Chapter 4
Viktoriya entered the office, took three long steps, and stopped at the desk I was hunched over. A shadow fell over the desktop, and I looked up. My face was only a few inches away from Viktoriya’s chest. I froze in shock, eyes wide, holding my breath. I was at eye level with a strategically and intentionally half-unbuttoned shirt. Through the gap of delicate fabric, I could see soft, pale white skin and the edge of red and black lace.
Shit, I thought, among about a dozen other highly inappropriate things. There was a cacophony of instinct and hormone-driven imaginings. Luckily, the collision occurring in my mind couldn’t produce words. Instead, it resulted in three distinct reactions occurring in quick succession. First, I inhaled sharply. Second, I made a sound. It’s difficult to describe, but we’ve all heard and made the same or similar sound. It’s a human reflex when you are surprised by something appearing that is so appealing, desirable, and wanted that the only audible sound that can escape is a humming type of inhaled grunt. Finally, I was able to break my eyes away from what was directly in front of me and look up, only to see Viktoriya’s eyes looking back at me. I stood up straight, a little too quickly, and wobbled very slightly.
“HI, Viktoriya!” I said with a little too much enthusiasm while simultaneously ferociously blushing. “Did you get your paper finished already?”
“Yes, yes. My paper is finished. As am I! Mark, thank you. Here is your laptop. You save me!” Viktoriya lilted with a subdued and tired smile. There was much less energy and enthusiasm behind her eyes as she handed back my laptop. It looked like she had several things on her mind now that the immediate need to complete writing her paper had passed.
“It was no trouble at all, Viktoriya. I’m always happy to help you,” Mark said, still blushing, as he accepted his laptop.
“I see you have mine…in pieces, da? You bring it to me at Kafe later, yes?”
“Oh, yeah, Viktoriya, this is what the inside of your laptop looks like. It shouldn’t take much longer. I’ll bring it over in a few hours if that’s okay, Viktoriya?”
“Good, good. You like to say my name, Mark. I think…I like this,” Viktoriya perked up a little as she winked and spun around to walk out the door. She paused in the doorway, her back to me, and she turned back toward me. “I see you later, da? I go now, to work.”
She walked out before I could respond, not that I could pluck a reasonably appropriate response from the firestorm in my mind. I was left standing behind the desk, dumbstruck. I heard Eros about to say something when my phone rang, breaking the silence. I looked down at his phone. The screen lit up with a picture of a smiling, handsome-looking man and woman. Below the cropped circular picture, it said Eileen Willams (MOM). I sighed. It took a surprising amount of time to register that it was a picture of my mom and dad, which meant my mom was calling at the most inopportune moment. I reached up and clicked a button on my headset to answer the call.
“Hi, Mom. Is everything alright?” I asked, suppressing my concern. She usually only called when something was wrong.
“Mark, I don’t know. That real estate developer was here again, he just won’t give up. I think he is trying to wear me down.” Mom replied through suppressed frustration bordering on despair.
I was relieved it wasn’t an emergency, but now I was frustrated. My family home, which was still technically also my home, has been under siege by an unscrupulous shit-stain real estate developer named Gale Barlow. A beautiful little apple orchard in East Brunswick has been in our family for generations. Although it has shrunk over those generations from its original expansive acreage, it was still a magical place among the urban and suburban expanses of New Jersey. After the death of my father a few years ago, my mother has single-handedly kept the operation running. She worked with a small crew that harvested the apples and maintained the trees. At first, Mom ran the harvest through the cider mill and into the holding tanks for bottling with little help. But now, she was struggling desperately to keep up with the workload, and the equipment was becoming too much for her to handle, as tough as she was. And recently, the prick, Gale Barlow, was pressuring her to sell the land, and it was becoming harder and harder for her to refuse.
“Do you want me to call him?” I said through gritted teeth, preparing to take on a foe. “Remind him you already said no?”
“No, please don’t. Just remind me this is the right decision. This is your home. He just keeps pushing, offering more and more.”
“How much did he increase the offer this time? No, never mind, I don’t want to know. Don’t forget it’s not just mine; it’s yours, Lexie’s, and Jefferson’s. I know it’s difficult right now. I’ll talk to Jefferson and Lexie,” I said with an exasperated sigh. I didn’t mind talking to my siblings; I knew they now had different lives and priorities, so while they cared, they couldn’t always help. “I’m sure we can figure out a solution between the four of us.”
“Thank you, Mark. I have to go. Mr. O’Connor is coming by to help me get the cider mill running before the harvest. Come by for dinner soon; I love you, dear.”
“Tell Mr. O’Connor I said hi and thank you. Harvest is coming up quickly, please call me, or tell Mr. O’Conner to call me if there is any trouble with the mill. I promise I’ll come by soon. I love you too, Mom. Goodbye.
“Okay Mark, I just hate to bother you, but I promise to call if we need you. Goodbye, Mark,” Mom said warmly, but I could hear the heartache behind her words. It stung because there was so little I could do about it, leaving me feeling frustrated and guilty.
“Your mom sounds nice, Mark,” Eros said, sounding apprehensive.
“I almost forgot you would be able to hear that. Yeah, Mom’s nice. This has been hard on her,” I replied to Eros while trying to fight off the mild nausea arising after the violent shift of emotions.
Mark told me about his family home last night, a quaint little apple orchard. I assume Mark was a little hyperbolic and somewhat diminishing her employees’ contributions when he talked about his mother single-handedly running the place. Nevertheless, she was struggling, and it was difficult for Mark, whose voice softened when he spoke of the orchard. His tone caught somewhere between nostalgia and worry. I suspected he felt guilty for leaving his mother to shoulder the burden alone, though he didn’t say it outright.
“Granted, I am still slightly out of touch, but explain the problem. You told me what is happening, but I’m not sure I understand why it’s a problem.”
“I guess it’s just a human thing,” Mark exhaled while folding down into the chair behind him. “I told you that the orchard and house have been in our family for about 250 years. So, there’s a connection to that land, that house. The cider mill is a historical landmark. Mom and Dad were doing a good job keeping things running. With the money that came in from tourists every year, things were comfortable. Jefferson and Lexie left for good jobs and to follow their own paths. And I thought I might have a few more years, or at least find myself, before I even thought about moving back to take over.”
Mark paused. He appeared to be gathering his thoughts, restraining the feelings welling before he continued. “When we lost Dad, I guess it hurt a little too much to run home. And then, after a little while, the shame of leaving Mom on her own was a little too hard to swallow. Now, little by little, she can’t keep up. She’s got help; we always had help, but it’s not quite enough. With this real-estate jerk-off knocking on her door every few weeks with a higher and higher offer to buy the place, She is really feeling the weight.”
“Speaking as an entity specializing in solving complex problems, this seems like a pretty simple problem. You really only have two options. Either sell it or let your mom live comfortably for the rest of her life. Or you talk to your brother and sister and move home to help her. I could take a swing, and we could use a little ‘magic’ to find a third option. I’ve never done it before, but picture this – a solid gold apple.”
“You could turn an apple into solid gold?”
“Yeah, maybe, absolutely, with enough time. Manipulation of matter at a quantum or atomic level can be slow. It’s not like the idea of alchemy was pure imagination. That was us. But that’s beside the point. What I’m actually saying is, let’s think about it. You’re clever, and I’m brilliant. What problem couldn’t we solve?”
“Fair point, Eros, fair point. But one problem at a time. I have to get this laptop finished. Then we’re going for a drink.”
“Oh, you mean drinks with Elijah, like on your calendar. Good, I can’t wait to meet him. Go now, busy boy. Work, work!”
Elijah Cohen was Mark’s best friend and the pinnacle of Mark’s love life complications. He works as a bartender at the Queen’s Head Club, where Elijah also performs in drag once a week. I just learned what that was. Elijah was struggling to raise money to buy the club from the current owner, who wanted to retire. Mark spoke at length and in detail of Elija with a tenderness he didn’t seem to notice. On top of that, because I am incredibly perceptive and reading between the lines, I knew Elijah had much more than a simple crush on Mark. And I see something in Mark that he hasn’t realized about himself. Elijah’s name lingered on Mark’s lips a moment too long, and the smile that followed wasn’t the casual one of a friend—it was something softer, something unsaid.
I watched Mark deftly reassemble Viktoriya’s laptop with the slightest hint of flourish. Before he tucked them away, he used soft brushes to clear the dust from any internal components. With a clean cloth, he wiped away fingerprints and smudges. He even used a toothpick to exorcise a tiny, errant sprinkle of powdered sugar. His final touch was to power it up and check his work with a hint of pride behind his smile.
Mark took a few minutes to pack his laptop and Viktoriya’s laptop safely in his bag. He tossed his tools unceremoniously back into their bag before stowing it on an empty shelf. After a last check for anything he may have overlooked, Mark stood and slung the bag over his shoulder. He switched off the lights, locked the door, and we left the Library together.
The Queen’s Head Club was only a few short blocks away. The walk was uneventful silence. Mark seemed to be in a contemplative mood after the phone call with his mother. I couldn’t be sure if it was solving the orchard problem, his pending meetup with Viktoriya, or his lunch with Elijah that dominated his thoughts. It’s possible that he could hold and examine each of those thoughts simultaneously, like I could. Admittedly, I was not paying close attention to Mark or our walk, so I was a little surprised when we arrived at the unassuming building sporting the campily painted bust of Queen Victoria above the door.
Mark paused outside. Standing in front of a blacked-out picture window, he unnecessarily smoothed his beard and tousled his hair. Mark was preening before going inside, even going so far as to dust off his shirt and pants and smoothing the rumples caused by the strap of his messenger bag. The result was almost entirely identical to how he looked to begin with. Yet, apparently, he now felt better about his appearance. He pushed through the door, and we walked into the dark, empty club.
Behind the familiar bar was a single individual with his back to the door, preoccupied with organizing and restocking bottles. The sound of the door opening and closing drew his attention, and he turned to face me. With a shockingly warm smile and without saying a word, he vaulted over the bar and strutted toward me with his arms outstretched.
This was my best friend Elijah; he was simply magnetic. I admit he would have turned every head if this club had not been empty. His light caramel skin had a natural warmth, as if he carried a bit of sunshine with him wherever he went. Then there were his eyes—almost turquoise, like deep ocean water catching a glint of sunlight. They were striking enough to be disarming. Eyes that made people stumble over their words. They shone with a sharpness that hinted at his quick wit but carried enough softness to make you spill your secrets.
His face was a blend of contrasts: a prominent nose, barely crooked enough to suggest it had been broken more than once, balanced by startlingly delicate but pronounced cheekbones. Below the cheekbones was a perfectly manicured beard that concealed a soft jawline. The beard, ink-black but with a hint of glitter, was velvety and sculpted to perfection, framing his surprisingly full lips like a bold underline. Atop his head was black hair, shaved close on the sides, neat and modern, with just enough length on top to be styled deliberately to look effortless.
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“Mark!” Elijah laughed, pulling me into a familiar embrace. “I’m so happy you’re here. Oh, your hair looks wonderful today. Come on, honey, sit down, and I’ll make you a drink. There is a new one I’ve been trying to get right. It’s something like the illegitimate love child of a Sex-on-the-beach, Tequila Sunrise, and a Long-Island Iced Tea. I’ll make us the brunch version, not too strong, just sweet enough to balance the acid without losing that tart pop. Sit, sweetie, tell me where you’ve been.”
“I’m coming from the Library. I had to replace the screen on Viktoriya’s laptop; it finally gave up the fight.”
“Viktoriya, she’s the flirty Ukrainian bomb-shell you’ve mentioned?” Elijah inquired as he slipped behind the bar and mixed our drinks with practiced finesse. “Remind me, what is it you said she does, she’s a baker?”
“Yes, that’s her. She bakes, and cooks at the Sunflower Kafe, you should know it, it’s only a couple blocks from your place. But she is also does fashion and costume design,” I replied, settling onto a stool in front of Elijah.
“Fashion, and costume designer?” Elijah said, his interest piqued. “Is she any good, and why have you not introduced us?”
“You know me, I’m not the best judge of that, but a few weeks ago she showed me her sketch book, and it looked pretty amazing to me.”
“Oh, tell me more, tell me more,” Elijah said, egging me on. “Paint a picture for me.”
“Alright, I was helping her out with her laptop, no surprise there, and while we were waiting for a third reboot she was sketching. I asked what she was drawing and she slid over this notebook and she was sketching out what I guess was a ball-gown. But it was like Ziggy Stardust and Grace Jones had decided to collaborate on a dress. Maybe it’s not the kind of thing you would wear, but I imagine it would look amazing on you.
“Shut your mouth. The fact that you didn’t immediately bring her to me calls into question our entire relationship.”
“Just remember, you can’t dump me because I’m not your boyfriend. Nevertheless, I have to walk her laptop over to her at the Sunflower Kafe after lunch. I’ll arrange introductions.”
“That’s sweet of you,” Elijah said with a wink, sliding a freshly mixed cocktail to Mark before dropping in a cherry garnish.
“I got a call from Mom while I was working. That real estate douche…”
“The bastard Gale Barlow?”
“That’s the one. He keeps making ever-increasing offers for the house and orchard.”
“How much? No. Don’t tell me. It will just depress me.”
“I didn’t even want to know, so I didn’t ask.”
“Good boy. Do you want me to take care of him? We’ve got a tribe of queens out of Williamsburg that can make gentrifying colonizers vanish.”
“Elijah, you can’t call up your gang of Hasidic queens to solve every problem.”
“But it’s so much fun. Besides, that Barlow prick is trying to talk Bob Caldwell into selling this place to him too.”
“I thought Bob wanted to sell it to you?”
“He does, but if the offer is high enough, and if I can’t raise a down payment high enough. Well, I can’t say I’d blame Bob. I’d resent the hell out of him but not blame him.”
“I have a friend that might be able to help.”
“Oh no, you don’t. This is my problem, not yours. Don’t you go trying to ride in to save the day? You just tuck that thought back,” Elijah finished his drink with a smirk.
“Alright. Speaking of tucking, are you ready for your show tomorrow?”
“Almost, that’s why you’re here. You must be here. There’s a new number I have prepared specifically for you. It won’t work if you don’t show up.”
“I don’t remember volunteering for this act. Is this Elijah or Fanny Ryesand demanding my presence and possible participation?”
“Mark, sweetie, Fanny, and I are one and the same. You don’t get to volunteer to be the subject of one of Fanny’s numbers. You are allowed and honored to bask in the light of the kosher queen of New Jersey.”
“Okay, what do I need to do?”
“You just need to do one thing. Show up and stand where I can see you. Tomorrow night, you will be my Omar Sharif.”
“I don’t dance.”
“Darling, you couldn’t dance if your life, or my act, depended on it. Don’t worry, I trust you’ll know what to do. All right, sweetheart, finish your drink and get out of here. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“Well, who am I to argue if you are kicking me out of your bar? Come out here and hug me before I leave,” I said, draining my glass and standing up, holding my arms out expectantly.
“We don’t kick people out at The Queen’s Head. We invite them to leave,” Elijah said, walking around the bar into my arms. “You should bring Viktoriya along with you tomorrow. I’d need to meet her and talk costumes.”
“I’ll invite her,” I replied before I could even understand what I was saying, stepping back out of their embrace. “I’ll see you tomorrow night. You’re going to kill it.”
“Slay darling, I’m going to slay,” Elijah quipped back, shooing me out the door. “Love you, Mark, I have to rehearse now. Call me in the morning.”
“Love you too, Elijah,” I waved dramatically, walking out the door.
Mark paused outside the doors of The Queen’s Head Club as they closed behind him. His heart was racing again, and I could see why. Elijah was special and captivating, and his gravitational pull was undeniable. I could sense Mark’s heart was about to be pulled in two opposing directions if he wasn’t careful. He was practically skipping down the street now to the Sunflower Kafe, where Viktoriya awaited him.
“So, that was Elijah,” I said to Mark. “I have questions and observations.”
“Yes, that was Elijah. What questions?”
“Where to start? You and Elijah have been friends for years, just friends? I sensed there was something just beneath the surface with you two.”
“Just friends, Eros. Elijah’s gay, I’m not. That doesn’t mean we don’t feel genuine affection for each other, and I’m not afraid of that. We know each other well.”
“I see; we’ll leave that for now, then. Who is Fanny Ryesand?”
“Ah, Fanny Ryesand is Elijah’s drag character. Inspired by Fanny Brice, played by Barbara Streisand in Funny Girl, and his family’s Jewish deli around the corner from Elijah’s home. Any explanation I could give won’t do it justice. You need to see it. It’s a brilliant and hilarious act. You’ll love it.”
“Oh, I get it. Rye-sand. Oh, that’s clever. Okay, one more question. Why didn’t you tell Elijah more about Viktoriya and that you want to ask her out? Isn’t that the kind of thing you would share?”
“Maybe another day, but tomorrow is a big night for Elijah. He is hosting and headlining. He has been preparing and planning this show for weeks. I didn’t want to distract from that.”
“But you do plan to ask Viktoriya out tonight?”
“You heard Elijah? He said I should invite her, so I will, but I am not sure if she is interested in anything more. If the opportunity arises, I might ask for a date, but as much as I want to ask her, I don’t know if I should.”
“What are you talking about, Mark? You don’t know if you should? If the opportunity arises?”
“Yeah, it’s like applying for a job you know you’re fundamentally unqualified for when they aren’t even hiring.”
“This isn’t like that at all. This is your opportunity, you ask. She says yes, or she says no. If you only ask when you know the answer is what you want, then you will always be an idiot.”
“Okay, I hear you. I’m trying not to overthink this. I will invite her out. Elijah’s show is a fortunate opportunity. I plan to play this by ear and try very hard not to panic.”
“It is fortuitous the show is tomorrow; your invitation could just be friendly, or it could be much more if you open your eyes and ask her properly. Do you need me to Cyrano for you?”
“Do what?”
“You know, Cyrano de Bergerac. Whisper in your ear what to say to the pretty girl.”
“I think I’ll manage without you whispering French poetry in my ear. But keep that as a backup in case I panic.”
“You are in good hands, Monsieur. I feel too strong to war with mortals - BRING ME GIANTS!”
“Must we stop and pick little flowers of eloquence?”
“You do know Cyrano. Onward now, to Viktoriya!”
Mark was in high spirits now, prancing down the street with a heart so light it might lift him to the heavens, were it not for the underlying weight of self-doubt. However, I am still afraid for him now. It is far to fall from the height of newfound love. I still sense the bond between him and Elijah was more than the friendship he claims. I also fear Elijah and Viktoriya. Three hearts may soon be intertwined if they were not already. Perhaps I misjudged. Mark needs not a push but a net to catch him from the fall.
We walked in abject silence for quite a while. Mark’s initial peppy stride had receded to a much more methodical ambulation. He was slowing down as we crossed a bridge over the river. It was difficult to judge his mood or where his contemplative mind had gone, but I had a feeling he was talking himself out of asking Viktoriya out on a date. I don’t have enough history with Mark to gauge, but I feel he had a habit of accepting defeat before the battle.
“Mark, I’ve been thinking about the orchard, and I have an idea.”
“The orchard? What about it?”
“Well, that Gale fellow, I think we should change his mind.”
“You mean talk him out of trying to buy the orchard?”
“No, I mean, I can literally change his mind. If you get me close to him, I can put some new ideas into his mind.”
“Eros, no. We won’t be doing that. Not unless it is the absolute last resort. Not only would I never ask you to do that, I would never trust you again if you did.”
“It’s not really like I can make him do anything or alter his mind. It is like what I did with you in Dr. Newell’s office. Just add some new ideas or thoughts you were free to ignore, and so would Gale. I doubt Gale is as clever as you are, so he probably wouldn’t even question it. If I plant the idea in his mind that he doesn’t even want to buy the orchard anymore, he will probably think it’s his idea. Most humans think their own ideas are the best.”
“I understand, and I still do not love that you did that to me. I understand why you did it, so I didn’t mention it. Like I said, it’s a last resort. We agreed you wouldn’t manipulate anyone or anything without me asking, except in an emergency. Or at least unless we discuss it first and come to an agreement. There will be no toying with humans if we are going to stay friends.”
“Okay, Mark, I was just trying to help. We will keep that in our back pocket, just in case. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
“I appreciate you trying to help. We can brainstorm ideas later. We’re almost to the café, and I need to focus on being less of an idiot.”
“I hear you, shutting up now. OH! Wait. Find a mirror or window. Trust me, I want to show you a trick.”
“Alright, I’ll trust you,” Mark said with the barest hint of skepticism, turning to face the window of a dark and empty storefront.
I thought back to the preening Mark did before he met with Elijah. I started with his hair. It wasn’t a difficult manipulation, but was highly effective. I gave a few patches of his deliberately messy hair a gentle curl. I evened a few patches of hair to give his head a subtlety more symmetrical appearance. I evened out his beard, filling in a few thin patches and smoothing its overall appearance. With one final flourish, I vanished a few slight blemishes on Mark’s face. I could have taken things to an extreme and turned Mark into a god among men, but somehow, I think Mark would object, and it might arouse suspicion if he was suddenly seven inches taller.
“Ta-da,” I said with a musical flourish, and it all took about two seconds. “Plus, there is one surprise you will discover later.”
“Shit. Eros, first, that was cool, thank you. Second, a little warning would have been nice. That freaked me out. Third, you better not have Franz Liszted me.” Mark responded with a mixture of shock, gratitude, and amazement while admiring his reflection. “No, never mind, that’s something we can discuss later. Thank you again.”
“De-nada, Mark. Don’t worry, I did not Franz Liszt you, your penis is fine. Now, go impress Viktoriya.” I said, maintaining my composure.
