I'm Your Man (17 page)

“What's wrong?” Violet asked.

“I'd feel like I was living in a nursing home,” I said, remembering the group of women who'd passed us in the lobby.

“But look at this place, Blaine. You can't beat it, especially for the price.” It was hard for Gavin to hide his excitement at the prospect of living there.

“You know, I've never really liked the Upper East Side,” I said.

Not another word was spoken on the subject as we all filed back into our car. Violet looked at her PalmPilot and gave the driver the next address, which was on the Upper West Side, almost directly opposite the last apartment.

The apartment was in a fifteen-story Art Deco building, with a concierge in the marble lobby. The agent, Wendell, was waiting for us there, and whisked us to the elevator with the efficiency of a border collie.

As soon as he opened the door of the apartment, Violet and Gavin were drawn to the oversized, double-paned windows that looked toward the park. Wendell apologetically took a call on his cell phone, and I wandered through the apartment, admiring the high ceilings, the black marble fireplace with its gas logs, and the spacious closets.

As much as I appreciated the two bathrooms, I knew I was going to have to disappoint Violet once again. What I didn't know how to convey was why I needed three bedrooms. If I tried to explain the third room as office space, she'd look at me like I was crazy, because both apartments we'd viewed were spacious enough to allow me a work area. Both buildings had also installed high-speed Internet access lines. They were beautiful and I could probably swing the payments, but they wouldn't accommodate a nursery, and I fully intended to have a separate room to allow overnight visits from my child.

“Can you believe these hardwoods?” Violet asked in a low voice. “I know it's a little pricier, but—”

“I wish I could find something where the bedrooms aren't in such close proximity to each other. I need to feel like I have privacy. You know what would be great is one of those brownstone apartments that has two levels. That way, Gavin could be downstairs, and I'd have more work space upstairs.”

I could tell by her expression that there was nothing like my description in her PalmPilot. “I'm not sure any of the places we're supposed to see meet that requirement,” she said.

“We may as well keep the appointments. I'm not that hard to please. I'm sure one of them will be suitable.”

When I went by to see Gretchen that night, she laughed until tears streamed down her face as I described my day. She hadn't fully recovered from the Dexter story when I detailed my rejection of each apartment and Violet's exasperation with me.

“One had a rude doorman. Another's entrance was too close to a subway stop. The closets were too small in one. I developed an instant dislike for one of the brokers and insisted that he'd be too difficult to negotiate with. The apartment she was the most in love with had pastel walls. I pretended not to be able to visualize how it would look with some color. But it was the last one that defeated her. I told her it smelled like Old Spice. It was the agent's aftershave, of course, but I kept walking around sniffing, and she dropped her PalmPilot in her purse and said she'd start over tomorrow.”

“Asshole,” Gretchen squawked, and I glared at her. “Poor Violet. I'd have resigned on the spot.”

“She loves a challenge. Anyway, I figured Gavin was starting to wonder what he'd gotten himself into, so I told them I was having dinner with a friend and let them take the car without me.”

“I've probably got a two-year-old Lean Cuisine in the freezer,” Gretchen offered.

“That's tempting. But I'll just grab something on my way home. Are you not eating tonight?”

“My stomach's a little queasy, and I've been craving oatmeal.”

“Should we take those as signs?”

“Hopefully not signs of PMS,” she said. “It's way too early to know if I'm pregnant. Blaine, sooner or later, you'll have to tell Violet you want three bedrooms.”

“I will, once we're sure you're pregnant. Like you said, it's too early.”

“So other than the fact that you are now allowed to take your own cat out of daycare, did you accomplish anything today?”

“Absolutely. I went by Breslin Evans for my exit interview with Mr. Fox. He wasn't happy. Which isn't about losing me; it's about losing the Lillith Allure account. But he knows I have no control over that. Nobody changes Lillith Parker's mind once it's made up.”

“Violet could,” Gretchen disagreed.

“Violet could make Cardinal O'Connor give his blessing to Dykes on Bikes leading the St. Patrick's Day Parade,” I said.

“You are going to owe her big time for what you're putting her through.”

“I already owe her for more than I can ever repay,” I said. “I'm an awful boss.”

“You don't deserve her,” Gretchen concurred.

I left her with her tax codes and a stack of paperwork and ate dinner alone in a small Italian restaurant. When I stepped outside to catch a cab, it struck me that I didn't particularly want to go home to face a second sleepless night being depressed about Daniel.

What I needed to bolster my spirits was another blue-eyed blonde, but of the female variety. I looked at my watch to reassure myself that it wouldn't be totally rude to drop in uninvited and without warning.

A
s I walked along the quiet street, I realized where I'd gotten the idea to ask Violet to find me a brownstone apartment. Although the apartment Sheila and Josh lived in wasn't on two levels, as I'd described to my assistant, it did have the charm that I envisioned when I thought of Manhattan's early-twentieth-century residences. It was squeezed into a row of similar buildings, but because the area was midway between Central Park and Riverside Park, the streets were quietly romantic. The trees along the sidewalks would be budding soon, adding to the tranquillity of the neighborhood.

I waited at the door for a bit after Sheila buzzed me into the brownstone's common foyer. I could hear footsteps racing back and forth inside. Something fell to the floor, and I pictured Sheila and Josh frantically throwing on clothes after untangling themselves. I looked at my watch again and wondered if I'd made a poor decision by arriving unannounced.

The door opened, and I was greeted by Sheila in her robe, her face entirely green with one of Zodiac's cleansing and moisturizing masks, and her hair held captive by what seemed to be hundreds of pink sponge curlers. Without a word, she grabbed my arm and pulled me into the apartment, slamming the door behind me.

“What are you doing?” I asked with a laugh.

“I was about to leave to go to the bank,” she replied sarcastically. “What does it look like I'm doing?”

“I just thought—”

“If you can believe it,” she cut me off, whirling around and flying down the hall toward the kitchen, looking like Sister Bertrille escaping from a day spa, “we finally decided on a cake from Johann's Bakery in Eau Claire. I called to place the order, and they told me they don't make that cake anymore.”

“I'm sure that—”

“Then Patti—my best friend from home, do you remember her?—called and told me that she can't be at the bridal tea.”

“You can always—”

“I still have to meet with the designer for the dress. And Josh has been no help whatsoever. We discussed other cakes, and when we agreed again, we called Johann's. They gave us some song and dance about how they couldn't make the one we wanted with the custard filling that was in the first cake they don't make anymore. Now I ask you, what difference should it make what the cake looks like? Shouldn't we be able to get it filled with whatever we want? I should be able to decorate it with chocolate coins wrapped in foil if I want to.” I laughed at this comment, and she glared at me.

“Where's Josh?” I asked.

“He's doing a shoot tonight using the Brooklyn Bridge as a backdrop for something or other. He said he'd be late.”

“I'm sure he'd help with anything you wanted.”

“Men have no idea what kind of preparation a wedding requires. It would take me so long to explain anything that by the time I finished, I could have done it myself. When any of this stuff starts to happen, he says, ‘Just tell me what to wear, and when and where to show up.' ” While she was talking, she'd taken down two wineglasses and opened a bottle. “My mother has definite ideas how she wants this wedding to look, and none of them coincide with what
we
want. If she had her way, I'd be dressed like Little Bo Peep. She wants to have the reception at the church hall, and I can't imagine anything less elegant. It would be like a high school dance. We can't make up our minds where to have it, and the location keeps changing depending on how many people are coming on any given day, but I'm not having it in a church hall.”

“Have you thought about—”

“Neither of us even wanted a big wedding. Now we find that by the time we invite all of the necessary business contacts, between the two of us, we're up to over five hundred people. And that doesn't include our friends and family. All we need now is to have the printed napkins come to us announcing, ‘Happy Bat Mitzvah, Eunice,' two days before the wedding.” She took a sip of her wine, leaving part of the green mask on the rim of the wineglass, and grimaced as she swallowed some of the mask with her first sip of Merlot. “Ugh! I can't believe you let me do that. I gotta get this stuff off my face. I'll be right back.”

“I saw Daniel,” I said, finally able to get a word in.

She froze, then turned and looked at me. She measured my face for my reaction to the statement I'd just made. When she saw nothing, she said, “You want to hold that thought for a minute?”

I nodded and went into the living room to wait for her. She returned, her face scrubbed clean, but still in robe and curlers. She set the bottle of wine on the table close to my glass, then curled up next to me on the overstuffed sofa.

“So,” she said and stared at me. “The forbidden topic, huh? Where'd you see him?”

“At Whole Foods. I was showing Gavin around—”

“Gavin would be?”

“My personal assistant.”

“What happened to Violet?” Sheila asked.

“Violet's my assistant at work. I don't expect her to run my personal life.”

“Since when? And who is Gavin, anyway? Where did you meet him? Is this someone
you
hired?”

I looked at her, exasperated, and asked, “Where is all this suspicion coming from? Are you the same person who invited a total stranger into our apartment a few years ago, just because he proffered flowers from his patio garden?”

“Look how that turned out,” she said.

We considered her words, both of us evidently trying to determine what regrets we might be feeling about Daniel's effect on our lives. I decided I wasn't ready to explore that, with or without Sheila's wisdom on the subject.

I explained how I'd met Gavin and decided to hire him, finishing by saying, “I'm sure you'll meet him soon. He's great.”

“He must be if he's willing to live in that apartment with you,” she said. “I can't believe you have live-in help in a tiny Hell's Kitchen apartment. That's so weird.”

“I'm planning to get a bigger place,” I said. “Without cracks in the ceiling and a deranged opera singer next door.”

“Valencia is a wonderful person,” Sheila said. “I'll bet she misses my casseroles.”

“I'm sure she does. She hasn't sounded the same since you left. Anyway, I was taking Gavin to all the places that I go to, you know, for shopping and the cleaners and stuff like that.”

“You don't go to places like that. Violet does all that for you.”

“More than even I was aware.” I shared the same story with Sheila that I had with Gretchen earlier, half hoping it would divert her from asking more about Daniel, but half counting on the idea that she'd bring us back around to the subject. We both laughed about the reaction of the people at Dexter's version of Club Med, and at Gavin's reaction to Dexter.

“He is ugly, but you can't help but love him,” Sheila said. After a pause, she asked, “How'd he look?”

“He was as scruffy as ever,” I said, pretending to misunderstand her. “I think he has a rash on his ass.”

Sheila nearly dropped her wine and said, “How'd you see his ass?”

“He's always shoving it in my face, and I think he's losing some of his fur there.”

She let out a peal of laughter and said, “Not Dexter. Daniel. How'd
he
look?”

“He was with someone,” I said after I'd stopped laughing.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I didn't see him.”

“Daniel?”

“No, the man he was with.”

“He was with someone that you couldn't see?” She looked at me quizzically and moved my wineglass out of my reach.

I laughed and retrieved the glass, taking a slug from it. “I didn't say that I couldn't see him; I said I didn't see him. It's not that he was invisible; he was behind a cereal display.”

“Oh. Did Daniel see you?”

“Yeah.”

“How was that?”

“It was strange to see him with a new boyfriend.”

“Daniel has a boyfriend?” Sheila gave me an odd look.

“Doesn't he?” I asked.

“Not that I know of,” she answered. “I mean, I have been busy lately, but I think that's something Daniel would have told me.”

“It sure seemed that way to me.”

“Did you introduce him to Gavin?”

“No.”

“How do you know he didn't think the same thing about Gavin? Maybe Daniel was with his personal assistant, too.”

“Daniel has a personal assistant?” I asked.

“Not that I know of, but I didn't know about yours until five minutes ago. So what did you say to each other?”

“I congratulated him on his movie. He congratulated me on my job. Then he walked away.” I let her digest that, then added, “I guess it bothered me more than it bothered him. Unless you're only pretending that he didn't tell you about it.”

“I didn't even know he was back from L.A. But if he'd told me, why would I pretend otherwise?”

“Daniel tells you everything. Probably because you're good at keeping his secrets.”

“If you're talking about your breakup, he's told me the same thing you have. Nothing.”

“Gosh, things have changed,” I said.

She looked confused and said, “Not really. I've never been in the middle of your relationship.”

“The middle? No. In fact, you were front and center for the cameras, weren't you?”

Sheila blushed and said, “I was stupid. I had no idea getting a little publicity for Zodiac and
Secret Splendor
was going to get so out of control.”

“If I'd been handling things, it wouldn't have. There's good publicity and bad publicity. Your job is to promote Zodiac, not that fucking soap opera. I've since learned that Lillith and Bonnie Seaforth-Wilkes—you do remember who that is?”

“Secret Splendor
's sponsor. The Fiberforth woman.”

“Right. Lillith and Bonnie can't even be in the same century without going for each other's throats. You're lucky that whole thing didn't backfire on you.”

“It did!” she said. “Josh and I nearly broke up over it.”

“Excuse me for my lack of sympathy, but Daniel and I
did
break up.”

“About that?” Sheila asked, horrified.

“Don't play dumb.”

“I'm not playing!”

“You know we fought because Daniel failed to mention that Blythe was moving into the town house. Are you going to pretend you didn't know about that before I did?”

“I knew he was thinking about it. So what?” I was speechless, and my expression made her scoot toward the opposite end of the sofa. “You live in the town house; you live somewhere else. What's the difference?”

“I wanted to live with Daniel.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“I didn't—what?”

“So it wasn't going to be the town house,” Sheila finally said. “Why couldn't the two of you live somewhere else?”

“I'm sure if I was willing to wait a few years for Daniel to
process
the idea of living together—”

“What made you think he wasn't ready? Did he tell you that?”

I stared at her a minute, then said, “Did he tell you he was?” She looked uncomfortable and took a drink of her wine. “Sheila, if you have some information that you're not sharing, I can arrange for you to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel in the next Zodiac ad.”

“I told you, I've never been in the middle of your relationship. I'm not going there now, either.”

“The barrel is optional,” I warned. Sheila took a large breath of air and bulged out her cheeks so that she looked like a bullfrog. “What are you doing?”

She exhaled audibly and said, “Learning how to hold my breath for long periods of time. I'm not talking about this stuff with you. These are things you should be discussing with him.”

I shook my head and said, “It doesn't matter. It's over.”

“Maybe it wouldn't be if the two of you talked it out.”

“Too much damage has been done,” I said.

“Damage can be fixed. You know how when you're a kid and you accidentally break some porcelain statue or something? And you have to glue it back together if you can? When it gets put back together, it doesn't look the same. But you mend it so that the spirit of why it was bought in the first place, the beauty of the piece, the sentimental value, can live on. It might have a chip, but it still has meaning. If it's worth putting back together, that is.”

“I didn't break it,” I said.

We heard the front door open and shut, then Josh walked into the living room, loaded down with photography paraphernalia. “Hey, you two!” he said, dropping the bags to the floor where he stood. I could sense that Sheila was regarding the mess he was leaving with annoyance. In fact, I realized that their apartment was oddly uncluttered, which was unusual for Sheila. She generally left mayhem in her wake, all the while looking as if she'd emerged from one of our print ads. Now the apartment was orderly and Sheila was a mess.

“Hi,” we chorused solemnly.

Josh froze. “Something wrong? Am I interrupting?”

“No,” I said, getting up. “I was just about to leave. It's been a longer day than I thought.”

“Sheila, do you remember where I put those wrist weights that I wanted to show Blaine?” Josh asked.

We both stared at him as if he'd suddenly started speaking Japanese. Considering the workouts I inflicted on myself at the gym, wrist weights would be like attaching a couple of sparrows to my arms. I wasn't sure what Sheila's expression indicated.