No Love Lost - Chapter One

[yakumtsaki]

Consort Capp was exhausted. For the third time that month, he had to stay at work well after midnight. Dealing with the latest company scandal had proven much more difficult than he initially anticipated but, finally, it was done. If there was one thing Consort had learned in his life, that was the art of self-preservation. Another bribed official guaranteed another investigation that would fail to link any illegal corporate activities to him. His plan to scapegoat the head of accounting had already been set in motion. Yes, Consort should have been very pleased with himself. But he wasn't.



As he deemed necessary to succeed in business, Consort hadn't allowed himself the luxury of a conscience in years. It was the way things worked, after all; eat or be eaten, him against the world, always. But as he stepped out of the town car and sent the driver home, the thought of that damn accountant entered his mind again, this time accompanied by a pang of guilt piercing his chest. Consort didn't think himself capable of experiencing those feelings anymore, and yet there he was, his mind suddenly swarming with guilt and self-doubt. Was it too late to undo it? He could call the lawyer again, try to find another way. Even if nothing came of it, at least he would have tried. That accountant had no idea what was happening behind closed doors, he didn't deserve to go to prison for God knows how many years. Now, at the twilight of his life, could he still live with himself afterwards? "I should call, I will call", he decided.

As he started to make his way to the house, wondering how he was going to sell this crisis of conscience to the lawyer without appearing weak, his frantic train of thought was interrupted by the sight Capp Manor. He stood there for a moment and looked at it, not in passing, as one usually looks at a place they know like the back of their hand; Consort took a moment to really look at that imposing building, the one that used to fill him with so much awe and fear when he was young. How far he had come, what he had to give up to get where he was, to call this place his home. Was he going to allow himself to go soft in his old age, risk everything he'd worked for? And for what, just to appease some ridiculous sense of guilt, that was only manifesting due to the awareness of his own imminent mortality? Would he had cared at thirty? No, no. And it was too late; there was no undoing it now.



It was Friday night. That meant Hermia was with the Summedream kid, good kid, Consort liked him a lot. Consort worried about a lot of things but never about Hermia; she was smart, reliable, good head on her shoulders. Once, he had hoped that she’d grow up to take over for him at the company, but she'd never expressed any interest in business. As sharp as she was, she had a kind, artistic soul, not fit for a life of tough decisions. Consort had come to accept it, however begrudgingly. Tybalt was probably flashing his money somewhere around town. Consort didn't know what to do with him, he was always so angry, always picking fights, big chip on his shoulder. Sometimes he would look at him and still see that little boy that was scared of the dark, but it was becoming harder and harder lately. And then there was Juliette.. Sweet, thoughtful Juliette. How much she reminded him of her mother, his dear Cordelia. Juliette was probably at the Monty’s, consoling Romeo. It had been a week since Patrizio passed. Everyone was surprised when Consort attended the funeral. He took care to stand in the back and not draw attention to himself, but as soon as people noticed, he had regretted attending. How Isabella had looked at him, with pure hatred, small minded woman.. Refused to take his condolences too. “Poor Isabella, always the dramatic”, Consort said to himself, unlocking the door.



Entering the empty home, Consort turned off the lights and sat by the fireplace. He felt his spine immediately relax against his favorite armchair; after all these years, the cushions had taken the shape of his back. Consort cherished those few moments of calm every night, when he could finally be silent, still, alone with his thoughts. Those past few months had been excruciating; after the latest investigation, the partners at the company, treacherous princelings that they were, were dying to get rid of him. They didn’t dare voice their doubts to his face yet, cowards.. But he could feel his control over them slowly slipping away, and as he was starting to feel in his bones, he was getting too old for this job. He kept in good health, of course, but twelve-hour work days were becoming more and more difficult to get through.

Some days, when things at work got especially challenging, Consort would bitterly admit to himself that he didn’t know how much fight he had left in him. But when his thought turned to those spoiled morons at the company, young and rich and ambitious, used to everything being handed to them, daring to plot against him, Consort would be filled with purest and most invigorating sense of anger. He’d feel young again, ready to take on the world, all his self-doubt forgotten. Yes, he concluded, if they thought they could simply dispose of him and take his place, they were sadly mistaken. It had been Consort and Contessa against everyone for near half a damn century. Employees and advisers and board members had come and gone but he was still here.

“If only you were still here to help me, my darling,” he whispered, turning to Contessa, “we would destroy them all.” Consort's face, now stiff with rage, softened when he heard the unmistakable sound of Juliette’s laughter coming from the garden. His granddaughter still thought that he was unaware of her relationship with Romeo. Now, with Patrizio.. gone, maybe it would be easier for her to tell him, because this charade was growing quite tiresome.

Oh, Patrizio.. What would Patrizio advise him to do? “Probably to retire. And go on a long, drunken vacation”, Consort answered himself with a pained smile, his eyes filling up with tears.



March, 1944

Consort hadn’t been home all night. After that spectacular failure of a job interview, he couldn’t bear to be in his tiny apartment, staring at its hideous, decaying walls, listening to the water run through the pipes all night. He hated that apartment; as presentable as he had desperately tried to make it, it was a constant reminder of his misery. “Count yourself lucky”, his mother used to tell him, “that you have somewhere to live.” His mother was a hardened woman; his father, an army officer, had died young. Consort barely remembered him, but he thought his passing particularly unfortunate, since what little tenderness his mother had in her had disappeared after his death. And now his mother was dead too. And Consort was alone in the world.

He had almost no money, having spent all of his pitiful savings on a suit that was supposed to help get him the job. Much good it had done him, he was so disoriented after the interview that he forgot the jacket on the bus and some lucky bastard was probably wearing it by now. No matter though, as if Consort would be needing a suit to work at the docks. He'd spent the night walking around in the better parts of the city, desperately trying to soak up some of the elegance and glamour around him, at the same time acutely aware of the fact that he didn’t truly belong there. He was the son of a soldier and a clerk at the docks. And that was it.

Just as he decided to finally head home for some rest, the sky, filled with threatening clouds for hours now, opened up  to release a heavy, forceful rain. “What on earth, is that hail? Just my luck”, Consort groaned as he made his way towards the first place he could find. It was 5 a.m; he had to be at work in a few hours. God, how he needed some coffee.



Consort walked in to find the place completely empty. It was too early for most people. Better that way, as he was in dire need of some silence. His head was killing him. He usually avoided places like this one, frequented almost exclusively by dock workers. He got enough of them at his job. Crass, rude, and loud people, he loathed their ways. Consort used to save most of his paycheck so once every couple of weeks he could go dining in one of the expensive restaurants uptown. He still had to order the cheapest thing on the menu, but just being there, looking at all the beautiful, polite, well-dressed people, pretending he was one them, pleased him deeply. It was the one thing he liked about his life.

But that foolishness was over now, and it was time to accustom himself to cramped, depressing hellholes like this. He wasn’t sure the place was even open yet, although he could hear someone noisily washing plates in the kitchen.



“Hello? Are you open?”

“Yes sir, take a seat, I’ll be right there”, a slightly annoyed voice replied from the kitchen, plates still loudly clanking together. Consort couldn’t help but sigh as he looked around, although he was pleasantly surprised to be addressed as “sir” in this dump. He took a seat facing the window so he could avoid looking at his surroundings as much as possible.



A couple of minutes later, Consort heard the kitchen door bang open, followed by hurried steps. He didn’t turn around to look, but he could hear the man shuffling through the cupboards.

“Just a moment, sir, you caught me unprepared this early in the morning” the voice said apologetically. Consort liked the man’s polite tone and deep, slightly hoarse voice. He sounded pretty young. “Probably hasn’t been working here for long or he wouldn’t be so well-mannered”, he thought.

“Don’t worry, I’m alright” Consort replied, in a voice barely audible. He was so tired that speaking felt like an exercise. His uncomfortable bed in his pitiful apartment seemed like paradise at the moment. But he had to go to work. He caught a glimpse of his reflection on the window; sitting alone, in an empty space. “How fitting”, he thought. He looked haggard. The rain kept falling, hitting hard against the windows.



Consort had almost drifted off when he felt someone standing over him. He saw the waiter tuck his hair behind his ear. “Are you feeling unwell, sir?” the young man asked, not quite looking at him.

“He must think me strange” Consort realized.



Consort turned around and looked at the man more closely. He was around his age but of a sturdier build. Some loose strands of thick black hair covered his brow. There was a kind of bright liveliness in his eyes that Consort had never expected to encounter in a place like this, especially this early in the morning. People around these parts of the city were always tired; a cloud misery loomed over them.

“I’m perfectly well, thank you. I just haven’t slept, so a cup of coffee would be great”, he replied, trying his best to sound friendly.



Perhaps he had been too friendly, because a mischievous smile instantly formed on the stranger’s face.

“Oh, out all night, sir?”

Consort would normally take offense to a total stranger asking an indiscreet question like that, but he couldn’t bring himself to care this time. He was too tired and too disappointed. His attempts to better his social and economic standing had failed, one after another. The better parts of society kept rejecting him, so he could might as well try and embrace the norms of the working people he so despised. He was one of them, after all, despite his best efforts.

“Yes, out all night, but not for the desired reasons you might imagine”, he answered with an inadvertent smile.



“That’s too bad, sir. Bad night then? I’ve been there” the waiter offered in a friendly voice, that sparkle still in his eye.



“How about, since we are the same age, you stop calling me ‘sir’, get me that coffee and we can talk all about our bad nights. Then we’ll see whose is worse”, Consort said, adopting the waiter’s playful tone. Well that was new. He didn’t know why, but he felt comfortable around this person he’d only just met. It was unlike him to initiate any kind of social contact, let alone with strangers. However, life had beaten him down to the point he felt the need to share his troubles. Who better to do that with than that waiter he’d probably never see again?

“Alright, sir”, the waiter said mockingly. “Coffee coming right up. You should know that my bad night involves me falling into a dumpster at the fish market, so I doubt yours is worse”.



As the waiter made his way to the kitchen, Consort checked his watch. Two hours before he had to be at work.

“What’s your name, by the way?” he asked idly.

“Patrizio Monty, at your service”, the waiter replied, his cheerful voice echoing through the empty room.



“So your name actually is Consort Thebe?” Patrizio asked, mockingly over-pronouncing it. “That is what your parents named you?”

“I really don’t understand why this is so funny to you, but yes, that is my name”, Consort replied, hiding a small smile. Patrizio let out a big laugh that filled the room.

“I’m sorry,” he added quickly, “it’s not such a bad name. It’s just, you know, sometimes a person introduces themselves and their name somehow perfectly matches their appearance.. It’s funny that you look like that and your name is Consort Thebe” he said, breaking into laughter again. He had unconsciously stretched his leg a little and their knees were touching. Neither of them moved. Consort  felt his skin slightly burning where their legs met and wondered if Patrizio felt it too.

“Probably not”, he grounded himself.



“And what do I look like, exactly?” Consort decided to ask, encouraged by the fact that Patrizio had yet to move.



“Well, you look like a person that’d be named Consort Thebe. You think you’re too good for the likes of us”, Patrizio replied with a sly smile. Consort felt deeply bothered by that comment, one which he had heard many times before. How foolish he was to think he could have a connection with some random waiter. He immediately moved his leg away, just as Patrizio opened his mouth again to add something that Consort never expected to hear:

“And you probably are”.

Consort was somewhat stunned by those words. He had no idea what the meaning behind them was, but opted to believe they were a sincere compliment, instead of some form of mockery. He didn’t want to think badly of Patrizio, even though nothing annoyed him more than strangers thinking it acceptable to make assertions about his character. He drank his coffee in silence for a while, before deciding to change the subject.



“So what exactly is it that you do here, Patrizio, apart from bothering the customers?”



“You can say Patrizio like that all you want, lad, but we both know it’s no Consort.”

Consort laughed. “Alright, enough with my name”.

“Well, what I do here is whatever needs to be done. I cook, I clean, I serve, I make drinks, sometimes I break up fights. Two nights a month I sing”.



“Are you any good?”

“At singing? No, no I’m horrible! But the people here don’t care. I’m good at cooking though”, Patrizio said with the faintest hint of pride. “What are you good at?”



“Nothing really. I work down at the docks”, Consort replied. He’d been working there for almost six years and he still felt ashamed every time he had to say it.

“Really?” Patrizio said, surprised. “I mean, you don’t really look strong enough to lift things for a living”.

“Well thank you for that”, Consort said with a smile. “Thankfully I don’t lift things for a living, I just write down what comes and what goes”.

“And are you good at that?”

“I suppose. There’s not much in it to be good at. I really wanted this other job I interviewed for”, Consort said, rubbing his temples, his head still killing him, “but there is no chance I got it. So it’s down at the docks for me”.



“I’m sorry”, Patrizio said, looking uncharacteristically serious; not that Consort knew him long enough to tell what which behaviors were characteristic of him and which not, but Patrizio gave him the impression of a person that rarely was in a low mood.

“What was the job?”

“I’d be one of the secretaries for Octavius Capp.”

“One of? How many secretaries does that guy need?”

“Five, apparently.”

“Oh that’s a lot! Maybe you’ll get it.”

“Highly unlikely. I’d prefer if we didn’t talk about it anymore” Consort said, falling silent.



“Are you hungry, by any chance?” Patrizio asked cheerfully a few moments later.

“No, not currently”, Consort replied. His appetite, which had never been great to begin with, had vanished in the past few weeks since he had learned about the job opening. He got anxious very easily, although he never let it show. The first thing to go during those periods was his need for food; then his ability to go to sleep.

“Well in how many hours do you think you will get hungry?”

“What? I don’t know. Why does it matter again? ”

“Just answer, please.”

“I guess in the afternoon, when I get off work” Consort replied, though he doubted he would actually feel hungry, even by then.

“Why?” “I think you need some good food to lift your spirits.”

“Oh, thank you. I’d prefer not to return here though, seeing as this place is one strong wind away from completely collapsing”.



“No, no I don’t mean in this shithole! I mean you should come by my place, which to be quite honest is another shithole, and I will cook for you!” Patrizio said, his eyes lit up with excitement.



Consort felt the blood rushing to his face at this sudden proposition and prayed to God it didn’t show. “Well I don’t know, I wouldn’t want to be an imposition-”



“-Oh is that how the Consort Thebes of the world reply to an invitation? Is that the polite way?” Patrizio said, suddenly getting up. “I’m inviting you, aren’t I? And I like to cook so why would you be an imposition?”

“All right then, how can I refuse”, Consort replied, getting up as well. Deep down he had wanted to accept right away, but this whole situation was too unusual for him to handle without being cautious.



“That’s more like it”, Patrizio replied, feigning a stern look. “I live down here at the end of block, next to the garage, third floor” he said, picking up the coffee mug. “You didn’t finish your coffee”.

“Yes, some irritating waiter wouldn’t leave me alone to enjoy it in peace”, Consort replied, checking his watch. He still had time to stop by his apartment for a shower and a change of clothes before he had to be at work. “I’ll be there around 7, then”.




“Great, see you then”, Patrizio said, passing him by, “and prepare to be amazed”.

Standing up reminded Consort of how tired and sleep deprived he actually was. Now he was idiotically making dinner plans with a stranger, instead of heading straight home after work to get some much needed sleep. The idea of cancelling his plans with Patrizio seemed extremely unappealing though, so he made his way out without saying anything else. He didn’t want to appear rude by further doubting their dinner plan, strange as it was.



Walking out of the diner, he realized it had started raining again. He thought of going back in and asking Patrizio if he had an umbrella he could borrow but decided it against it as he didn’t want to be a bother. “I’m definitely getting pneumonia today”, he murmured as he walked down the stairs.



Stepping out in the rain woke him up a little. He took a look around, hoping to remember this wretched place until the afternoon. He couldn’t see any street signs. Did this diner even have a name? “End of the block, next to the garage, end of the block, next to the garage” he repeated to himself. As his exhausted mind struggled to remember the surrounding buildings, a sudden thought interrupted him: what on earth had just happened?