Part 12
Wearing a smart black suit with a dark red tie, I stood along a bare wall with a glass of champagne in my hand, observing the crowd in front of me. The audience consisted of journalists, art critics, British celebrities, fellow artists and their friends. Artworks were displayed on the plain white walls, categorized by artist. My works adorned the wall opposite from me, with my name scrawled on gold plaques beneath them. Most were paintings and carvings, but one display that particularly stood out was a set of photographs. Both Rich and I had posed for them, naked from the waist up, taken in black and white with a marble background. A couple of my personal favourites of the collection were a close-up of my face peeping from behind Rich's shoulder, my arm caressing his shoulder and eyebrows raised; our arms crossing over each-other; and an ABBA-style pose, reminiscent of our 'Grapevine' performances, with the side of my face in the forefront and a front view of Rich's face close by. I carefully observed people's reactions, which so far was looking very positive. A few whom I identified as journalists flipped open their pads and took notes, murmuring to each-other and nodding. I ached with curiosity to read their opinions, but I, like everyone else, would have to wait until the next morning's papers to read their verdict. Fellow artists referred to them as 'the gentlemen of the jury', the people who chose our future - whether our art would be a success, or whether they would crash and burn.
My gaze moved on to those other artists, swooping from critic to critic, turning on the charm and buttering them up. I couldn't help but smirk while they acted as though whatever the critic was saying was completely enthralling. I'd never been compelled to kiss their proverbial arses - I felt confident enough in my artworks to let them do the talking themselves.
I became aware of a young man, possibly in his late twenties, watching me with fascination. His thin body was clothed in a dark green silk shirt, black pants and a trendy black coat. His dark hair cascaded loosely over his shoulders. He noticed me returning his gaze and made his way towards me. When he reached me, he outstretched his hand in greeting.
"Mr McDermott?" he asked with a lovely British accent.
I swapped my glass over to my opposite hand and shook his ring-graced hand. "Please, call me Paul. You are...?"
"Justin Lovegrove," he introduced himself. "I was checking out your art over there earlier. You've done some magnificent work."
"Oh, well, thank you very much," I replied graciously. "Are you an artist yourself?"
"Ah, I dabble in it. It's nothing compared to what we're seeing here, though. Landscapes, they're my main forte."
For around five minutes further we spoke, mainly discussing the art world but slipping in questions here and there about London, our upbringings and our aspirations for the future. I was careful not to mention anything about my time in the Allstars, choosing to keep hold of whatever anonymity I had left.
After a while Justin leant in slightly closer and enquired, "If you don't mind me asking, who is that other man you're with in those photos?"
I smiled. "You're just about to meet him, Justin."
Rich shuffled his way through the crowd towards me, apologising for his absence. I slid an arm around his waist and pecked his lips.
"Sorry, it's that bloody London traffic," he began, but I grinned and squeezed his side.
"Don't apologise, Rich, you're a busy working man, you've got an excuse. Besides, you've already seen the work, so you're not missing anything." I turned to Justin. "Oops. Justin, this is my boyfriend Richard Fidler. Rich, this is Justin Lovegrove."
"Good to meet you, Richard," Justin said as they shook hands. "So what do you do?"
"I work with computers, mainly with CD-ROMs. I've only been at it in London for a few weeks, though."
My mind briefly flashed back to the events following the nightmare telephone call in the hotel room. Rich and I had gone to see Jonathan the next morning. Although we all got along as well as we did when we first met, Jonathan couldn't help us, but took the liberty of calling another computer business located in another part of London. He seemed somewhat reluctant to send Rich elsewhere, but we didn't question it. In the end its owner, Brian, called in Rich for an interview at this new company. Rich's genuine interest in the industry, combined with his charm and Justin's high recommendation, won him a position on the staff.
Since then, Rich and I had moved in to a modern, cozy apartment located at a suburb in comfortable proximity to the city - close enough to get there quickly and smoothly, but distanced enough not to be easily distracted. One room was being used as a studio, and the other rooms consisted of a contemporary kitchen and dining area, a bedroom, a top-notch bathroom, a storage room, a spare room and a balcony, which allowed us to observe the city. Like Rich had suggested when were still in Sydney, some of the walls were displaying my artwork. I was trying to encourage Rich to place his own works there - I felt sort of greedy having only my works on the walls. During the day, Rich worked at the computer company while I did casual work at a CBD clothing store. It was a far cry from my previous work, but I wasn't unhappy. As long as I had Rich and my art, I was the happiest man you could find.
Rich and Justin continued their conversation while I kept a close eye on the journalists who were swarming around my artworks. After a while Justin jerked me out of my thoughts by announcing that he was about to leave.
"Sorry, Paul, but i've got other business to take care of. But i'd like to keep in touch with you." He pulled a business card out of his pocket and passed it to me. "You can give me a call at anytime. I'd like to see you again soon. Take care. It was nice meeting you, Richard."
Rich and I said our farewells and watched Justin disappear, almost swallowed up by the crowd. Quickly reading the card, I stuffed it into my pants pocket, my arm still wrapped around Rich's waist. We stood together for a few minutes more, talking in hushed voices about the critics' reactions and the exhibition in general. Then Rich suddenly turned to me and said, "Do you want to come outside with me?"
"Lead on, McDuff," I joked, slipping my hand into his as we shuffled our way outside. There was nobody there except a few people entering and exiting the exhibition. A glorious garden surrounded the building, but nobody was taking the time to explore it, all the guests were too occupied with the exhibition. Hence, Rich and I had the garden to ourselves.
We walked slowly around the garden for a while, talking and laughing, feeling very comfortable and relaxed. My hand hadn't left his own, nor did it want to. We found ourselves sitting close together beside a small pool, the lights inside the pool casting a delicate blue light onto our bodies and the sweet smell of roses filling the air. We were deep in the garden with no disturbances from anyone or anything; we felt wonderful being alone with each-other, as always.
There was a brief silence as we both stared into the gently waving pool before Rich turned to me and placed both hands in mine.
"Paul, I think now is as good a time as ever for me to ask you this," he said softly.
"Ask me what?" I asked, running my thumbs along his palms. He took a deep breath, smiled warmly and continued.
"You and I have been through a hell of a lot together. We've had our ups and downs, and there was that stage where we had to live without each-other. But our love has seen us through whatever troubles we came across, and it's always come out stronger than ever. I've never had a relationship like this, and I don't ever want to lose what we have. It's special and very rare. And so are you. I'll never find another person like you, Paul, nobody can make me feel like you do. And..."
"And what?" I whispered, my heart melting with every sweet word that he said.
He put one hand in his coat pocket and emerged holding a ring. Overjoyed tears began to fill my eyes, and I let out a short cry of happiness. He took my left hand in his and held the ring poised at the tip of my index finger.
"I want to spend my life with you, Paul," he said, smiling tenderly. "I want to spend every moment I have on this earth with you. I want your love to be with me forever. I can't imagine life without you, and I need to know that whatever happens in my life, you'll be there, in good times and in bad."
One tear began to roll down each cheek, feeling the incredible, undying love flowing from his hands to mine. I took the ring and placed it on my index finger. It immediately felt like it was made to be worn by me. I always knew that I wanted to spend my life with Rich, and now we both knew that it was definitely going to happen.
"I don't have a ring for you," I suddenly said, lightly running the tip of my right index finger along the band. He smiled and produced another ring from his pocket, placing it on the appropriate finger.
"I love you," I murmured as my lips met his in a loving, tender kiss, our bodies illuminated by the lights from the pool. He too began to cry out of happiness, our tears mingling with one another. All our lives we'd been waiting for each-other, and now that we were here, we were never going to let go, not for anything or anyone.
Part 13