Unwholesome Things - Part 11

Beta by LP, all remaining mistakes are mine.

Oren was waiting by the door when Rezo knocked, wanting to reach it before anyone else. Rezo was five minutes early and dressed in even nicer clothes than the ones he’d worn earlier.

“Hi,” Rezo said.

“Hi.” Oren took a step back to let him pass, but it wasn’t quite far enough.

Rezo moved into the doorway, the crisp fabric of his shirt brushing against Oren’s arm. He could see the hard outline of his body through his clothes. Feel the heat of his skin. Rezo stood still, his face inches away while his dark eyes looked into Oren’s.

They were going to kiss. He could feel it. Oren leaned forward to close the small distance between them.

“So, are you going to let me in?” Rezo asked.

Oren froze. His eyes widened when he realized how wrong and obvious his intentions were. He stepped back, nearly stumbling as he felt the blush creep into his face. He was such a dork.

“You’re wearing cologne,” Rezo said as he walked past him. “A lot of it.”

“Oh, yeah, I uh…” Oren racked his brain for an excuse that might salvage some of his dignity. “I accidentally spilled the bottle and got too much on myself.”

“If you were trying to impress me, I—”

“I’m not wearing it for you.” Oren smiled. “It’s for Hector.”

“Hector?” Rezo raised an eyebrow.

“Jealous?”

Rezo rolled his eyes. “Is that what you’re trying to accomplish?”

“Depends, is it working?”

“Not with a guy named Hector.”

Oren snorted. “I don’t know, he's got a way with words.”

Rezo shook his head. “So where do we go?”

“Follow me.”

#

The dining room had high ceilings and minimalist décor. Oren had never liked it. All the white, grey and black made it seem impersonal and empty.

Oren’s gaze was drawn to one chair in particular. It had been modified to have no back, only a single horizontal bar across the top and a tray attached to the seat. He hoped what he was looking for wouldn’t be there, at least not yet.

It was.

He turned to watch Rezo’s reaction when he spotted it.

“It that a parrot?” Rezo asked.

“Unfortunately.” Oren paused for effect. “A hyacinth macaw.”

“Ah.” Rezo’s brow wrinkled in puzzlement as he stared at it, as if he was having difficulty coming up with a logical reason for it to be there but failing. Oren knew how he felt.

“Hello, hello,” came a singsong voice from behind them. Oren forced a false smile on his face as he turned around to face his mother.

She was wearing a multicolored wrap around skirt, a matching long sleeve shirt and a sari. The vivid hues washed out her pale complexion and ashen hair. She had a red dot on the center of her forehead.

“Oh my god, why are you wearing that?” The words slipped from Oren before he was aware he’d thought them.

“Ori-kins, we’re having Indian cuisine tonight and I felt like dressing in theme.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Oren said through gritted teeth.

She made a face somewhere in between a frown and a pout.

“Hello, Mrs. Gilby,” Rezo said, interrupting the argument before it could escalate. “My name is Rezalino Diaz, I’m pleased to meet you.” He held out his hand.

His mother broke into a wide smile and pushed passed Oren.

“Just Victoria, Mrs. Gilby is my mother-in-law.” She clasped Rezo’s hand between both of hers in a weird gesture that wasn’t a handshake or an offer to have her hand kissed. She was chronically incapable of doing anything the normal way. “Now, Raz—no, Rez…?”

So she couldn’t even pronounce his name. Wonderful.

“Rezo is fine.” He smiled as if he didn’t find it offensive in the least.

“Rezo, what a marvelous nickname. It’s so…” She tilted her head back as she searched for the right word. If she chose something like “exotic” Oren was going to gag her right then and there.

“Strong.”

Oren wasn’t sure that was better. It sounded vaguely flirtatious. Which was bad enough coming from a woman her age, but that she was doing it to his boyfriend-to-be made it absolutely intolerable.

“Now Rezo,” she continued. “I have a very important question for you.”

“Ok.” Rezo didn’t look nearly as apprehensive as Oren thought he should be. Of course, he didn’t know his mother that well yet.

“Do you have any earrings?”

“No.” If Rezo was startled by the question he hid it well.

She reached out to turn his head from side to side as if only by checking herself could she be assured of the truth.

“That’s wonderful.” She beamed at him. “Any other body piercings?”

“Mother.”    

“Don’t be so dramatic Ori-kins. I’m just making sure we don’t have another incident.” She turned her attention back to Rezo, giving him a solemn nod. “It’s for your own safety.”

Rezo's mouth was slightly open as he looked at Oren. It would have been funny seeing Mr. Unflappable officially flapped, if only he wasn’t so mortified.

“I, uh, don’t have any piercings.”

“See Kins? Everything will be just fine. Now let’s all take our seats. Your father will be here in a moment.” She frowned as if something occurred to her. “Actually, please excuse me while I check on his progress.”

Oren took a seat at the table, making sure he was in between Rezo and the bird. Ordinarily he tried to sit as far away as possible from it, but if it started flinging seeds he wanted to be able to shield Rezo from the worst of it. He did have some sense of chivalry.

“Why does she call you ‘Kins’?” Rezo whispered, even though she was already gone.

“It’s her latest nickname for me. She never sticks with anything though, so it won’t last.” He hoped.

“What does it mean?”

He knew better than to answer that. But there was something about Rezo that made him inclined to ignore his better judgment.

“It short for ‘Pumpkins.’”

Rezo laughed confirming that Oren should have kept its origins to himself.

“Enjoying yourself?” Oren asked.

“Yes.” Rezo grinned. “But why pumpkins? You’re not exactly orange, or round, or—”

“She says I’m like a ghost because I never leave my room. She’s gone through a series of Halloween themed names.”

“Like?”

“No.”

“Oh come on, like what?”

Oren just glared at him. He refused to open himself up to more ridicule just because he was disarmed by Rezo’s smile.

“I’m laughing because I understand. My family runs rampant with nicknames as well.” Rezo patted Oren’s knee in a gesture meant to be comforting.

It did a lot more than that to Oren. He felt his resolve stiffening.

“Tell me one of yours and I’ll tell you another of mine,” Oren said.

“Hm.” Rezo paused to think. “They’re all so bad.”

“Worse than Pumpkins?”

“Yes. Much.”

“Tell me.”

“Ok, when I was really little, my mom noticed—”

“Oh good,” Oren’s mother said as she returned to the room, forever preventing Oren from finding out what Rezo was about to reveal. “I’m glad to see you’re making an effort to get along with Hector.” She made a gesture at how close Oren was sitting to the bird. “Have you introduced him to Rezo?”

Rezo smiled. “So this is who you put on cologne for?”

“Cologne!” She gasped. “You—”

“I didn’t put it on for Hector,” Oren said, wishing he’d resisted making that joke to Rezo. “I spilled it and the scent is a little strong.”

“You know it’s dangerous for Hector to be around fumes!” She leaned forward to sniff at him, her nose wrinkling as if he’d doused himself in nothing less than gasoline.

“I’m sorry, mother, I guess he won’t be able to eat with us tonight. I’ll ask Norman to take him back to his room.” The faster the bird was out of here the better.

“His room?” Rezo echoed, as if that was the oddest part of the scenario.

“No, go rinse it off.”

“It’s not going to rinse off easily. Why can’t Hector just eat in another room?”

“Hector is part of the family. He’s not going to be sent away like a common animal.”

“Mom…”

“What’s going on?” Oren’s father asked, entering the room. He had opted to wear casual business attire instead of expressing himself by dressing “in theme” or some other eccentricity. Oren was grateful. As far as he was concerned his mother did enough self-expression for all of them.  

“Oren is wearing cologne,” his mother said.

“Go rinse it off.” His father turned back toward the door and frowned. “Where did Norman go? I was about to tell him I wanted my drink now instead of with dinner.” He grumbled to himself as he took his seat, already losing interest in the disagreement.

“Oren,” Rezo said quietly, but his tone was still firm enough to catch Oren’s interest. “Why don’t you go rinse it off? It’ll only take a second.” There was a look in Rezo’s eyes that suggested he had put together exactly what Oren had meant by wearing it for Hector.

The things it did to him when Rezo went all dominant on him—he was tingling in places he didn’t want to admit existed in the presence of his parents. Of course, just because he liked the way something was said to him, didn’t mean he was going to do what he was told.

“A-ha!” Oren’s father said making everyone—including Hector—jump. “I found it.” He made a few sliding motions on whatever new device he carried that made his workaholic lifestyle portable and Oren’s life hard.

Classical music began to blare from the concealed speakers in the room. Oren recognized it as Carmina Burana, the same thing his father played every time he considered it to be a nice dinner, but not exceptionally formal.

“Blake, honey, will you turn that down, please?” his mother asked. She only used the word “honey” when she was irritated but trying to act like she wasn’t.

“Music is meant to be heard.”

“Why don’t you find a volume where we will be able to hear it, but conversation is still possible?”

“We’re about to eat, we don’t need to talk.”

“Honey.”

He twitched his mouth in a way that would have looked far more impressive if he had a mustache. She continued to stare him down while Oren and Rezo fidgeted. Oren imagined Rezo was regretting accepting the invitation by this point.

His father let out all of his breath as if he were being deflated. He averted his eyes and turned the music down until it was only slightly too loud, but not so much that Oren's mother would continue to protest.

Norman reappeared, carrying a tray with a pitcher, a basket, and a drink for Oren’s father even though he hadn’t yet been asked. He was always good at anticipating the needs of those that paid him.

“Madam.” Norman gestured at the basket. “I brought moist towels to help with the excess cologne.”

“What a brilliant idea, Norman.” His mother kept her voice loud enough to be heard above the music. “Now no one has to leave the table.” She smiled at Oren. “Isn’t that nice, Kins?”

Oren rolled his eyes and snatched up one of the towels to swipe at his neck, wrists, and down the front of his shirt. With the music playing and all eyes on him he felt like he was giving a performance. When the music did a dramatic crescendo he decided he’d had enough and threw the towel back into the basket. He missed.

Norman bent to retrieve it. When his face was closest to Oren he paused.

Oren didn’t know what he was doing, but he didn’t like the way one side of his mouth tugged up ever so slightly. Oren held as still at he could, like a fox in a burrow that hopes the hound will just pass him by.

Norman sniffed once and made an “hm” noise before turning away. To Oren’s horror, he realized his mother had noticed the exchange.

“Are the fumes still too strong, Norman?” she asked.

“I’m sure your son did an excellent job. I thought I caught the slightest whiff, but I’m sure I was mistaken.”

“Let me see one of those.” She took a fresh cloth from the basket.

Oren tried to scoot away as she approached but she was too quick. She began scrubbing his face and neck.

“I can do it myself.” Oren attempted to take the towel away from her but she was too good at evading him. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Hector bobbing to the musical score of his humiliation. Even the damned bird was against him. As if it knew what he’d tried to do and was celebrating its victory.

By the time she finished, his face was red from more from than just her administrations. He slumped down in his seat unwilling to meet Rezo’s eyes. Whatever attraction Rezo had for him must be quickly evaporating after watching Oren interact with his family.

He was going to murder Norman for this.

“So, Rezo,” his mother said as if nothing remarkable had taken place. “Norman tells me you’re studying at the university?”

“Yes Mrs. Gil—Victoria, I’m a sociology major.”

She clapped her hands startling Hector into flapped his wings. Norman jumped, nearly spilling the water he was pouring on the table cloth. Serves him right.

“That’s wonderful. That was my favorite subject in school.”

“Everything was your favorite,” Oren’s father said in the tone of a man that expects to be ignored. He wasn’t disappointed.

“What do you think about commercials?”

Oh no, not this.

“Mom, I don’t think—”

“Don’t interrupt, Honey-kins, it’s rude. So what do you think, Rezo?”

“About commercials?” Rezo looked lost.

“Have you noticed that women are frequently portrayed as attractive while the men tend to be homely? Women are also shown as being more intelligent. Why do you think that is?”

“Ah. Well...” For some reason Rezo appeared to be giving her question serious consideration. “I think it reflects who the anticipated audience is. If marketing wants to target female consumers it makes sense to show them in a positive light. Smart, attractive women having to deal with difficult and ordinary husbands.”

“Hm.” She took a sip of her water and Oren suspected it was to create time to formulate a response. “But if they were targeting women wouldn’t there be attractive, nearly nude men in the commercials? When they are selling a product to men, such as,” his mother shot a pointed look at Oren, “cologne, the ads always feature attractive women.”

Rezo leaned forward and threaded his fingers as he warmed to the topic. Leave it to his mother to make him switch to full on nerd mode.

“Maybe that has to do with the purpose of the product. Cologne is only worn,” Rezo glanced at Oren in a way he didn’t appreciate, “usually that is, to attract the opposite sex. So showing it working is logical.”

“Maybe, but I think there’s a bias,” his mother said. “The world is still run by men, and so there is a double standard. Men are given beautiful women to look at, but women are not given the same courtesy.”

“I’m sure there is a cultural element to it,” Rezo said.  “Our society tends to value the physical attributes of women more than those of men. It would be interesting to compare a culture where male attractiveness is considered just as, or even more important than the female’s.”

“Where is that exactly?” Oren said. “Because I might need to move there.” He smirked at Rezo’s eye roll.

His parent’s didn’t seem to think it was funny either. In fact, they paused to stare at him as if what he’d said was not at all related to the topic at hand, or even inappropriate.

“Madam,” Norman said, because at some point he must have been trained not to let a silence become too long or too uncomfortable. “Mr. Diaz is the one responsible for the tidier state of the walls in your son’s room.”

Tidier state of the walls was, quite possibly, the lamest euphemism for the disappearance of gay, erotic art Oren could imagine.

Norman was careful to give Hector a wide berth as he set several serving dishes on the table. Hector opened his mouth as if to bite, but not being able to reach, he settled for a hiss.

Oren's mother beamed. “It’s so nice to see Oren straightening up.”

His father snorted and both Oren and his mother glared at him. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care, instead returning his attention to his plate.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” His mother glanced at Oren as if worried about his reaction.

“What?” his father said without looking up. “It wouldn’t hurt for Rezo to introduce him to some college girls while he’s at it.”

“He’ll find a nice girl when he’s ready. There’s no reason to rush him, it could make the phase permanent.”

“Would you care for some naan, Madam?” Norman said, offering the bread bowl. She was momentarily distracted while she selected one and Norman winked conspiringly at Oren over the top of her head.

As if Oren would believe for one second that Norman was on his side. The idea that Norman thought he was that gullible made him even angrier than what his mother had said. As if voicing his thoughts, Hector let out a series of shrill squawks.

“Not at the table Hector, mind your manners.”

“Vicki, don’t get overexcited,” Hector said in a voice that sounded exactly like Oren’s father.

Rezo laughed, and then looked horrified by what he’d done. “I apologize.”

“It’s quite alright,” his mother said.

“Not so hard, Blake,” Hector said in his mother’s voice. “You know I like it softer.”

Oren stood up, wanting to do anything to distract everyone—including himself—from analyzing that tone of voice. Already he was beginning to suspect the bird was privy to more than he wanted to think about.

“I’m going to get charms for our glasses,” Oren announced. “Norman forgot them.”

“We don’t really need them,” his mother said.

“The glasses look naked without them.” He felt himself blush at his choice of words. Stupid bird.

“It’s not like they’re going to get mixed up at the table,” his father said.

“It’ll just take a second. Norman’s busy so I’m being helpful. You should be proud.”

“Well, ok.” His mother frowned. “Just don’t bring any shiny ones.”

“I won’t.” It wasn’t like he hadn’t been reminded about that over and over again, ever since they’d bought the damn parrot.

#

In the kitchen Oren went through the bin of wine charms. He picked out one for his mother with a wooden sitar on it, deciding to make her happy by playing along with her theme. He selected one at random, a snowman, for his father. For himself he decided to forgo his usual favorite, a fat mouse with a cookie, deeming it too childish. Instead he went with a more conservative palm tree. For Rezo he chose a pumpkin, just to see the look on his face (and maybe as an attempt at subliminal messaging).

None of them were particularly bright or shiny so they would pass the Hector test. He wondered why his mother didn’t throw out the ones that didn’t. Like this one of a crystal and silver snowflake. Oren held it up so that its facets sparkled under the fluorescent light.

He’d only gone to get the charms as an excuse to leave the room. But now that he was here, he was struck with inspiration.

He slipped the charm onto a safety pin from the bottom drawer, before stashing it in his pocket.

He did his best not to look too pleased as he went back to the table. He didn’t want to give his plan away.

Chapter Twelve
Master List of Chapters