Page 1 of Crave Me
Chapter One
Simon
As a history teacher, I’d been to the public museum often. Every time I came here, I found something new. A different exhibit, a different artist brought in on tour. I’d much rather be walking through the halls of artwork or fossils or protected parchments from our forefathers than wearing a scratchy, Roman masquerade mask covering most of my face and a heavily-starched tuxedo.
Granted, most of the time I went there I was preventing high schoolers from sneaking off into a dark corner to make out or trying to make a tour exciting enough to keep dozens of sulky sophomores engaged enough to not pull out their smart phones and lose themselves in social media accounts. Although even I had to admit, I’d seen some hilarious images Snapchatted from them.
I had never been there after hours, when the lights were dimmed except for the glow highlighting the most famous art pieces. I had never been there when the lights surrounding the outdoor patio lit up the Grand River on the west side of it. The entire second floor had been remodeled for tonight’s event. Circular tables lined walls that generally held children’s activities. Twinkling lights were draped across the ceiling and patterned rugs had been pulled back to reveal old, but beautifully maintained and glistening wood floors. Tables covered in black and gray tablecloths held centerpieces of crystal vases and simple calla lilies.
It could have been a wedding reception for royalty, not a fundraiser for heart health awareness.
I wasn’t the kind of person who participated in fundraisers and galas, but I had no problems doling out hundreds of dollars for a plate at this event benefitting research for the National Heart Foundation. Losing a father to a heart attack at too young of an age, even if I was in my twenties when it happened, had everlasting effects on me.
Plus, I had the perfect date. My mother loved these kinds of events, and I liked seeing her happy.
“Would you like some champagne?” I curved my hand over my mother’s, and squeezed gently.
“Please, dear,” my mom, Grace, replied. Her voice was soft, a bit shaky. She’d been in awe with the décor since we stepped off the elevator. I squeezed her hand tighter.
“Thanks for agreeing to come with me.”
She’d been devastated after my father died. Thirty years of marriage and the first thing she still did in the morning was reach over to his side of the bed, searching for him before she was awake enough to remember he wasn’t there.
Their love and their marriage gave a man hope he could find one person who would always stay by his side, keeping his memory alive long after he was buried in a casket.
Even a man like me.
I led Mom past the rows of the tables to a bar in front of an old, original train car. It was one of the first steam locomotive cars to run along the first railroads in Michigan in 1858. It’d been restored and placed in our museum in 1978. Every time I saw it, I wondered about the people who had ridden on it, where they were going, what they’d done for a living—
“Can I help you?” the bartender asked.
I flashed my mom a chagrined smile. “Sorry. Got lost in the train.”
“Geeking out on history.” She smiled at me and patted my hand before releasing my arm. “You’ve been doing it since you were a child, Simon. I wouldn’t expect anything else from you. Especially in this beautiful place.”
“Of course.” I turned from my mom to the bartender. “Two glasses of champagne, please.”
Once I took the glasses from her, passed one off to my mom and shoved a gracious tip into a tip jar for the bartender, I took a sip of the champagne and turned, scanning the area.
I didn’t fit in and it had nothing to do with my bulky frame or height. I was a teacher and coach and most of the people in the room were doctors and lawyers not to mention a few politicians hoping for re-election. I dished the money out because I believed in the cause, but my mom thrived in this kind of environment. She’d sat on the hospital charity board for years until she retired. The wife of a surgeon, she was well known in the community. When I invited her to attend with me, she was thrilled to come and see friends she hadn’t in years.
“Would you like to roam or find our seats?” I asked, adjusting the mask covering most of my face. The material scratched my cheek and I wished for the hundredth time I had said screw the mask and just worn my glasses. I hated contacts more than donning a tuxedo.
Through my mom’s emerald mask, her eyes twinkled with excitement. “I believe that’s the mayor over there.” Too polite to point, she nodded at the stage. “So hard to tell who anyone is with these masks on, but I’d recognize his hair anywhere.”
I snorted and tried to cover it with another sip of champagne. The mayor was well known not only for his conservative policies, but his ridiculous silver-haired toupee.
“Join me?” She tilted her head toward me.
“No. You go ahead. I’m going to walk around some.”
“Very well, then.” She winked, placed her hand on my shoulder, and skimmed it down my arm in her gentle way. “Stay out of trouble.”
I laughed as she walked away and did another scan of the vast room. Despite the fact I taught many of the guests’ children, or coached them in hockey, I had very little interest in conversing with any of them.
Conversations were usually either shallow or political, neither of which held my interest.
Needing a breath of fresh air, something to cool me down and get me in the right mindset for the rest of the evening, I exited one of the sliding doors leading to the patio facing the river.
