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So Gayle recounted all the details that she could remember, and was willing to admit to. She explained what Rikard had been doing, exactly where his hand had been, and why she’d been so impatient when Carrie had called. She skipped their strange argument, and her resulting fear, and just described how they made love, the way he’d kissed her with such reverence before finally coming inside her. Then how it ended when he ran off to clean up the melting ice cream.
“You’ll get a kick out of this. My last sight of him was in the kitchen, barefoot, his black leather pants slung low on his hips and barely laced, black leather mask, and his black leather gloves full of wadded-up paper towels dripping vanilla ice cream everywhere.” Gayle laughed merrily at the memory, but stopped when she realized Carrie wasn’t joining in. “Don’t you think that’s funny?”
“He wore the mask the whole time?”
“Well, yeah. It’s his Master mask. When he wears it, he’s Master Rikard. Without it, he’s just Rikard.”
“You’ve seen what he looks like without it, right? He’s not hiding anything.”
“When we met for coffee. He’s a total hunk.”
“He cooks, he cleans, he gives you half a dozen orgasms before getting his own, and he’s a total hunk. What’s wrong with this picture?”
“Uh…nothing?”
“How old is he?”
“I don’t know…late twenties, early thirties.”
“Why isn’t he already taken? Someone that good doesn’t stay on the market unless there’s a serious problem with him.”
“Oh. Well, he was. His girlfriend was killed in a car accident four years ago. I think he’s only just beginning to date again.”
“So you’re competing with a ghost? Is he still in love with her?”
Gayle thought back to Rikard’s agonized confession. “Yeah. Big time.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Enjoy the sex, because that’s all you’re getting from this guy.”
“Maybe.” Remembering that moment on the couch when she’d realized she was still with Master Rikard instead of just Rikard, she was inclined to agree. But then there was their final lovemaking. “Or maybe not. He cried when we made love.”
“He cried? Really? How come?”
“I don’t know. But that’s got to mean he’s emotionally involved, doesn’t it?”
“Or else it reminded him of his dead girlfriend, and how much he loved her.”
Gayle sighed. That was also a possibility. “I guess I’ll have to wait and find out if he can have a relationship, or if it’ll just be about the sex. But the sex was so good…”
“A relationship would be better.”
“You’re right. As usual. Guess that’s why I keep you around, huh?”
“Nah, you keep me around because I know where all the bodies are buried.”
Together, they said, “In the graveyard,” then laughed at the familiar refrain that had amused them since they were college roommates.
“But Gayle, if he does the Bluebeard thing and tells you there’s a locked room in his house you can’t go into, for God’s sake don’t check to see if it’s a shrine to his ex. Just get out, while you can.”
* * * * *
When Tuesday night rolled around, Gayle arrived early at the theater. She took her time filling out the audition form, and ended up assigned the fifth spot. Close enough to the beginning that she didn’t have too much time for nerves to tighten her throat, but with a few other songs first to get a feel for how the accompanist played. He was good, but nowhere near as talented as Rikard.
Gayle handed her sheet music to the accompanist, and took her place at center stage. Closing her eyes briefly, she imagined Rikard sitting in the darkness at the back of the theater, hidden in the shadows underneath the overhanging balcony.
She sang to him, letting her voice fill with all of her emotions, the way he’d shown her during their date. He was the one whom she couldn’t get out of her head, thinking of him constantly. And now that he’d brought her body to life, she’d die without his masterful touch.
There was a moment of silence when she finished her song, and she inclined her head in the slightest of grateful bows. Her competition had stopped talking and humming in preparation of their own auditions to listen to her, the best compliment they could give her.
