I'm Your Man (35 page)

“Oh, good,” she said in lieu of a greeting. “I just got the mock-ups from the art department for the men's line packaging. Are you on your way in?”

“Violet, do you sleep in the office?” I asked. “Don't you have a home?”

“Are you on your way in?” she repeated, ignoring me.

“No. That's why I called. I'm going to be a few hours late.”

I held the phone away from my ear when she yelped, “A few hours! What do you mean? The production meeting has been pushed up and is now at noon. You need to look at these mock-ups and choose a direction for the packaging before the meeting. Plus you need to go over the numbers the financial department just faxed me. Not to mention the—”

“Violet,” I interrupted, “you work for
me,
right?”

“All the other department heads are going into this meeting today with the assumption that you're prepared. Rumor has it that Lillith will be there, too. I'd hate for them to be disappointed.”

“Daniel's coming by,” I said casually. “I think we're going to talk about the photos.”

“Oh,” Violet said. There was a long pause, until she said, “Fine. But get rid of him before eleven-thirty, because that's when I'll be knocking on your door to drag you into the office. I'll have the packaging samples and reports with me so we can go over everything quickly in the cab. Okay?”

“As if I have a choice,” I muttered.

“And, Blaine? Yes, I work for you,” she said before she hung up.

I managed to finish my breakfast, wash the dishes, shower, and put on a light gray Armani suit before the doorbell sounded. I buzzed Daniel into the building, and as I tied my tie, my eyes darted around my apartment, looking for things that were out of place. I needn't have worried, because Gavin kept the apartment neat as a pin.

A light knock let me know that Daniel had reached my floor. I opened my apartment door and slammed it shut again when I saw a woman with a blond bob. She wore sunglasses, a charcoal gray suit, and a white silk blouse, and she had a purse dangling from a strap over her shoulder and was holding a briefcase.

When she knocked again, I pressed my back to the door and hollered, “If you're from the
Manhattan Star-Gazette,
I have nothing to say to you!”

“Blaine, it's me,” I heard Daniel say. “Open the fucking door.”

Startled, I cautiously opened the door and peered at the woman in the hallway.

“Are you going to let me in?” she asked, and it finally dawned on me that I was looking at Daniel in drag. “I promise that everything we say will be completely off the record.”

I let him in, still saying nothing, and watched as he set down his briefcase by the door, stuck his sunglasses in a pocket, then sat down on my leather sofa. Keeping his knees together, he reached down and pulled off his black high heels, saying, “These things are killing me. They're like torture chambers.”

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked.

“I'm massaging my feet,” Daniel said. “They must have grown since I bought those shoes. Of course, your feet do swell during the summer. You know, when it's hot outsi—”

“I meant,” I cut him off, “why are you wearing a dress?”

“It's not a dress. It's a skirt,” he said, smoothing his skirt over his knees. “Technically, it's a suit. Anne Klein. Do you like it? I got it half off a long time ago, and it still fits me, thank you very much. If you keep making that face, it's going to stick that way, Blaine. This was the only way I could get past the reporters outside my building. I couldn't exactly throw on a trench coat and fedora and expect to go unnoticed. Besides, there's not a cloud in the sky. I figured they'd be on the lookout for me, not a businesswoman on the go. I was right, because I walked right by them, and they didn't give me a second glance.”

If Daniel had been dressed as he usually was, in jeans and a T-shirt, or anything else from his wardrobe of casual designer clothing, I would have been happy to have a rational discussion with him. Or I would have been tongue-tied with lust for him. But I wasn't prepared to watch him while he sat on my sofa with a face full of makeup, adjusting the seams of his stockings.

He brushed the hair from the wig out of his eyes and said, “You look just like you did three years ago when you drunkenly confessed that you'd watched my act at Club Chaos. I see you're still afraid of drag. Ignorance is so unattractive, Blaine.”

“I'm not ignorant,” I said. “I just prefer my men to look like men.”

Daniel opened his purse and fished out a tube of lipstick. He pulled off the top, ran the lipstick over his lips, rubbed them together, then blotted them on a tissue. He then said, “It's a good thing I'm not
your
man, isn't it?” I glared at him, and my suspicion that he was deliberately trying to provoke me was confirmed by his next words. “Speaking of drag, you should apologize to Martin. You were horrible to him at Josh's bachelor party. You bruised his arm. Not to mention his fragile ego. He was only trying to liven things up and give Josh a laugh. There was no need for you to act like a big ape.”

As he returned the tube of lipstick to his purse and stuffed the tissue inside, it occurred to me that Daniel in drag reminded me of his Aunt Jen. The thought made me almost laugh out loud, but I covered my mouth with my hand and stifled it. After I composed myself, I said, “Okay.”

Daniel raised his head, looked at me quizzically, and asked, “What was that?”

“I said okay. You're right,” I agreed. “My behavior was churlish and unacceptable.” Daniel, still looking puzzled, turned his head, and I asked, “Why are you staring at the window?”

“I was waiting for the swarm of locusts,” he said. “Enough of all that. Sheila called me. What a way to cap off a honeymoon. We agreed that at least now all those silly rumors about her and me being a couple will be put to rest.”

“Rumors that you and she started, remember?” I reminded him. “Even though that is a fortunate outcome, don't try to tell me that you engineered this whole thing to stop what the two of you started.”

“You got me, Blaine. I actually own the
Manhattan Star-Gazette,
” he said, rolling his eyes. “Give me a break. I'm only trying to look at the bright side. Unfortunately, that's all I've been able to come up with.”

“What's been happening at work?” I asked.

“The show's executives don't care if I'm gay, straight, or a eunuch. As long as I know my lines and pass the drug tests the insurance company makes us take, they're happy.”

“That's good,” I said. “So you wait until this blows over, which it will, and everyone's fine.”

“Not really. The network brass doesn't want anyone to comment. They're afraid of Seaforth's reaction if there's negative viewer response.”

“Isn't Bonnie an executive producer? Have you seen her or asked her what the Seaforth board is saying?”

“She's been supportive of me personally,” Daniel said, “but she seems to be in the ‘no comment' camp. I don't think Seaforth will get involved unless there's more publicity.”

“I have a feeling that you're not going to keep quiet,” I said.

“It would be like lying. Or a lie of omission. I couldn't live with myself if I walked past people who ask if I'm gay and pretended that they weren't there. I'd feel like a hypocrite after all those years performing as Princess 2Di4, encouraging gay people to be proud of themselves. And trying to hide the life I've lived would be ridiculous. It would only take a quick search on the Internet for anyone to find out about Princess 2Di4. There were articles about me in
Interview Magazine, HX,
and the
New York Blade.
Actually, I'm surprised it took this long before someone put two and two together.”

“It just proves that you're a good actor,” I said.

“Thanks. I think,” he said, smiling. “Regardless, I'm going to make a statement to the press and say, ‘Yes, I'm gay,' and get it over with.”

“I think it's the right thing to do,” I said. “I admire your honesty and the risk you're taking.”

“If they write me off the show, they'll have to buy out my contract. If there is a negative reaction and I don't work for a while, I've got a nest egg from the town house sale, so I won't hurt for money. Don't start frowning again. I'm not going to name names. I know how you are about your family.”

“My family knows,” I said. “Well, I told my brothers. I'm sure it's just a matter of time before they tell my parents. But I don't care if they do.”

Daniel looked momentarily nonplused before he smiled again and said, “That's good. I'm proud of you, Blaine. That must have been difficult.”

“It was surprisingly easy,” I admitted. We were silent while I thought things over. Although I didn't care what my family might find out, I had no desire to endure the public scrutiny Daniel was probably in for. There were still some things I wanted to keep private, namely Gretchen and our baby. I finally said, “If you could leave me out of your press conference, I'd appreciate it.”

“Not a problem. I'm going to tell the truth, remember? I'll just say the man in the photographs with me
was
my boyfriend, but we broke up and now I'm happily single. I held off making a statement because I wanted to talk to Sheila and you first. I figured you'd both be affected by the outcome, and we should all be on the same page. I see that as far as you're concerned, I needn't have bothered.”

“That answers that question,” I said. Daniel looked confused, so I explained, “I wondered if you only came over here to talk about the photos, or if you wanted to talk about our relationship, too.”

“One crisis at a time, please,” Daniel said.

“What makes you think I want to sit around waiting for you?” I asked, suddenly angry. “I'm tired of you putting me off and walking away from me all the time.”

“Trust me. You don't want me to say everything that's in my head right now,” Daniel warned.

We both looked at the door when we heard someone knock. I glanced at my watch and said, “It's Violet. I have to go to work.” Daniel said nothing as he put on his shoes and picked up his purse. I opened the door for Violet and said, “Hi. Give me a couple of minutes.”

“It's okay,” she said. “I've got everything with me for the meeting.”

Violet walked into my living room, but stopped in her tracks when Daniel stood up from the sofa. He gave her an appraising look and said, “And
I
make you uncomfortable? That's rich, Blaine.”

I assumed he was talking about her resemblance to Jennifer Lopez, although I could have told him that wasn't deliberate.

“I'm sorry,” Violet said. “I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“Daniel was just leaving.” I picked up his briefcase and held it out. He strode past Violet, and as he took the briefcase, I said, “If you're talking to the press today, I hope you're not wearing that outfit.”

“Maybe I will,” Daniel said. “What of it?”

I knew he wouldn't go to the press in drag, but I said, “Nothing. That skirt makes your butt look fat. That's all.”

Violet and Daniel gasped audibly at the same time, and Violet said, “He's angry. He didn't mean it.”

“Thank you,” Daniel said to her. “You look fabulous, by the way. Is that Calvin Klein?”

Violet put her hand over her jacket and said, “Yes.”

Daniel glanced at me and said, “Uh-oh. He's frowning again. It was nice to meet you.” He swept through the open door, and I listened to his heels tapping on the stairs.

Violet eyed me cautiously, obviously testing the waters, before she said, “I take it things didn't go well?”

“If your idea of things going well includes snide remarks and being taunted by your boyfriend—excuse me, ex-boyfriend—showing up in drag, then yes, things went well,” I said. I found my briefcase and added, “Let's go. Suddenly I can't wait to be in a boring business meeting.”

G
retchen's doctor was paged to do an emergency C-section before he could examine her, so the staff at Preston Women's Healthcare Center put us in a patient room and even ordered a fruit plate for me while we waited. I glanced up from my laptop to watch Gretchen as she aimlessly flipped channels, her feet propped on a pillow. She looked so comfortable on the hospital bed, with its crisp white sheets, that I wanted to trade places with her. The center was famous for considering the comfort of its patients, but the visitors' chairs left something to be desired.

She'd been complaining about being huge. Other than the fact that her waistline was finally expanding, I thought she looked great. Her face was a little puffy, but even though I knew it was a cliché, she really did glow. She'd stopped getting her hair colored while she was pregnant and claimed to be too busy to get it cut, so she'd started French braiding it close to her head, minimizing the contrast between its chestnut roots and blond streaks. I thought the style softened her and made her look more feminine, but I didn't dare tell her so.

“Sheila's on
Zandra's Chick Chat,
” I said, looking at my watch.

“I hate that show,” Gretchen said. “It's like what would happen if Barbies could talk.”

“I think Faizah is on, too,” I said, smiling when Gretchen changed the channel just as Zandra and her guests gathered around the set's kitchen counter.

“—so I make casseroles, but I wouldn't dare eat them myself,” Sheila was saying. “Well, maybe a nibble or two, with salad. No dressing.”

“If she delivers one more casserole to me, she's going to be wearing it,” Gretchen muttered.

“That's how Sheila nurtures,” I said.

“I had a casserole dish once,” Faizah said. “It made a great water bowl for my dog, because it was heavy. Faizah orders in.”

“Sorry, Blaine, I can't handle this,” Gretchen said, and hit the channel button just in time for us to see Cressida Porterhouse cowering at the rim of a volcano and bursting into tears on
Secret Splendor.
“Sorry, Blaine,
you
can't handle
this,
” she said, then turned it to CNN.

“These aren't new, but I know you two must be bored,” a nurse said, coming into the room with a stack of magazines. “We just got word that Dr. Griffith is finishing up in surgery. As soon as he gets here, we'll move you to the examining room.”

“Thanks,” Gretchen said.

I took the magazines, then rolled my eyes when I saw Daniel's two-week-old
Us
magazine cover. It seemed he was everywhere I turned. I handed Gretchen
Architecture Magazine,
hiding the
Us
behind a
Town & Country
so she wouldn't know that I was reading Daniel's article again.

 

 

Were you surprised when you were “outed” with pictures in Lola Listeria's column, the “Lo-Down,” in the
Manhattan Star-Gazette?

 

I was surprised to see unauthorized photographs of me at a private function, a friend's wedding, sharing a private moment. But I take issue with the idea that I was “outed.” At no time in my career as a performer have I ever pretended to be straight. I don't discuss my private life, because it has nothing to do with my work. I've never denied being gay.

 

 

I suppose you'd have to look at the source of those rumors. I don't think you'll find any kind of statement from either Sheila or me that we had that kind of relationship. She and I have been friends for several years. Sheila's relationship with her boyfriend—now her husband—Josh, has been public knowledge for as long as they've been dating. They attend functions together, they've done interviews together, their apartment was even featured in an issue of
Ultimate Magazine.
If a few reporters chose to present the story from a different perspective, they were misleading their readers and viewers.

 

Still, your show,
Secret Splendor,
and the network, while not issuing any kind of denial, have refused to answer questions about your sexual orientation.

 

I think they're showing me the same courtesy they show any actor on one of their shows. The degree to which we make our private lives available to the public is up to us. There are actors who don't want pictures of their families printed. Who don't want their families to be the focus of articles. The network, and my show, are going to respect that.

 

 

You'd have to ask them, of course, but it seems to be. There's been no pressure on me to deny the story, or any sense that if viewers know I'm gay, my job is in jeopardy.

 

 

Really? We finished shooting a major storyline around Angus in early July. I took several weeks off after that, so in the coming weeks, there'll be less Angus, because I wasn't taping. My absence was written into the storyline. But now I'm back at work, and the diabolical Angus is wreaking as much havoc as ever. Those episodes will start airing in about three weeks, I think. And I still have a little over two years on my contract.

 

 

I haven't changed my policy. I still don't discuss my private life. I'll talk about my role as Angus, my public appearances, or anything about my career. I appreciate my fans, and I hope they appreciate my work. But my private life is just that.

 

 

I would hope so, if you mean being candid about my orientation. Like I said, I've never denied it. I have no trouble saying that I'm gay. If I were straight, I'd still be a private person when it comes to my personal life.

 

 

(Laughs) That's a short list. I had small parts on
NYPD Blue, ER,
and
Chicago Hope.
My characters usually died really early. I've done a few commercials. No theater. A lot of extra work here and there. But Angus was my big break, and I love the show and the character. We've got a great cast and crew at
Secret Splendor.

 

 

No. I've been performing professionally since I was eighteen. I began as a female impersonator, and after a few years, I developed a character based on the Princess of Wales called 2Di4. She was my longest run, but I stopped performing as 2Di4 when Diana was killed, as a gesture of respect. I was never as big as RuPaul. Then again, she's seven inches taller than I am, and her heels are higher.

 

 

Nothing's changed, since it was never a secret that I'm gay. Although one of the younger actors on the set did ask me if I thought I could get Elton John's autograph.

 

 

I doubt it. If you're reading this, Elton, call me.

If it hadn't been for Sheila, I'd have had no inkling of the ordeal Daniel was going through at work. The network was unhappy with his decision to come out, and several of his fellow cast members had begun to distance themselves from him, as if they hadn't always known he was gay. For the time being, his job appeared to be safe, but the writers had been ordered to make Angus more masculine. This included sex scenes with Angus's heretofore wife-in-name-only, Cressida Porterhouse. According to Sheila, they'd reached an impasse, because Jane-Therese threw a tantrum and refused to do love scenes with Daniel. It was anybody's guess if they were going to come up with another plausible love interest for Angus or kill him off again—Angus apparently had more lives than Bonnie and Lillith combined—and buy out Daniel's contract.

“Gay or straight, that is one sexy man.” The nurse voiced my thoughts as she looked over my shoulder at Daniel's picture. “Dr. Griffith can see you now.”

Gretchen smirked when she saw me drop the magazine like it was burning my hand, but at least she didn't say anything when we followed the nurse to the examining room. I waited outside until I was told I could go in. Gretchen had changed into a gown and the ultrasound tech was getting the machine ready.

“Good morning,” Dr. Griffith said as he joined us. He shifted Gretchen's file so he could shake my hand, then he rested his hand on her shoulder. As usual, I appreciated his calm, friendly manner. Even though it had surprised me when Gretchen chose a male OB/GYN, her instincts had been good. I always felt reassured and comfortable after our appointments. “I think I explained last time, this is just a routine ultrasound. Did you have any cramping after the amnio?”

“Not at all,” Gretchen said.

“Good. The results are in. Absolutely normal.” He opened the file and rattled off some tests and figures that made little sense to me, but it didn't matter. All I needed to hear was that things were okay. “You two still don't want to know your baby's gender?”

“No,” Gretchen and I answered in unison.

“Let's take a look, then.”

The tech squirted gel on Gretchen's belly. This was our third ultrasound, and Gretchen had told me the gel was warm and, except for having to endure a full bladder, she found the entire procedure calming. I, on the other hand, always felt charged up when I saw Civil Liberty on the monitor, and watched with fascination as Dr. Griffith pointed out things I'd never have been able to see on my own. The baby was just a mysterious gray blob to me.

Later, while we listened to the heartbeat, I felt anxious when I saw Dr. Griffith frown as he skimmed through the file. But he'd already told us everything was normal. He scribbled some notes on Gretchen's chart and said, “I'm seeing a trend with your blood pressure, Gretchen. It's getting a little higher each visit. Nothing to be alarmed about, but just to be on the safe side, I want to put you on a low-sodium diet. We've got some material to help you with that.”

“Can't high blood pressure be caused by stress?” I asked.

“Sure. But stress is a fact of life. It's easier to control our diets than the world around us.”

“Blaine's just looking for a reason to lecture me,” Gretchen said. “I'm not the one who's stressed. He is. Put him on a low-sodium diet, too.”

“I'm not stressed,” I argued.

Dr. Griffith closed the file and said, “The only thing Blaine needs to do is ease up on the Gravitron machine at bodyWorks.” He winked at Gretchen and left the room.

“How did he know—”

“You can be so dense sometimes,” Gretchen said. “You never realized he was family?”

“Why am I always the last to know these things?”

“Total lack of gaydar, as usual,” Gretchen said. “Go away. I want to get dressed and get out of here.”

Once we were standing on the sidewalk, I asked Gretchen if she wanted to share a cab. I was going back to the office and figured we could split the cost. She hemmed and hawed and finally said, “That's okay. I'm going downtown.”

“To your office?” I asked. A look of annoyance washed over her and her eyes darted skyward. “Didn't you hear what the doctor said, Gretchen? No stress. You should go home and start thinking about a leave of absence.”

“I'm fine,” she said firmly. “The doctor said to watch my sodium intake. He said nothing about taking off work.”

“Don't get upset,” I cautioned.

“I'm not upset!” she yelled. Several pedestrians jumped away from her or eyed her cautiously as they walked by.

“Okay. I'm sorry,” I said. My cell phone rang, and Gretchen started frantically looking around for a cab. I looked at the Caller ID. “Lillith?”

“We need you back at the office immediately. When you get here, meet me in Conference Room A,” Lillith said. She sounded like a secret agent setting up a rendezvous. I almost expected her to demand that I wear a white carnation in my lapel and bring a billion dollars in small denominations along with the stolen microfiche. “The short notice can't be helped, Blaine. This is very important.”

“It's okay,” I said as I watched Gretchen step into a cab, wave at me, then speed off downtown. “I was on my way there anyway.”

When I got to Lillith Allure's headquarters, I found Violet, but she had no information about Lillith's urgent meeting.

“Sorry, Blaine,” she said with a shrug. “I got the same summons as you. I did my best to find out what's going on, but nobody seems to have any answers. We'd better get moving.”

Since Violet was rarely out of the loop, I felt nervous. Was Lillith purposely keeping us in the dark? What was I about to walk into? I composed myself while we walked down the hallway to the conference room. Although I knew I looked calm and collected on the outside, inside I felt like the pain and discomfort sufferer in a Tums commercial.

We found Lillith seated at the table next to our attorney, Ryan. Standing behind her was a woman dressed all in white, who was waving her hands through the air above Lillith's head. A second woman sat on the other side of Lillith and was looking through a long computer printout, while occasionally entering information into a laptop. Adam Wilson sat across the table from them, his mouth slightly open while he stared at the woman stirring the air above Lillith's head.