Money Can Buy You Love. And Glitter. Chapter 59.1
Rating: This chapter is PG-13.
Ship:: Adam/Kris
Story begins here: Chapter 1: Meet cute in coffee shop
Click HERE and scroll down to find links to all the chapters of this story.
Chapter 59.1:
Do not be afraid; our fate
Cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.”
― Dante Alighieri, Inferno
"Hell. I'm in helllllll...." Kris whined to Lane as he traipsed from one end of the Lambert St. Louis Airport to the other. "I suppose Adam thinks he's very funny making me go see that same girl in the same food court again to pick up my box!"
"I'm quite sure he does," Lane agreed, then couldn't suppress her laughter. Adam could be such a bitch, but he was an amusing bitch. When she was able to stop laughing, she asked, "Do you have your doubloons? Two, right?"
"Yes, apparently I'll get the third in New York." Kris paused. "Wait. Is that the island I'm going to? No, can't be. Even though New Yorkers think it's like it's own country, it's not. I need my passport for..."
The silence lengthened.
Lane finally asked, "Did you hit your head?"
"No. Why?"
"Because a head injury is the only plausible explanation for you entertaining the notion that such a lame lead would inspire me to spill Adam's plans."
"Well, hell. So... I'm connecting there, though. Gotta be. Connecting to where? Oh who cares, just get me outta here!" Kris wailed.
"You're a baby."
"And...You're laughing at me? Seriously? Did you laugh at Adam when he was stuck here?"
"He was in federal custody. You're just bitching because there's no Chik-Fil-A."
"Well, whatever. This place is grody and there's no good food and I just wanta get to Adam already... It's hell!"
"Technically, no. You're just waiting. Annoying, but there's an end to it. So it's not hell. You were already in hell before, weren't you?"
"Yeah. New Year's Day was hell. You're right. But this isn't heaven either, Lane. It's St. Louis."
"It's not hell, it's not heaven. Therefore, It's purgatory."
"And you're pedantic!" Kris complained, then stopped. "Wait. What's purgatory again?"
"Purgatory is where some people believe you go to work on your sins before you get to move onto heaven. Like a way-station or train terminal or... an airport. A place where you wait before you can move on to where you should be in the end."
"Kinda like the tv show, Lost. But set in St. Louis instead of a tropical island?"
"Something like that. Although if you think about it, an airport would actually be better. All the opportunities for new people to come in and older characters to leave."
"You've thought about this with Adam, haven't you?" Kris asked, knowing as the words left his mouth they were true. "He's thinking of using that idea for a video shoot. Ohmigod, am I the rehearsal for a video shoot?"
"Don't be ridiculous..." Lane bit her lip. Adam probably would try and mine Kris' experiences later on...
"Me?!! He's always trying to double dip--"
"I don't need to know that much about your sex life," Lane said crisply and hung up.
"Sex again this year would be good..." Adam grumbled as he finished listening to Lane give an update to Kris' schedule. Of course, his flight from St. Louis was delayed. Of course, because that airport was just a vast sinkhole of suckiness. Damn it. Kris was supposed to be just hours behind him and now it looked like he wasn't going to get here until the next day. Once again, he was going to have to apologize to Kris and there were no Chik-Fil-A or Sonic shakes here. Although the concierge had told him about what he promised was a fantastic gelato place off of St. Mark's Plaza. Mmm. Ice cream. He could dribble that on Kris' cock and...
Quickly sending an apology text to Kris with a promise of the world's best blow job, he looked up as the promised valet knocked on the door to the suite and entered. Adam slid his phone into his pocket and smiled automatically as the valet, well, he presumed the old man was a valet, but how the hell did he know? He really should have spent time the last few weeks learning some basic Italian instead of screwing up his life.
But move on, he told himself. Isn't that what you told Kris? He smiled when the old man appeared interested in the quality of the workmanship and exclaimed over the costumes. It felt weird to have someone else taking care of his personal clothes, but Lane had explained that it was the norm and the capes, if nothing else, would need pressing and steaming. Or maybe it was just that he was tired and anxious and Venice was... surreal -- all that fog and the costumes and masks and the water everywhere, it would be so damn easy to take a wrong step and end up in the lagoon and he didn't understand a damn word the guy was saying as he held up Kris' outfit. Nodding in agreement and hoping he hadn't agreed to sell off the outfit, Adam smiled again, handed the old man a tip and sighed in relief when he left.
Tired. He should sleep. He pulled off his clothes and then contemplated whether he should go to sleep or take a shower after the long flight. Staring tiredly at the bed in the middle of the room, on an elevated platform, Adam contemplated how many times he and Kris were going to stumble or stub their toes or fall down stupid going to or from that bed.
As he shifted in the hard plastic and ironically orange seat once again, Kris closed his eyes and wished it was as comfortable as his chair back home.
My chair is right here, Kris thought with relief. My comfy chair is still here. He'd dropped off the ice cream cake, then come up here, touching the walls along the way, looking into their bedroom and seeing no sign that Adam had slept there. Where was he sleeping? Seeing a pillow on the sofa, he wondered if Adam was camping out in here. Not that he'd be sleeping in the chair, the way Kris had fallen asleep a time or twelve with Emmaline when she was a baby.
But the chair. It was here. And that's what mattered. It had survived. Intact. Ready to cushion him for years to come.
Adam could've thrown it out. Or burned it. Or hacked it up in rage. Kris wouldn't have blamed him. Well, mostly. But Adam hadn't done any of those things, thrown it out or burned it or hacked it up. Instead, he had kept this chair he hated purely on aesthetic reasons, even after the person responsible for, as he used to say, "inflicting" it on him had betrayed his trust. Why?
Could it be that the chair was more than the site of many happy moments, but a symbol that Adam hadn't wanted to destroy? Just in case... Kris came home?
Sitting down with a relieved sigh, Kris whispered, "Home.." He leaned his head back, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the faint wisps of his scent and Adam's mingling as the memories made in the chair wove themselves together in his brain like cobwebby lace, sticky and strong, the strands growing wider and firmer, holding him, binding his fear and his faith together, the wider twists of faith curling over and around the fear, pushing it under, until the whole was stronger, was something... more stable. Solid. Like orange mushroom upholstery, he thought with a small laugh.
"Kris, are you okay?" Dani asked, her voice a soft sound. "Are you crying?"
Kris slowly opened his eyes to find Dani sitting on the coffee table in front of the chair, while Emmaline read a picture book on the sofa. "No. I'm laughing, actually. I'm relieved and happy and hopeful. And I'm realizing I should have had faith. In fate, as Adam would say."
"Why? Because he didn't throw out your chair?" Dani surmised.
"Yup." Kris ran his hands up and down the arms, then pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around his legs, leaning back in the chair, eyes closed, remembering all the times Adam had sat in this chair and he'd sat in Adam's lap. Or straddled him. Or he'd sat in this chair and Adam had knelt in front of him or... Well. He'd relive those happier times later. Here and there. Surely they had chairs in other places that would work too.
When Kris said nothing more, Dani asked curiously, "How did you end up with this chair?"
"I found it on the street. Just kind of randomly. Walking down a street that wasn't mine. I found it. I'd been in that crappy apartment for a few weeks and still hadn't found any furniture I could afford, not even at the thrift shops. I was wondering if it made much difference that I had four walls or if I was homeless if I didn't have anything but the floor to sit on. I was getting depressed again, to be honest. Feeling sorry for myself. And then I saw this chair with these silly mushrooms and it made me smile. It was out on the curb for trash." Kris smiled sheepishly. "It still looked pretty good to me. Sturdy, you know. And it had made me laugh when I didn't think I'd laugh again. But basically, I needed some furniture -- well, any furniture -- and there it was. One man's trash is another man's treasure. Just like me and Geoffrey, right?"
"Kris. You were never trash."
"I was thrown out like it." Kris shrugged and continued in a quiet whisper for Dani's ears only. "By my parents, but not Adam. I get that now. He was mad but he wanted me to fight back, to tell him what he needed to hear. He threw me out of the room, but he wasn't throwing me out of his life. I get that, seeing this chair. He... on some level, he had hope. Even if he didn't realize it. He thought I was coming back." Hugging his knees again, Kris smiled. "But, anyway, the chair...All it needed was some elbow grease and TLC. Both. And bringing it home, cleaning it up and having it in my dingy apartment... it gave me hope, you know?"
Nodding as she stood up, Dani asked, "Did you ever realize that Adam had your chair re-stuffed at least once a year?"
"What?" Kris sat up straight with a start. "He hates this chair."
"But he loves you." Dani ran her hand along the top curve of the chair back. "And over time the chair got kind of too squishy, so he had it restuffed. And the fabric got frayed, so he had it lined."
"I never knew..." Kris gaped at Dani. "I thought the chair was indestructible."
"No. It needed some help."
Kris ran his hands along the upholstered arms once again and looked closely at the chair for the first time in... maybe, he thought, ever. And suddenly he saw the little patches of wear, the frayed edges, the worn pattern with yes, the lining supporting it underneath. Oh he'd seen them all before, but never so clearly or never so consciously. But so many memories were in this chair, he'd only ever seen those moments. Raising his voice, he explained, "The chair is beautiful to me, but I know it's not to him. So I thought, in keeping with the theme of this do over, that I'd add some glitter to it. What do you think, Emmaline?"
"He'll like that." Emmaline bounced onto the sofa, then seeing the look Kris sent her, sat back down and sighed as loudly as she could. When Kris frowned harder, she smiled and asked, "What color?"
"Kind of a gold orange." Standing up, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic vial and uncapped it, pouring a small cone-shaped pile into his palm. "What's the best way to spread the glitter, do ya think?"
"Hmm." Dani pondered, then suggested, "Cup it in your hands and blow, like birthday candles. Make a wish, while you're at it."
I wish... Kris thought, his eyes closed. I wish we could start over again in that coffeshop. Tell our life stories over a cup or twelve of coffee and start over. Fresh. But with all the wisdom we've gained. So it's new, but better. Suddenly the words to a song he had taught so many years ago at the pre-school came back to him, but with new words. Softly he sang, "Make new love, but keep the old, one is silver and the other's gold." Yes, there, that was a good wish. New and old at the same time, but even better.
There. He nodded and blew gently, opening his eyes to watch the glitter drift over the chair, faster than dust motes but not as fast as his wish.
"What was your wish?" Dani asked curiously. Kris' face had been so intensely yearning.
"He can't tell, Mama. Or it won't come true!" Emmaline reminded her.
"Yes, I've always wanted to come to the Venice Carnevale and thank you, yes, I do have an amazing cape," Adam politely told the fans after signing an autograph. So immersed in his thoughts about finally seeing Kris after all these weeks and... well, to be honest, the sex they would be having, he hadn't thought to wear his baseball cap or sunglasses. Stupid move. Not that he'd also expected to meet fan after fan at the airport. He smiled as the two girls giggled as they rushed back to their parents and disappeared deep into the Marco Polo Airport. Marco Polo, indeed. Apparently he needed to be playing that game. Marco...Polo.... Where was Kris? Why wasn't he answering his phone? He was supposed to have gotten off that plane half an hour ago. Marco...Polo....
Was this journey ever going to end? Kris wiped a tired hand across his forehead, wandering around the exit to the airport, wondering where Adam was when he caught sight of his name on a small sign held by a man in a straw hat. Oh, Adam must have sent a driver. In costume. Weird. Then again, not so much. It was Carnevale and Adam did love playing dress up and using other people as Ken dolls. Hence the fittings he'd had before New Year's for his cape and hat. Who knew you needed a fitting for a cape? He shrugged and walked up half-expecting to just be handed another box, but the tall, wiry man just looked at him blankly. Oh, he must be waiting for confirmation of his identity. So apparently not everyone in the world knew about his short-lived career as a prostitute. Well, that was good. "Uh... I'm Kris Allen?"
"Ah, signor. Infine! Doubloon?" The man asked, holding out his hand.
"Oh, oh, sure!" Kris smiled in relief that Adam must have sent the guy as his last guide to the final destination. He shrugged his shoulder to bring his oversized ifhalf-empty travel backpack around to his front, unzipped a pocket and grinning, handed one of his three doubloons to the guy, who shoved it in his pocket and nodded gravely. Okay, so no smiles. Maybe romantic reconciliations were serious business in Venice.
"Grazie. Charoni." The man pointed to himself, then off in some direction Kris couldn't tell. "Andiamo, Signor Allen!" He took off at a fast clip.
Kris blinked, then hurried after him. He stopped short when they reached a boat... oh wait, that's right. Venice. Water. Boats for taxis or limos. D'uh. He must be really tired. While he figured that out, the man jumped on board, then turned and stared at Kris.
"An. Di. A. Mo!"
"Oh, sure." Well, he may not know exactly what the word meant, but Kris would bet it meant something like, 'move your ass, stupidhead.' He nodded and stepped into the boat, holding tightly onto the railing as the boat dipped and swayed in the dark water. It was Venice. Of course he was getting there by water. Wherever there was. Speaking of which. Where the hell were they going?
"Donde es--" Kris bit his words off. High school Spanish wasn't going to work. He'd read the useful phrases portion of the little guidebook Lane had given him on the plane ride over. What was it... He scrabbled in his backpack for the book and squinted in the misty light, struggling to say, "Do. Ve st...st...iamo an..da..nado?"
"Comincerete sopra."
"Okaaaay." Kris shrugged. No flipping idea what the guy had said. Not like it mattered. He was going wherever this boatman took him. He'd have to trust the guy wasn't some mass murderer. Or leading him into some other hell, because really he'd paid his dues, hadn't he? Learned his lesson down some mighty crooked paths?
The twists and turns in the water through air that looked like he was swimming with his eyes open confused him enough that he stopped trying to figure it out and leaned back to enjoy the ride. After all, he was in Venice, a destination he and Adam had talked about since that long ago date at the Getty Museum.
Somehow in all the years, through all the travels and even after hearing that the city might sink back into the ocean, its grandeur drowning with slow gurgles, somehow they had never made it here. Something had always come up, making them decide, 'next year'. He'd always imagined seeing it with Adam, but truth to tell, he was enjoying the quietude -- it seemed the best way to see the city that could become a watery ghost town, its somnolence broken only occasionally by a shout from the unseen, a boat engine in the distance somewhere, a soft slurping slap as water hit a crumbling foundation behind him and then a magnificently restored mansion in front of him.
"Canale Grande," the boatman said abruptly some time later, laughing in a low growl when Kris jumped and his hand slapped the side of the boat. He pointed ahead, "Ponte di Rialto."
"Holy shit, this smalltown boy is on the Grand Canal in Venice!" Kris whistled under his breath. "This isn't Venice Beach and that's not the Rialto Theater." He looked around, seeing people in elaborate costumes that would've fit into another century, then looked up and around, craning his head back to look at one pointy roof top, then another, the buildings with their exotic designs making him wish he'd thought to bring his real camera. Well, he could buy postcards later. That is, if he and Adam ever left their hotel room. He grinned and then fidgeted. How long until he got to wherever it was? Adam had probably picked out some awesome hotel, totally decadent and luxurious... like that? "Whoa."
"Ah, Ca' D'Oro. Ca' Castello. Bellissimo, si?"
"Si." Kris gaped. He had read about this building in his guidebook. And here it was. Still standing after all these years, defiant of the waters wanting to consume it. "Oro...Gold."
"Palazzo Santa Sofia."
Kris nodded, twisting his neck to keep looking at it. Apparently it had two names. Castle, palace... Oh. That whole storming the castle business and... they were sailing past it. Okay. He shrugged. So they weren't meeting there. Probably at their hotel. He didn't care where it was, as long as they got there soon. All he needed was a bed and Adam. Then again, a wall or floor would do fine too at this point.
At least the journey along the canal was beautiful enough to distract him from getting an unwelcome erection in the slow-moving boat with beautiful buildings on either side, shrouded in the mist, their tan and pink and cream facades shimmering silver in the mist the weak sunlight could barely penetrate. He shivered in the damp air as the boat turned down a much smaller canal, then another, going under bridge after bridge, each one different, then started when the boatman cut the low-powered engine.
With a muffled thud, the boat came to a stop next to a red pole with a gold point on top. Charoni threw a rope around it, winding it loosely and stepped out, holding a hand out for Kris to grasp. "Fare il primo passo."
Confused, Kris took the hand and then stopped as he realized that Charoni reminded him of a taller, skinnier version of his father. Huh. Maybe the Allens had some Italian in their veins. He shrugged and stepped onto what would be a dock anywhere else, but he guessed in Venice it was the street. A very narrow street. Geez. Had to be careful or you'd end in the water. Dark water. Scary water in this murky light. He'd have to take care not to step backwards. He tilted his head back to look up, glad that there was nothing remotely like a skyscraper here, so he was easily able to take in the lacy windows and balconies of the peach and tan buildings before him. There were no obvious signs for hotels or actually, signs of life as you usually found outside hotels, so... He turned back to the boatman. "What... I mean, Que... or Do. Ve...?"
"Comincerete sopra. Qui." The boatman pointed forward, twirling his finger in a semi-circle.
"I don't get it..." Kris whispered in frustration, then jerked in surprise as the boatman gave him a little shove forward with one hand, his other still pointing and Kris finally saw a short little building, no wider than the door. What the heck? Or maybe it was just a door. A very tilted door on a very tilted building like something Alice might have tumbled down. Or through. But now that he saw it, he didn't know why he hadn't seen it before. "Oh!" Guess he had needed a little push to see through the fog. He smiled at the boatman sheepishly. "Sorry."
Sighing, Charoni said in his gruff voice, "Chi cerca trova!" and pointed towards the door again. "Comincerete sopra. Qui."
Kris peered at the letters inscribed in the carved stone arch surrounding the door. It didn't say that comin whatever word. It was some super long phrase, that, oh yea, did begin with Qui. Damn. The carving was old and worn by wind and rain and the salt air. He stepped forward to read it better... Qui si convien lasciare ogne sospetto... What the hell?
Well, who cared? He could read it later. Or not, since he didn't read Italian. Right now, he had bigger fish to fry. He needed to go inside and get his next box, because he didn't really think this was a hotel. Oh, he should probably tip the boatman, Charoni.
What was the word... He smiled and turned, "Grazie---" He began, then stopped as he realized he could see nothing but fog. No boat and no boatman, just the echoing sound of water slapping against the foundations. "Okeydokey." He turned back around and waved his hand in front of him, as if he could move the mists.
Why the hell had Adam booked them into this place? Or sent him here, if it wasn't a hotel? It looked like the only reason the narrow building was still standing was because the two much larger and from what he could tell, much better preserved buildings on either side were holding it up, much like Adam and Cale had held up Tommy one night when he'd had way too much to drink on tour.
"Hello? I mean, bu... Bu. On. Gi. Or. No?" Kris called out as he hesitantly pushed open the green wooden door--
Creeeeeeeeeeeeeakkkkkkkk
The door that looked way older than he was. By maybe a century. Or two. Possibly even three. Then the fog seemed to rush in on little cat feet or something, some poem Adam said once, swirling around his ankles and making him shiver. "Okay, you know what, Adam?" He whispered, because it seemed like whispering was the way to go. Maybe then the fog monsters wouldn't get you. "Venice is seriously kah-reeeeeepy. Like real-life Dark Shadows or Twilight Zone or something..."
"Signor Allen?"
"Holy...." Kris jumped at the voice--
Bang!
He jumped again as the door slammed behind him. He had not pulled it closed and given how creaky it had been opening, it hadn't closed on its own. Getting more creepy by the moment. He stepped forward cautiously, going down a hall or given how narrow the building had looked from the outside, maybe this was the whole house or whatever it was. Didn't think it was a house or a hotel. Maybe a really creepy Addamn Family hotel, though. Especially with all those masks on the wall, with their sightless black eyes staring at him, their open mouths mocking him and... Whoa. He needed to get a grip. Venice was famous for its masks. One reason why Adam had been so intrigued by Carnevale here.
Or maybe Adam had combined this rendezvous with Halloween and was sending him to some Venetian fun house to scare the crap out of him so he'd leap into Adam's arms. Oh, could be. Adam had been beating himself up about New Year's Day and it wouldn't surprise Kris if he was fretting himself to a twizzle over Kris being angry with him. Ridiculous but -- Hey. Where had that voice come from, anyway? He clutched his backpack tightly and stopped. If some creepy monster in a mask was going to get him, he was staying close to the door. He turned around, looking for the door, but then stopped. He had come to Venice to find Adam and if he had to walk through some creep-ass mask house, big deal.
"Signor Allen! Andiamo!"
Not understanding the word, but understanding the tone, Kris reluctantly stepped further inside. Might as well get it over with. As his eyes acclimated to the wavering light and he walked forward into seeming blackness, he suddenly realized that against the blackness was the glitter of gold and silver, white and purple and every color under the sun. Or not, given how dark the place was and he jumped when something soft and feathery brushed against him. He batted it away, his fingers recoiling, then telling him that he was actually touching a feather. Of course, the Carnevale costumes. He was in a costume shop of some kind.
Inhaling a deep breath, his lungs filled with what he was sure was the dust of ages. And probably dead bodies. He stared. Now that his eyes were accustomed to the darkness it was as if suddenly, a light had been switched and he saw the gleam and glitter of colors. This black-lit closet of a shop was actually awash with color. And costumes. With masks. Feathers and gemstones and gold and silver. The colors gleamed against the black background like jewels in a jewelbox. "Adam would love this place!" he breathed. "Oh, of course, that's why I'm here. I need to be dressed so he can undress me. Although why that couldn't wait until tomorrow, I don't even know, but--"
"Signor Allen?"
Kris turned, realizing that a wizened old man was looking at him from between the two sides of a curtain. The man stepped forward, holding out his hand. "Doubloon, signor?"
The minute the plastic disk left his hand, the little old man grabbed his arm and pulled him into a small room at the back of the shop behind the curtain. Digging in his heels, Kris scrabbled for purchase on the counter. There was probably an ax murderer back there who would cut his body up into pieces and then drop each piece in some dead end portion of the canal or... "Oh. Capes!"
Rolling his eyes, the old man pointed Kris toward a small table in the back corner of the back room of the shop. "I vostri vestiti.
"Vestiti..." Kris repeated. Sounded like vest or vestments or...oh. Clothes. His clothes? He turned back to the old man, pointing from the clothes to himself.
Nodding impatiently, the old man reached out a bony hand, pulled a pair of pants from the table and snapped it in the air before holding it up in front of Kris.
"My size, I guess..." Kris smiled apologetically, then laughed with delight when he saw what the pants had hidden. A mask. "Wow, the mask..." He smiled and traced the painted design with his fingertip. Drawn around the eye hole was Adam's Eye of Horus tattoo in blue and purple and silver with what looked like glitter embedded in the paint. A mark of protection. It was... perfect. "This looks awesome on the mask. Grazie."
"Bene." The old man shoved the pants at Kris, then grabbed a shirt from the table and pushed it into his arms as well. He stepped back, flicking his hand at Kris, urging him toward a floor screen in the back.
Kris nodded and took a stop, then jerked to a halt as the man grabbed his arm with surprising strength for one so old. Looking back curiously, Kris laughed again as he saw the old man's look of horror as he stared at his sneakers. "What's wrong with my sneakers?"
"Dio non voglio!" The old man gasped, reaching for the clothes.
Lifting his backpack in his hands, Kris patted it and said, "Boots? In here?" Seeing the apparent incomprehension on the man's face, Kris unzipped the backpack and pulled out one of the boots Lane had pressed on him, a plain black ankle boot with a small heel.
Muttering under his breath, the old man heaved a sigh of relief and pressed the clothes back at Kris, once again flicking his fingers impatiently. Moving behind the screen, Kris dropped his backpack on the floor, then hung the clothes on wall pegs. After toeing off his sneakers, he changed shirts, shivering as the sheer silky fabric teased his nipples, then plucked at the voluminous white sleeves, hesitating before unzipping his jeans. He bit his lip, then peered through the hinged fold in the screen to see the old man writing something in a book. Relieved, Kris hurried to tug off his jeans and then pull on the black pants. Button fly. "Oof!" He hissed out as he began buttoning them, sucking in his stomach. "Could they be any tighter?"
Like why weren't there any zippers, what was up with the button fly? Although Adam might get off on that, he had that one time when Kris had worn a pair of Levis with the button fly, but then the jeans were ruined when Kris got a hard on over the look Adam was giving him and Adam had wanted him out of those jeans right the fuck now and had ended up ripping them in his hurry. Damn, that had been so much fun. Why hadn't he bought another pair of those jeans?
"Non lo so! Stupido! Eh! Signor Allen?" The old man rapped on the screen.
"Oh. I guess you wanta see if they fit?" Kris walked around the edge and then self-consciously waited, relaxing when the old man smiled at him in a friendly way. The old dude might be a little impatient, but he was nice enough. Not creepy, not when he smiled. Then he just seemed like a grandpa type. "I think they're tight, but I guess Adam picked them out? Oh!" Kris yelped when the old man tossed another black pair -- this time, in leather -- at him. "Yeah, that's Adam." He grinned and went back behind the screen.
Adam was always trying to get him in leather pants and he always resisted. He just wasn't a leather pants kinda guy, but he'd do it for Adam this time. Hell, he was in Venice at Carnevale -- if he couldn't dress up then, when could he? Besides Adam would like it and... He laughed as he went to zip up the pants only to discover that -- good god! -- they were a lace-up style.
Hesitating once again, he went back out to show the old man-- must be a tailor -- the pants. He blushed when the man gave him a thumbs up and then looked down in embarrassment jerking his head up when the old man patted him on the head, then gave him a little push behind the screen, pointing at his boots. Pulling them on, he muttered, "Seriously Adam...Lace-up? That's a little obvious, isn't? Plus they take too long to get out of!" He paused when he thought he heard a snicker, peering around the screen, but the old man was blandly writing in that book again. Probably his imagination running wild on lack of sleep, anxiety and anticipation. "Really, Adam, couldn't this fitting have waited until after we'd met back up and fucked ourselves silly? Priorities!"
Pressing his lips together, the old man looked up, nodded and motioned for Kris to fold his clothes up in his backpack. Thankfully, Lane had insisted he pack even more lightly than usual since Adam had clothes waiting for him here. The old man smiled approvingly when Kris hurried to do so, then handed him several more shirts and an extra pair of pants and Kris stuffed them inside. Lane had been right, Kris thought, he hadn't need to pack much since Adam was basically giving him a small wardrobe.
Waiting impatiently, the old handed Kris a small hat with white feathers to try on, then another with blue feathers.
"You must have an amazing inventory with all this stuff that fits me so perfectly. Even the hats!" Kris exclaimed as he looked at himself in the small mirror behind the screen. If being with Adam Fucking Lambert for nearly six years had taught him nothing, it had taught him about clothing was supposed to fit in Adam's world and that there were actual sizes for hats. Who knew? "Well, give me a beanie any day, but Adam had these hats -- which I always thought Adam wore just to make himself even taller because Adam liked being the tallest guy in the room..."
"Mmm..."
"And I totally don't think that short man syndrome idea is true, do you?" Kris asked as the old man pulled him in front of an ancient mirror speckled with age so heavily it was like looking through a silver lace curtain.
"Mmm..."
He was babbling to the old guy, but the guy was nodding and shaking his head in seemingly the right places and had been patient when Kris fumbled with the lace-up closure, so Kris smiled over his instinctive recoil as the old man handed him a huge hat. Huge. Gargantuan. With feathers. Ridiculous. He was going to look utterly stupid in this hat, like he was trying to compensate for something.
"Do I hafta?" Kris complained. That hat was bigger than he was. When you counted the feathery trim on the brim and oh dear god, the huge feather on the back. Orange feathers that sparkled? "No way."
Tapping his foot, the tailor glared at Kris. Then tapped his foot some more.
"I'm gonna kill you, Adam...." Kris hissed.
"Signor Lambert? Lei l'ama." The old man smirked and shoved the hat toward Kris again. Gesturing with his hands, he indicated that Kris should put it on.
Sighing in resignation, Kris hefted the hat up and gingerly put it on his head, blinking when orange glitter seemed to drift down. He blinked and the shiny motes were gone. Thankfully. The hat did transform the outfit into something special, though. Speaking of special, he began, then wiped his lip of a speck of glitter, continuing on to say, "Adam. Adamadamadam. I should go to him, right? Now. I'm totally ready to see him now. I'm never gonna look better than this."
"Ah. Perfetto." The old man smiled.
"Well, I dunno know if it's perfect, but..." Tilting the hat higher on one side, Kris grinned. For all its size, it was perfectly balanced and easy to wear. "I look...what's the word? Piratish? Rakish? Adam uses that word. That's it. Rakish. I look like I'm a bad ass."
The old man flicked the feather.
Kris laughed. "Hey, Adam's a bad ass, feathers and all. So I can be a bad ass with feathers too." He stood up straight and nearly bounced with excitement when the old man reached back to the table and with a grin and a flourish, swirled a cape around his shoulder. Kris sneezed as more orange glitter seemed to dance around them. "Wow! Awesome! I feel like a superhero! Ready to slay dragons and our past mistakes and-- " He laughed as he swished the cape around himself. Then did it again. Okay, the cape was just as much fun as he'd thought it would be and -- "Wow! This is fun, but I need to get to Adam. Adamadamadam..." He grinned, still looking at his pleased expression in the mirror.
Weird. He looked younger... well, probably because he wasn't a nervous wreck any more, but the weight he'd lost the last few weeks made him look like he had when he'd first met Adam. Although he did look better than that, with more flesh to his face and frame. Healthier. Happier. Hopeful. He grinned and flicked his own feather as the old man slapped something into his mid-section in mid-cape-swish. "Oh. Another hat?"
"No."
"A sword!" Kris exclaimed in excitement when he finally looked down, watching as the old man showed him how to strap on the belt and insert the sword into the scabbard. Heh. Scabbard. He had a scabbard. This was so fucking cool! "I look like one of the Musketeers."
"Dumas?" The old man scowled and pretended to spit. "Pfft!" He glared at Kris, then carefully handed him the custom mask, indicating Kris should tie it around his neck using the ribbons threaded through the side.
"Okay." Kris shrugged as he tied the ribbons in a double knot behind his neck. "I don't know where to go now. So do I get a box or what?" He paused, realizing the old man didn't speak English. The word for where was... "Dove..?"
"Ah. Caffè Florian. Andiamo!" The old man poked Kris in the shoulder, then pointed to the hallway.
Kris shook his head at the mischief in the man's eyes. He was clearly enjoying this little game. "Caffè Florian. Caffè. Must be a restaurant. Where... Dove?"
"Follow the bells to St. Mark's. The piazza of St. Mark's Cathedral. You cannot miss it."
Kris gaped as his brain registered that the man spoke perfect English. Accented, but perfectly understandable English. "I... you... Adam. I will kill him."
"No, you will not. He is your anima gemina, how you say? Soul mate? Destino."
"Destiny."
"Yes. You will go to Caffè Florian and meet your destino."
"It's a restaurant?"
"Coffeehouse."
"Coffeehouse?" Kris whirled around and stared at the old man. "They have Starbucks here?"
"Caffè Florian is no Starbucks. Pah! This is Venezia! Not Burbank! It has the oldest coffeehouse in the world, in same piazza as Basilica di San Marco! Not next to a McDonald's!"
"Whoa. Sorry!" Kris held up his hands in apology.
The old man sniffed, then reached over to brush Kris' shoulders. "Much older than your Starbucks. For centuries, it has seen many lovers meeting, many lovers' quarrels, many intrigues, many lovers meeting again. You understand?"
"Oh. Perfect," Kris whispered. Adam had thought of everything.
"Perfetto." The old man smiled and nodded. "You will go there. You will meet this beautiful man and smile at each other as if you were meeting for the first time and tell your stories of how you came here to this place and time with your smiles and scars." He pointed to Kris' backpack with a wry smile. "And baggage. Then you will tell him you love him and he will say the same to you. That is the way of it. That is your story. Si?"
Kris stared, then smiled slowly. "That about sums it up."
"Si. Then you will start your new book -- write a song about it."
"Si." Kris nodded. He blinked in surprise when the old man picked up the book he'd been writing in and handed it to Kris. Keeping an eye on him -- because the guy might be ancient and given the fit of the pants, a damn fine tailor, which Adam would appreciate, but he was full of surprises -- Kris stuffed the book in his backpack and zipped it up.
"Bene. Andiamo!" The old man guided Kris down a hallway that seemed much shorter on the way out than on the way in. The door opened in his hand without a creak and he pointed outside into the misty fog. "Caffè Florian. There. You will begin your storia d’amore. Again."
Taking a step outside, Kris looked from left to right, then paused, closing his eyes to listen. Bells, he was supposed to listen for bells. Moments later, he heard them, much louder than he expected. Either those bells were damn loud or he was much closer to his destination... He grinned... Destino than he'd expected. Story of his life probably. Holding his breath as he listened, turning his head to the right and left and then turning his whole body around, he tried to determine the direction when suddenly they clanged again and he nodded.
"This way," he decided and moved forward, only to pause a moment later when he heard the old man call out one last time.
"Have fun stormin' the castle!"
"Grazie!" Kris turned around to wave, but saw nothing but the faint lacy tracings of ancient stacks of stone behind him. He set off, nearly running, but careful of falling into the water with a careless misstep.
Adamadamadam... Hurrying down what seemed like an actual street, Kris took a breath and hustled up a set of stairs and over a bridge, then blinked as he reached the middle and saw a small sign with an arrow pointing to St. Mark's. Had there been other signs he'd missed? Huh. Well, this walk hadn't been too annoying, the crooked and confusing ways had seemed less confusing, more straight this time, maybe because he knew his destination, could hear it.
Coming over the bridge, he followed the sign, then another, then laughed in relief when he saw a series of expensive boutiques and a street filled with people, many of them in costume too. Another sign and he turned right and there it was. Coming out from under the covered walkway, he saw the basilica in front of him, the bell tower -- just like at Disney World, only way bigger. Just had to find this coffeehouse... Striding into the center of the piazza, making his way through the throngs of people admiring each other's costumes, he stood on tip toe looking around. Had to be here somewhere.
A second later, he spotted a tall and very sparkly purple feather flicking over the heads of the crowd and grinned. Had to be Adam. He'd bet everything he owned -- which at this point didn't amount to much more than his guitar and his orange mushroom chair -- that he was following Adam straight to Florian.
"Yesss!" Kris hissed in a low tone as he came up under the walkway roof and saw the sign, just as he watched the purple feather bob up, then down as Adam obviously bent to make sure his feather didn't get caught in the doorway. Kris slid around a supporting column, cautiously peeking in, hoping he'd see Adam first. He smiled as he saw Adam standing there, looking around, while absently picking at his nail polish with an anxious look on his face.
Kris tried the door, then swore when his tugging did not move it. Locked. Okay, look. Oh. Main door was to the right. He pulled on the door handle, too hard, jumping when it flew back at him, then cursed again when his hat knocked against the door jamb. Coloring, he sheepishly looked at the waiters who were staring at him. Taking a breath, he tapped Adam on the shoulder.
"May I buy you a cup of coffee?" Kris asked, his heart pounding.
"Kris?" Adam squeaked as he whirled around. "Finally!"
TBC ----> Latest chapter is rated R and is here: Chapter 59.2
(My Italian is rusty, but you don't need to know the exact meaning at this time.)