Our love is like water,
Pinned down and abused for being strange.
Our love is no other,
Than me alone for me all day
Live, "All Over You"
Luc Thibodeaux was raised in the bayous of Louisiana and if it was one thing he knew how to do right, it was host a party with good food and entertainment. His mama had taught him how to cook the finest Cajun cuisine. The phrase he most frequently uttered was laissez les bon temps roule—or, "let the good times roll", which he spoke in a Southern accent as thick as the chicory coffee his grand-mère used to make, with just a hint of the Cajun patois sneaking through.
Back home in Sansonnet, Luc would have been considered "the pick of the litter"—it was a shame that he had no interest in girls. He had a lean, athletic body. His hair was light brown and his eyes were deep blue. He met Tom Collins on the UCLA campus. Luc was a graduate student at the time and was taking one of Collins' classes. He stayed after class to ask the professor a few questions—one of which was, "Will you join me for some coffee?"
Collins and Luc hit it off right away. There was an instant connection. Collins ended up spilling to Luc his relationship with Angel, while Luc listened intently, patiently. When Collins was done, Luc gave him a gentle hand squeeze and said nothing. He was beyond words, apologies and advice. Collins knew, somehow, that he'd finally found someone who understood.
When Collins proposed that he and Luc return to New York after he got his diagnosis, Luc agreed without a moment's hesitation. He had always wanted to go to New York—it was a shame that it was under these circumstances.
They sublet an apartment in Chelsea and, as soon as they were unpacked and settled in, Luc threw a housewarming party. He nearly destroyed the kitchen, cooking up a storm. He broke out recipes for crawfish etoufée, gumbo, potato salad, dirty rice and cornbread—all the makings of a traditional Cajun dinner. Collins joked that they might as well set up propane cookers in the middle of the street, referring to the crawfish boil they had attended when Luc brought Collins to Louisiana for spring break one year.
"Baby," Collins said affectionately, watching Luc in the kitchen as he buttoned up his shirt, "you don't have to do this. They won't care if you serve them Cajun cuisine or MacDonald's."
"Cher, I wouldn't dream of serving your friends anything less than authentic cuisine!" Luc insisted as he slid the etoufée into the oven.
Collins just chuckled and shook his head as he went to the bedroom to finish getting dressed.
Luc was still putting the finishing touches on his dishes when their doorbell rang. Collins, who had been resting on the couch with a glass of Beaujolais, got up to answer it. He beamed when he saw Mark and Stephanie standing there.
"Hey, guys," he greeted warmly, hugging Mark and kissing Stephanie on the cheek. "Glad you could make it."
"Wouldn't miss out on it for the world," Mark replied as they stepped into the apartment. "Where's Luc?"
"In the kitchen. He thinks he's Julia Child."
"Excuse me!" Luc replied haughtily. "I prefer Rachel Ray."
Collins rolled his eyes. "I hate Rachel Ray."
"She doesn't like you either."
Stephanie chuckled. "Well, whatever you're making, Luc, it smells wonderful." She went into the kitchen to kiss his cheek.
"My maman's crawfish etoufée," he said with a smile. "So much good seasoning, make your eyes water."
"My kind of dish!"
"Mark," Collins said, "you want a drink? I have Beaujolais, or some Zinfindel..."
"Whatever you're drinking is fine by me," Mark replied. "Steph? Anything for you?"
"No, thanks. I'm good," Stephanie smiled. "I'm going to help Luc in the kitchen."
Mark followed Collins into the living room where there was a mini bar set up. Collins poured Mark a glass of Beaujolais and handed it to him. "I don't think I've ever seen Stephanie refuse a glass of wine. Something up?" Collins inquired in a low voice, and wiggled his eyebrows.
"No, not that I know of," Mark said with a small frown.
"Maybe she's pregnant."
"That's not the case," Mark said quickly. So quickly, that Collins gave him an odd look. "I mean…it's probably not the case. I don't think that's it."
Collins sighed. "Okay, then." He hoped he wasn't the only one wondering why Stephanie and Mark didn't have kids yet. He didn't want to be intrusive, but he felt some kind of responsibility for their relationship, considering that he had gotten them together, sort of.
As Luc was setting up the food buffet-style in the kitchen, another knock on the door heralded the arrival of Joanne and Maureen, with their kids in tow. As soon as she walked in the door, Maureen pounced on Collins, smothering his face with kisses, much to Collins' delight. Their laughter mingled and rose as they greeted each other. Once everyone managed to get inside the apartment, Collins introduced Luc to Maureen and Joanne, who in turn introduced Luc and Collins to Hunter and Nina.
"Oh my God, look how big they've gotten!" Collins exclaimed, who, up until this point, had only seen pictures through his email.
"You want to take her?" Joanne asked, referring to Nina, who had her arms clasped around Joanne's neck, like a little monkey. "Here, Nina-Rina, say hi."
Collins held his arms out and took Nina into them. His heart simply melted at the sight of her heart-shaped face and dark ringlets, like Maureen's, and her wide baby-blue eyes.
Now that her arms were free, Joanne went to greet Mark and Stephanie. "Mark, hi," she said, hugging him.
"Hi," Mark smiled.
"Where's Roger? I thought he'd come with you guys?"
"No. To be honest," Mark confided, sotto voce, "we haven't seen Roger for two weeks."
"I thought you said he was back?" Joanne matched Mark's tone.
"He is, but it's not like the guy has Lo-Jack or anything. Collins and I met him for lunch at the Moondance, and—that was the last we saw of him."
"Where is he staying?"
"He won't say. But Collins told him about the party today. We're hoping he remembers and that he hasn't fled."
"You and me both."
"You want a drink?"
"Please."
Luc waited for another hour before officially serving the food. Collins had informed him that there would be seven guests, but Luc only counted six. He went over to where Collins was standing by the window. Mark was once again by his side.
"Cher, are we missing someone?" he asked his lover.
Collins' brow crinkled and he turned to Mark. "Where's Roger? He said he'd be here."
"He should be coming," Mark insisted, not believing it himself.
"What should I do about the food?" Luc asked, pulling his lips into a frown. "I don't want the etoufée to dry out in the oven."
"Serve the food," Collins advised, "but put some aside in case Roger decides to show up."
The group loaded their plates with Luc's food, raving all the while about the taste. The only one who would only pick at her food was Nina, who refused to eat anything her mothers fed her except for the rice.
Mark ate little, worrying about Roger. He knew he should probably just enjoy himself and not agonize about his whereabouts, but it was something he couldn't help. They'd seen each other two weeks ago—what could have possibly happened?
"So, Stephanie," Maureen was asking congenially. "What is it that you do?"
"I'm a teacher," Stephanie replied with a shy smile.
"A teacher," Maureen repeated, somewhat surprised. She raised an eyebrow at Mark. "What grade?"
"First," Stephanie answered. "I teach at an elementary school in New Jersey."
"That's great," Maureen smiled. "Tell me, Stephanie—is Mark a good student?" Mark choked on his wine.
Stephanie gave a small giggle, "Well, I've had to put him in his place a few times. But he's a fast learner." Mark had the urge to crawl under the couch and die.
Across the room, Joanne was conversing with Collins, as Nina crawled into in her lap.
"She really does look remarkably like Maureen," Collins marveled at the toddler. "Especially around the eyes and mouth. And of course the hair."
"Looks and acts," Joanne rolled her eyes. "A little diva in the making, this one. Her first word was mine." Nina giggled and buried her face in Joanne's lacy red blouse.
Collins chuckled. "That doesn't surprise me in the slightest."
"Maureen says it was her first word, too."
"What was yours?"
"'Book'."
There was no sign of Roger until the meal was almost over. Mark was glancing at his watch anxiously throughout the entire party, which Stephanie kept teasing him about.
"Why do you keep checking the time?" Joanne asked. "Tired of us already?"
"Mark's timing his contractions!" Stephanie exclaimed, "Because he's going to have kittens if Roger doesn't show up soon."
"What?" Mark's expression was thoroughly confused and his wife rolled her eyes.
"Oh please. We all know that's what you're worried about. You've got a terrible poker face."
"I know, doesn't he?" Maureen joined in with the teasing. "I've won a lot of money off of that poker face."
"Ha. Ha. Ha. You're all so funny."
The doorbell rang and the talking and laughter ceased. The only noise came from the stereo, a song by Sheryl Crow. No one moved. Collins coughed into his handkerchief and asked Luc, "Will you get that, please, baby?"
Luc, who had been standing closest to the door, nodded. He peered into the peephole, drew back, and looked over his shoulder at everyone else. He shrugged, sighed and opened the door.
At first, Luc almost mistook him for a homeless man that had somehow gotten into the building. His blonde hair was as scraggly, pulled back into a ponytail. He had thick stubble on his cheeks and chin. The jeans he wore were faded and threadbare. He wore a button-down shirt of olive green, but the cuffs were frayed. His shoes were hiking boots. It was a poor attempt to look presentable.
"May I help you?" Luc asked as congenially as he could.
"I…I'm here for th-the party?" he said uncertainly. "I'm…a friend of Collins'. You must be Luc."
"I am. Are you Roger?" Luc asked after a beat, the light bulb in his attic suddenly going on.
"Yeah," Roger smiled slightly. "How'd you know?"
"Wild guess," Luc replied, opening the door a little wider. "Entre, s'il vous plaît."
"Thank you." He entered the apartment and noticed, immediately, that everyone was staring at him. I guess I'm more than fashionably late.
A/N: Sorry about that abrupt ending, again. I had to split this chapter into two, or else it would have gone on way to long!