The Lover's Children

Chapter 57 – April’s Tears #8

GEORGIE

Borje sits as though frozen. He breathes. Breathes again. “Sometimes…” He speaks very softly… “…

we have to accept that we are not what we think we are. Or what we think we want to be.” Abruptly, he

grins, disarming me entirely. “Look at me. I grew up wanting to look like Robert de Niro. Y’know, the

dark, craggy, ‘carved from Italian oak’ type. But here I am.” He spreads palms to the sky. “If I were an

actor, they'd cast me as the Gestapo officer every time.”

I have to chuckle. “Robert de Niro? That sounds more like me. You could cast him as my dad, but not

you.”

“Perhaps… But you are not your father.”

There’s a subtle emphasis to his words. But I can’t get a handle on what he’s saying. “Of course I’m

not. But what's your problem? You're a handsome man. An unusually handsome man. Intelligent and

educated. And charming with it. You must pull every woman you try with.”

His eyes soften. “I can pull, as you put it, when I want to, yes. And you…” He rests a fingertip on the

hollow at the base of my throat… “… are a strong woman. But…” The fingertip taps at me. “…that

doesn't necessarily mean what you think it does.”

Utterly baffled, “Borje, I don't understand you.”

He removes the fingertip, lips twitching. “I know you don't.” He moves closer. Close enough that I inhale

his warmth and his fragrance. The fingertip returns, tracing the outline of my lips. "Poor little tough girl.

Let it go, Georgie. Stop trying to be in charge all the time."

"I have to be in charge. My work..."

"You're not working now." The finger trails to my cheek and, without meaning to, I follow it, turning my

face to kiss the tip.

Instantly, he withdraws, now wagging the finger. "Ah-ah..." But he smiles, taking the sting from his

words... “You're still doing it.”

My eyes grow blurry and warm. "I don't know what it is you want from me."

"I know that too. I think it will come to you."

"You're trying to turn me into some sweet little doll to run around and do your bidding?"

"Sweet?” He huffs. “No, I doubt that. You'll never be sweet. You are, after all, still your father's

daughter…”

My brain is full of fluff and I’m blinking rapidly, resisting the stinging behind my eyes.

“… But that doesn't mean I don't find you attractive." Borje moves closer, brushing his lips, fragrant and

spicy from the food, over mine. I lean into the kiss, my lips parting, but once more, instantly, he

withdraws. "You’re doing it again, Georgie. Still trying to take the lead."

The finger returns to the base of my neck. “Such a lovely part of the body, wouldn’t you say? That little

hollow. So sensitive. It’s a shame it doesn’t have a better name.”

“Name? It has a name?”

“The suprasternal notch. Or the fossa jugularis sternalis. Or the incisura jugularis sternalis.”

“That sounds very… medical.”

“Quite.” He smiles lopsidedly. “Another name is the jugular notch.”

“That sounds even worse. Like something a murderer would aim for.”

“It does, doesn’t it. And there we are, such a lovely part of the body, so sensitive and we’ve not had the

grace to gift it a more appropriate title.”

*****

KLEMPNER

The car pulled up ten minutes ago. Borje got out, strolled around and opened the passenger door for

Georgie. He walked her to the hotel entrance. And now…

From my shadow, I watch them.

Why doesn't he touch her?

She wants him to.

…

Not a normal reaction.

…

Red-blooded male…

He looks healthy enough…

Attractive, willing woman.

He seems to want her.

…

Wouldn’t have him down as gay…

?

He fucked Jenny…

He’s talking to her. Looks as though he’s saying goodnight. Craning, I try to pick out what they're

saying, but the drift of music from indoors cloaks the words.

I survey the area for a closer lurking spot, but there’s nowhere I could reach without being seen.

Frustrated, I settle for watching.

What's going on here?

It's not normal.

Am I a good judge of normal?

?

Perhaps I should say something to Mitch? She’s better at judging people…

Yes… talk to Mitch…

But again, there’s no way I can move from my current position without giving myself away. Even if the

pair didn’t see me, the crunch of gravel under my feet would betray my presence.

A grunt…

… and something cold and wet shoves at my hand.

Fuck!

Under my ribs, a Bang! that slams the blood outward and sets the ends of my fingers tingling…

Then I push my heart back down my throat as I realise it’s only Bear. From somewhere behind me,

footsteps clip on stone, then crunch over gravel. “Here, Bear.” It’s Mitch approaching from somewhere

back in the darkness.

Borje swivels toward us. “Who's there?” Then as he picks me out of the gloom, “You! What the fuck...?”

He squares up, pushing Georgie behind himself. “Do I have to get an injunction put on you, Larry, to

stop you stalking me?” His fists flex. “What exactly is it you have against me?”

An arm hooks into mine. “Hello, you two.” Mitch’s voice is light and cheerful. “Sorry, we didn’t mean to

disturb you.” She shoots what, even in the limited light, I read as a meaningful gaze, on me. “We were

just giving Bear a few minutes fresh air before we turn in.”

Obligingly, Bear cocks his leg against the wall, then wagging, wanders up to Georgie, snuffling into her

hand. She stoops, scratching him around the ears as he wriggles appreciation. “Hello, Bear. Who’s a

lovely lad then.” Borje glares at me for a long moment, then joins her, giving the dog a perfunctory pat.

That elbow jabs into my ribs. I’m becoming accustomed to having a bruise at that spot. Mitch speaks

low, apparently without the intervention of her lips or jaw. “What the hell are you playing at, Larry?”

“I…”

“Never mind,” she hisses. Then in a more normal voice, “A cup of tea I think, Larry, before we go to

bed. Come along, Bear. Goodnight, Georgie. Borje.” Her hooked-in arm tugs at my elbow, inexorably

steering, then walking me away.

As we round the corner, she mutters, “You can’t keep behaving like this. You’re spying on your friends

now?”

“I’m watching out for Georgie. I’m telling you there’s something going on there.”

“Going-on? Larry, she’s a grown woman. She can…”

“There’s something odd about the way he behaves toward her. He’s…”

She swivels to face me, fists on hips. “What? Borje is what? He asked you the right question back

there. What is it you have against him?”

“I don’t know. Look, Mitch, humour me, would you. Watch with me for a minute or so. I’d like a woman’s

feedback.”

She pauses, regards me for a moment. “If I do, what am I looking for?”

“Just watch. Stay out of sight and watch. Tell me what you think.”

*****

GEORGIE

A swirl of a breeze; his hair ruffles, carrying the scent of him to me, the musk of his skin, the tang of

some shampoo or cologne. Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

I want you…

… So much…

“Borje, is there something wrong with me?”

He inclines his head, his expression calm. “What do you think could be wrong with you?”

“I don’t know, but…” And my words dry up.

The fear bites, the constant fear that I’ll say the wrong thing and somehow ruin it. Like I’ve done so

many times before. Already done this evening. My stomach cramps up. Always before, it didn’t matter.

This time it does. It really does.

This man.

This beautiful man.

Who I want more than anything, anyone, I’ve ever wanted.

He stands, hands in pockets. “Georgie, talk to me.”

“You say you find me attractive but, don’t you… Don’t you want to touch me?”

He sighs, moves closer, rests his forehead on mine. “And why would you imagine that?”

“I… don’t know. Anyone I’ve dated before… He’s… all over me, whether I ask it or not. Trying to get me

into bed, even if all I wanted was to have a drink or two and a night out. You… You’ve barely so much

as kissed me. No more than a peck on the cheek when you say goodnight. You hardly touch me at all.

I’m… beginning to wonder what it is you want from me.”

“What I want?” Borje shrugs, but he’s smiling with it: an odd half-smile that plays over his lips and

dances to his eyes. “I want the pleasure of your company. Your companionship.”

“Are you saying that you just want us to be friends?”

“No, I’ll admit, I’m hoping for more.” He takes my hand in his, runs his thumb over the back. “Do you

want me to kiss you?”

Somewhere under my chest, my heart pounds. My throat tightens. “Yes,” I whisper. “I want you to kiss

me.”

Borje shifts, twisting a little as he angles his body to mine, brings his face close to mine. That strange

half-smile shimmers behind his eyes as he touches my cheek, strokes the line of my jaw. “Very well,

Georgie. Our first real kiss.”

He raises a fingertip, outlines my lips: the merest ghost of a touch. So close as he is now, his irises are

a grey that is almost silver, platinum threaded with pewter and cobalt around huge dark pupils. They

follow the track of his fingertips, then rise to meet mine. “You’re so beautiful.”

He leans slowly in, ever nearer, then, just a little shy of meeting me, he pauses, hovers.

And I move to meet him.