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Authors: Kylie Adams

BOOK: Beautiful Liars
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THE IT PARADE
BY
J
INX
W
IATT
 
Fill in the Blanks
 
You know the old saying.
Ex
marks the spot. And sometimes it's a nasty one. Morning television's hottest new gay star (the coffee and muffin time slot is
the
place to be for those in entertainment who live life out and proud) is reeling from the are-they-or-aren't-theyrumors about his very married BFF. Now who should turn back up but his scandal-plaguedformer boyfriend, a super creep who presented himself as Steven Spielberg's nephew and mooched off every worthwhile restaurant and bar in Manhattan. Will bygones be bygones?
11
Finn
It amazed him. How much time he could daydream away analyzingthe situation with Dean Paul. The situation that did exist. The situation that might exist. The situation that he hoped could exist. These thoughts often occupied Finn for hours.
He checked his mobile again. Yes, the signal remained strong and clear. The problem was that you could not psychically
will
someone to return your call. Or rather your last five unanswered calls. But who was counting?
Finn just lay there in the dark, wondering what the hell to do with himself, knowing that something had to give. It was ridiculous to carry on like this, to be a prisoner of this secret paralysis. But only one thing could cure it. A phone call, an e-mail, or a text. Any simple sign that Finn had not been banishedfrom Dean Paul's life could always snap him back to the land of the living.
The vibration of his mobile caused Finn's heart to lurch. He clamored to check the ID screen, spirits crashing upon realization that the incoming call was coming from Tilly's cellular.Disappointed but still curious, he picked up. “Hi, Tilly.”
“Finn!” Tilly exclaimed. “Thank God you picked up. I had this fear that you would be at some gay disco and not hear your phone.”
“No such luck,” Finn remarked.
Tilly bulldozed on. “Have you heard from Dean Paul? He's not picking up his cell, and I have no idea where he is.”
“Same here,” Finn answered, feeling a moment of pure solidarity. “I've called him a couple of times and haven't heard back.”
“Well, this is so irresponsible,”Tilly hissed. “Don't you think? I mean, what if there was an emergency with Cantaloupe?”
“Is everything okay with the baby?” Finn asked.
“Yes, of course,” Tilly assured him. “I'm just speaking hypothetically.Horror of all horrors, what if something
did
happen?I shouldn't have to go on a scavenger hunt for my husband and the father of my child on a Saturday night. He ought to pick up on the first ring. As far as I'm concerned, this is tantamount to spousal and child abuse!”
Finn rolled his eyes. Only Tilly could make such a dramaticleap. “Well, if I hear from him tonight, I'll tell him to call you.”
“Don't bother,” Tilly huffed. “If he doesn't call me soon, then I'm turning off all the phones anyway.”
“So how is Cantaloupe?”
“Oh, she's an angel as always,” Tilly answered in a singsongvoice. “I missed her bunches today. Veronika took her out to a mommy-and-me class and then to a checkup with the pediatrician. Now she's reading her a bedtime story. I've scarcely had a moment with my own child the whole day!”
Finn was speechless. Why would Tilly assign the nanny to all of these intimate maternal duties? But he did not give voice to the question.
“You're so great with children, Finn,”Tilly went on. “They adore you so. Have you ever thought about adopting a puppy?”
“A
puppy
?”
“Well, yes,” Tilly replied. “I think that's a nice compromise.I just don't believe that gays should adopt or have childrenthrough high-tech fertility means. I'm a firm believer in the traditional nuclear family—mother, father—”
“And
nanny
,” Finn cut in acidly.
“Oh, God, yes,”Tilly said, not picking up on the hostility. “It's impossible to raise a child without one.”
“But people do it all the time,” Finn said. “Maybe they think of their children as actual people, though, and not fashionaccessories.”
“I'm so glad to hear you talk about family values,” Tilly gushed. “Most gay men are such decadent pleasure seekers.” She sighed. “I have to run, Finn. My La Prairie cleansing mask has stayed on far too long and it's hardening into cement. Please call if that awful husband of mine happens to reveal his whereabouts. Bye-bye.”
Click
.
Finn stared at his mobile in absolute disbelief. Could he really blame Dean Paul for being unfaithful to that woman? His stomach knotted up in anxiety at the thought. Is that where Dean Paul was tonight? Having an affair?
A sudden storm of jealousy raged inside Finn's heart.Why did he feel like Dean Paul was cheating on him, too? What a strange response. This situation was beyond fucked up.
Sometimes Finn hated himself for the complicated feelingsthat Dean Paul stirred within. And other times he gave himself a break and just tried to manage them as best as he could.
He worked like hell to treat the relationship as nothing more than a platonic friendship, but feelings always crept in to complicate. His reactions to simple gestures and behaviors ran him up and down the emotional scale.
Dean Paul wielded an uncanny and unprecedented power over him.A casual phone call carrying an invitation to exercise or grab lunch could send Finn's spirits soaring through the sky. And a failure to return calls—such as the ones Finn had made over the last few days—could send him down into the depths.
What they shared was an easy friendship. Finn had becomea B-list substitute for the straight guy buddies that Tilly had forced Dean Paul to give up. Intellectually, Finn knew the score. But emotionally, he could not stop himself from reactingto every moment as if it were a love affair. Maybe because in some pathetic way, that is precisely what it was. At least for Finn.
He sensed that Dean Paul was well aware of his effect on him, too. Someone that narcissistic could not exist in the dark about that. Plus, it explained Dean Paul's penchant for occasionallyacknowledging the unspoken feelings and raising the bar in an off-color, humorous way that simultaneously titillatedFinn and twisted a knife in his heart.
It'd serve her right if you were sucking my cock whenever we got together
.
Who knows? Next time I cheat, maybe it'll be with you
.
At the end of the day, it was all a joke to Dean Paul. Still, Finn surmised that there was some kind of reciprocal attraction. He had danced around flirtations with enough men to know. It was an attraction that would never be acted upon. Not in a million years. But it was there. And just knowing that triggered in Finn a craving for proximity on any terms.
Sometimes Dean Paul would get bold and say the most outrageous things just to see what kind of reaction he could provoke in Finn. At other times he seemed uncomfortable, maybe even ashamed, and he disappeared for days at a time, ignoring all contact. The inconsistency was torture. But Finn came back for more again and again. Dean Paul had become like a drug. And Finn was an addict refusing to go to rehab.
He wondered if Jinx Wiatt's snarky column mentions had played a part in Dean Paul's latest attempt at going AWOL. That bitch's blind item gossip teases were written in twenty/ twenty vision. It was the easiest guessing game in town.
Finn's mobile vibrated again. He felt another surge of hope in his heart as he reached for it. The incoming number was unidentified and rang no bells. “Hello?”
“It's been a long time, babe. Do you know who this is?” The thrashing sounds of Hole's “Celebrity Skin” blasted in the background.
Finn shut his eyes. “Benjamin Fitzpatrick.”
“Bingo! You must miss me.” He laughed. “Actually, I go by Benji now. Benji Patt. It's shorter and looks better in boldfacein the columns.”
“Really? I haven't noticed a single mention.”
“Keep reading,” Benji shouted over the music.
The cocky edge to his voice instantly annoyed Finn. Shit. He sure could pick the right guys to fall in love with. Benjamin the flim-flam fag and Dean Paul the heartbreaker. What a track record.
“Congratulations on the talk show,” Benji went on. “That's awesome. I've only caught it once. But you're a natural.”
“Thanks,” Finn replied flatly.
“I've got some projects in the works. They just haven't been announced yet.”
“By
announced yet
, does that mean by you or by law enforcement?”
“
Meow
,” Benji mocked in reply. “Retract your claws.”
Finn just lay there, steaming in the silence.
Benjamin Fitzpatrick was his most significant ex-boyfriend, a relationship that lasted almost a year, until it was revealed that the guy was a fraud and a con artist, passing himself off as Steven Spielberg's nephew and bilking bars, restaurants, and boutiques out of free drinks, dinners, and merchandise all over Manhattan. Finn had felt such guilt and embarrassment by associationthat he spent thousands of dollars to make restitution.
“I did the Miami thing for a while,” Benji trilled. “Then spent some time in Austin and L.A. But I missed New York. So I'm back.”
“Great. Who are you pretending to be this time? Paris Hilton's half brother?”
“I'm through with those games,” Benji insisted. “I don't need to be someone else. I can make things happen on my own now.”
Finn merely shook his head. Benji was smoking hot and a consummate charmer and manipulator. But he was also full of shit.At least there was an upside to this surprise phone call. Finn was experiencing no residual feelings whatsoever. In fact, his central nervous system response to the entire exchange was a total flatline.
“What's up with you?” Benji asked. “Are the rumors true? Have you become a homewrecker?”
“Take care, Benji,” Finn said dismissively.“I'll look for your name in boldface.” He started to hang up.
“Because I'm here at Retox watching your boyfriend right now, and it looks like he's getting ready to seriously wreck some blonde rocker chick.”
Finn stayed on the line, his heart pounding all of a sudden.
“I've got the whole thing on cell phone video,” Benji said proudly. “I figure TMZ will make me a sweet offer.”
“I'll make you a better one.”
“Then you better hurry your ass over here.”
THE IT PARADE
BY
J
INX
W
IATT
 
Fill in the Blanks
 
They say opposites attract. The cowboyand the lady. The blue collar hunk and the pampered city girl. And so on. But who on earth could have imagined that oh-so-snotty Black American Princess linking arms and tipping back Cristal with hip-hop'sreigning kingpin mogul? One thing is certain. She better trade her Pilates classes for kickboxing. Why? Those around-the-way girls who are never shy about moving in on anotherwoman's man definitely know how to fight.
12
Simone
“I'm not coming up!” Simone screamed. “Bring Chanel downstairsto the lobby right now, or I'm calling the police!
Seriously
, Tommy, I will call them!”
“Excuse me, I'm going to have to ask you to keep your voice down,” the uniformed doorman scolded her.
Fighting back tears of frustration and rage, Simone ignored him. “I hate you, Tommy! I fucking hate you!”
Discreetly, the doorman gestured to a security guard.Within seconds, he stepped over to Simone and took firm possession of her arm. “Miss, please exit the building immediately.”
Simone shook free of his hold. “Get your hands off me! That crazy son of a bitch has my cat! He's got my cat!”
But the shocked faces staring back at her—belonging to the doorman, the security guard, and a few residents passing through the lobby—seemed to indicate that the only crazy person in the building was Simone.
The doorman swiped the front desk telephone receiver from her hand and engaged in a brief, hushed conversation with Tommy before hanging up as the rent-a-cop half-pulled, half-escorted Simone toward the exit door.
All of a sudden, she was standing on the sidewalk, bawling as if the world had ended.
Passersby walked onward with little interest.
Simone just stood there, crying convulsively and wrackingher brain about what to do next. Tommy's theft of Chanel had occurred a few days ago. Since then, he had put her off with phone tag games and scheduled meetings that never materialized.
Raw with nerves, she glanced upward to Tommy's penthouselevel apartment. “Chanel!” she called out desperately, tears streaming down her face.
It was the violation and sense of powerlessness that had Simone so upset. The thought of Tommy hurting Chanel never entered her mind. Even now she was dangerously close to the edge. Going there would certainly tip her over. And so she refused to consider it. Simone was giving Tommy Robb just enough credit. Psycho bastards like him must have limits. Stopping short of cruelty to animals had to be one of them.
Feeling more vulnerable than ever and not knowing where to turn, she called Tilly, operating under the extravagant hope that the woman could offer some advice or even a moment of comfort.
“Simone, please make it quick,” Tilly snapped right away. “The timing of this call couldn't be worse.”
“I still don't have Chanel,” Simone cried. “Tommy won't give her back. I don't—”
“You have a missing cat,” Tilly cut in. “Okay,
I
have a missing husband and father. Dean Paul is nowhere to be found. The columns seem to suggest that I could find him in Finn's bed. But apparently that's not the case. I've already checked with him.”
“How long has he been gone?” Simone asked.
“I haven't seen him since early this morning.”
Simone felt the urge to throw her cellular into the gutter. What a self-absorbed bitch! This was hardly a future plotline for
Without a Trace
. But she played along. “Are you worried?”
“No, I'm pissed off,”Tilly shot back. “And anger is bad for future lines around the mouth, so I'm slathering on the La Mer cream as we speak.” One beat. “You sound terrible. Are you crying?”
“Security just kicked me out of Tommy's building,” Simone said tearfully.
“Simone, please! ”Tilly exclaimed. “You said he was stalkingyou. Now it sounds like you're stalking him.”
“Tilly, he kidnapped my cat!”
“Honestly, Simone, this is not a grown-up situation. I'm an adult woman with a child to raise and a husband who's about to be unemployed. I have real problems to deal with.”
Click.
For a moment, Simone just stood there, fuming on the sidewalk. And then she let out a primal scream with the words, “Why am I friends with that bitch?”
Simone's cellular buzzed. If it was Tilly calling back, then she was
not
going to pick up. No such worry. But the incomingnumber stumped her. “Hello?”
“This is your last chance, baby girl. I never have to ask twice, but for you I'm making an exception,” Kevon Edmonds said.
“I can't talk right now,” Simone managed to say, mildly annoyed by the call but not revolted like she had been the other day.
“You sound stressed out,” Kevon said, his voice down an octave and the closest thing to real concern she had heard since the ordeal happened. “What's wrong?”
Simone opened her mouth to offer some vague answer, then suddenly burst into tears.
“Everything's cool, baby. I got your back. Everything's cool,” Kevon said in a buttery voice that provided instant comfort. “I'm rolling, and I'm coming straight to you. Tell me where you are.”
Simone hesitated.
“I'm rolling straight to you, baby. Tell me where you are.”
Finally, she relented and called out Tommy's Park Avenue address.
“Just chill right there. Do you hear me? Chill right there.”
“Okay,” Simone agreed meekly. Doing so flooded her with a sense of relief. Someone was taking charge. Someone besides her. It was a strange yet glorious feeling.
Simone waited for almost fifteen minutes. And then a 2008 H2 Hummer limousine coasted into view like a luxury liner. The front license plate emblazoned with the letters KEVONE dazzled obscenely with flashing white lights and sparkling rhinestones.
A rear door lurched open.
Simone peeked inside to see Kevon, cell phone planted to ear, nestled alone in a cabin built for at least sixteen passengers.
Silently, Kevon waved her into his sanctuary. “Listen, this big nose nigga can smell, and I'm not signing off on this shit until it's right and tight.You know what I'm saying? Nobody's going to buy perfume that smells like nasty ass pussy. I said I wanted that shit to smell like honeysuckle and cotton candy, and that punk ass bitch from Lancaster shows up with a bottleof nasty pussy spray. What the fuck is that? Work this out for me. Next time they call a meeting to sample a product with my name on it, I want to know that it's in the hands of people who care about my rep. Now I got a situation here that needs my attention. Peace out.”
He reached over to shut the door behind her, cocooning them inside his purple pleasure palace on wheels.
Simone sank deep into the silver leather banquette.
“Tell me all about it, baby girl,” Kevon said. “You got problems. I got solutions. Trust that.”
Simone believed him, and the relief of hearing those words nearly overwhelmed her. Far from being all cried out, tears sprang to her eyes again. The desperate yearning to be cared for conjured up old childhood demons.
She had been an international model at fifteen, a young woman on her own in Paris. And then on her own again when her parents' lives imploded, and they embezzled every dollar she had ever earned to stave off their own financial ruin. It was always Simone looking out for Simone. Rarely had she ever had someone strong and capable to turn to.
Even during the best of times with Tommy Robb, he was hardly a source of support. The bastard was selfish and possessiveand cheap as shit. His money belonged only to him and his pig of a mother. Any woman who expected more than an occasional dinner out was a gold-digging whore. So Simone was open to chivalry any way a man chose to offer it. And at this particular moment, that included ghetto style.
“Tommy Robb took my cat, Chanel,” Simone announced. Kevon gave her an assuring smile. “Don't worry, baby girl. We'll get your kitty back.” His tone was absolute.
Simone just stared at him.
“Why'd he do something like that?”
“Because he's a crazy son of a bitch.”
Kevon grinned. “Now I believe you could make a son of a bitch go crazy. With your fine ass. I definitely believe that.”
“Don't make me regret getting in this limo,” Simone said quietly, noticing a bottle of Cristal iced down in a silver bucket.
He picked up on her distraction. “You want some bubbly?”He proceeded to do the honors before she could answer.
The cork popped as loud as a gunshot.
Kevon filled a crystal flute up to the top and presented it to her like the gift that it was.
Simone drank the champagne all the way down, then held out her empty glass for more. “I broke things off last year. On New Year's Eve, as a matter of fact. And it's been hell ever since. Not in terms of regrets. That was the best way to start the year—without him. But he won't leave me alone. He kept coming into my apartment until I had the locks changed. I've changed my cell number half a dozen times.” She shook her head. “He always manages to find out what it is. He's a spokesman for AT&T. Maybe that's how he does it. I guess I should be with T-Mobile or something.” She laughed a little and tipped back her flute. “I used to live on this stuff. Back when I was a model. Cristal and cigarettes. I could run on that for days.”
She felt herself relax. The alcohol was going straight to her head for a tingling buzz, and the emotional turmoil seemed to be subsiding. Kevon had said he would get her kitty back. Somehow she knew that to be true.
“Tommy's not relentless,” Simone continued. “But he's persistent. I hear he's that way with any girl who breaks up with
him
. I guess his ego can't handle it. His harassment comes and goes, and just when you think it's over for good, he comes back with more. But this business with Chanel is way over the line. I've been a wreck.”
“How did he get hold of your cat if you changed the locks?” Kevon asked.
Simone rolled her eyes. “He's Tommy Robb. He plays outfield for the New York Yankees. There was a new super in my building who didn't know our messy history. All it took was a good story and a signed baseball.”
“Shit, I'm Kevon Edmonds, baby. It takes less than that for me to open sesame. This is where Robb lives, right?”
Simone nodded.
“Is that motherfucker home right now?”
She nodded again.
“I say we wait right here and keep getting our Cristal on until he goes out tonight. Then I'll slip inside that crib and get your cat back.”
Simone's eyes widened. “You don't understand. I can't go in there. Security tossed me out not even thirty minutes ago.”
“Relax, baby girl.You don't have to. Chill here. I'll work it.”
“This is insane.”
Kevon topped her champagne. “It's all good.” He paused a beat. “If I get your kitty back, though, you have to let me take you out to dinner. Deal?”
She found herself smiling at Kevon and clinking glasses with him. “Deal.”
For the next hour Simone drank, waited, and watched for Tommy while Kevon tried to impress her with newly masteredtracks from his upcoming CD,
The Black Man Cometh
. She tried to give the music a chance, but it sounded like so much of the ubiquitous hip-hop dreck already out there.
Kevon bobbed his head to his own beat. “You dig it?”
Simone could feel the half smile freeze on her face. Over a lilting groove (sampled from the Teddy Pendergrass classic “Turn Off the Lights”), Kevon was attempting to sexy rap a song called “Couples Massage” while a woman wailed orgasmicmoans in the background. Hmm. Did she dig it?
“It's interesting,” Simone managed to say politely. “But I'm more of a Michael Bublé and Peter Cincotti type of girl.”
Kevon gave her a blank stare.
“They're two young artists with sort of a retro-Sinatra vibe,” Simone explained.
Now Kevon was nodding knowingly. “Sinatra? That motherfucker's the shit.”
Simone grinned at him. On some level, his street vernacularhad a certain charm. He spoke from the depths of his hip-hop heart. She had to respect that. Kevon was intriguing, too. He sounded like the thug next door, but his success was undeniable.
That a perfume with his name on it was in development at Lancaster spoke volumes about his popularity and ability to parlay his personal brand far beyond the music scene milieu. The company was a prestige label for Coty and responsible for fragrances by Calvin Klein, Jennifer Lopez,Vera Wang, and Sarah Jessica Parker.

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