Free The White Stag by Jamie Freeman Page A

shouldn’t be brought together?”
    “Oh, come on, you’ll love it. You’ll be like Eliza at Ascot. Be sure to wear your best… one with… down the back… or is it ribbons this….”
    “You’re fading, Jude. Wear my what?”
    Jude laughed, his voice crackling with static. “Sorry, Rev,” he said, “I’m in the car. Never mind. I was kidding, but no, I think it’ll be a hoot. I mean, come on, the patrons and the patronized, rubbing shoulders out at the Prairie House? It’ll be fantastic… besides… to pay… and catering… come spend… under the stars—”
    I clicked off the phone and considered my options. I wanted to see him, but I knew if I saw him again, I’d get hurt again. Or worse yet, I might not get hurt.
    I fell asleep on my sofa with my iPod blasting really old Olivia Newton John into my earbuds. Just after three o’clock, I woke suddenly, my body soaked in sweat, a feeling of certainty grasping me and yanking me from sleep. I jumped up and found the invitation on the dining room table. I scribbled my name across the RSVP card, pulled on a sweatshirt, and walked the miniature response envelope down the block to a public mailbox.
    The next morning when I checked my e-mail, there was a brief message waiting from Jude.
    Pack your bags and come spend the weekend under the stars. The place will be packed. I’ll be good… if you want me to be. December 20-21. Please. J
     
    *  *  *
    I arrived the evening of the party with an overnight bag and a hanging bag. The house and grounds were alive with activity. A dozen men on ladders hung thousands of twinkle lights from the giant live oaks that surrounded the house. Half a dozen vans were parked in the drive delivering food, linens, sound equipment, flowers, balloons, chairs, and who knew what else.
    When I bounded up the front steps, a woman in a black T-shirt stopped me. “You’re early,” she said. “Come back at six thirty.”
    “I’m a guest,” I said, staring at her from under the brim of my Florida Gators ball cap.
    “Oh shit,” she said, running a hand through her red curly hair, “sorry, kiddo, the boss is making me jumpy.”
    “Jude?” I asked.
    “The senator,” she said, grinning.
    “Joshua, dear, please leave Becky alone; she’s got plenty to worry about without you distracting her.” Valor stepped out onto the porch in immaculate khakis, a white sweater set, and pearls. Her hair was swept back into a loose ponytail, self-consciously casual and perfect. She grinned at me and walked over for a loose hug and air kiss that left me startled and stammering on the front step.
    “I was, um, I was going to—well, I mean, is Jude here somewhere?”
    She looked at me for a long moment and then said, “You are such a beautiful boy; you mustn’t let people get the better of you so easily.”
    “Mother, leave him alone. Jesus .” Jude stepped past his mother, hands touching her gently on the shoulders as he squeezed past. “Of course he’s beautiful, aren’t you, Joshua?” he said, winking at me and reaching out to take my overnight bag, the ropey muscles of his forearm flexing in the dazzling sunlight. “I’ve only invited the most beautiful people to our party, Mother dear.”
    “Jude, if I thought you were being sincere for even a moment, I’d thank you, but I know there’s a charming insult in there somewhere.” She smiled slyly at me as she said this and stepped back into the foyer to let the two of us pass into the house.
    “Joshua, you won’t believe some of the hideous people I’ve invited tonight. The press will have a field day; she should have had this party at her own house like she wanted to.” His stage whisper carried across the foyer, trailing behind him as he took the stairs two at a time.
    I rushed after him, sneaking a look over my shoulder at Valor, who had picked up a clipboard and was consulting with a tall blonde woman in a blue running suit, a tiny half-smile sliding across her cranberry