material.  The only distinguishing feature was their hair. Two were rather similar in their chestnut coloring, while one was redder with kinky curls giving away Layne Ascolat.