Milo...Albany's

        By Pattie Lawler

 

   

            Albany’s was the basement apartment, but seated on the stone banister of the first floor landing, Milo had a clear view down the street. Simon was in the car at the end of the block, waiting for the signal that it was all right to go back to the penthouse.

            He knew that she would be tired, and a night with her asleep in his arms was his goal.

            The smile on his face as he envisioned his evening grew as he saw her turn the corner. She looked weary, he thought, and abandoned his plan of surprising her as she passed. Rising, he skipped down the stairs and placed himself in plain sight.

            “Milo!” Albany broke into a run.

            Hurrying forward, he caught her as she leapt and wrapped her arms and legs around him. Supporting her as she rained kisses on his face and neck, he waved to Simon and carried her back to the apartment.

            “Come on, Albany, couldn’t you at least pretend to be happy to see me? Think of my fragile male ego.”

            “Oh my God, Milo! I can’t believe you’re here!” she panted between kisses. “I had a miserable day and was thinking nothing could make it better. I was so wrong. Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re here!”

            “So you said,” he chuckled, using his foot to push open the gate to her tiny patio where his luggage waited. “Should I frisk you for the key?” She hadn’t paused in her kissing, or in repeating his name, so he shifted her onto one arm. “Albany,” he murmured as he dug in her coat pocket, “I could use a little help here.”

            “I’m busy.”

            He pulled his arm out from under her bottom and trusted that gravity would solve his problem. She didn’t stop kissing and giggling as she slid down his body.

            “I missed you,” she finally gasped, releasing him enough to stand on her own.

            “Well, next time, try and show a little enthusiasm. A guy likes to feel welcome when he arrives unannounced.”

            “I like you unannounced.”

            “And announced?” He lifted his bag as she opened the door.

            She smiled over her shoulder. “Yeah. Then, too.”

 <0>

            Seated at the table, Milo watched as Albany dug in the refrigerator. It had been a wonderful night, and the sunlight streaming through the window echoed his mood. He felt relaxed. Utterly. The same sensation of calm that he felt within the thick walls of Owswell Magnum suffused his limbs, here in her kitchen. The air of domesticity was also working on his usually edgy nerves. I could get used to this, he thought with a smile.

            “We can have eggs, bacon and English muffins, or waffles...I might have ice cream.” She rose, opening the freezer. “Oh, and strawberries!” She dropped down to the refrigerator again, mumbling about chocolate sauce.

            “You cook?” he teased.

            “You don’t?”

            “I was born with several silver spoons in my mouth.”

            She faced him, her arms loaded with food. “So, what you’re saying is I should marry you for your money?”

            “If that’s what it takes, but I’d prefer you just marry me.”

            She smiled at him. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

            “Please do. I’ll alert my lawyers to your pending communication.”

            She placed her collection on the counter. “Waffles, eggs or both?”

            “I promise to eat and effuse over what you set before me.”

            Refreshing his coffee, she commanded him to sit when he offered help. “You’ll only be in the way.”

            He acquiesced and let his gaze wander over the framed, art deco posters that were the focus of her décor.

            “First opera and now Erte.”

            Without looking up from her task, she nodded. “He did a lot of costume designs for opera productions. I’ve always loved the style, and the subject matter made me have to own them.”

            “I know very little about opera—”

            “And yet I still like you.”

            He snorted a laugh but didn’t comment. “So what am I looking at?”

            “The Marriage of Figaro.”

            “Not to be changing the subject, but I have an appointment today that might interest you.”

            “Oh?”

            “Do you know the Morgan Library?”

            “I’ve certainly heard of it.”

            “They have a collection of music manuscripts, a few librettos, and I know they have Puccini’s original La Bohème. I’m meeting a friend there about a manuscript, if you’d like to tag along.”

            She was quiet; the only sound in the room the sizzle and pop of bacon in the pan.

            “Milo.”

            “Hmm?”

            “I want to be with you. I don’t care where.”

 <0>

            “Brandon Ashford…Albany Wendel.”

Milo watched as Brandon shook, but didn’t release, Albany’s hand. After a second of silence, he growled, “That’s enough,” scowling at the librarian as he reclaimed her hand.

            Brandon winked at Albany. “He’s so easy to ruffle.”

            She beamed back. “I prefer my boyfriends unruffled.”

            “Then we will get along famously, Albany, as I claim the sole right to ruffle Milo and refuse to share.”

            “No one gets to ruffle me,” Milo interjected, grinning at them both. “It would tarnish my image. Now, Brandon, you have a guest?”

            Brandon turned, gesturing to a man in a wheelchair. Seated across the room beside a glowing window, the elderly man appeared asleep.

            “The current owner of the manuscript, Llewellyn Davies.”

            “A nice Italian boy,” Albany murmured, and Milo flashed a smile at her, nodding.

             “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

            They followed Brandon to the patch of sunlight where Davies dozed. It took more than a gentle touch to wake the ancient man and even more time for him to gaze at them with anything less than confusion.

            Albany lowered herself onto the window seat beside him and took his cold hand. Very softly, she sang:

            “Oh, what will you give me, say the sad bells of Rhymney.

            Is there hope for the future, say the brown bells of Merthyr...”

            Mr. Davies smiled, sitting up, his hand closing on hers. As the song progressed, he added his rich bass to her ballad, and they crescendoed to the poignant climax.   

            Brandon gawked at Milo, who smiled. “I know, I know. And she’s mine.”

            When the singers fell silent, the smattering of applause from the gathered staff broke the spell.

            “You speak Welsh?” Mr. Davies asked, though his tone suggested he guessed the answer.

            Albany shook her head. “I had the pleasure of singing with the national choir a few years ago and had to work on my pronunciation. I hope I haven’t undone what they drilled into me.”

            His eyes sank closed as he shook his head. “That was perfect. Thank you.”

            “Did you know Mr. Davies sang?” Milo asked, joining her on the seat.

            Albany’s eyes shone with delight as she smiled at the old man. “What Welshman doesn’t?”

            He grinned in reply before turning to Milo. “Mr. Scarlet, I presume.”

            “An honor, sir. And will you allow me to present Miss Albany Wendel?” Milo bowed while gesturing to Albany.

            “An unlooked for pleasure, Miss Wendel.” He glanced to Brandon. “The manuscript, please.”

            Brandon frowned as he turned away to do as commanded.

            “Well, Mr. Scarlet,” Mr. Davies continued, “I understand you’re following in your father’s footsteps.”

            Milo nodded. “I inherited his collection and add to it when I can. My interest is of a later period, but I don’t feel I can ignore his work. I understand that a handful of your castoffs have already been installed in his collection.”

            Davies grinned. “Likewise. I never had the pleasure of meeting your father, but he was known to me through the usual channels.”

            Brandon arrived, attaché in hand. “The librarian knows you’re coming.”

            “I promised Albany a tour first.”

            But once they were alone, she insisted they cut the tour short as she was eager to see the manuscript.

            “I’ve never seen one without glass and alarms around it.”

            “Anxious to paw?”

            “Totally.”

            “Then...you’ll come back to the penthouse?”

            She looked between the attaché and his face. “You’re walking out of here with it?”

            “Of course. I have it on approval. Normally, I would have taken this to the reading room Brandon booked for me, but we can take it to the penthouse, or your apartment, though I wonder about the quality of light.”

            She shook her head. “I’ll go wherever you’d like. I’m easy.”

            He laughed, reaching for his phone. “Penthouse it is. When do you have to be at the theater?”

            “I have a fitting and make-up test tomorrow at noon. I’m yours for the duration.”

            Milo stopped dead. “Albany. If this is your time off, I’d rather do what you’d like. The manuscript isn’t important and can wait.”

            She rose onto her toes to kiss his cheek. “Silly. I told you at breakfast, but thank you for thinking of me.”

<0> 

            Sitting on the living room floor before the sliding doors to the patio, Milo spent an hour explaining what she was looking at. Albany hung on every word, asking what questions occurred, but fell silent when he began his preliminary examination. She watched as he held each page up to the fading afternoon light.

            “I’m looking for holes,” he explained, “that aren’t from stress on the hide.”

            “Isn’t sunlight bad for it?”

            “Prolonged exposure, yes. In fact, depending on the quality of the vellum, in addition to the ink fading, the skin itself could tan.”

            Albany laughed at his grin. “What did your father collect?”

            “Herbals, early medical texts...anything of a scientific nature. He was interested in progress.” Suddenly distracted, Milo ran his finger along a suspicious line of darkness. “It almost looks like a page was razored out here, but it’s just a strong crease.”

            Albany leaned forward, looking where he directed. “No. It looks like an edge. Like you should open this page out.” She sat back, grinning. “It has a centerfold.”

            Frowning, Milo again held the book to the light, examining the edge of the page, not the broad side. “It seems impossible that they could have made a piece of vellum thin enough to fool the eye of countless examiners.”

            She laughed, leaning into his line of vision. “But you weren’t looking for it, were you? You were looking for things you expected to find.”

            He focused on her, lowering the book. “I need to think outside the box?”

            “Outside the book.”

            “Now who’s being silly?”

<0> 

            Later that evening, when Fanny arrived with Joe in tow, Milo directed his secretary to purchase the manuscript.

            “I can’t be taking it apart if it’s not mine.”

            With Fanny draped across her shoulder, Albany managed to tear him away. “It’s time for dinner, Milo. Fanny and I are demanding equal time.”

            He pulled the attaché close and slipped the manuscript in. “And what dessert would you ladies like to start with?”

<0> 

            Albany wrapped Milo’s robe around herself, thinking as she did that she’d better start keeping a packed bag handy. She always had clothes at the theatre, but that was no help to her now.

            She paused in the bathroom long enough to run a comb through her hair and brush her teeth before venturing into the suite.

            Joe met her at the door. “Good morning, Miss Wendel.”

            “Good morning, Joe. Please call me Albany.”

            Joe nodded, but didn’t smile. “Is Milo up?”

            Albany nodded. “He’s gone. He was gone when I woke up.” She rose onto her toes, searching the distant living room floor for the attaché. “Maybe he took the manuscript into the library? Is everything alright?”

            “I called Mr. Davies’ secretary to purchase the manuscript and was told he passed away yesterday.”

            “Oh my God! That’s terrible.”

            Joe nodded. “I wanted to let Milo know as soon as possible.”

            “I’ll check the library.”

 <0>          

            The room was awash with light. Milo, his forehead resting on his arms, which were crossed on the desk, appeared sound asleep. Albany smiled from her position in the doorway. His long hair fanned across his back and shoulders, hiding his face. She crept forward, leaving the door open should anyone come looking.

            On the desk before him lay the manuscript; the centerfold she discovered betraying its secrets to the disinterested room. Inwardly, Albany sighed. It was too late for Joe to worry.

            Bending to his ear, Albany kissed him. “Good morning, sleepy.”

            He didn’t stir.

            On her third attempt to wake him, Albany was panicking. Wrapping her arms around his chest, she tried to sit him up.

            “Simon!”

            The bodyguard was at her side in a second.

            “I can’t wake him,” she whispered, her teeth clenched against her mounting fears.

            Simon reached for Milo’s pulse and turned to Joe who stood in the doorway. “Where’s Miss Fanny?”

            “In the shower. I’ll take her out as soon as she’s dressed.”

            He nodded then looked at Albany. “I’m going to put him to the sofa. I’ll examine him there.”

            “You’re a doctor?”

            Simon nodded as he lifted. “I really do have a degree from UMDNJ, and not just in lamprey removal.”

 

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