Milo...Admissions

               By Pattie Lawler

 

 

            Albany felt Milo’s hand in hers jerk, ever so slightly, and her gaze swept the ballroom for the cause. The charity fundraiser was a sea of people, which parted for a second, and she spied a statuesque red-head glaring at Milo. The woman’s unguarded expression was one Albany knew too well and she mentally girded herself for the eventual confrontation.

            She didn’t have long to wait.

            The next wave of people flowed by and they found themselves squaring off with the woman, a champagne-laden waiter between them.

            “Margo,” Milo said, releasing Albany long enough to collect two flutes and offer them to both women. “What an unexpected surprise.” He took a glass for himself and smiled at Albany. “Albany Wendel, please allow me to present Margo Stewart. Margo and I met while bidding against one another for a truly splendid carousel horse that I had designs on. Alas for me,” he turned his smile on Margo, “Miss Stewart had greater resources.”

            “You’re a collector?” Albany said, bestowing her chilliest smile on the silent woman.

            “Yes, but not of carousel horses.”

            “Oh? What do you collect?”

            Margo’s hazel eyes left Milo long enough to give Albany the once-over. “Nothing that could possibly interest you.” She looked back at Milo, her mouth open, but Albany spoke first.

            “Oh, I disagree. A woman of your obvious charms must have an impressive collection of notched lipstick cases.”

            Margo turned back, boggling.

            “How do you categorize them? By length of stay?”

            “Were it by length,” Margo snapped, her cheeks as red as her hair, “Milo wouldn’t be part of it.”

            Albany nodded. “I can imagine! When one gets as much traffic as the Lincoln Tunnel, it must take a Mack truck to make an impression.” She smiled up at Milo. “Can we go, please? Her Shalimar is killing me.”

            Milo said nothing as Albany pulled him toward the center of the room. It was several minutes before he found his voice.

            “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured. “But it was...awesome.”

            His grin made her smile. “Former girlfriend?”

            “I’m embarrassed to say yes.”

            Her gaze moved with the crowd. “Well, it looks like it’s our night for it.”

            He looked where she was looking. “Oh?”

            “The blonde in the white dress.”

            “She’s very pretty. You know her?”

            Albany smiled up at him, “Former girlfriend.” She smirked as his jaw dropped. He looked at her, his expression incredulous, so she nodded. “I’m in musical theater, you shouldn’t be surprised.”

            Milo moaned, dropping his forehead atop her head. “That is so hot!”

            Albany laughed at him. “Yeah, we split when I discovered that the only thing we had in common was we both thought she was beautiful. Come on,” she took his hand. “I’ll introduce you, and then we can escape to the garden, find a dark corner, and you can show me just how hot.”

            But as Albany was busy with both reunion and introductions, the director of the Met, David Rosenbaum, descended.

            “Albany! Gloria!” he gushed. “This couldn’t be better! I was just saying to Hirai-san, surely you remember the producer, that you ladies are the cream of the repertoire and would be thrilled to do an impromptu.”

            “Everyone looking at me? Dressed in this old thing?” Gloria protested with enough volume to draw protests from many a gentleman.

            “Don’t worry, Gloria,” Albany soothed, taking her arm and moving to follow the director. “You’ve yet to be upstaged by a gown.”

            Milo chuckled as he trailed them.

<0> 

            The musician at the grand piano nodded distractedly to Albany’s request, but sat bolt upright when David leaned in to confirm that all was ready.

            “Don’t let me down, Albany,” he whispered, kissing her cheek before turning to face the crowd. He introduced himself, the singers and musician and begged the party’s pardon for this intrusion, but was sure they would be delighted with the interlude.

            Albany took his place and addressed the room. “Gloria and I are going to break with tradition and sing the most popular tenor and baritone duet in opera. Ladies and gentlemen, Bizet’s magnificent, Au fond du temple saint.”

<0>            

            Milo, Black Berry set to record in hand, was focused on Albany as Gloria’s lyric-soprano filled the hall. He had placed himself on the far side of the piano so he could admire his favorite mezzo-soprano without competition, and as his gaze roamed over her, he smiled.

            The clinging, midnight-blue velvet of her dress was low-cut enough that, as he wrapped her in her cape before departure, he asked if the black lace it displayed was her underwear or part of the dress. She had teasingly left it up to him to decide. The ribbon-like straps of the dress would have left her arms bare, but she wore opera-length gloves that matched the dress.

            Watching the couple, he noted the marked contrast between them. Gloria, all gold and white, was as striking as her voice. As rich as the velvet of her dress and just as alluring, Albany’s darker voice was his ideal.

            Part of his mind was listening to the French lyrics. Nothing was done to alter the words, so both women sang of their love for the priestess neither could have. But as they neared the climax, Albany began directing her song to her partner, addressing Gloria as the desired.

            “No, let nothing part us!”

            Gloria instantly responded, reaching for her. “No, nothing!”

            Lacing their fingers together, they closed the space that separated them. Gloria’s free hand caressed Albany’s cheek, and she closed her eyes, rubbing against Gloria’s fingers. Leaning in, Gloria was mere inches from her lips as they swore to remain friends to the death.

            Milo and most of the audience breathlessly gaped.

            The final note ended: Albany opened her eyes and smiled up at Gloria.

            The applause was thunderous.

            Stepping apart, their hands still linked, they took their bows. David threw himself into the space before the piano to present a quick commercial for the opera house, and with a kiss to each cheek, the women parted.

            “Take me to the garden, please,” Albany panted, catching Milo’s hand.

 <0> 

            But February confounded them, and as they debated which darkened corner of which room to hide in, a man approached them.

            “Mr. Scarlet, please excuse the intrusion,” he began, bowing while reaching into his jacket to extract an envelope. “My employer, Raul Jimenez, asked me to place this in your hands and to await your reply.”

            Milo took the envelope with a glance at Albany. She was focused on his actions, so he tore the envelope open and held the enclosed letter out where she could read.

 

            Mr. Scarlet,

                        If you could possibly make time in your schedule for an appointment with me, I would be very grateful. And if the prospect of my company is not inducement enough, allow me to assure you that it will be to your advantage.

            Respectfully,

                        R Jimenez

 

            Milo looked at Albany, who smiled in reply. “Why don’t you give Raul a call? I’ll go find food.”

            “Because Raul has a bad habit of snatching you when my back is turned.”

            Her smile grew as she pressed a kiss to his hand. Without a word she turned and disappeared into the crowd. He watched her go before dismissing the man who delivered the note.

            “Thank you, I’ll take it from here.”

            Again the man bowed, and faded into the crowd.

            Reaching for his phone, Milo called Lawrence. The research librarian answered on the second ring.

            “Yeah, boss?”

            “Sorry if I woke you.”

            “Nope. I was working on the ghost manuscript. I’m thinkin’ it’ll have to come apart, but that’s not why you called.”

            “No. I got a note that’s supposed to be from Raul. Can you tell me where he is?”

            “I’ll call you in five.”

            “If you don’t get me, call Joe. I’ll be at the penthouse in twenty minutes...traffic willin’ and the creek don’t rise.”

            Hanging up, he turned in the direction Albany had taken and found her waiting for him.

            “I lied.”

            He smiled, reaching for her. “We’ll have something delivered.”

 <0> 

            Milo pulled the laptop toward himself as Simon merged into traffic.

            “I got the email with your schedule,” Milo said, glancing at Albany as he opened several browsers.

            She softly snorted. “It was nice knowin’ ya.”

            “Are you typically that busy?”

            “Yes and no. It depends on the season and any health issues. What about Raul?”

            “The note from Raul was not from Raul.”

            “How do you know that?”

            “Several things, not the least of which is the fact that he would never send me a note.”

            “And why is that?”

            “Too suggestive of a level of familiarity we do not share.”

            Albany cocked her head. “This rivalry has to go deeper than mere professional jealousy, Milo.”

            He nodded without looking up. “Tell me something.”

            “Yes?”

            “In your opinion, have we had a fight?”

            “One, in my opinion...only, you weren’t present for all the screaming.”

            “And how does this equate with previous relationships?”

            She thought for a moment. “It’s unusual. But the thing is, you’re so easy going.”

            “Might you say too easy?”

            Her gaze turned inward as she tried to picture where his train of thought was going. “Perhaps...to some, you appear passionless.”

            His smile grew though he still didn’t look away from the screen. “Perhaps.”

            “And you think he hates you for your reserve?”

            “An excellent summation on all fronts. Yes. He hates what his Latin upbringing perceives as a lack of passion, as well as a seemingly unlimited bank account. He’s tried, more than once, to trip me up and has failed every time.” He pushed the computer away and sat back, twisting to face her. “Raul and I have, unfortunately, very similar tastes in all things.”

            She studied his face in the light of the monitor. “Including women?”

            Milo shrugged, looking out the window. “I have been very unlucky in love before you, Albany.” A sad smile creased his face. “Before I met you, I hadn’t dated in eight years. It was so easy to hold Fanny up as the reason, but truth be told, I have an eye for art.” He turned back to her. “But not for women. Put me in a room full and trust that I’ll find the one most likely to hate me by morning”

            Sympathy made her move closer to him. “I don’t hate you, Milo.”

            “You’re unique.” He took her hand, his thumb stroking her knuckles. “I have no doubt you remember the rather embarrassing question I asked you not to laugh at me for. Thank you, again, for your understanding. The thing is...I had a girlfriend once, her name was, is, Joanne. We didn’t date for long. I never date for very long, and she made me understand why.

            “When we broke up—when she dumped me to be exact—she was...very cruel. I, of course, detected few problems in our relationship, but she seemed to be harboring an aircraft carrier of complaints. Most of them were born in the bedroom. Her parting-shot was the unlikelihood of anyone ever wanting to sleep with me more than once.” His gaze returned to the traffic beyond the tinted windows.

            She studied his reflection in the glass, agonizing for him but unsure of what to do or say. Finally, she pushed herself forward. Hiking her skirt up, she straddled his lap, facing him. Milo naturally gripped her waist, helping her settle herself. She inched forward until they were pressed against each other.

            “I want to tell you something, Milo Beacon St. Clare Scarlet.”

            “And you think it’ll sound better from this position?”

            “I’m sure it will.”

            She paused long enough to remove his gloves then directed his attention to the space dividing them. “Do you see how close we are, Milo? This space is slightly larger than the gap between personal terror and my admission that I’m in love with you.”

            His gripped tightened though his expression didn’t alter. “You have nothing to fear from me, Albany,” he whispered.

            Her head dipped, and she hid behind her hair. “I know Milo. Believe me, I know. But I’m afraid of so many things, and until I conquer them all, I refuse to lead you on.”

            He chuckled and placed a kiss on her head. “And telling me that you’re on the verge of a life affirming admission isn’t leading me on?”

            She looked at him and smirked. “Well...it’s not meant to be.”

            “In what way,” he asked, kissing her with each word, “can I help speed the process?”

            “Well, first of all,” she responded in kind, “you can tell me that you don’t think you’re in love with me because some gypsy told you to be.”

            “I don’t think I’m in love with you because some gypsy told me I should be.” He twisted, his hands still on her waist, and pushed her onto her back on the seat beside him. Rising up, he crawled forward on his hands until he was looking down into her eyes. “I know I’m in love with you, Albany Wendel, because in your eyes, I’m beautiful.” He lowered himself, burying his face against her neck. “I love you, Albany,” he breathed in her ear.  

            Her arms encircled him. "Please tell Simon to keep driving."

 

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