chapter iii - three architects of normalcy

In the end he had no choice but to tell them. Not everything, not the precise painful truth, but the basic gist of things, all the parts that had to do with Antonio himself, his near future, and by extension his friends. This was the one thing he couldn't hide from them - not from two of the only people he could trust in this world.

Gilbert and Francis hadn't looked this apprehensive since the day Antonio first stepped off the plane from his meeting with the Vargases. And they had a right to be.

But if only it didn't have to be this way.

Now it was just three of them around a small wooden table, both of them staring at him, and Antonio didn't know what they could read from his face.

"What is it, Toni?" asked Gilbert at last, fingers going tap-tap-tap against the tabletop, a nervous habit of his at times like these. His voice sounded strangely edgy. "It's not that stupid Vargas business again, is it?"

"Yes, I just - " Both their faces fell at once and Antonio had to stop momentarily. Then he started again. "I - well, remember the job offer I told you about?"

"That bullshit?" Gilbert interrupted, as if by reflex. "Did they call you again just for that? They must've been desperate."

"No, it's not - they didn't - "

"Antonio. Just tell us what happened," said Francis suddenly, the look in his eye more knowing than Antonio would have liked. But there was no judgment in his tone, no criticism. He leaned closer in his chair, the creaking not helping Antonio's nerves. "What did you do?"

"I... They didn't call me. I called them back." This was it. "And I told them... I'd like to work for them."

Complete silence, heavy and suffocating. It seemed to last for an age.

Then Gilbert finally said, "What the hell is going on."

"I'm sorry, I should've told you right away, but I - "

"You mean you could've told us before," stated Francis matter-of-factly, and Antonio's heart sank at his voice. "But you didn't. Why did you do that, Antonio? Is it because you don't like it here? Are you tired of living with us, or - "

"No!" Antonio exclaimed with a vehemence that surprised even himself. "Why would you ever think that? It's nothing to do with you guys - only you don't know how hard it's been, just asking for job openings around here!" He didn't want to tell them, he didn't, but he had to go on. "Everyone thinks I'm dishonest after that newspaper thing with Vargas, and what else can I tell them? I can't even defend myself! Since when did I have a choice?"

"But why him?" Gilbert muttered, something sad and disappointed in his voice, and they both turned to him. "He hurt you, Antonio. Haven't you got any pride?"

"Pride doesn't matter to me anymore," Antonio heard himself say. "There's no use being dignified if I can't even support myself."

That was when Francis pushed back his chair and stood up. "All right, enough of this. If Antonio's decided, he's decided. I still haven't made dinner." He went to the kitchen, and they heard no more from him except the clang of pots and pans and the banging of cupboards. A minute or two passed and then Gilbert followed suit.

But before he left the room, he turned back, strode over to Antonio and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Antonio Fernandez Carriedo," he said slowly, and his voice was expressionless. "Please tell me that was all a joke."

Antonio couldn't say a word. There was something heartbreaking in Gilbert's face.

"I know," he went on. "I know you don't have a choice. But dear God, Antonio - you don't even know what you're doing, do you?"

There was no way anyone could have answered that question. They stared at each other for a moment. Gilbert's hand came to rest briefly on Antonio's cheek.

"You're almost like a brother to me, Toni. What do you say to a brother when he leaves like this?"

But before Antonio could even reply, his face closed abruptly and he dropped his hand, as if he'd revealed too much, made apparent something he shouldn't have. Without another word he stepped back and retreated behind the partition. And Antonio was left alone at the suddenly large table of the empty living room.

The silhouette of the plane loomed high in the distance. One side, the side facing New York and all its tumultuous bustling wonders, was cast in shadow; the other shone silver in the sunlight that came from the west and greater things beyond.

Antonio felt very small beside it, in keeping with his habit of feeling intimidated when he had no reason to be. But this time his intimidation carried with it the uncertainty of hope. He pulled his suitcase through the smooth tile of the lobby, all but forgetting his two friends flanking him in silence.

He neared the terminal that would be his gateway to bigger and better things and turned back once to look Gilbert and Francis in the eyes. Already a new resolve and optimism had begun to grow in his green gaze, only tempered by the strong emotions he saw reflected in the looks they gave him. Briefly letting go of his suitcase, he stretched out both his arms to embrace them.

"I'll make sure to keep in touch," he whispered. "And come back to visit too."

But not one of them was certain of the latter. Gilbert and Francis were quieter than they should be.

"Have a great trip," said Francis at last with a smile, although it looked somewhat forced. "And update me on everything when you can."

"I will."

Gilbert remained silent until the very end, until Antonio was one step away from the terminal, until the distance between them had become unbearable.

"You said you'd never leave me," he shouted, his voice sending the hurt of betrayal through the impassive metal walls of the airport, and when Antonio turned and tried to look over people's heads for him, he was already gone, running back the way he had come, out of the airport and away from the impending reality of sadness.

They'd asked him plenty of questions, but none too prying, and it seemed he'd passed the initial test. Feliciano had started upon hearing that Antonio had no parents, that he'd worked his way through university on his own, that he still had student loans to pay off, as if this kind of thing was unheard of and unbelievable, but he appeared to forget it soon after.

Once more Antonio found himself in the imposing living room, sitting very solemnly on the improbably luxurious couch, the Vargas brothers across from him. Only this time everything felt somewhat more welcoming - from the golden mid-morning sunlight enveloping them to the softness of the air and how easy Lovino's and Feliciano's smiles looked.

"First things first - do you have any questions? Anything you don't agree with, or do you accept the terms of our contract in full?"

Lovino Vargas, Antonio had begun to realize, was a remarkably versatile man - one moment all kindness and concern, the next as clipped and professional as any lawyer, with no visible transition in between - though he did happen to be a renowned actor. His face bespoke the same cool, collected handsomeness Antonio recalled from countless movies; the famous eyes of placid hazel watched him almost expectantly.

A completely unreadable man, with completely unreadable motives - and yet Antonio was tempted to accept his offer then and there.

"Well, I..." Gilbert and Francis' faces flashed for a minute in his memory, and he paused mid-thought. Perhaps caution was best after all. "I'd like to think about this for one more day, if you don't mind."

As expected, Lovino's face remained unchanged. "Oh, of course you can - take all the time you need. Just contact us again when you're ready. You have my number, don't you?"

"Yes."

"There's no hurry, really," interposed Feliciano, with a smile that put Antonio's to shame. "We've gotten by for this long without many assistants, but we do feel you're very qualified for the job." How much of that was his honest opinion and not Lovino's instructions, Antonio had yet to find out.

But he seemed genuine enough.

"Thank you," said Antonio, and meant it. "Thank you both for your time."

They all stood up at the same time. Lovino, his smile businesslike, offered his hand and Antonio shook it. The actor's fingers were rougher than he'd expected; Lovino let go quickly enough, as if he'd rather Antonio not dwell on the fact. Feliciano, on the other hand, gave him a hearty pat on the back and led him all the way to the front door, disregarding the butler just as he'd done the first day. And as Antonio reached the exit he could have sworn the second Vargas whispered into his ear.

"Don't worry, he's just a big teddy bear."

What that was supposed to mean, Antonio didn't know. But it set him to thinking, again.

When he finally stepped outside, the sun was almost at its highest point in the sky.

He found himself thankful for his hotel choice when he unlocked his room door and collapsed onto the rigid little bed, his mind still filled with the visions of grandeur he had personally witnessed on a round through the streets with the cab driver. Here, he was nestled peacefully between the Vargas estate and the airport. Convenient and quiet. Late afternoon sunlight slanted gently onto the sloped ceiling, sunlight that must've come from somewhere across the Pacific to reach Los Angeles and Beverly Hills and vault over the mansions to reach this unassuming fourth-floor window. The view was good but he didn't feel like looking straight into the setting sun. Instead he felt for the sheaf of papers on the bedside table and held them up to catch the light.

A cursory read at the Vargas' place had left him with a satisfactory impression, but here, alone, he could fully appreciate the skill involved in writing the whole thing. He was half-convinced Lovino had drafted it himself; judging from the way he'd spoken at their three-man conference, that assumption couldn't be far off the mark.

The entire document was perfunctory - a total of ten pages, sprinkled throughout with official-sounding words. In it Antonio's duties were clearly listed: assist his employer (presumably Lovino) with any day-to-day events in his acting career; send and receive electronic communications and phone calls on Lovino's behalf; guard confidential information relating to Lovino's personal life, work, and relationships; and lastly, to do all else within his job requirement to make sure Lovino's life went smoothly. Also listed was his salary, a decent number, followed by his work schedule (40 hours a week) and an allotted sick leave of 24 days per year.

Personal assistants, then, were not taken lightly.

But a small part of him wanted to disregard all the numbers, wanted to forget the fact that the main thing here was finding a way to support himself and not something else.

He read on, and at the very end he found the sentence he'd been looking for:

Contract terminable upon request of either employer or employee, or at the consent of both.

Well, that was assurance enough, wasn't it? Because Antonio had wanted a change of air, a change of scene, and this was the only way he could get all of it without going broke. What were 40 hours a week if they bought him a new perspective, one that he wanted? And what did he have to fear from Lovino anyway, aside from a multitude of assigned tasks, because that was the way things would be?

But just then he thought of Gilbert and Francis and the entirety of the time they'd spent together in their little flat - how Gilbert would always play "Das alles ist Deutschland" to start the day, how Francis would always mumble bits and pieces of French recipes in his sleep; the many stupid videos they'd made and laughed at later, the dumb jokes and arguments that they always patched up afterwards; the way they'd managed to make things work for the past five years, just the three of them - and his heart hurt, suddenly and bewilderedly.

He had thought this move would mark a new and wondrous episode in his life, one in which he would release the fetters that had bound his spirit and willpower throughout his youth - and the change really did seem to be manifesting itself, so why did his conscience still prick him like this? Antonio knew for certain he was no longer a fool: he could see with his own two eyes, he could think with his own head and he thought he'd made a good decision. His needs were few and simple, always had been; so why did some small voice inside keep telling him this was selfish?

He didn't want to remember, but all of a sudden the same silvery female voice rang in his memory: Antonio dear, this is for your own good. Don't disobey me, Mama only wants the best for you.

You'll understand eventually.

But what was that understanding worth? All he'd learned from it was the terrible pain of forcing himself into an image he would never fit. The recurring disappointment and frustration of giving up his dream for someone else's, to gain approval that he didn't need or want.

And now that Antonio was actually making a move, actually rallying his initiative, everything was coming back to haunt him, every little mistake, every bad choice, everything.

Why did he have to be the one pulled in a million different directions? Why him? And why did no one understand his simple yearning to do what he loved?

His heart had lain dormant long enough. The spell had controlled him for long enough. He had broken free, and he knew what he wanted now. It was very clear.

He wanted this.

He wanted to find himself here.

He wanted escape.

"You don't even know what you're doing, do you?"

But he did. Didn't he?

He took several pictures of the contract and sent them to Francis, fighting the guilty feeling in his chest, because he needed something to help drive back the wave of doubt. For a second his finger hovered over Gilbert's picture on the screen, debating whether or not to let him know too, but he stopped himself.

Gilbert already had enough pain to deal with. This was unwarranted and unnecessary.

So... have you signed it yet? Francis texted him several hours later, after he'd read through the contract and deemed it shipshape. Antonio could find no trace of enmity in the message, and breathed a silent, relieved sigh.

Not yet. Antonio hesitated over his phone screen, trying to find the right words, and then he went on. I asked for one more day. But I want to accept.

Five minutes passed.

Well... best of luck to you ok? We'll keep in touch, bother you every so often, send you stupid things. The disappointment behind the words was evident now. We're there for you in spirit, Toni. And then, Francis enough: Forgive Gilbert ok? He didn't mean to yell at you the day you left.

No he didn't do anything wrong, it was me. Is he still angry with me?

No, he's fine. Just sleeping rn which is why I can't call. But he'd call you if he were awake.

Antonio let out a breath. Ok, you don't need to wake him up. Thank you though. Thank you both. You guys are the best.

Four hours later, when the stars were winking high in the sky, his phone buzzed twice. Two texts, both from Gilbert. A minute passed before Antonio worked up the courage to read them. The first said, I'm sorry.

And the second:

I miss you.

Lovino handed him the fountain pen, his face impassive and unreadable as ever, and Antonio reached out to take it. Nestled in his hand it felt like paradise, an instrument of power and authority. He held it poised over the paper, and then he signed the three words that would change his life from that point on: Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. A weight seemed to have left his chest from the simple gesture.

He watched with Feliciano as Lovino scrawled out a signature as incomprehensible as himself. The actor flipped through the pages, noting the parts Antonio had filled out, and then set the stack back on the table, not one sheet out of place.

"I hope you don't mind, Antonio, but I'd like you to move in today if you can," he said without preamble. "Things are about to get busy in the next few weeks and I need all the help I can get."

"It's no problem, Mr. Vargas - "

"Lovino," the actor corrected almost automatically, as if he were used to such mistakes, and stood up. "Come with me. Feli and I will show you around."

Antonio followed them, quite carefully because the mansion, however large, did not seem to be made for people his own size. He found this out by hitting his head in the doorway, which earned a small, hastily suppressed laugh from Feliciano and an eyebrow raise from Lovino. First the Vargases showed him the rest of the ground floor, which housed miscellaneous parlors, the kitchen, an indoor gym and dance floor, with a massive swimming pool and garden in the backyard. Then they led him up the stairs to his room, which Lovino explained was the best of the five guest rooms they had available.

"Go on, take a look. You're welcome to move things around if you want to."

Antonio took more than a look; he took in the whole thing at once.

It had never occurred to him that a room reserved solely for sleeping and solitary work could be beautiful and not simply utilitarian. Everything was in different tones of blue and green. Beside the door was a polished wooden desk, along with a chair upholstered by blue cushions. The king-sized bed sported the fluffiest-looking pillows and comforters he had ever seen, across from it a couch the color of the sea, and a closet even taller than Antonio stood in the right corner, a mirror reflecting their faces on each door. All around them the wallpaper shone a serene turquoise in the light streaming in from the open shutters.

Making sure not to sound too amazed by it all, Antonio thanked them graciously and they went on. The other guest rooms stretched to the left of Antonio's, and Lovino's was directly to his right, followed by Feliciano's.

"And this is the study," said Lovino, gesturing to the door across from his own. "You'll need a key from me to go in; besides you, me and Feli, no one else can enter unless I give them permission."

They stopped after the second floor because the third was simply the attic, but already the images had fixed themselves in Antonio's mind. The end result of all their travels was an amazing desire on Antonio's part to have a house like this one someday, if only to enjoy himself more than he had in the tiny little flat back in New York. If only Gil and Francis were here to see this, he thought, and then shook himself.

"Any questions?" Lovino said for the second time in two days.

"No..." Nevertheless a million questions raced through Antonio's head, all of them not very relevant. "It's beautiful," he said at last, truthfully enough.

Lovino smiled. "That's the point."

So began a new phase in Antonio's life. Whether it was positive or negative he could not be sure, but the change was evident and he found himself adjusting to it rather quickly.

Every day he arose at 4:45 a.m., went downstairs in the dark to pour out a glass of water, and went back upstairs to wake Lovino up, even though there were alarm clocks installed in every room of the house and they always rang five minutes after Antonio arrived. The first time he did this, he received somewhat of a shock, because when he entered through the half-open door and came close to Lovino's bed, the actor suddenly opened his eyes and scared Antonio so much he almost dropped the glass.

"I - I'm so sorry!" he stammered as soon as he could regain his composure. "I didn't mean - "

"It's fine," said Lovino, with a slightly amused tone to his voice. "I get that a lot. You didn't know I'm a light sleeper?"

"No."

"Well, I am. Now you know. I haven't had a proper sleep since I was eleven, but that's irrelevant."

"Oh."

Lovino sat up and took the glass, draining it all at once, and set it on the bedside table. Antonio was suddenly aware of how rumpled his own clothes were and how the dark rings under his eyes must be showing again.

"I know what you're thinking," Lovino remarked suddenly. "You're thinking, 'Wow, that's sad,' aren't you? I can see it on your face, you know. But if you look at it my way, it's a way of living. A way of being prepared. Like jumping off a balcony and hitting the ground running."

Antonio didn't know what to say to that. By this time Lovino was already out of bed and heading for the bathroom.

"Make me coffee, won't you?" he said over his shoulder without slowing his pace. "Make it black, no sugar."

This became a regular start to their days, and after a while Antonio slowly got used to the fact that Lovino never really fell asleep. He probably did that to everyone to keep his assistants on their toes. But it was all right in the end - just another interesting thing about Lovino Vargas he'd never read about on Wikipedia.

With Lovino drinking his coffee and eating fette biscottate beside him, Antonio would access the actor's email and briefly comb through news sites, making sure to note for Lovino any interesting things going on around the world. Once they even stumbled upon an opinion article summarizing Bella's love life and her new prospects, not by the Times but by some tabloid magazine Antonio quickly forgot the name of.

"You've got to love tabloids," was Lovino's only comment. "They make excellent fuel for fireplaces when printed on paper."

Antonio also accompanied him for morning exercises, as Feli was a late sleeper and never rose until after eight A.M., or nine if he was lazy. It turned out to be a good thing they had an indoor gym, because, as Lovino mentioned, there were always reporters dressed as tourists ready to catch celebrities on camera the minute they stepped out their doors, especially if they were looking hot or scandalous, which would bring the tabloids large sums just because people always flocked to read gossip about their favorite stars. Antonio had some trouble following, since he'd always thought Lovino appreciated the attention. But Lovino only said that, after a while, anyone would get sick and tired of the media invading their lives.

"Don't take it personally - I just have a thing against reporters in general," he said, looking every inch a photographer's dream, with his bored expression, his towel around his neck, lean muscles showing through his white shirt and small beads of sweat at his brow after half an hour on the treadmill.

Afterward, because Antonio wasn't used to having breakfast that early, he would sit down for about fifteen minutes with Feliciano at the table, sometimes joined by Lovino if he was still hungry (which happened more often than not). Breakfast was always a quick and hurried affair - Antonio usually had something to do for Lovino and Feliciano followed his brother out of habit. But the younger Vargas, who claimed he was only younger by two minutes, often managed to engage Antonio in conversation and pried out of him small details about his previous job and life in New York. Out of the two, Antonio had to admit Feliciano was the more sympathetic. Lovino never had enough time to consider other people's wishes or stories, mostly because he was too busy tending to himself, in the manner peculiar to true celebrities.

Lovino would also leave in the afternoons or evenings for mostly undisclosed locations. The first time was for a dinner date with his old friend Roderich, whom Antonio knew from the papers as Roderich Edelstein, world-famous clothing designer. The other trips he was more secretive about - but Feliciano revealed that he had a soon-to-be girlfriend by the name of Carlota, who also happened to be a widely known supermodel. To Antonio that explained everything. But he didn't mind the actor's frequent absences, because his commanding presence made it hard to relax.

Another unexpectedly welcome aspect to life on the Vargas estate was the little grey ball of fur that assaulted Antonio from day one at the breakfast table. Feliciano called her Angie because the non-Italian name annoyed Lovino to no end, although Antonio had to agree that it fit her perfectly. Aside from jumping Antonio she also had an overwhelming affection for Lovino, who often spurned her advances; but once Antonio caught him quietly feeding her and stroking her ears and that was enough for him.

Angie also indirectly brought about a novel experience for Antonio. On the third day of the ex-reporter's employment, Feliciano abruptly decided that the poor creature was too lonely living in a house full of human males and that she'd need company - not in the form of another Pomeranian but a cat. No one could reason with him that only very young cats and dogs get along well; he was adamant.

"Go pick it up for him, Antonio, would you please?" Lovino asked in exasperation, not sparing himself the pleasure of an eye-roll towards his brother as he made the necessary online transactions.

So Antonio found himself in the most expensive pet shop in the city, surrounded by all sorts of exotic animals worth thousands of dollars, and the shopkeeper was handing him perhaps the most ordinary of them all in a little cage - the "decent-sized orange and white tabby" Feliciano had ordered. The cat looked about as eager to be sold as Antonio was to buy him.

And that was precisely when it happened. Antonio had just started explaining that he was here on Lovino's behalf and the pet shop owner had just gone online to authenticate the purchase when she entered. The first thing Antonio noticed was the perfume, a strong flowery scent he didn't recognize. Then he heard the click of heels on the tile and turned to see the vision of a woman standing behind him in a summery dress.

She had hair that shone gold under the light, dancing green eyes, and very red lips - all the details Antonio had failed to notice from the headline photo last Monday and every other picture before that. She must've heard him mention Lovino, because upon meeting his eyes she gave an imperceptible, almost knowing little smile that made Antonio's heart do somersaults in his chest.

"That's a nice-looking cat you've got there," she said in singsong tones, her lips forming wonderful shapes with the words. "Who knows, maybe he'll grow into a tiger one day."

Antonio didn't know what to say, but he did recover his wits enough to stop gaping and move aside for her. The shopkeeper quickly lost his haranguing air and immediately presented Bella with the pet she wanted - a grey Manx with sharp yellow eyes, which she took with a merry thanks. As she passed Antonio her mouth turned up and she winked ever so slightly, before exiting through the door with a whisk of sunny fabric.

Nearly forgetting the cage in his hand, Antonio raced out and just managed to catch sight of her stepping into a shiny red car. Then the motor revved and she was gone.

He stood there for a full five minutes, unaware of the cat banging angrily against the cage bars, eyes still fixed on the spot she had just left and wondering why on earth his heart was racing faster than it should be.

If Feliciano had been a girl and not a grown man, Antonio would've described the sound he made as an overjoyed squeal.

"There he is!" he shouted, and ran to embrace the cat, cage and all, while Antonio watched with surprise and Lovino with the look of someone who was used to such things and immensely bored by them.

"It's just a cat, Feli," said the actor, with Angie staring interestedly from his lap at the new arrival. Feliciano didn't listen, however, and lifted the cat out of his mobile home with all the care one would lavish upon a newborn. But he still hadn't thought of a name, and this fact was mentioned several minutes later.

"Help me, Antonio! Don't let Lovi think of one - it'll be Humphrey or Hubert for sure."

"Those aren't even good names," muttered Lovino. "As if I would have such bad taste."

They both observed Antonio, who suddenly felt the weight of the task upon him.

"Longfellow," he blurted without thinking, and Lovino stared at him in horror while Feliciano burst out laughing.

"Bravo, Antonio! That's perfect!"

And the name stuck, not because anyone especially approved of it but because the cat, upon hearing it, waved his long tail every time.

In his room that night, briefly safe from anyone's prying eyes and also aware that his door was unlocked, Antonio opened his suitcase and took out three battered blue notebooks bound by a single rubber band. On every cover he had written one word: Impressions. He removed the final of the three, which was in slightly better condition, and opened it to a fresh page, disregarding all the writing before it.

For a long moment he stared at it, pen poised in hand, mind going through the various images of the day, and then he wrote quickly: hair like gold thread, eyes of liquid emerald, coral lips. For some reason he felt slightly guilty - the first symptom of anyone having spent his life distanced from the opposite sex.

But no more novel turns of phrase came to him, no more inspiration. He remained sitting before the notebook for what seemed like an age, the blue lines starting to blur in his vision, but his mind was blank save the repeating image of the woman in his head. Finally he scrawled the date at the top of the page and closed the book, tying it back with the other two and shoving the whole thing back into his suitcase. Then he lay down on his bed and gazed at the ceiling, which resembled nothing so much as a miniature swirling ocean, and tiredly closed his eyes.

The next few days dawned bright and clear, the same as they had before and after. Antonio's routine was mostly the same, aside from the different conversations he had with Feliciano every morning, and the fact that in a few days the Vargas brothers would need help going over the scripts for Before Sunrise. But to Antonio it still seemed a ways off.

He also slowly acquainted himself with the other servants in the house. The butler Hans was as distant and formal as ever, but Tino the chauffeur was friendly and the security guard Sadik always exchanged a few nice words with Antonio upon arriving every evening. There was also the cook Alfonso, who came from Sicily and whom Lovino had hired because he was the only other person in the house who appreciated Italian food - unlike Feliciano who was growing more Americanized by the day. They were a merry bunch, and Antonio enjoyed the sparse conversations he had with them.

This was why, on the fifth day of his work, he found himself noting with surprise that he actually rather liked life in this big house with its varied inhabitants. And between keeping Lovino company every morning, running errands for Feliciano around the city, chasing after Angie and Longfellow, and every so often remembering the marvelous woman Lovino had turned down over a week ago, Antonio realized he had no time left to be sad.