Poisoned Son

Chapter 27

 CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - Gabriel

     Gabriel was in a fugue the following morning. It was Tuesday and he had no early classes, so he lounged in bed well past ten o'clock. Then he splashed cold water on his face and studied himself in the mirror. Still handsome, he thought, but definitely showing his age. He heard the front door open. Shortly thereafter, a piano melody floated up the stairs. Gabriel dressed quickly and went downstairs.

"Good morning, Mother," he said, kissing Sophia's cheek. She continued playing and looked up at him with a smile.

"Hello, dear. I had the urge to tickle the ivories. Do you mind?"

"Of course not," he replied, sitting beside her on the bench.

It was understood that when April wasn't at home his mother could use her key. She stopped playing for a moment and sighed. "I should invest in a new piano. My Steinway is outdated."

"There's no need," Gabriel said. "You can play here anytime you like. Are you hungry?"

"Yes. Why don't you prepare something for us?"

He stood up. "Keep playing. How about 'Smoke Gets in Your Eyes?'"

His mother complied.

Gabriel went to the kitchen. He was pleased to have her there. Sophia must have realized how neglected he felt at Giancarlo's party. She was good that way; showing up when he needed her, making no demands, and simply reveling in his presence.

Whenever he felt a wave of ennui, he'd retrieve the book she'd given him from its hiding spot in the dresser. D.H. Lawrence wrote a tale to which Gabriel was acutely akin—the love of a mother forging her son's happiness, and the superficiality of trite relationships.

Her gifts proved how much she treasured him. She did not do such things for Giancarlo. In any case, Claudia wouldn't allow it. Gabriel believed that his refusal to marry was a tribute to his widowed mother. She was alone. Giancarlo had all but abandoned her after their father's death. But Gabriel hadn't, and for his loyalty, he knew he was the cherished son, the better man.

As he prepared brunch, his mind drifted to thoughts of April. He was starting to think that living with her was a terrible mistake. She was hard to maintain, and her emotional needs drained his energy. He had wanted a companion, a lover, and nothing more. He could not understand why she constantly wanted to spend time together. He wasn't used to it. His mother had never imposed such demands on his father.

He also realized that April had been dishonest. She'd presented a different version of herself at the beginning of their relationship. He felt stifled by her fierce presence, and he was losing the emancipation that he worked so hard to keep. When he saw April's things strewn about the house, it unnerved him. Sometimes her chattering about work grated on his nerves. Gabriel spent more time in his studio, like a veritable prisoner.

In addition, there was the disappointment of being denied the promotion. Aside from Shep, he had kept the abysmal news to himself. Gabriel believed there was unfair bias against him at the university, so he would bide his time. All these factors caused him to teeter on the edge of a perilous feeling that distressed him. There was only one source of comfort—Sophia.

He cooked an appetizing brunch and served his mother as if she were a countess. There was no discussion of his brother's party. Eventually, talk turned to April.

"She has unpredictable moods," Gabriel lamented. "Her jealousy is unfounded and unreasonable. If I act aloof, or am preoccupied with work, she has screaming fits." 

He pointed to his studio. "She broke my music stand. She reads my emails!"

Sophia put her hand on his. "It might be time to face facts, son. She's obviously not the right woman for you."

Gabriel scowled with petulance. "I don't recall you ever behaving that way."

She nodded, quietly accepting his praise with a humble expression. They finished their meal in silence.

After she left, Gabriel went to his studio and slumped in an easy chair. Discussing April had put him in a dismal mood. He yearned for more out of life; for the things that eluded him. Where was the depth of affection that great painters and poets celebrated? It must exist! Where was the kind of love that fell into place with ease, requiring no effort?  

He thought of the women he could meet had he not locked himself into this domestic situation. He could be traveling, a man of the world. Was his true mate out there, waiting? With millions of people on the earth, why hadn't he found her? He'd had a bevy of lovers, but those unions left him feeling empty. Time after time, they diminished; their gilt wearing off like cheap talc.  

With a restless sigh, he pulled out his cell phone to search for some European skin flicks. He preferred them over American porn. He was not a fan of overdone, over-coiffed, ultra-tan porn stars. They were bizarre caricatures. Porn was an inferior substitute for sex, to be sure, but sometimes Gabriel wanted the simplicity of getting off without having to interact.

Minutes later, he found suitable material and entered the fabricated world of libidinous nymphos.