Читать книгу Kiss and Cry - Narrelle M Harris - Страница 7

Frank kept glancing towards the door to the bistro, but the frame remained stubbornly empty. Party guests stopped to wish him well, and they’d hug and exchange a few words, but always, he had one eye on that door.

‘Isn’t he coming?’ asked Frank’s sister Angela, lips pursed.

Frank wished his sister would stop asking. ‘His flight was delayed. He texted.’

Milo had booked the whole upstairs of Basilico, one of Carlton’s cosiest modern Italian bistros. A chalkboard menu and vintage Pates Baroni and Campari posters hung from the cream coloured walls. Simple square tables were placed in a line. Dishes of arancini, bruschetta, mini calzones, prosciutto and melon, and little snack-sized bowls of gnocchi and pasta were ranged around an elaborate birthday cake, the candles unlit. It had almost everything Frank could ask for.

Milo and Frank considered Basilico “their place”, only ten minutes from their home. The owners treated them like special though wayward sons.

Frank found the atmosphere considerably less special without his partner in it.

Cody Fletcher loomed into view, putting himself in between Frank’s darting gaze and the space where Milo should have been.

‘Happy birthday Frank!’ Cody pecked him on the cheek and was blushing coyly when he pulled away. He grinned when Frank was surprised into a smile.

‘Thanks, Cody.’

‘Thanks for asking me along.’

‘Thanks for coming.’

‘And you were right about the backing vocals on Cleopatra. They really lift it up, make it stand out. Amor Vincit Omnia,’ he sang the line. ‘Love Conquers All. Perfect.’

Frank knew the addition was perfect, which was why he’d fought for it, for Cody to let him try it.

‘I’ve learned my lesson. Always do whatever my producer wants.’ Cody dropped his voice meaningfully.

The look in Cody’s eye as he looked straight into Frank’s was… flattering. The way Cody’s tongue flicked out to lick at his lower lip was, too, as was the way Cody leaned towards him as though he couldn’t help himself.

Frank’s gaze darted to the door. Still no Milo. He looked back to Cody. Blond, handsome, blue-eyed Cody, mid-twenties and cocky with his own talent. Cody had a wicked charm and easy self-confidence that reminded Frank of Milo.

‘Anything you want now, Frank?’ Cody swayed closer, not quite in kissing distance but definitely broadcasting the intent.

I want Milo to be bloody here like he said he’d be.

Frank smiled, friendly but not encouraging. He lifted his bottle of beer to show it was a quarter full. ‘Another Pale Ale would hit the spot. Ta.’

Cody took the brush-off well, keeping his chirpy grin as he headed to the bar.

Frank wondered if he’d have to talk to Cody about all the flirting. This was Cody’s second more serious attempt at seduction and flattering as it was, and handsome as Cody was, Frank was not interested. Still, it was good for the soul, to know that someone still thought him worth cruising. No harm in enjoying a spot of harmless banter.

Someone patted his wrist and he turned from the still-bloody-empty doorway to see Milo’s mother, Olivia. ‘He’ll be here,’ she said softly, encouragingly, and a lot less judgemental than Ange had been.

‘I know,’ said Frank, intending to believe it.

‘You know how much the Foundation means to him. He works very hard for it.’

‘I’m aware,’ said Frank drily, eyes back on the door. Olivia took her hand from his and he felt ashamed at his brusqueness.

‘I know the work’s important to him, Olivia, and I know why. With this stint on the skating show coming up, he wants to make sure it’s all operating smoothly and can take any scrutiny it gets. I understand it. I do. But he promised he’d be here.’

He felt like a wanker for whining about it. He was a goddamned adult, and “my boyfriend didn’t come to my birthday party” was an infantile reason to feel so disappointed when he knew it wasn’t really Milo’s fault.

Except it sort of was. He should have been home two days ago. Time had “slipped away”. Again. The ice show was just the latest reason in an increasingly long list of reasons over the last few years to be too busy for stuff they’d planned. Frank had made an especial effort to clear his own decks for the occasion. And if he worked long hours himself, well, he was the one bringing in the bulk of the income just now. Someone had to.

‘He’s coming, Frank.’

‘Sure he is. If he’s not too tired. Or if he doesn’t meet an old friend at the airport. Or just doesn’t feel like it.’

‘Oh Frank, that’s not fair.’

‘Yeah. He can’t help being easily distracted. Part of his charm, isn’t it?’

Frank might have said more – vented more of his disappointment, or apologised to Olivia for being in such a foul mood – but just then, finally, there he was, handsome and devil-may-care as ever. Milo, clearly weary and dishevelled, had obviously come directly from the airport. He dropped his bag by the door as his eyes sought Frank out. As soon as he saw Frank, Milo smiled like the sun coming out, happy to be here, happy to see him

All acrimony forgotten, Frank beamed back.

Frank wanted to grab Milo’s hand and drag him somewhere private and cosy – or even just the cloak room – where they could pash like teenagers. Instead, he waved like the sedate adult he was becoming.

Cody Fletcher brought him a bottle of beer and he took it, hardly noticing Cody or how Cody’s fingers brushed against his. Instead, he made a beeline for Milo, his eyes bright and happy with welcome.

Angela’s four-year-old son ran screaming past the bistro counter towards Milo, little legs pumping, eyes wide, chubby cheeks round with laughing. ‘Uncle Meeelooh!’

‘Sorry,’ Milo mouthed at Frank as Antony collided with his thighs and nearly bounced away again.

‘Uncle Meeeeloooooh!!’

Milo promptly zombie-lurched after the boy, hands outstretched as he chanted, ‘Antony-Mantony got ants in his pantony!’

‘I haven’t got ants in my pantonies!’ squealed Antony, dodging between the long legs of the other party guests. The adults danced out of the way, smiling indulgently or scowling according to their temperament.

‘You do so have ants!’ yelled Antony’s nine year old sister from the sidelines. She’d abandoned her earlier attempts at tween insouciance a while ago, fuelled by cola, birthday cake and her brother’s antics.

‘Don’t encourage him, Isabella,’ Angela berated her.

‘Mu-u-u-um.’ The four syllables betrayed Isabella tortured sense of unfairness.

Milo grabbed Antony around the middle and swung him into the air. Antony’s feet just missed clocking a waiter.

‘Aa-a-a-ange,’ said Milo over Antony’s gulping giggles, ‘don’t blame Bella. It’s my fault.’

‘That’s right. It’s Uncle Milo’s fault!’

‘I know it’s your Uncle Milo’s fault,’ Angela said, unamused.

Frank’s feet were tingling from the effort of standing perfectly still while he waited for Milo to reach him, instead of barging through the crowd, shoving people aside as he went. When Milo slid his arms around Frank’s waist, Frank melted into the embrace.

‘I made it.’

‘By the skin of your teeth.’

‘But I made it. I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Happy birthday, gorgeous Bear.’

Frank, his arms wrapped around Milo too, sighed out the last of his tension. ‘I missed you.’

‘Missed you too.’ Milo kissed Frank’s nose, then his lips. ‘No more trips for a while.’

‘Good.’ A deeper kiss, a glad-to-be-home kiss, where home was one another.

‘Not in front of the kids, Frank!’ Angela’s hissed, uncomfortable whisper broke them. Milo cocked a snarky eyebrow at her preparing for battle, which was fair enough, but Frank had really been hoping to avoid another stupid fight with his sometimes insensitive sister.

Their mother Tonia saved him the trouble.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Angela, they’re just kissing. You and Michael kissed in front of the kids!’

‘They used to,’ Isabella asserted. ‘Even when I told them it was gross.’ Then the girl’s face crumpled, maybe wishing they were still doing their gross parental kissing instead of divorcing.

‘A birthday kiss is very appropriate,’ Tonia said loudly over the increasing discomfort.

‘Happy birthday, Uncle Fraaaaaaaaaank!’ shouted Antony, at the reminder. Antony had enjoyed shouting it at regular intervals throughout the evening.

‘Thank you Antony-Mantony!’ Frank shouted back, grateful for the interruption. He crouched and spread his arms wide to catch the human torpedo that flung himself into his arms. Frank lifted him up again and swung him around. Antony squealed joyfully.

‘Careful Antony!’ Tonia cautioned. ‘Don’t hurt your Uncle Frank!’

‘Mum, I’m 38 not 150.’

‘Your father’s back went when he was 40.’

Frank didn’t want to admit that whirling a four year old in a circle was in any way putting a strain on his lower back, but he deposited his nephew on the floor again and set him running off towards Isabella again. Milo, fond and sympathetic, tucked himself by Frank’s side and slung an arm around Frank’s waist.

‘I promise not to tell them how flexible you still are,’ he murmured into Frank’s ear. Frank slipped a hand down to pinch Milo’s bottom. Milo wriggled and kissed Frank’s ear.

Before Frank could get too distracted, he caught Olivia laughing at them. She quickly covered that up by joining in a conversation with another guest, Gabriella Valli, while her husband Pete talked football with Frank and Milo’s sometimes-drummer, Minh Do.

‘Wait till you’re 40, sunshine!’ called out Frank’s mate Rob. ‘Not long now!’

‘Fuck you too!’ Frank yelled cheerfully back, then winced as Angela shot him a look.

Isabella came to the not-quite-rescue. ‘It’s okay Mum, I know the word “fuck”.’

‘Isabella Julia Kingsley!’

Isabella Julia Kingsley flushed red and hid behind Tonia, who tutted often but never shouted.

Antony began to sing that ‘Bella said a ruuuuuuuudie!’ and Isabella to protest that it was no big deal, everyone said it, not just Uncle Frank. ‘You and dad said it all the time before you split up.’

Angela stared at her daughter. ‘Fuck it,’ she said, and downed the rest of her chardonnay in a swallow.

‘That’s the spirit, Ange,’ Milo cheered, slipping away from Frank and grabbing a bottle of wine to top up her glass.

Frank genuinely couldn’t work out if this was the best or the worst birthday party he’d ever had. The little family-and-close-friends do was low-key, exactly what he wanted, but still somehow fraught. On the one hand, all of his family were there. On the other hand, all of his family were there. If tonight didn’t kill him, he’d make sure they had two separate parties in future. If he bothered to have any more. Fuck thirty-eight. Maybe it was time to just have cosy nights in with Milo watching costume dramas and sharing a tiramisu.

‘You and Frank are the lucky ones,’ Angela was now saying to Milo. ‘I mean, you should be able to get gay married, but at least you don’t have to get gay divorced.’

‘Yeah,’ deadpanned Milo. ‘It’s a super terrific bonus to not having equal rights.’

Angela, who was holding out her empty glass for refill, missed the snark.

‘Happy birthday, big brother,’ she tossed over her shoulder to Frank. ‘Being gay means never having to explain to your kids that daddy is a cheating bastard liar.’

‘Aaaand maybe that’s enough wine for now.’ Milo steered Angela towards Tonia and pirouetted away to perform some other good-host deed, making up for lost time. Frank wished Milo would come back and kiss him again.

Five minutes later, Milo slipped in behind Frank and hugged him, kissed his neck. ‘Wanna smooch some more and corrupt the kiddies?’

Frank laughed, turned in Milo’s arms and they kissed, though chastely.

‘I’m getting some canapes, I’m starving,’ said Milo, and slipped away again. Frank watched him, feeling that nothing could be too bad, if Milo was around being a charming sod and cheeking the relatives.

Maybe he could go home and cuddle with Milo soon. As soon as they could get everyone else to go away.

‘Step-son!’ Pete waved Milo over.

‘Step-dad!’ Milo wrapped an arm around Pete’s shoulder and gave him a smacking kiss on the side of the head.

‘Minh says they’ve announced a new Hobart Kites footballer to go on that skating show with you.’

Milo nodded. ‘The producers said. Adam Wills. Same team, same charity, all good.’

While they talked football, Frank accepted a hug from Gabriella Valli. ‘Happy birthday, Frank. I don’t think you’re old.’

‘Cheeky wench.’

Gabey only laughed. ‘I’m not one to talk: I’m heading off early. I have a little boy to kiss goodnight.’

‘Give Bruno a kiss from me!’

‘And me!’ sang out Milo, manifesting beside Frank and offering his face to receive a kiss on each cheek.

‘You,’ Gabey said, obliging him, ‘keep out of trouble. You too,’ she said as she kissed Frank.

Gabriella leaving was a signal for the exodus in groups of twos and threes. Cody’s hug lingered a little long for good taste but before Frank had to actively make him let go, Cody kissed him on the cheek and withdrew. ‘Happy birthday, mate,’ he said. ‘See you at the studio next week. I’m open to any more brilliant ideas you have.’

‘Course you are,’ said Milo, slotting in beside Frank again. His expression was friendly and innocent of double meaning. ‘He’s a brilliant producer and you should listen to all his bright ideas.’

‘Never mind him,’ said Frank, attempting humility. ‘Milo’s my cheer squad.’

‘Not wrong though,’ asserted Milo.

‘Not wrong at all,’ Cody agreed. ‘Next week, then!’

Frank went off to hug a few more people farewell while Milo watched Cody definitely leave. Then Milo leapt in to organising taxis for the stragglers before returning to where Frank was idly picking at the birthday cake’s mousse filling.

‘Hey, stranger.’

‘Hey yourself.’

‘You look sexy, old man.’ The tip of Milo’s tongue darted out to provide a delicately suggestive lick of his lips. ‘Let’s blow this joint and come to my place for a tumble.’

Frank’s eyebrow arched at “old man”. ‘I’m only six months older than you.’

‘Oooh, deliciously ripe then. Yum.’

Frank laughed. ‘You’re a menace to society, Milo Bertolone.’

‘I’m a menace to your society. Come home and let me ravish you.’ Milo enfolded Frank in his arms and kissed his neck. ‘Unless you’re too full of cake.’

‘I am, but as it’s my birthday, you can do all the work.’

‘Who’s a cheeky wench now, hmm?’

‘Me. I’m the birthday wench. Don’t you forget i-‘ The sentence was lost in a demanding kiss that Frank happily surrendered to.

They bundled gifts and cards into a box and walked home across Argyle Square between the elm trees. The cool blue piazza lighting glowed at the north end of the park; at this end, among the deep night shadows, the air tasted of high summer heat, parched leaves and bark.

By the time they were through the front door, ardour had cooled. Ardour had a way of doing that lately. Milo, however, dumped the box in the hall and pulled Frank into a nuzzling kiss.

Frank wasn’t sure he could recapture the mood now. Too full, too tired. But then Milo bumped noses with him and said softly, ‘I’ve missed you, babe. All this running around, working all the time. I miss this. Just being with you.’

Frank kissed Milo’s lips, his cheek. ‘I’ve missed you too.’ They kissed again, loving if not passionate.

‘How about that birthday blow job?’ Milo offered again. ‘Unless you’d rather just cuddle up?’

A cuddle-up sounded pretty damned good, actually, which made Frank feel just that bit older, but also a bit relieved. Milo, reading his mood, took Frank by the hand and led him into the living room and onto the sofa.

Milo shoved cushions aside and flopped down, drawing Frank alongside him. For a while they snuggled, before Frank tilted his face up and Milo obliged him with a kiss. Several kisses. Several more.

Before long, Frank was on his back on the sofa with his shirt shoved out of place so that Milo could kiss his chest and lick at his nipples. Then Milo kiss-licked his way over Frank’s ribs, dragging his teeth slightly across bare skin, until he could squish his face into Frank’s slight podge to suckle at the pale skin.

‘Don’t.’ Frank squirmed, self-conscious.

‘You don’t,’ Milo told him. ‘I love your belly.’ He suckled at it again to prove the point.

‘Yeah, right. Dead sexy.’

Milo wriggled up again, took Frank’s face in his hands and looked him straight in the eye. ‘Yes. You are. My sexy Bear.’

‘I’m a grumpy bear.’ That was how Frank had earned the pet name in the first place, years ago, when Milo would turn on the lascivious charm to convert him from a grumpy growler to a languid teddy bear.

‘Grumpy bear, cuddly bear, sexy bear.’ Milo kissed him between each iteration. ‘I love your little belly and I love your crow’s feet and I love the grey hairs you keep pulling out thinking I haven’t noticed. And do you know why?’

‘Why?’ Frank grumbled.

‘Cos you’re growing old with me, baby Bear, and at least twice over the years, we didn’t think we’d get that chance. But here we are.’ Milo pulled Frank close and held him tight. Frank wrapped his arms around Milo too, happy to be reminded.

‘Here we are,’ said Frank. He brushed his thumb across Milo’s cheek. ‘God, I love you.’

They kissed again, and Milo used his mouth to retrace earlier steps, smearing lips, tongue and teeth over Frank’s skin to the swell of his stomach. He looked up, dark eyes pleading the question under his lashes.

‘Didn’t you promise me a birthday ravishing?’ Frank asked.

Milo grinned. ‘Get your pants off, birthday boy.’

Frank put his hands behind his head. ‘I thought you were going to do all the work.’

Milo gleefully proceeded to do all the work, and Frank to make almost all of the noise.

*

‘Do you get a trophy if you win the skating thing?’ Frank asked. He and Milo were still cosied up on the sofa, Frank lying in the V of Milo’s legs, Milo’s arms around him and his head on Milo’s chest. He was gazing up at the row of music awards on the mantelpiece.

Milo nuzzled Frank’s hair. ‘Don’t know. Reckon I should?’

Frank ran his hands down Milo’s bare thighs. ‘Definitely. You should have all the trophies.’

‘You’ve got enough trophies for both of us.’ He kissed the back of Frank’s neck.

A prickle of irritation crawled up Frank’s spine; a sense that the comment was somehow a criticism. They’d argued before about Frank’s long hours at the studio and his single-minded focus on making every album for every artist was as perfect as it could be. Milo hadn’t minded when it was their own album they’d been making just right, and he didn’t mind when Frank was making the singles that raised money for the Foundation.

Milo pressed his nose into Frank’s skin and kissed him, and Frank abruptly let go of the irritation that had come from nothing. He sank back into Milo’s arms.

A querulous feline mew made them both sit suddenly up. The last time Treble had leapt up unexpectedly to join them on the sofa when they were both naked, it had been briefly alarming and bloody. Milo’s bum still bore a faint scar. Frank leapt up, dragging the soft throw rug over his body and Milo shoved a cushion over his crotch.

‘Little monster,’ Milo chided the tabby cat fondly. She alighted onto the sofa beside him and head-butted the hand holding the cushion in place. He scratched her ears and she purred. ‘That’s my precious girl,’ Milo crooned at her. ‘Daddy’s fluffy princess.’

‘You are such a sucker for that cat.’

‘And you’re not?’

‘I don’t call myself her Cat Daddy.’

‘You totally think it, though.’

‘I do not.’

‘You do. Anyway, it’s not like we’re gonna be real dads.’

‘God. You’re as bad as Angela.’

‘What?’

‘Gay couples can have kids.’

‘Course they can,’ said Milo. ‘Elton. Neil Patrick Harris. The sound guys from the last album – Ivan and Harry from Sydney, remember them? Their kid’s adorable.’ He addressed Treble in a sooky voice: ‘But why would we want them when we’ve got a lovely fur baby, hmm? We don’t have to worry about saying fuck in front of you, do we, Queen Fluff? ‘

Treble, Queen Fluff, the Fur Baby, miaowed a regal response, clambered up the protective cushion and head-butted Milo’s chin.

Frank stroked Treble’s spine and she purred happily. ‘What was that about a new footballer coming onto the skating thing?’ he asked, firmly changing the subject.

‘Josh Baker broke his leg, remember I told you? The producers have said his team-mate Adam Wills can take his spot, for the same charity. Something to do with rural football clinics for kids.’

‘Hard to imagine a football player being any good at skating.’

‘Ice dancing,’ Milo corrected him with a grin. ‘And yeah, just like it’s hard to imagine singer-guitarists doubling up as ice dance ballerinas.’

‘This one can,’ Frank tapped Milo on the chest. Treble patted gently at his finger with her paw.

‘I bet you say that to all the boys.’

‘Only the pretty ones.’

Milo batted his eyelashes. “Why sah, d’y’all think Ah’m purty?’ he said in an appalling attempt at a Southern accent.

‘I think you’re fabulous dressed in nothing but a cushion and a cat, and I’m the luckiest bloke in all of Melbourne.’

‘You are,’ Milo agreed, carefully putting aside the cat, more rapidly putting aside the cushion. ‘Happy birthday, handsome.’ He kissed Frank on the lips then headed for the stairs to the upper storey. ‘Come to bed, old man, and snuggle with your boy toy.’

Frank threw the cushion at Milo’s head, then chased him up the stairs.