Parker was about to protest, but his mother's hand suddenly pressed against his, calming him.
“Okay, boys, leave the libidos for later. I think it's my turn to talk,” Rose said, standing up and taking center stage. She wasn't known for live theatre, but an actress like her knew it was all about the entrance, getting the attention of the audience. “It's a complicated story you're about to hear, the sordid pieces of our pasts, but let me lay the groundwork first by naming the players. George Saunders, who owned Number Two Eldon Court, and his wife, Elissa, their almost-teenage son, Troy; Danvers Converse was a part of the mix by that point, as he had been carrying on a supposed secret affair with George—which everyone in town knew about; myself, I'd already left Wonderland behind, leaving Parker in the care of his step-father. Back in my less than honorable days, I too had had a fling with George—back then he was the most influential man in Wonderland, not only because of his wealth, but his status in the community. Were it not for his great-great grandfather, Drew, Wonderland might never have been settled as it had.”
“Drew Saunders—he's the guy I read about,” Rich said, “he and his male lover came to Wonderland from back east and settled it.”
“And lived here on Eldon Court, each of them perpetuating shams of a marriage,” Edgar said, “even as they lived openly with each other, they sired children with the two women who acted as their wives. Together they built the first two properties on Eldon Court.”
“So the gay gene goes way back to the beginning,” Rose said, “and I have to say, of all the times I was with George I always had the sense his heart wasn't in it. . . or maybe not his heart, if you know what I mean.”
“Mother!”
“Oh hush, Parker, be glad you inherited one thing from George,” she said pointedly.
Parker actually blushed, even as he stood proud.
It amazed Paolo to know how many people in this room were versed, first-hand, in the knowledge that Parker was well-endowed.
“For years, George and his wife failed at having children, and I believe it was because he was gay and really couldn't get it up for her, probably took months before they consummated their marriage,” Rose said, “and so the questions started, the rumors. . . and I guess one night he went trolling to prove his virility. He found me; we had some drinks, then found our way to the Bayside. Parker was conceived that night, I'm sure of it, even though George and I continued to meet for another two weeks. Word had spread around town that he and I were having a torrid affair, and secretly I think George was thrilled at establishing this new reputation, even though it was impossible for it to last. I ended things, found out later that I was pregnant. I left for L.A. to have the baby, landed my first film, met the fine Alan St. John, and eventually we all returned to Wonderland to carve out our version of the American Dream. Across town, George and Elissa Saunders had finally welcomed their first child, Troy, and for awhile both families lived in the same town, carefully avoiding each other, even though I knew Elissa secretly thanked me for proving to George that he could father a child. It secured her place in the Saunders family fortune, producing the family heir.”
“Troy Saunders,” Paolo said, “I've met him. . . or at least, a man claiming to be him. He lives down at Danvers’ estate in Carmel.”
“Yes, he's been a ward of Danvers Converse for more than ten years,” Rose said matter of factly. “Since George went cuckoo.”
“Okay, so what does all this have to with the violence at Number Two? We all know George lives in San Francisco as a near-vegetable.”
“He's crazy is what he is,” Jack said.
“Oh, don't be so harsh on old George,” Rose said with a hint of fond remembrance. “Think about it, he's rich, powerful, but with a secret for his enemies to exploit. Life back then wasn't like it is today, boys, look at all of you, living out and proud, your own exclusive gay enclave up here on Eldon Court. No one cares what you do—or who you do. For George, it was so different.”
“And for Danvers Converse.”
“Yes, well, in a way Converse himself is a victim, but how he has dealt with it is what makes him such a dangerous enemy,” she said, “Danvers Converse and George Saunders were in love, their affair the worst-kept secret in Wonderland, and Elissa, well, she just turned a blind eye to it all. She had what she wanted—Troy—so she let the two tycoons screw each other whenever and wherever—with one exception.”
“Number Two,” Marc said.
“You got it, cutie,” Rose said. “Now, no one truly knows what happened that night, but I'll tell you this much—George and Danvers were there, as was fourteen-year-old Troy. There are conflicting reports about Elissa's presence; no one truly knows where she was.” She paused, the actress going for a dramatic effect. “And that continues to this day.”
“So Elissa. . . she's the one who was murdered?”
Rose nodded. “That's my belief.”
“And if we can prove that,” Parker said, finally stepping out of his mother's shadow to take the lead, “and not just that she was murdered, but who did it, Rose and I may finally lay claim to the Saunders estate, the house at Number Two and all that comes with it. And if we get what we want, the Wonderland Palaces will not and cannot happen, Danvers Converse will have nothing to hold over us. Of course we would never sell, not when I finally claim my birthright as George Saunders first-born son.”
“This is getting complicated,” Paolo said, looking up at Parker with newfound interest, gaining a bit of insight into his motives. “So, Parker, all this time, you've been working against Danvers, even while you allowed us all to think you were our enemy. You've been playing both sides, and whoever came out the victor, that's where your loyalties would side?”
“Yes, and no,” Parker said, “If I lost my claim, Danvers would be none the wiser that my true motives were to destroy his plan. If you guys lost your fight, I would have an inside track to Danvers, working for him, and as such I'd be able to wield influence from the inside. Trust no one, question everything.”
Words like that, they silenced the room and it was broken only when Edgar spoke. “Okay, boys, this is enough for tonight, I think. Don't know about you, but my head is spinning from all these facts.”
“Mine, too,” Jack offered.
It was clear the party, such as it was, had reached an end. But Paolo wasn't satisfied, there was still one thing that had him curious. He said so.
“What's that, my dear?” Rose asked.
“The digging up of the lawn. . . what are you looking for?”
“Gold,” Edgar said impulsively. “Right? That's the true secret of Eldon Court, it's where the Saunders fortune came from, that much I've been able to discover. Drew and his lover, they mined gold on this land their entire lives. But perhaps there's more waiting to be found somewhere deep within the bluffs.”
“Ah, yes, the gold,” Rose said, “it's pure speculation at this point, and besides, that's not our immediate concern. . .”
“Finding Elissa Saunders is, wherever she is,” Parker said, “and since nobody has seen her since that night, it's a no-brainer that she'd dead. I believe her body has got to be buried somewhere on the property, and I aim to find it.”
* * * *
Rich North's mind was swirling with all he'd absorbed tonight, like he'd just seen a three-act play with one of gay culture's most iconic actresses, a mix of high camp and family secrets that would make O'Neil blush and Williams turns to drink. But that drama was nothing compared to what he was facing is his own life. Marc continued to give him the cold shoulder, even as they walked back toward their house at Number Five, even with all the past sins revealed and the emphatic notion that if you stick together you can defeat anything or anyone. Together, that was their motto.
“You want to talk?” Rich asked as they boarded the steps to their darkened house.
“About what?”
Rich heard the distance in his Marc's voice and it wounded him, more so than any bullet could. Reaching out, he took hold of Marc's hand, bringing them both to a stop. Darkness crept around them; even the half-moon was covered by clouds. All the light from their lives had been taken, leaving in its obsidian wake an empty void.
“Marc, come on, we can't keep living like this, you not talking to me. . .”
“What do you want me to say? That every word you've even spoken to me was a lie?”
“Hey, that's not fair, Marc,” Rich said, “Everything I do, I do for us, even if I don't chose the right path.”
Marc laughed with obvious disdain. “So that's how you excuse your behavior? Christ, Rich, you're something else, the way you explain away your indiscretions. I always used to admire how you carried yourself—your strength and determination, a take no prisoners approach to life. It made me jealous that I wasn't as sure of myself as you were. That cocky confidence, it's what led me to your bed that night we met at the gallery in New York, it's what's kept me in your bed ever since.”
“But now?”
“Now you went too far,” Marc said.
“Because of Parker.”
“Fuck, Parker,” Marc said a bit too loudly for a public display, “I mean, it's not who you had sex with, it's the fact that you swore your ever-loving devotion to me just that morning, on the day of the biggest night of my life. You said no more fucking around, no more cheating, and what do you do. . . not twelve hours after making love to me and promising me all your tomorrows, you're letting Parker fuck you. Nice, Rich, way to live by your word.”
Rich had nothing to say, so he just let Marc enter the house first. He stood on the porch looking out over Eldon Court, watching as the lights dimmed in the houses of his neighbors, no doubt all of them exhausted by what Rose Emerson had just revealed. For a moment Rich eyed the verdant lawns that kept Eldon Court looking so beautiful, wondering if indeed a body was buried beneath it, ignored all these years while life was lived, lovers indulged their desires, all of them thinking they were immortal, that death couldn't possibly be in the plans for them.
Just then Rich made his way into the house, found Marc in the kitchen pouring a glass of wine. He didn't let him take that first sip; he just grabbed hold of Marc and thrust him against the wall, his mouth kissing him, hands fondling him. Marc resisted, pushing back, but then Rich ground his crotch into Marc's, his thickening cock pushing against his pants and against Marc's cock. He could feel Marc responding. See, that's what he needed to do, assert his power, show his lover that his confidence was still there. Live by example, you want something you go for it, and what Rich wanted right now was Marc.
He dropped to his knees and pulled Marc's shorts down over his hairy legs. Marc's cock popped out and Rich wasted no time in taking it into his mouth, sucking it with all his might, even as his fingers slid around and cupped Marc's tight little ass. He worked the buttons of his own shirt, opening it up and exposing his bare chest, thinking he would rub Marc's cock all over his fur, that's just how he liked it, but what he revealed was nearly hairless, the bandage from his wound dominating his muscled chest.
Shit, shit, I want my life back, I want my lover back
, he thought. As if to compensate for his unusual lack of manliness, Rich tried to murmur sexy words, muffled by the presence of the cock in his mouth. His mind heard those sweet nothings and they urged him on, determined, yeah, suck it, suck it, make me feel that hot come in my mouth, let me drink from the man of my dreams. . .
Just then Marc pushed Rich away, knocking him to the floor with surprising force.
“It doesn't work that way, Rich, you can't just suck me and think everything is going to be fine,” Marc said, sudden vehemence rising from his throat. “I'll be sleeping in my studio for awhile until I figure out what I want to do about. . . us.”
Rich, panting on the floor, his cock deflated, feeling ridiculous in his half-dressed state, said, “Is that possible, Marc. . . an ‘us'?”
“See, that's the problem, Rich,” he said, “To you it's always us, which in your world could mean more than just you and me, it could include any man you see and decide to fuck. What I would have loved to hear from you is whether there is hope for ‘we.'”
Marc left him then, the sound of his footsteps on the stairs softening the further up in the house he went, until they were silenced. Rich was alone. He gathered himself up and grabbed at the glass of wine that Marc had poured and drank it down in one, needy gulp. Then Rich North retired upstairs to his room, uniquely alone in his big sprawling bed, the gap between him and Marc as wide as it had ever been, and he wondered if there was any hope for them.
Maybe the bullet should have taken his life and spared Aaron's.
For the first time since the shooting, Rich knew how Paolo felt, alone not just in bed but in this world.
* * * *
Paolo Bautista arrived at the Bayside Hotel that next Monday afternoon, surprised that he'd had the guts to make it this far. He had slept terribly, tossing and turning in the night and finally giving up, tossing on the DVD of
Black Velvet
, where he watched a younger version of Rose Emerson vamp her way across the silver screen with her deadly garrote, all the way to the final shot where she popped a cork of her beloved bubbly and, as she drank, winked at the camera before it all went black.
The image had shattered whatever confidence Paolo had gathered over the past couple of days. He'd dared to venture outdoors, he'd met with his neighbors, he'd learned there was a plan in place to enable them to keep their homes. . . and then the flashes of death, blood, the pop of the cork like a gun going off, and he was back where he'd been the day of Aaron's funeral. Lost, adrift, and tired of all the machinations. He finally fell asleep to taunting dreams, and when he woke he knew what he had to do. It took all morning to muster up the energy, the guts, but then he just told himself that if he was ever truly going to move forward, now was his chance to escape from his own purgatory, perhaps his one only chance.
He dressed smartly in white Capri pants and a bright, flower print shirt, flip flops on his feet. He looked like he was going to have a relaxing lunch poolside, but in truth, he just wanted to feel like his old self, bitchy, flamboyant, and sexy. He'd left Eldon Court without a word to any of his neighbors, none of them about on the cul-de-sac. Not even the determined Parker, his endless digging perhaps as futile as the ground was fertile. Bodies, gold, whatever the land held, it didn't appear ready to give it up.