The Dark Horse - lanyon Josh (книга регистрации txt) 📗

I nodded, handing it over and following him inside to unwrap the scallops sitting on the counter. Looking through to the living room I could see Dan's suitcases sitting by the staircase. I was smiling as Ella launched into «But Not for Me.» Wrong this time, Ella.

I washed the scallops while the chopped onion and garlic sauteed. Dan poured himself a martini and refilled my glass. «So what did you do today?» I shrugged. «Relaxed mostly.» «Good. That's what you need.»

I bit back my first response. He didn't mean anything; he was thinking of the last couple of weeks, that was all. And I couldn't really blame him. By the time Steve had persuaded me to go to the police, panic attacks were becoming part of my daily routine –right there with all the grooming aids.

I replied, «Then I got what I needed. I worked out. Read. Steve brought the script by.»

I measured out white wine and chicken stock, poured them in to the frying pan, turned the heat down to a «smiling boil.» I love that phrase: smiling boil. The aroma of the cooking garlic, onion, and wine worked their magic. Cooking as therapy.

«How's old Steve?» Dan settled on the bar stool across the counter, sipped his martini. Not that many guys can carry off a martini glass, but he had that kind of '50s cool that enabled him to drink martinis and still look tough. Adding the Pernod to the pan, I reduced the heat. «Okay. Like usual.»

I hesitated. I wanted to tell him about the guy that looked like Paul Hammond, but I knew what he would think. And I knew that Paul Hammond was dead. I did know that, it was just … «So what did you think of the script?» «I've only started reading it. I like the choices they've made so far.» He picked up the plate of scallops. «You want me to start these?»

I nodded. He went outside and I added more Pernod to the sauce and took the rice off the burner. The asparagus had been perfect ten minutes earlier, but there was no way of fixing that.

When I stepped outside Dan was seated on the railing, staring out at the sunset. The water looked dark and purple, the sun orange, like a Malibu postcard. I didn't want to think about postcards. He glanced my way and asked, «So you think you'll want to do it?»

I knew what he meant. «I think so, yeah. Assuming Lenny Norman can stomach the idea of me playing the lead in one of his films.» He held his glass out and we clicked rims.

«You get restless not working,» he observed. «Cooking is not much of a diversion. And God help you if your metabolism ever slows down.»

«I'll become the forty-ninth most beautiful character actor in Hollywood.» My metabolism would never slow down. No one in my family was fat. Or gay. «Those are ready,» I said, nodding to the scallops sizzling away on the grill.

According to Dan, any cooking that didn't involve charcoal or a spatula was out of his class. He claimed he had two dishes he served for dates: his secret recipe spareribs and his eggs benedict special. I had the impression these usually followed one another closely in his social calendar. He hadn't fixed either of them for me yet; I wasn't sure if that was a promising sign or not.

He rescued the scallops, handing the plate over to me. «Are we eating inside or out?»

Evenings were chilly here on the coast, but I liked being outside, liked the sound of the waves a few yards away, liked looking up at the stars. It felt like we were a million miles from town – just about far enough. «Out.»

Dan brought down sweaters and we ate by the flickering candlelight, listening to Ella through the open glass door.

I talked to him about the script. In one of my rare pauses for breath it occurred to me that he didn't have much to say tonight – but then Dan chose his words carefully. I wondered if he liked it this way or if I needed to give him more chances to get a word in edgewise.

In a way it had been easier a week ago when we were just dealing with being attracted to each other – now that we were embarking on a relationship – and we were embarking, the luggage in my front room made it official – it was suddenly much harder. I found myself worrying about stuff I'd never previously considered – like was he liable to suddenly notice that I was boring and self-absorbed?

I mean, I played make-believe for a living – and earned (when I did manage to get paid) a ridiculous amount of money for it. Dan was a real-life hero. He had saved lives. His job made a difference – he made a difference. «You're quiet all at once,» he observed. «Makes a nice change, doesn't it?»

He shook his head a little as though that wasn't worth answering. «So what's the deal with this movie? Why do you want to do it so much?»

I shrugged. «It's hard to explain. The book was a big influence on me. You've never read it?» «No.»

«It's beautiful. It's by Mary Renault, the one who did all those historical novels about ancient Greece. This one is contemporary – well, it was when she wrote it. Kind of a wartime romance. I probably can't explain it without making it sound trite.» «What's it about?»

«It's about a wounded English soldier who falls in love with a conscientious objector during World War II.» «Sounds like fun.» «Telling you the plot doesn't really explain it properly.» «I'm guessing they're both gay?»

«That's kind of the point of the novel. Coming to terms with their sexuality. Laurie knows he's –« «Laurie?»

I had the sinking feeling that if he kept interrupting, or worse, if he mocked the book, it was going to change the way I saw him, the hopes I had for what was happening between us.

I took a deep breath. Tried again. «Short for Lawrence. Mostly he's called Spud. Anyway, he knows he's gay, but the kid, Andrew, who is a Quaker as well as a CO, doesn't. Doesn't know that he's gay. Actually, he doesn't know that Laurie's gay either.» I hesitated, expecting another interruption. Dan said nothing.

«And then there's also Ralph who was Laurie's house master or whatever they called it when he was at school. Public school – which in Britain is private school. Laurie was sort of in love with Ralph, without realizing it. Because back then, he was like Andrew. Laurie, I mean, not Ralph. So his feelings for Andrew mirror his own relationship with Ralph, but they aren't realistic. They aren't real life love, see? And the book is really about that, about balancing the needs of the soul between the earthy and the ideal – and about living your life with honor and dignity. It's based on one of Plato's dialogs, Phaedo, and Renault refers back to the metaphor of a charioteer trying to control two horses, a white one and a black one.» I was babbling. But Dan nodded as though I was making great sense.

«So, anyway, Ralph comes back into his life and Laurie has to choose between Ralph and Andrew.» «Who does he choose?»

«He chooses the dark horse. He chooses life with all its complexities and contradictions and disappointments and … delights.» I half-swallowed on the last word, surprising myself by my own intensity. I tried to explain, «I read it when I was … ill.»

I met Dan's eyes. In the wavering candlelight his gaze was attentive, understanding. I had to look away. Maybe it would have been easier if he had just laughed.

Hurriedly, I said, «I don't know how good a film it will make because it's a lot of talk and a lot of Laurie thinking. And it's a period piece. And it's a gay romance.» «But you want to do it anyway.»

I nodded. «It … helped. The book, I mean. It helped a lot. It convinced me that there were people out there like me. Men like me. And that they were decent and honorable and courageous, not the warped diseased things that my parents believed in.»

God, how much had I drunk? I couldn't believe I'd told him that. I wished he would say something. I felt naked; I had said too much. I shrugged. «I can't put it into words. It struck a chord with me. It struck a chord with a lot of people. It's considered a classic.» «I'll have to read it one of these days.» He covered my hand with his.