Then he kissed Andy’s shoulder, disengaged and stepped off the bed, staggering to the bathroom. He was back a minute later to tidy them both up.
“You okay, baby? That all right?”
“That was perfect.” Andy was face down in a pillow. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.” Victor lay down beside him and patted his ass, then stretched his arm across Andy’s back to his shoulder. Caressing lightly with his thumb, waiting. They were both quiet for a while. Then Andy said,
“What’s that shit in the shot glasses.”
“Taste it and find out.”
Andy made a muffled, amused sound into the pillow, raised his head, looked over at Victor’s smiling face. Rearranged himself and reached for the glasses. “Here.” He handed one to Victor, then sipped, squinted, sipped again. “This is gin.”
“Yes it is.” Victor scooted up so he could sit against the headboard, beside Andy, still keeping their bodies in contact as much as possible. He sipped his own. It wasn’t as icy cold as he liked it, but under the circumstances it was fine.
“Very good gin.”
“Yes.”
“I thought it was going to be some heinous schnapps and I was wondering why such a thing would be in our house. Why is it blue?”
Victor snickered. “Something about flowers. Infusion, I think they called it.” They sat there quietly. Victor noticed that Andy had his eyes closed now.
He kept sipping the gin, kept not saying anything. They heard Molly’s toenails clicking up the stairs. “Hey Molly, come on in.” She came through the doorway, sat down, and cocked her head. “Come on up.” Victor patted the bed. She trotted over and hopped up on the bed, curling up by his feet.
“Good girl.”
“She’s the best girl. Did Consuelo leave us something for dinner?”
“Yeah, she did. Do you want to talk first?”
“Or we could keep drinking.” Andy opened his eyes and set down his empty glass with a sigh. “Okay, I’ll be a grown-up. So Pop had an angiogram. They said, you need a quadruple bypass or you’re not going to make it to next Christmas. He said no surgery. Mom was there.”
“When was this?” Victor was wondering about that ‘next Christmas’ bit.
He had an idea but he didn’t like it.
Andy confirmed it. “Before the first stroke.”
“Fuck! And they just now told you?”
“I know.”
“Why?” No answer for a few seconds. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Because of me.”
“Because somebody shot you,” Andy corrected. “Not because of you.
You know they think the sun shines out of your ass.” Victor huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Anyway long story short he’s refused surgery, he’s signed a DNR, and he’s not expected to live out this year. And now that’s all out on the table, we can start planning what to do with Mom.”
“Baby, I’m so sorry.”
“I am so grateful for you.” Andy turned to look at him. “There may be
times in the next few months when I don’t act the way I should or I don’t say the things I should. But I always love you.”
“I know you do.” Victor swallowed the last of his gin and set the glass down, patted Andy’s thigh, and leaned over for the kiss they’d both been waiting for. “Mmm. So when are you talking to Pop Quiz?”
“Oh Christ, that’s right. Day after tomorrow. I’m going to make a pitch for a dance partner.”
“No kidding? You have a project in mind?”
“Yes, I was thinking about it in the hotel. The only reason I haven’t said catnip would you do this with me is I don’t know if I can even do it myself.
It’s ballet. It’s modern, but it’s ballet. I haven’t done anything remotely like it for thirty years. It is extremely unlikely that anyone will take me up on this.”
All of these qualifiers were making Victor very curious. “Well, what the hell is it? Have I ever seen it?”
“It’s from Matthew Bourne’s ‘Swan Lake.’ Did you ever see that?”
Andy could tell from the blank expression that Victor hadn’t. He smiled. It felt good. “God, I love you. You are so fucking cute.”
“I’m forty-two, I can’t be cute.”
“You’re cute if I say you’re cute.” Andy leaned over for another kiss.
“You want to see it? It’s on YouTube. We can watch after dinner.”
Victor shook his head. “Tomorrow. Tonight you sleep. You’re going to take one of those pills whether you want to or not.” He could tell Andy was about to say something about the vodka and the gin. The OTC sleep aids weren’t potent enough to worry him. “Purple haze, remember?”
Andy regarded him for a few seconds. Those were often enough to mute the monkey brain. And probably a better choice than another drink. “Okay.
Let’s go eat.”
A little less than two weeks later, Andy had a letter in his hand. “I am buggin’ out,” he told Victor. “I’m sorry, you’re barely through the door. I’m so freaked.”
“Why? What happened?” Victor could tell Andy wasn’t freaked in a bad way. “What is that?” Andy handed over the letter. Victor scanned it quickly, then read it more slowly. He was smiling when he looked up. “You’ve got a prince.”
“Should I call him?”
“Have you looked him up?”
“This is, like, brand new. Dmitri brought it over after dropping Simka at Grandma’s.” Vicky and Sharon’s daughter was also Dmitri’s daughter. “He told me how he got it, but I get the idea he hasn’t worked with this guy himself.”
“Okay. Dinner, then we look him up.” They found a ton of good stuff, including an Underground Cabaret routine the potential prince (a guy named Zach) had done with their very own Rory and that they had forgotten all about because it happened right when preproduction got rolling on Tanith’s movie. He’d done two other things with
