A clearing of the throat caught Tschida’s attention – the slender, blonde man with wide brown eyes – Ludo. Ludo often tended bar inside the clubhouse and was a favorite among the denizens of Badger Vale. “What can I get for you, sir?”
Tschida briefly toyed with the idea of asking the bartender about this man, as he’d done other times he’d seen him, but again discarded that thought. What if something in Tschida’s usually unreadable expression betrayed something? Something that could ruin him?
“A Scotch,” Tschida said.
He unlocked his phone, wanting to burry himself in important work. He had his case law studies, but that didn’t have the same appearance of urgency as typing rapidly into one’s phone. He texted his other best friend, Luca Rehgio, who he knew would text back promptly.
What Tschida wanted to say was: I’m at the country club. I think I stared too much. Is something wrong with me? This man is beautiful. I think you’d appreciate him.
What Tschida typed was: [Are you still meeting us at 7 PM?]
Luca’s response came a few seconds later: [
Tschida sighed. Luca would only be a hair closer to paying his family’s debt by running orders of crispy chicken wings to tables of drunks at the busy establishment. No, scratch that. Tony Rehgio would keep adding to their debt. Luca might as well not work at all.
Tschida did his best to be diplomatic in his response; he didn’t want to hurt Luca, as much as he wanted to shout at Luca to distance himself from Tony. But that was what made Luca Luca; Luca perpetually intervened to help others. [A night of fun won’t hurt you. Your father has enough of those.]
Luca: [It’s Friday, so I’m missing out on some good tips. Still better than missing out on another night with you two. 😊]
Do you even mean that, Luca? You’ve looked bored with us for a long time. Seven years.
Luca typed: [
The VFW, or Veterans of Foreign Wars, was a club for veterans; however, anyone could go there and drink cheaply for a meager membership fee. Tschida had never been to one before he’d come to Northeastern County. The trio had gone a few times to one near their homes, avoiding the rowdy and sometimes violent crowds of other bars.
Tschida: [
Tschida, in fact, planned to get there early, so he’d be there when Luca arrived.
A shadow fell over Tschida’s phone. Immediately, Tschida turned the phone facedown, lest whoever it was realized Tschida’s important work was making plans to sit at a VFW.
He lifted his head and had to crane his neck to look into the face of the mysterious stranger. The stranger’s chest brushed against Tschida’s left shoulder. Proximity and the overcast light provided him with a clear view of the man’s widow’s peak above a broad, smooth brow. Gray eyes twinkled above a straight nose. His jaw was wide and angular with a narrow chin.
Tschida’s throat went dry. The musky scent of the man’s cologne pierced through the rain. “Good afternoon.”
“You’ve piqued my curiosity for a while.” The stranger’s voice was resonant and deep, coming from within his chest. It wasn’t scratchy or gruff. Up close like this, Tschida decided the stranger was a masculine sort of beautiful, like a Grecian statue of a god or demigod.
“I’m Melvin Tschi—”
“Tschida,” the stranger finished, drawing out the name, as if claiming ownership of it. Sheeeee-da. “Not a local name.”
“No. It is not,” Tschida said, glad for the damp locks that had fallen into his eyes again.
“The same name as the insurance company.” The stranger’s smile displayed long canines – not as if he were a vampire, but long enough to be remarkable. They did nothing to diminish his beauty, only added to the danger presented by his up-close-and-personal demeanor coupled with his height and muscle.
Usually to avoid inciting jealousy or causing disappointment about his being disinherited, Tschida would deny this. He’d been denying that relation through junior high, high school, and undergrad. Even if people were not bothered by his disinheritance, they might believe it unfair that some had financial ease with little need to work, while others, like Luca, worked themselves to the bone. But this man had wealth and power; he might even discover the truth if he looked into Tschida enough and would discover he lied.
“You know Guignol, or at least he remembers you, from all the names and faces that come across his desk.” The stranger lowered his head, the black locks that sprang from the carefully styled hair to tickle his brow now brushing against Tschida’s forehead. His nostrils quivered. “Not just your face, but the bribe to make that unpleasantness go away.”
Tschida tensed and curled his fingers around his Scotch tumbler. Was this man going to go with McBride to this? Had his time at Badger Vale come to an end? “If you are encouraging me to leave—”
The stranger slammed his hands onto either side of Tschida, trapping him on the bar stool. Unless, of course, Tschida fought back, but this wasn’t the kind of place for behavior like that.
The stranger laughed, a warm, rich sound. “Tschida…” He purred the name again. “Nearly killing Ian Janowski, now that, that requires a certain degree of confidence or insanity. I’d think stupidity if I hadn’t seen you.” His warm fingers brushed the hair from Tschida’s face to give him a better view. “Your face, that makes you memorable, too. So stony, yet I can hear your heart jackhammering.”
Idiot, I can’t do anything about that! I can school my features, but I cannot control my heart rate. What am I supposed to do with you so close to me like this, touching me?
Tschida didn’t pull away. He wouldn’t show weakness. “Who are you?” He inflected just a little disinterest into his voice, even though he was anything but.
The stranger didn’t move away, only smiled a little wider, as if amused, and treating Tschida to a view of his teeth again. “Desmond Caligari. And, Tschida, I am not encouraging you to leave. A man from Maryland, a pampered brat, has found himself in my coal country. My domain.”
Like you’re king of this place? Just who are you? Who is Desmond Caligari?
“Is there something you want to tell me?” Tschida couldn’t hide his irritation, though it was mostly because his brain was not handling this closeness well at all. He was lightheaded, and if he weren’t careful, he’d say or do something stupid. Though this Desmond had already done something weird; he’d smelled him even before they’d exchanged names.
“This place has snared you, too. It wouldn’t really be anything for you to run along. Not back to the family who disowned you, but to someplace else. Instead, you sniff around this miserable valley like a dog hoping for scraps.”
Tschida bristled at the insult. He hadn’t wanted this man to compare him to some overeager dog. He wouldn’t take the obvious bait; enough people had tried to get Tschida angry over the years, and outside of childhood, the only one to succeed had been Ian Janowski. “I observe some in bars and some here.”
“And now you’ve landed yourself an unpaid internship with McBride.” Desmond laughed, his silk-clad shoulders shaking and the diamond brooch twinkling. “Wiling your days away here for over a year to observe and make connections. I may have something better for you, if I like what I see.” He bent over to touch his nose to Tschida’s. “I already like what I see.”
Tschida gripped his stool, thinking he might fall off. Was…Desmond flirting? He couldn’t be, could he? No, this was how he behaved with everyone, encroaching on their space, smiling, touching. Desmond’s lips were only an inch from his.
You’re so defective, Theodric’s voice whispered. Tschida’s mind never ceased conjuring his father’s lectures, even though his father wasn’t here. A Tschida should be able to produce heirs, and you had difficulty even managing a few dates. The appearance of a happy and beautiful family is a necessary tool for success. It serves you right; well-rounded, functional children are indicative of their parents’ good breeding. You were never functional, no matter how much you pretended. At least you won’t be cursed with a defective child like I was. This is why we are better off rid of you.
The imaginary lecture grounded Tschida in the moment. This Desmond was going to ruin Tschida’s efforts, wasn’t he? “What is better than what I’ve done for myself? I am studying criminal defense law, and I’ve arranged an internship for myself – no small feat for an outsider.”
“Ah, the man who nearly killed the Chief of Police’s son wants to defend other criminals – a man whose made revenge his life – isn’t going to do something so dramatic as draw a sword, but is going to study caselaw and learn to write in legalese.” Desmond smirked, giving Tschida a smile that displayed those long canines on the left side of his mouth.
“It sounds dull,” Ludo said, sliding a Scotch toward Desmond with a wink. He made an exaggerated yawn and patted his hand over his mouth. Then he swaggered away to tend to another patron.
“This is not the Dark Ages,” Tschida said.
“I wonder, Tschida…” Desmond paused to trace a finger along the curve of Tschida’s jaw before curling his hand around the cold tumbler of Scotch. “Is this your end or a means to an end?”
Tschida focused all his attention on keeping his features blank – a skill he’d learned from observing his father, and a skill that had served him well in the past. He shouldn’t be surprised Desmond was asking such personal questions and prying like this. The man had no concept of boundaries.
Tschida pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose while he contemplated his response. If he were his father, he wouldn’t need this pause. A defense attorney was the perfect way to have his own money, not beholden to his family’s expectations or the whims of voters. And considering how often local politicians needed such attorneys, it presented an opportunity for him to learn more secrets, and to have those in the voters’ favor lean on him in their time of need, a position of almost forced trust. Tschida would use that to his advantage; the road to his own success would be paved in the tears and desperation of the powerful.
“It is a means to an end – the end result being success.”
“What is success to you?” Desmond’s smile widened, those two antennae-like locks of hair that strayed from the rest bouncing over his brows. How could such a powerful man also appear cute?
I shouldn’t be thinking this. Am I having a heart attack, or is this what it’s like to feel real attraction?
Should I run from this? This cannot help my success, at least not putting myself in this position where my thoughts aren’t functioning. If I say or do the wrong thing, I could ruin myself and everything I’ve worked so hard for. I’ll have to take my degree and leave the area, leave Luca and Nick behind.
“While you think, Tschida,” Desmond purred, “You have such an interesting look. Like a garden of rare flowers that has been carefully cultivated. Perfect beauty, from your dark eyes to your straight mouth – such a cold beauty though. Everything about you, so controlled. I wonder, what happens when you lose that tenuous grip. Some of the most beautiful displays of nature aren’t those hybrid flowers grown in labs but wildflowers, running riotous over a field. You don’t know if they’re weeds or not, except it doesn’t matter. They’ve justified their existence with their brazenness.”
Beautiful? Tschida had been told numerous times he was “hot” or “handsome,” but never beautiful. That kind of word belonged to men like Luca and certainly Desmond. But now, Desmond was giving him that word. Those full lips forced Tschida to apply it to himself. And why should he be surprised? The Tschidas had “cultivated” – to use Desmond’s word – that look, choosing beautiful spouses, because beauty was as much a power as wit, though a tool better used in the hands of women, like his mother.
“I want to protect what matters to me, and to see it thrive,” Tschida said. “Like your wildflowers, where no one will pluck them.”
“To protect…” Desmond looked away toward the pond, and rubbed his narrow chin. “So, you have something worth protecting. Whatever tethers you here. A woman, perhaps?” He gave a breathy laugh.
“Friends,” Tschida replied.
“How unoriginal of you. Though it’s slightly less cliched than a woman.” Desmond sighed “I will look into you further.”
Why did Tschida feel like he’d given the wrong answer?
“I will meet you again, this I promise.” Desmond touched his nose to Tschida’s again, so his breath brushed against Tschida’s lips. “Tschida.”
Desmond turned away abruptly and typed something into his phone. As Desmond prowled away, the growling tow truck rolled along the fresh blacktop.
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