I'm Your Man (16 page)

Daniel's beautiful blue eyes stared at mine, and his face flushed bright red. I finally broke the silence to say, “I didn't realize you were back from L.A. Congratulations on the
Lifetime
movie.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Congratulations on your new job.”

Gavin came to my side and looked toward Daniel. Daniel's gaze moved from me to Gavin, and I felt my heart drop to my stomach when he grabbed the handles of a shopping cart and disappeared among the rows of fruits, vegetables, and nut dispensers. I didn't get to see the face behind the voice of the stranger he was with, but assumed he was spending a lazy day shopping with a new lover.

I took a deep breath and reminded myself that his companion could have been one of his friends. He'd always had too many for me to keep track of. Of course, there was that zucchini joke . . . Then it occurred to me that Daniel might have made the same assumption—that I was with a new lover—when he looked at Gavin.

“Are you okay?” Gavin asked.

“Yes,” I answered. I felt like I was on autopilot. “He was the reason for my breakdown on the massage table.”

“You're kidding,” Gavin said, sounding shocked. I half expected him to shove me while screaming, “Get out!” like Elaine on
Seinfeld.

“Nope, not kidding.”

“Your ex is Angus Remington?”

“No,” I protested. “My ex is Daniel Stephenson.”

“I'm sorry. I think I'm in shock. It's not every day that I see a celebrity. And it's not every day that I see one of my favorite soap stars in person.”

“You watch
Secret Splendor?
” I asked. I wanted to throw up, but didn't think Whole Foods would take kindly to me vomiting in a bushel of tomatoes.

“Yeah. I never miss a day. Well, I guess I missed today. But that's okay,” he said, then seemed to notice the grim look on my face. “I'm being so insensitive. I'm sorry, Blaine. He was your lover, not a soap star. Was that the first time you've seen him since you broke up?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think you'll get back together? Would you want to?”

“I don't think that's an option anymore,” I said, wanting to cut the conversation short.

“So, what kinds of vegetables do you like?” Gavin asked.

“Anything but zucchini,” I said, grateful for the topic switch, and rattled off what I would eat as he made notes on his PalmPilot.

I shoved the incident out of my mind until late that night, when I endured an attack of insomnia brought on by running into Daniel. For some reason, the shock of his being with someone else had faded. What I couldn't get out of my mind was how good he looked. When I'd seen Daniel every day, I'd probably taken his appearance for granted. Instead of sleeping, I found myself scrutinizing every detail of my mental picture of him.

He'd always kept his fine blond hair cut short, and now he seemed to be growing it out. Since that wasn't really his style, I wondered if it had something to do with the show. From time to time, they changed Daniel's hairstyle to reflect the different aspects of his character's personality. The longer cut gave him a softer image, and I wondered if the evil Angus was about to get a love story. That would be a new twist, since Angus was the most hated person in Splendor Falls, USA. Maybe I should have guessed, since Daniel played Angus to such perfection, that his own nature was not without its cruelty.

“Oh, come on, Blaine,” I muttered, turning my pillow over to the cool side.

Although some of Daniel's actions had been thoughtless, only his words had been cruel, and those were spoken in the heat of anger.

It surprised me how many feelings had passed between us in a few seconds at Whole Foods. Shock, love, fear, resentment, desire, anger, anxiety . . . all underscored by what I could only describe as yearning. I remembered that one from the early days of our acquaintance, when we'd kept each other at arm's length because of our boss/employee relationship.

I smiled, thinking of those hours at Breslin Evans when I'd forced myself to ignore an endless and illogical list of reasons for him to come into my office, or for me to pass by his desk, just so I could look at him. I'd fantasized about him constantly, and any reference to his personal life had made me crazy because I felt excluded.

Excluded.
That word again. I remembered how I'd felt the day I glanced from my window to see Gretchen talking to Martin in Daniel's garden. It took me right back to my first months in New York, when I'd struggled with all the fears that came from finally admitting to myself that I was gay.

Not that my admission had changed the way I lived. Until I saw Daniel five floors below me, my life was all about work. I was too scared, even in Manhattan, to explore what being gay meant. In time, as I got to know Daniel, I learned not only how to accept who I was, but to build a life for myself that included everything I'd feared I would never have. Especially love. Which was the hard truth that was keeping me awake. Regardless of the hurt, anger, and disappointment, I was as deeply in love with Daniel as I'd ever been. If I'd thought it was challenging to make a life with him, I finally realized that it was going to be agonizing to make a life without him.

It was a relief to get up after a few hours of fitful sleep and find Gavin already awake and cooking breakfast. It made me happy when he sat down with his cup of tea while I attacked my Southwestern omelet. I felt like he was getting more comfortable with me.

“What's on today's agenda?” he asked.

“First we have to go to Refined Felines and pick up Dexter,” I said. “After a few days at the kitty spa, he'll probably be a little aloof. I'm never sure if he's punishing me, or if he thinks he's too upscale for the likes of me after his little vacations.”

Gavin was staring at me with the same patient expression that I suspected was often on my face whenever Lillith began talking about astral travel or pyramid power. I figured he'd learn soon enough that I was not one of those people who gushed over my cat. Dexter and I appreciated our creature comforts, but I thought we were pretty low-maintenance overall.

“After that,” I said, “we're looking at apartments.”

When we walked into Refined Felines, the receptionist gave me a blank stare. “May I help you?” he asked.

“I'm here to pick up Dexter,” I said. I did a sidestep to avoid the shells a parrot was dropping on the floor while he ate his breakfast on the counter. When the receptionist looked warily from me to Gavin, I repeated, “Dexter. Dexter Dunhill?”

“I'm sorry, I can't release Dexter to anyone but Violet Medina.” His tone clearly indicated that Gavin and I looked like sinister cat-nappers. Even the parrot stopped eating to stare at me.

“I'm Blaine Dunhill. Dexter's my cat.”

“Excuse me.” He crossed the room to a woman sitting behind another counter, and the two of them spoke in low whispers while they cast strange glances our way.

I looked at the parrot and said, “Polly want a cracker?”

The parrot bobbed its head and said, “Asshole.”

Gavin and I stared at each other, then I said, “Did I hear that correctly? Did you hear that, too?”

Gavin looked at the parrot and softly said, “You'd look even prettier on a spit over a low flame.”

The parrot laid its head on the counter, winked at Gavin, and said, “Pretty boy.”

“Maybe it's just you,” Gavin said to me.

I rolled my eyes and turned to see the woman disappear behind a door. When she returned, I saw that she was carrying a file folder instead of Dexter's cardboard carrier. “Mr. Dunhill?” she asked, looking at me over the tops of her reading glasses. “I'm Tabitha Katz.”

I heard Gavin cough to cover up his laugh. She heard it, too, and frowned at him. No doubt she'd endured every possible reaction to her name, but I had to wonder why anyone who could be called
Tabby Katz
would want to work where she was working.

“This is my assistant, Gavin Lewis,” I said. “I'd like to add his name to Dexter's file, since he'll often be the one dropping him off or picking him up.”

“But Mr. Dunhill,
your
name isn't even in Dexter's file.” She glanced down at it and said, “Violet Medina. Sheila Meyers. Daniel Stephenson.”

“I'm the one who filled out the paperwork,” I said, starting to get annoyed. “Not to mention the one who pays the bills.”

Before she could answer, Gavin held up a hand and whipped out his cell phone, hitting a preprogrammed number. “Violet. Gavin Lewis. Could you call . . .” He paused to look at the receptionist.

“Darnell.”

“—Darnell at Refined Felines and explain that it's okay for Blaine to pick up Dexter?”

“Oh, just hand me your phone,” Darnell said, and Gavin gave it to him. “Vi? Sweetie, Mr. Dunhill is not listed in Dexter's file ... Yes, so he told us, but so many of our little clients come from broken homes, and you wouldn't believe what irate ex-spouses will do. We can't be too careful with young Dexter, you know . . . A little under six feet tall. Brown hair, green eyes. Frowning. Turning crimson . . . Okay, I'll add him to the file. Is it okay for us to add Mr. Lewis, as well? Thank you, dear. Oh, and thank you, also, for that lovely gift basket.”

While Darnell continued to chat with Violet, Ms. Katz motioned us over to her counter. “If you'll both just show me your drivers' licenses, I'll update the file,” she said. She took mine without comment, but Gavin's Maryland license gave her pause. After another measuring glance at him, she shrugged as if the entire situation was out of her hands.

She used an intercom to ask for a handler to bring Dexter to us, then added our information to the file. Just as Darnell returned Gavin's phone, the handler came from the back with Dexter in his carrier. She was one of those perky teenagers, but as soon as she saw me, her face fell.

“I was expecting Violet,” she said.

“Violet!” the parrot screamed.

“He says Dexter's his cat,” Darnell said, nodding toward me.

The handler looked as if she was being forced to give me her grandmother's wedding ring, and when I passed the carrier to Gavin so Darnell could total my bill and run my debit card, I could have sworn she had tears in her eyes as she turned away.

When we were finally outside Refined Felines, Gavin and I exchanged a disbelieving look, then burst out laughing.

“Is this cat made out of gold?” he asked.

“You'd think so,” I answered, waving my invoice at him. “Good grief.”

“After the last two days,” Gavin said, “the only thing that surprises me is that when we ran into your ex at Whole Foods, he didn't look at me and wail, ‘Where's Violet?' ”

I laughed again and said, “You got lucky. In all the time Violet's worked for me, she and Daniel never actually met. They only talked on the phone.”

“I'm beginning to be afraid of her,” Gavin said.

“Me, too!”

When we got back to my apartment, Gavin released Dexter, who seemed as suspicious of us as all his protectors had been.

“He just wants his Fancy Feast,” I said. “God knows what kind of gourmet crap they give him at Refined Felines.” I dished it out while Dexter attempted his usual Let's Make Blaine Fall Down feat. I saw that Gavin was giving him an odd stare. “You do get along with cats, I hope. I specifically told Violet—”

“Oh, yeah, I love cats,” Gavin said, collecting himself. After a pause, he added, “He's just . . . so . . . Blaine, that cat is ugly!”

“Isn't he?” I agreed. As far as I was concerned, Gavin had passed his final test. Anyone who thought the mottled Dexter was a handsome cat was certifiable. Or qualified to work at Refined Felines.

Later, Gavin and I got into the car Violet had hired to take us to various apartments. First, we stopped at the office to pick her up. She got into the back of the car next to me, only briefly glancing at Gavin. I couldn't interpret the expression on her face, but when I introduced the two of them, I noticed that Gavin looked somewhat uncomfortable.

“Is there something I don't know?” I asked.

Gavin blushed, and after a pause, Violet said, “We actually met several years ago through a mutual friend. That's how I knew to book Gavin in Baltimore. I didn't know he'd end up working for you.”

“That's fine,” I said. “I don't mind if you two are friends. Did you think I'd feel like this was a conspiracy if I found out?”

“We weren't actually friends,” Gavin said.

“Now you can be,” I said. “Just don't start bossing me around like she does.”

Violet flashed me a weak smile then gave the first address to the driver. We went to a building on the Upper East Side, entering a grand lobby that had a high ceiling and was decorated in dark woods with light gold accents. As we walked down a burgundy carpet to the elevator, a group of older women, dressed in obviously expensive clothing, breezed past us speaking in affected voices.

We took the elevator to the tenth floor and exited into a small hallway with four doors, one of which was slightly ajar. The broker, Lanie, was already inside. The apartment was open and airy, with large windows that had a sliver of a Central Park view. It was obvious that the seller was wealthy, as all of the furniture was antique. Lanie gave us a tour of the updated kitchen, large master bedroom, and guest room. It was an exquisite space and the price was not as exorbitant as I imagined it would be. After the tour was over, Violet and Gavin turned to me excitedly. The smiles ran from their faces as they looked at mine.