Flightless Bird || l.s. ✔︎

ACT IV: CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

"Why, I haven't seen such strapping young men on this property since the war!"

She was still a flirt.

She shook my hand and hugged Harry, then hurriedly led us into the greenhouse to show us her prize-winning orchids. The temperature rose dramatically once we were inside. The air was thick with humidity, the plants and flowers luxuriating in the tropical climate.

Harry wandered off to look at the dahlias. We had agreed that I would talk to Mags. I got her number from the interim assistant and called ahead. I told her we needed a favor. She knew from the tenor of my voice that it was serious but nothing more. Mags had been donating to The Royal Ballet for decades and she was pleased to hear from me. It was odd the relationship between performer and patron. Our lives were so different, our experiences worlds apart, and yet one could not exist without the other. There was an unspoken bond between us. She loved to watch us dance and we loved to dance for her.

I told her everything minus the details of the abuse because I didn't know them. She sprayed the long slender sepals of her bulbophyllum medusa as she listened, clutching the spray bottle tighter and tighter.

She didn't say a word after I told her, but continued to prune and spritz.

"We're telling the truth," I said.

She took off her gardening gloves. "Louis, I've been alive a long time. I've met many men like Alexander. His breed is not rare unfortunately. I believe you."

I exhaled with relief.

"What do you want to happen to him?"

"I want to expose him."

"Truthfully."

My hands curled into fists. "I want him to suffer."

Mags nodded conspiratorially. She was clearly no stranger to this type of request. She had made men like Beauchamp suffer before. The deep lines of her face, frozen in perpetual optimism, told me she could win this fight.

"The story needs to be vetted. I'll put my best team on it and give them as a large a research budget as they require. If there's something to find, rest assured those bloodhounds will find it, and when they do everyone from here to Tokyo will know what he is."

I was so grateful I could have cried.

"Thank you!" I held her frail shoulders in my hands. "Thank you."

Her milky gaze fell on Harry who was skimming the velvety flower petals with his fingers.

"What is he to you?" she asked.

It was a simple question but it stumped me. Harry was many things to me. He was my colleague, my rival, my best friend, my boyfriend, my lover. All of those titles were accurate but none of them felt right.

"He's everything to me," I answered.

She patted my back knowingly. I had to be so strong for Harry the past few days I hadn't really stopped to process the tremendous amount of guilt I was feeling.

"I wish it had happened to me and not him."

"Don't say that," she scolded, snapping her gloves at my chest.

"It's true!" I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. "You don't know what Harry was like back then. He wasn't like other boys. He was pure, so innocent that I was afraid to give him a single kiss! He was fragile and needed to be treated with care and Beauchamp smashed him into a million pieces."

Mags pruned the dying leaves of her dendrobium chrystianum. "You're wrong about him. He's not fragile. He's strong. He's alive when Hans is dead. He spoke the truth when the other victims chose to stay silent. He protected you when you couldn't protect yourself. You can't change the past, Louis, but you can honor his courage."