I'm Your Man (33 page)

“I never realized you were so greedy. Would you really use our innocent child to—”

“Where have you registered so far?” I cut her off.

“I've done it all online. Wait'll you see all the cool stuff we're asking for.”

I managed not to think of Daniel more than a dozen times an hour over the next few days. Lillith and Frank reacted favorably to my Gods of Mythology men's line pitch. The entire advertising staff was inundated with samples so we could work with Lillith's metaphysical and marketing experts to match myth to product. Gavin said I came home every night smelling like a whorehouse, although I wasn't sure how he came by his knowledge of such places.

Adam called to apologize for the breach of security at the wedding. We agreed it was pointless to speculate on Lola's infiltration method. We also agreed that Sheila was going to be livid over the photo of her chosen for “The Lo-Down.” Neither of us had heard from Daniel, nor had Jeremy. But Adam said so far, there'd only been one small reference in the local newspaper to Daniel, as more of a footnote to ongoing stories about Sheila's splashy wedding in the society section. He assured me that hometown coverage of Sheila would be much more to her liking. The photos were fantastic and she was regarded as Eau Claire royalty.

I had an e-mail from Nick that explained how he'd come by his information about Daniel. Although the Eau Claire paper wasn't running the story, apparently whatever chat rooms Nick visited online were full of people who'd seen the pictures or heard the story and were speculating about whether or not Daniel was gay and would come out. It was clear that my nephew hadn't heard any rumors about the man with Daniel in the pictures, and I wasn't sure if there was any reason to tell him it was me.

The night before Sheila and Josh were expected home, I met Ethan for dinner at their favorite restaurant, Julian's, to get myself into a Sheila frame of mind. Ethan greeted me with an enthusiastic hug, made small talk until our orders were taken, then sat back.

“So,” he said. “I saw the pictures. You and Daniel are back together?”

“Oh, no,” I said. I caught him up on everything, monopolizing the conversation while he ate in silence. I took special pleasure in skewering Martin for his bachelor party antics, since Ethan and Martin were friends. I finally finished with, “The irony of it is, Daniel was okay with the idea that I'd had sex with other guys. I didn't have sex with Gretchen, but he freaked out over our news.”

“Hmmm,” Ethan said. When I waited for more, he went on. “He'd probably prepared himself for other men. But the baby thing—you have to admit, that's not something a man hears about his ex-lover every day.”

“No,” I admitted reluctantly.

“And he didn't find out under optimal circumstances. Maybe if you and Gretchen had been able to prepare him for it—”

“Whose side are you on?”

“Besides, if Gretchen's right, he was already starting to deal with it. Until Lola's bomb exploded. I noticed in subsequent columns, no mention has been made of Daniel or Sheila.”

“My assistant told me that, too. I've been avoiding any kind of entertainment news, but according to Violet, in the few gossip columns or shows that have mentioned it, the word from Daniel and company is still ‘no comment.' I wish I knew what he planned to do. I keep thinking my name's going to pop up any minute.”

“How do you feel about that?” Ethan asked.

“I honestly don't know. Other than the feeling that it's something I can't control, so the best course of action is no action.” I frowned, wondering why that sounded familiar, then remembered Lillith's rune stone reader. I expressed surprise that Ethan actually laughed after I told him that story.

“Lillith is quite the character. I know her through Bonnie Seaforth-Wilkes.”

“That's right! I'd forgotten that Bonnie's a friend of yours. Have you talked to her about any of this Daniel stuff?”

He shook his head and said, “No. That was one reason I called you. To find out how you and Daniel wanted it handled. I have a certain amount of influence with Bonnie, and if I can be of any help, I will be.”

“You could always ask Martin for Daniel's thoughts on the matter, if you don't want to talk to Daniel yourself. As for me, I'm clueless.”

“Martin,” Ethan said, shaking his head with another smile. “Speaking of characters. Martin always has good intentions. You're too hard on him.”

“He's a pain in the ass,” I disagreed.

When we stepped outside the restaurant to be assaulted by the sultry July night, Ethan said, “I always swear I won't be in Manhattan at the end of summer. But somehow I never plan things right.”

“I'm glad you're here,” I said, realizing how much more relaxed I felt after talking things over with him.

We stood on the sidewalk, and I wondered if he, like me, was trying to decide if this was the end of our evening. Then I felt like someone was staring at me, and I spotted a couple of men intently looking our way. I was trying to figure out if I knew them from the gym or something, when one of them softly spoke to the other, and realization dawned on their faces.

“It
is
him,” I heard one of them say, and they headed in our direction.

“One of my summer indulgences is that I never take the subway,” Ethan said, stepping smoothly between me and the approaching men to open the back door of a cab. I slid in, saying nothing when he gave the driver his address. “You can keep the cab after he drops me off,” Ethan told me. “Since the windows were down, I didn't want to risk those guys hearing your address.”

“Maybe they were heading for you,” I said. “You're the famous author.”

“Except for a handful, most writers are faceless,” Ethan said.

“Lucky for you,” I said, “or Lola's next column might say,
‘Brave
Indian—get it?—takes back the range, claims Angus's mystery man as spoils of war.' ”

“You're a little too good at that,” Ethan said, and we spent our ride coming up with increasingly worse photo captions. He paid the fare when the driver stopped at his building, then said, “You're welcome to come up, of course.”

I wasn't ready to go home and brood about Daniel, so I followed him from the cab. I liked his apartment immediately, in spite of its nod to his metaphysical interests. It was sparsely but comfortably furnished with mission pine furniture set off by beautiful Missoni rugs with geometric patterns. The bookcases were full of books, and I scanned the titles while he got us something to drink, wondering how a man with Ethan's spiritual interests could be friends with Martin.

When he returned and noticed that I was staring at a drum hanging on his wall, he said, “All of these drums were given to me by various Native American craftsmen. They're used in Shamanic ceremonies.” He lit candles on a little altar between two windows, and I watched the light flicker over various animals carved from stone. “Don't worry. I won't force you to participate in any bizarre rituals.”

“I don't remember complaining about any of your bizarre rituals at Happy Hollow,” I said and tried to smile at him.

He gave me a measuring look, then said, “Tell me what you're feeling right now.”

“I feel like a star,” I said. His look of distaste made me shake my head and explain, “I don't mean a celebrity. I mean it literally. A star.”

“In what way?”

“Like I'm a hundred light-years away, so everyone can still see me. But I burned out. There's just dark space where I used to be.”

“Blaine, that's so sad,” he said, the compassion in his eyes making me look away. He took my glass and set it next to his on the table, then put his arms around me. “The Menomini say a falling star leaves a fiery trail, but it doesn't die. Its shadow goes back to the sky and shines again.”

“You're making that up to comfort me,” I mumbled against his shoulder.

“I am not making it up. But I would like to comfort you.” I nodded my assent, and he led me to his bedroom.

We took our time with each other. I appreciated his familiar scent, skin, and hair, but especially the energy that was his alone. It was a mystery that he could both stimulate and calm me, but I savored every minute of it. Later we lay on our sides, facing each other, while I played with a strand of his hair.

“Remember the fox?” he asked.

“At Happy Hollow? Of course,” I said.

“I always associate a fox with you now,” he said.

I frowned and asked, “Sly? Cunning?”

“No,” he answered with a laugh. “Foxes are always sniffing. They have a keen sense of smell and use it to hunt and survive. When you make love, I feel like you're inhaling me. It's not surprising that you ended up using your advertising expertise in fragrances and cosmetics.” I blushed, thinking of how I always sniffed Daniel, and felt a pang of remorse that I'd so easily ended up in another man's bed. Ethan smiled and said, “Relax. You're not doing anything wrong. I'm your friend. He's your lover.”

“He
was
my lover,” I corrected.

“Love is a state of being, not a matter of action,” Ethan said.

“I have no idea what that means,” I said.

“Neither do I,” Ethan admitted. “But for a second, it sounded profound.” We laughed, and he left me alone, returning with a towel and our wine.

We talked for hours, especially about our families, as I knew from the things Ethan had told Gretchen and me at Happy Hollow that his estrangement from his family was similar to mine. He was touched to hear more about how Jeremy had been helping my nephew navigate his way through the realization that he was gay.

“Jeremy's a good man,” Ethan said.

“It's funny; I always think of him as a boy,” I said. “But he's older than I am. Now, Adam, he's a man. And a sensational kisser. You should have found that out when you had the chance.”

“How do you know I didn't?” Ethan asked, then laughed at my expression. “I didn't. From the time I met him, Adam's heart was set on Jeremy.”

“That hasn't changed,” I said. “You're right. Jeremy's a good man. Although I'm not sure how much Nick actually needs him. My nephew has a better perspective than I did when I was his age. In fact, every time I get an e-mail from him, I feel like he's got more of a handle on things than I do.”

“Of course,” Ethan said. “That's why teenagers are so tricky. They're great at saying the right things. In other words, telling us what we want to hear or what they think they should be saying. But that doesn't mean they don't often feel like their lives are spinning out of control. They've got all the emotions of adults, and they're having adult experiences, but they don't have the larger perspective offered by time. Everything is life and death to them because they can't see beyond it.”

I nodded thoughtfully and said, “It's the difference between being smart and being wise.”

“Exactly. Think of yourself at that age. What would your parents, friends' parents, and teachers have said about you?”

“That I was no trouble,” I said. “Good grades, good athlete, responsible.”

“Were you happy? Did you feel like the perfect kid?”

“Hell no. I was terrified somebody would find out I wanted to suck cock. I wouldn't even let
myself
think about that, and everything I did was to cover it up.”

“Then don't be so sure Nick has it all together,” Ethan said. He shuddered as he added, “I wouldn't be a teenager again for anything.”

“Me, either,” I agreed.

As shafts of sunlight touched the bed, we made love again, then I fell asleep, comfortable within his strong, solid grasp.

I realized how hard I'd slept when Ethan had to nudge me awake to offer me a cup of hot tea. I missed Gavin's coffee, but sipped the tea appreciatively after my trip to the bathroom, where I grimaced over my morning hair. I was staring at a table on Ethan's side of the bed when he came back and perched next to me with his own cup of tea.

“How'd you sleep?” Ethan asked.

“So hard,” I said. “Did I snore?”

“If you did, I didn't hear you. I guess that means the Daniel ‘over voice' was silent?”

I laughed and said, “Voice-over. You make him sound like something out of Middle Earth.
The Over Voice.
” I could tell by the way he tried to suppress his smile that he'd done it on purpose. I pointed to the array of wooden and metal boxes of various sizes on the table and asked, “What's all that stuff?”

I became engrossed as he took each box and opened it to reveal its treasures, including stones and pebbles, dried leaves and flowers, and tiny bits of memorabilia collected from his travels. His stories about places and people revealed a deeply sentimental streak that I hadn't expected. I grinned when one of his boxes held an acorn and a leaf from our sojourn in Happy Hollow.

“That's a little history of Ethan Whitecrow,” he finally said, returning the last box to the table. “I hope it wasn't boring.”

“It wasn't boring at all. You're a man of substance. Really good looking. And great in bed. It doesn't make sense that you're single.”

“You're right,” Ethan said. “Will you marry me?”

I laughed and pulled him to me. We fooled around awhile, but I finally got up and started dressing. Ethan rested against his pillows and watched me with an affectionate expression. When I was dressed, I sat down again.

“Among your other mystical traits, do you also predict the future?” I asked.