Prettyboy

7: From a Vantage Point

"Next week, Friday at seven we're having Claire and her husband over. Don't forget, Frank," she told me, passing me a clean plate which I toweled and placed in the cupboard first before objecting. 

Dinner parties, hoarding my fun of every Friday. What has my life yet come to?

"I can't be there," I announced calmly. Lana whirled around immediately to give me a look; the blank look with a reprimanding hint. Nobody told me we were having the president over and we needed to wear an expression of absolute blandness. Her face; so vapid these days.

"I told you I have an exhibition next week with Arnold Hayes at The Living Gallery."

"But you had that last week on Friday, Frank," she pointed out, placing her right hand on her hip and crossing her legs. In my mind, I was aching to keep that conciliatory pose, in hope that it would stir some tranquility in her.

"Art shows don't just happen once, Lana. What's the point of taking photographs if I get to display them only once?"

The jingling sound of cutlery being washed together was interrupted when one fork slipped out of her hands and fell to the floor, making her exhale in annoyance as she bent down to retrieve it. "But I've promised them you'll be there. I can't be without a husband alone at that table."

"Hello, perky family," said his dulcet soft voice when he entered the house. I didn't dare look over my shoulder. But keeping my distance did not thwart his plans. He stepped into the kitchen. Strolled up to Lana to give her a kiss on the cheek, and then drew near me. Everything seemed to have stopped functioning for a moment in my mind, as he seemed to waylay me whimsically in his own way. He placed a hand on my shoulder and lightly pushed me back to peck me on the cheek. Lips as soft as rose petals.

And as if it hadn't just caused cogwheels to go crazy in my mind, his hand lingered on my shoulder just a bit more, and then backed off. 

"Tell them you made a mistake then," I went on, telling Lana, and just when she drew in a sharp breath to speak, the plate I was holding slipped off my clammy hands and smashed to the floor in two pieces, tiny shards of the ceramic material slid all over the tiled kitchen floor. The noise echoed a couple times more in my head, just as I heard him draw in a sharp breath of surprise. I sighed and hunched down to pick up all the pieces. "Goddammit."

"Why can't you postpone it? You did that last month when you were sick," she went on and on, and I could almost feel fume coming out of my ears at that goddamned moment. 

He left the room and suddenly I wanted to smash every plate in the kitchen cupboard.

"Lana, do you hear yourself? I ran a fever of hundred and four, I couldn't get out of bed. I can't cancel the exhibition just like that. And that is that. Period. Don't go on with this no more."

He reentered the room with an apple in his hand, perching himself at the end of the kitchen table. "I had a good day as well, thanks for asking, Mother and Frank."

"Gerard, get off the table right now," Lana scolded. 

"Ain't that a bite," he commented, holding his arms up to indicate no protest, but obeyed. She breathed out as if she was breathing fire. Then she seemed to ease up a bit. I eased up a tad, likewise, and watched as she toweled her long fingers and marched out of the kitchen. 

"Lovers' quarrel?" he teased with a smile-less face, but I knew he was teasing. He bit with his white teeth into his red apple with vigor. Why did I only then seemed to realize that we were left alone in the room, I do not know.

"Aren't you home early today," I remarked, glancing at the pendulum clock, showing six in the afternoon.

"Seems like someone's been keeping a close eye on my whereabouts," said he, pausing to bite into his apple once more. "I appreciate the concern. Though I do not need it."