Whether he means for me to wait to open the small gift until Christmas or not, when I look back and see that he's no longer there, I immediately slide off the ribbon bow and gently undo the wrapping paper. It's in such a pristine state that someone with less money might want to use it again. I only feel that tearing the paper would have somehow destructed the gift's sanctity.
When the wrapping paper comes away, a small white box is exposed. With bated breath, I toss the paper in the nearest garbage can and stare down at the box. "What could be in you," I whisper to myself. After all, I hardly know the man who has given it to me so freely. I don't even know his name. Suddenly thinking that there might be a note inside indicating who he is, I hastily lift open the top. There, sitting on top of a small pile of fuzzy stuffing, sits a key.
Just a key. It is plain metal. It has an opening for a chain but no chain itself. It sits there with no accompaniment – no note – absolutely nothing else apart from the key itself. Feeling the anticlimax hit me, I let out a small sigh of impatience. I lift the key and shove it in my pocket before ripping out the stuffing, perfectly convinced that there must be something else there.
I don't find anything. It truly is just the key and nothing else. Nevertheless, I keep the box anyway, holding it tightly as I walk back to my temporary home. When I get there, I don't know whether I'm alone or not. Even this small beach house is large enough to keep me away from my parents for days at a time, for which I'm thankful.
I walk into a sitting room and put both box and key before me. A steal a glance at my surroundings to make sure there is truly no one to see me. I'm alone, so I covertly deprive a lamp of one of its pieces of silky ribbon, one large enough to circle around my neck with extra inches to spare. I thread the key onto it and tie it around my neck.
It might be strange, but I have a feeling that Rainbow Eyes doesn't do things that don't have purpose. My gut tells me that this key is important. He could have just given it to me plain, without the box, but he didn't.
I eye the little box. It's made of some sort of barely substantial white cardboard. "What secret do you have?" I ask it, feeling tremendously stupid that I feel so strongly about the mystery man that I've decided to talk to a box. "He gave you to me so you must have one."
About to give up, I run my fingers along the inside of the box. "That's not cardboard," I whisper, fingers pausing on one side. It's fabric. It has the exact same look as the texture and color of the cardboard, but it feels different.
Heart beginning to race and fingers trembling, I try to pry away the fabric. It comes away with a bit of effort, and a small slip of paper emerges from between the cardboard and where the fabric had been a moment before. I struggle to pick it up in my shaking fingers, but finally manage it.
2221 Lantern Lane, Naples
I look at the paper blankly. I flip it forwards and backwards but this time there is truly nothing else. Lantern Lane, Naples. Well, I'm already in Naples, at the north end where the Vanderbilt Beaches are, which is ironic in itself. I've never heard of Lantern Lane…perhaps someone at Richard and Felix's blind tiger will know something about where it is.
It couldn't be his address, could it? The possibility frightens me. What else could he possibly want to achieve though, giving me a key and an address? How could he possibly know that I am…who I am? How could he possibly know that I think he's the most perfect person I've ever seen, and that the sound of his voice sends a slight thrill throughout me? He can't. He can't possibly know those things.
It's true, we might have flirted. But honest to God, Richard flirts with me and it's just the way he is. It doesn't mean anything. Perhaps it isn't a key to a house at all, let alone his house. Maybe he has zero ulterior motives.
The question takes my mind away for the majority of the afternoon as I pace back and forth, debating whether or not it's to a house, and whether or not I should actually go. In the end, at about five in the afternoon, I have a stroke of brilliance and walk into town where I can hail a taxicab. They're paid to know where things are, and it's my best bet.
"Lantern Lane," I say to the driver. "It's here in Naples."
He starts driving, and I wring my hands nervously. The address is in my suit pocket – I've changed outfits – and the key is still on the silk ribbon around my neck. I debate telling the driver to turn around throughout the entire ride, until we're actually on Lantern Lane.
"This is it."
I sit up straighter. "This is…okay. This is it." I see the driver giving me a strange look through the mirror but I don't acknowledge it. "Uh…drive me to 2221 please." We pass palm tree after palm tree. The street is the perfect vision of Florida beauty, like how people who have never been to Florida imagine it.
The driver stops outside of a building and indicates that it's the one I want. I don't dare open the door, so I look out of the window. The house is normal enough apart from the fact that it's quite obvious no one lives there. There are no cars in the driveway, though there is one parked outside against the curb. There are no lights on and through the windows, which are large to allow in copious amounts of light, I can see covers on the furniture.
"No one lives here," I say.
"Not my problem," the driver responds with a shrug. "What do you want to do, boss?"
I sigh and lean back, defeated. "Just take me back. Drop me off in town, at the coffee shop. I have the money." The driver just shakes his head and turns around. Why would Rainbow Eyes give me a key to ensnare my attention and an address that leads to nowhere and means nothing? With a dull sinking feeling, I realize that I'm disappointed he doesn't live at the Lantern Lane address, and that makes me feel sicker than anything else has yet.
By the time I get dropped off at the coffee shop, my cab fare is too high and I want nothing more than to find Richard and Felix so I can get a drink. I untie my bowtie as I walk. I've given up on propriety and I just pray my parents won't see me before I get inside.
In the shop's front façade, I don't even bother with initial small talk. I say "Rooney", the man in front of me gives me a pitying look, and he leads me to the backroom which has a secret staircase that leads down to the bar.
I think that my mother would suffer cardiac arrest if she knew I went to speakeasies. She and her group of lady friends had initially been prohibitionists, when they thought that it would cut crime in the cities and make New York a safer place to raise their privileged families. Prohibition hadn't worked out the way anyone wanted it to. Predictably, that wasn't something Madeline Anderson was ready to admit.
Jazz creates the room's mood, drifting from a live band. Everyone has a glass in their hand, and seems happier than anyone else who had been out on the street.
"Blaine!" Richard calls me from the far end of the room. By the time I reach him, he has an extra glass of dark liquid and he shoves it into my hand. "Drink up, my friend!"
His cheeks are red, and I can tell that he's already been down here far too long. I plan on staying for a non-substantial amount of time. Only enough to loosen up and get these worries off of my mind, and then I'll take Richard and haul him home.
I take a healthy gulp and almost spit it back out again. "Dear God, what is this? It tastes like some backwater hillbilly's bathtub gin."
Richard laughs loudly and motions for another. "We're practically in the Caribbean, Blainers, and we're right on the coast. Ships pull right into the harbor and stock up."
Begrudgingly impressed with its potency, I take another smaller sip. "Where's Felix?" Richard nods to a craps table where his brother sits, hardly looking drunk at all. "Has he…?"
"Nope," Richard answers before I finish. "I'll never understand some people." This draws a laugh from me, and I down the rest of my drink. With Richard and the thrill of illegality to pass the time, I forget about Lantern Lane. I forget about the key around my neck. I forget about Rainbow Eyes and the fact that he told me not to come here.
When I next look at my pocket watch, it's almost nine. "Shit," I curse, pocketing the watch once more. "I've been gone all day. My parents…"
"Fine, fine," Richard slurs, sliding off of his stool and needing my arm to steady him.
"God, it'll be a miracle if we make it back without being arrested," I mutter, more to myself than anyone else. For the first time, I turn around to the rest of the room, and my jaw drops.
Spread out along one wall is a row of intimidating looking men who doubtlessly belong to the same group. People look at them with a gaze of mixed reverence and intimidation. The man in the middle is most assuredly their leader. He's in his sixties with grey hair, but he remains strongly built even in his old age. The men around him are of different ages but my eye drifts to the one who looks the youngest.
It's Rainbow Eyes, lounging back in a chair with a lazy smile on his face. Now he wears a dark grey shirt under a black suit jacket, black pants, and shiny leather shoes. His head is devoid of hat and glasses, so I see the combined effect of his pale skin, soft hair, and rainbow eyes.
Hauling Richard into my grasp, I drag him over to the group, for they sit between us and our exit. As I get closer, I can hear Rainbow Eyes. He's talking to a woman who looks questionable, in my opinion. If this were a regular speakeasy, she might be in an evening dress, or be the wife or some prestigious society man. Since this is a blind tiger, I doubt her morality.
The sight sinks my heart. I don't know why it was hopeful in the first place. After all, the chance that both he and I could be…no, it wasn't likely.
"We go wiv each over everywheh," I hear him say, and my jaw drops. It's a different accent, one from somewhere in Britain – I never could tell the difference. It sounds natural, just as natural as his Boston accent. "I guess it's jus' somefing families do, eh?"
"How'd you get to be one of Rooney's boys?" the woman asks. "Arms in different countries? Is he that powerful? I mean, I know that west Florida is mostly Capo–"
"Ah, we don' talk abou' him," Rainbow Eyes says, flashing a stunning smile. "All tha' matters is…" He fades off, and his eyes fix on me.
Realizing that I've stopped walking and Richard is falling asleep on my shoulder as I stand, I snap to attention and begin to walk again. Most of Rainbow Eyes' crowd continues about their business, but I can't help it when my eyes drift over to the older man in the center. He's quiet, and he watches me leave.
"Don' go anywhere," Rainbow Eyes says to the woman. I don't look back but I hear him follow me up the stairs and out of the store. I walk a few more steps on the sidewalk, Richard muttering nonsensically, before stopping and turning around.
For some reason that I don't care to admit to, I'm mad at him. I fix Rainbow Eyes with a strange, considering gaze. There are a million questions in my head but I settle for a statement instead. "You lied."
"How'd I do that?" he asks. His accent, I notice, is Bostonian once more.
"I thought you were British," I say almost bitterly, hauling Richard more upright as he begins to slip. It's with pity toward myself that I notice I sound like a nagging wife.
He grins dryly and scoffs. "I can be…whatevuh people want me to be – whatevuh I need to be. South African, British, Califahnian, I've been 'em all."
I'm growing more confused by the second. "Why?"
"Why do ya need to know?"
"Because…"
"Because why?"
"Because I'm interested in you," I burst out. "I can't figure you out. I feel like I should know you but I hardly do. I don't even know your name but you find me and give me gifts that make no sense."
His expression remains collected, and I cannot read what's going on behind his eyes. "I wish I didn't have to give to ya," he says finally. He takes in a big sigh. "I'm not the only one who don't make sense, Blaine Anduhson. As for bein' intuhrested," he squeezes his eyes closed, "don't be."
"What are you?" I persist. I almost forget that I'm holding up Richard, but since he's currently asleep and half-drooling on my shoulder, I doubt he'll remember this conversation come the morning.
"Somethin' you's bettuh off stayin' away from," he says pointedly. "Why'd ya have to come heah? I told ya not to."
I shrug with my one free shoulder. "I'm just persistent, I guess." I have no idea why I say these things that can be construed as nothing but advances toward his attention, but I say them nonetheless.
"I hope you'll let me do my jawb," he says, "and leave well enough alone. D'you think I'm joking?" I shake my head to indicate a silent no. "No…" Suddenly he lets out a completely unexpected sound of agitation and paces a few strides back and forward before pointing an accusatory finger right in my face. "I hope ya never have to use what I gave ya," he says. "Lahd knows why I even gave it to ya. Says somethin' about me, going sawft."
"I'm…confused," I say slowly.
I could see a procession of emotions go through his face but I knew not what one of them was or meant. "Three things," he says, ticking them off on his fingers. "One, we shoulda nevah met. Two, we did and you got an annoying habit of tuhning up everywheh I go. Three, if ya have to, you'll know how to use the thing I gave ya. Don't lose it. Don't try to find me. Stop thinking about me. Stop thinking about who I am."
"That was at least five things," I say breathlessly. The corner of his mouth twitches but he doesn't allow himself to smile. Once I have the courage, I say the last thing I want to: "I'll stop."
"Good." His voice is quiet, and my personal interpretation wants to think that he does not actually think it's good at all. He turns to walk back into the store.
I still want to say a million things. I want to ask if that older man was Rooney, and who he was. I wanted to ask if that really was his family. I wanted to ask him what the address was for. I wanted to ask if he was only Bostonian for me because I wanted him to be, as he put it. I wanted to ask why people in the speakeasy were either frightened or enamored by him. I wanted to ask him if he actually liked that girl. However, I settled on one final question – the most important one. "What's your name?"
He stops walking away, and is silent for a few long seconds. "Ya don't need to know th–"
"I want to," I interrupt.
He still doesn't turn. "M-Mahshall."
I've been lied to enough to be able to recognize the sound of one, even from someone I don't know. "That isn't your name. What is it, really?"
I see his back rise and fall in a deep breath. When he speaks, his voice is exponentially quieter. "It's Kurt," he says in a whisper. He doesn't give me a chance to reply before walking briskly – almost jogging – back indoors.
"Kurt," I whisper to the night air. He was telling the truth. The word sounds right on my tongue and I want to repeat it again.
"Kuhurgsmff," mumbles Richard, effectively crushing the desire to do so.
"Come on big guy," I say, pushing him so he's more on his feet and less on me. "We're going home."
A/N: There we go, the mystery continues in part two of three :) Happy Holidays! Leave a quick review and let me know what you think! ^^