I'm Your Man (6 page)

“. . . and it was Daniel who suggested it as the perfect solution,” Blythe was saying. “Now I've got light and heat and someone to make sure I'm still alive when I go off on one of my painting tangents and don't surface for days.”

“Like Mrs. Lazenby,” Martin said, and they laughed with guilty expressions.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “What are you talking about?”

“If only I could speak with subtitles. Try to keep up this time, Blaine,” Martin said. He continued, using elaborate hand gestures. “Mrs. Lazenby
died,
so obviously she didn't need the second floor of the town house. I wanted Blythe to move in, but she said the lighting sucked. Then the couple on the third floor agreed to switch apartments for a rent reduction, so now they're on the second, and Blythe will be on the third, with new skylights installed courtesy of Daniel.”

There was an angry humming in my ears, and I was certain I could not have heard him correctly. The town house he was talking about had been left to Daniel by an old friend, Ken Bruckner, who'd died from AIDS a couple of years before. I'd wanted to move there with Daniel, but he hadn't wanted to displace Martin, who'd been Ken's lover. Our compromise was Daniel's assurance that if his second- or third-floor tenants ever left, we'd take the first available floor and move out of our separate Hell's Kitchen apartments to set up housekeeping together.

“This was Daniel's idea?” I asked.

“Isn't it great?” Blythe asked.

“It was a solution, yes,” I agreed. “I'm sorry; I have to run. I'm late for a meeting that's long overdue.”

I let myself into Daniel's apartment, doing all the things I knew he'd love, including turning on the fountain and the lights of his patio garden and timing our meal of Thai lemon chicken just right so that when he walked in, I was lighting candles on the table.

“What a nice surprise,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. “I skipped lunch today because that idiot Jane-Therese kept blowing our scene. Recovery. Ha. She recovered from rehab faster than anyone I've ever known. Mmmm, you smell great. You showered at the gym?”

“Yep,” I said. “Just get comfortable and let me serve you.”

“You don't have to twist my arm,” Daniel said, grinning with his eyebrows raised. He sat at the table and watched while I poured wine. When he bit into the chicken, he made an appreciative noise and said, “This is perfect.”

“Good,” I said, biting into my own chicken, which might as well have been shoe leather. “Now tell me about your day and the evil Jane-Therese.”

I laughed in all the appropriate places during his story, refilling his glass from time to time. When the first candle sputtered, he seemed to realize that he'd been doing all the talking.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't even ask about your day.”

“Oh, you know, the usual. I'm much more concerned about you.”

“Concerned? Why?”

“I heard the news, and I know how much it must have upset you. It's always hard to lose a little piece of your history.”

Daniel frowned, trying to figure out what I was talking about, but obviously enjoying the evening so much that he wasn't sure he wanted to go wherever sad place I was leading him.

“History?” he asked.

“I heard about poor Mrs. Lazenby,” I said. “I know how much you and Ken thought of her, so the loss must be hitting you hard.” He shifted, but before he could say anything, I went on. “Please don't worry. I'm not going to hound you about moving into her apartment together when you're still reeling from the shock. Besides, I'm not sure I'm ready to do that.”

“You're not?” Daniel asked, trying to conceal his relief, which might have been amusing if I hadn't wanted to fling my half-eaten chicken at his face.

“No. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it wouldn't work. I don't want to live that close to Martin.”

“You don't?”

“On the floor right above him? No. Can you imagine having to listen to Britney and Cher through our floor at all hours of the day and night?”

“It would be annoying,” Daniel quickly agreed.

“I have a much better idea. What if we could get that nice couple—what are their names? I never can remember. The couple on the third floor of the town house. What if we could get them to move to the second floor, then we made renovations to the third floor? I've always thought that kitchen needed to be modernized. And maybe we could have one of those whirlpool bathtubs installed. Wouldn't that be romantic?”

“Well, I—”

“Since neither of us has to give up our apartments anytime soon, we could hire someone to take down that wall between the kitchen and dining room. Make it one big room, with terrazzo tile. If you're really willing to splurge, we could have skylights put in. How great would that look?” Daniel was now on the edge of his chair. “More wine?” I asked, pouring him another glass before he could answer. “Don't you think it would be fun to redesign the place any way we wanted to before we move in? Or . . .”

“Or?” Daniel repeated faintly.

“Or would it be too crowded for us with Blythe living there, too? She does have all those canvases. And I'd be worried about Dexter drinking turpentine.”

“I can explain,” Daniel said and took a gulp of wine.

“Can you? You can explain how it is that Mrs. Lazenby died weeks ago, but I never heard about it? Not from Adam, who I just talked to a couple of days ago. I'm sure Blythe or Martin told him. Not from Sheila, even though she always knows everything about you, and I see her all the time. And definitely not from you. No, I had to hear about it on the fucking street from Martin and Blythe, with Martin relishing every moment of the bomb he was dropping on me. You fucker.”

“They're evicting everyone from Blythe's building to turn it into co-ops—”

“If you and I had moved into the town house, we'd be leaving two empty apartments, either of which could have been sublet to Blythe.”

“She can't afford—”

“And since we'd be living for practically nothing in a building you already own free and clear, I'd have been more than willing to help pay rent on whichever of our apartments Blythe wanted. Even though I've been led to understand that she not only has a rich father, but is actually solvent now that her paintings are selling.”

“It isn't just the money. You know how close Martin and Blythe are.”

“Yeah. So close that you arranged for her to have everything you promised would be ours when it was available. Stop making excuses. You deliberately did all this behind my back because you knew damn well I'd be furious.”

“You're right,” Daniel said. “You were still so pissed about the Maddie Awards that I didn't think we needed more problems.”

“So deceiving me was better for our relationship than having an honest discussion about whether you were ready to live together? God, you've changed. You're such a good liar now.”

“I didn't lie,” he said angrily, which let me know I'd struck a nerve.

“First it was the little straight show you put on with Sheila for your job, and now this. Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm the one who's lying. To myself. About your level of commitment and your ability to have an adult relationship with anyone. Even worse, you've got my friends lying for you.”

“Your
friends? Most of them are
my
friends. You wouldn't even know them if it wasn't for me.”

We were off and running for hours, rehashing every other argument we'd ever had about our friends, our living arrangements, our busy schedules, and our future. By the time I slammed out of his apartment, we both knew we'd said things we shouldn't have, things that couldn't be taken back.

I didn't care what he told our friends. Or
his
friends, as he'd pointed out to me, insisting that my life consisted of little more than my job, my business acquaintances, my gym, and my tendency to live through him. I resolved to keep my mouth shut, especially to Sheila. I was sick of performing the Blaine and Daniel Show for an audience. I'd always tried to have a real relationship with him, not some gay version of
Secret Splendor,
and I had no intention of turning it into a melodrama just because it was over.

“Do you have any idea how much tension you're holding in your jaw?” Gavin asked. “You obviously work out. Do you have a trainer? Because he—or she—could recommend some exercises or body work that would help bring down your stress level.”

“I don't have a trainer,” I said.

“Maybe you should. Where do you live?”

“New York. Manhattan.”

“Oh, God, I miss Manhattan. I know a couple of people I could recommend, if you're interested in working with someone. You should take better care of yourself. What do you do?”

“I'm in advertising.”

“Really? Maybe you've heard of my old boss. Lowell Davenport.”

“Of course. He was a Madison Avenue legend. You worked for him? What did you do?”

“I started as his trainer,” Gavin said. “By the time he died, I guess I was just about everything to him. It was a big scandal that he had AIDS. A lot of his old friends and colleagues abandoned him. You'd think, as gay men, we'd be beyond that after two decades, but advertising's a cutthroat world. No wonder you're so tense.”

Gavin's gaydar was apparently more finely tuned than mine, since he assumed I was gay and I'd had no idea he was.

“I never met Lowell,” I said, “but he was one of the people I studied. He reinvented advertising in the seventies. What kind of person was he?”

“He was a class act. I adored him. I helped him as he deteriorated physically. Cooked for him. Took care of whatever needs he had. He jokingly called me his manservant, but we were really friends, especially at the end. He took care of me, too. His fortune was pretty well depleted, but he left me the money that helped me set up my practice. But I was so tired of people dying. Sometimes you just want to run away, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“My family is here. Outside Baltimore. So I came home. But now that time has passed, I find myself wishing I was back in Manhattan. It's just so expensive to live there.”

“You're really good. I probably seemed to be a million miles away, but it's because for the first time I felt relaxed enough to think about things I've been avoiding.”

“You're going to be sore, in spite of the fact that you're in great shape. You released a lot of tension. Drink twice as much water as you usually do. Add fresh papaya and pineapple to your diet. And do think about working with a trainer.”

“You're hired,” I said, only half joking. Gavin laughed and handed me my robe. “Seriously, give me your card.” I, in turn, took one of my business cards from my wallet when I paid him. “If you fax me your references, and you're genuinely interested in moving back to Manhattan, we can discuss it.”

While Gavin took down his table, I thought it over. If Gavin sent me his references and they checked out, I could offer him a job similar to the one he'd done for Lowell Davenport. It would be helpful to have someone manage my home as efficiently as Violet managed my office. Now that Sheila had moved out of my apartment, I even had an empty room. Although there wasn't much reason for me to stay in Hell's Kitchen after breaking up with Daniel. I wasn't crazy about living in an apartment across the alley from him, where looking out my window meant looking at his garden.

Once Gavin was gone, I stared out at the harbor, feeling restless, though it was nearly midnight. I'd never be able to get to sleep after dredging up my bad memories of Daniel. I decided to get dressed and see if there might be a gay bar or club in the area. Anything was better than moping alone in a strange room.

A
fter pushing my way through the lobby doors, I consciously kept my pace slow and steady. I was in Baltimore, not Manhattan, so there was no reason to rush. I heard a dog barking when I rounded a corner, and I wondered how Rowdy would like living in the Big Apple. I couldn't imagine Frank turning his dog over to one of the dog walkers who stride down the sidewalks clutching a dozen leashes pulling in different directions like a willful balloon bouquet. Rowdy rarely left Frank's side, and I was sure that wouldn't change in Manhattan.

A pair of men, obviously a couple, walked toward me. They weren't holding hands, or walking with their arms around each other, but the close proximity they kept, as well as the affectionate eye contact they maintained as they spoke, indicated that they were a couple. Both men were in their late thirties and were dressed similarly in khakis, sweaters, and light jackets. I imagined the two of them in a Dockers ad in
The Advocate,
with their hands in each other's back pockets and grins on their faces.

When they passed me, I could see how attractive they were. One of the men returned my appraisal with a quick wink. I smiled, and I could see his partner give him a playful jab in the ribs to get his attention back where it belonged. After a few paces, I couldn't help but turn around to look at them. I caught them looking back as well, and they laughed and waved. I waved back.

I remembered taking long walks through Central Park with Daniel when we were still together. We'd buy coffee and donuts to take with us as we meandered through the winding paths in the park. Daniel would point out certain plants and trees to me, explaining their growth habits and blooming periods. I'd listen and nod, but Daniel knew I'd never remember what he told me. To me, horticulture was like quantum physics; I appreciated it, but knew I'd never use it.

We'd have our coffee and donuts on the terrace of Bethesda Fountain. Oftentimes we'd tell each other stories and people-watch, since the terrace was a popular tourist stop. Then we'd follow paths deep into the heart of Central Park, walking hand in hand, oblivious to anyone but each other. When we reached the Reservoir, we'd walk along the running trail, mindful of the joggers while we loped along, talking the whole way, until we'd walked the entire distance around the basin of water. Then we'd go home, to his apartment or mine, it didn't matter, and lie together on the sofa, holding each other until our breathing matched.

As I watched the khaki couple walk away, I felt a stab of jealousy deep within me. I missed being part of a couple. Standing on a sidewalk in the middle of Baltimore at night, I suddenly felt very lonely.

I noticed that I was in front of a bar that had several signs with rainbow strips of buzzing neon underneath, around, or unfurling from the names of domestic beers in the darkly tinted windows. An imposing man with several tattoos, who was dressed in camouflage pants, a black T-shirt that looked a few sizes too small for his muscular build, and heavy black boots, stood to one side of the door. I glanced at him, looking for any sign that indicated a cover, and found none. He said nothing to me, but simply raised his eyebrows once in acknowledgment of my presence. I nodded my head in response and stepped inside.

There were televisions mounted throughout the bar, playing everything from soundless performances of music videos to clips from MGM musicals and
Saturday Night Live
skits, none of which matched the music I heard from the jukebox across the room. Through a doorway to the right, I could see two well-built men, one leaning against a wall with a beer poised phallically on his groin, the other stretching over a pool table, carefully lining up his shot. There must have been several tables in the second room; although he hadn't shot, I could hear the clacking of billiard balls from other directions and the “thunk” of an occasional ball dropping into a pocket.

I walked to the bar. The bartender, a shorter version of Michael Jordan, greeted me with a smile and said, “What can I get you?”

“Sam Adams,” I answered.

“You got it.” He popped the top. “Glass?”

“No, thank you.”

“No, thank
you,”
he said as he put the change I left with the rest of his tips. “You're obviously not from here.”

“People from Baltimore don't tip?”

“Not
that
much. I'd welcome you to Charm City, but I'm sure someone as cute as you has already been welcomed.” That removed all doubts. I was definitely in a gay bar. He went on. “I can at least be the first to welcome you to Shenanigans.”

I stopped midturn and said, “Shenanigans? That name sounds familiar. Are you famous for something?”

“Do you watch soaps?”

“No,” I answered. Which was honest enough; I hadn't watched
Secret Splendor
since Daniel and I broke up.

“Our owner is a big
Days of Our Lives
fan and named this place after a bar they wrote out of their storyline in the eighties. His little homage to days of our lives gone by.”

“Good times,” I said, and heard him laugh as I made my way to a table. At least I could be sure
Secret Splendor
tapes wouldn't be popping up on Shenanigans' TVs, the way they did in a couple of bars in Manhattan.

I decided to put my people-watching skills to better use than nostalgia over Daniel, settling in to check out the bar's patrons. I was reminded of those beer commercials with young, vibrant, beautiful people having fun and laughing. Shenanigans was nothing like that. Everyone I saw struck me as ordinary. Perhaps I was used to Manhattan bars, the majority of which were designed to be featured in magazines as the next hot spot, only to be shut down and renamed a month later. I liked the idea of a bar that stayed around long enough to have a floor that felt a little gritty, lighting dimmed by a few burned-out bulbs, and regulars who knew I wasn't one of them but still gave off no attitude.

I saw a man come out of the poolroom and sit at a table across the room. He saw me squinting at him and raised his glass in my direction. I realized that I'd started an exchange I hadn't intended. He picked up his napkin and wrapped it around his drink, then crossed the room toward me. As he got closer, I thought of how Lillith always said,
There are no accidents.
Maybe I did mean to start an exchange with him. He was attractive, with shaggy blond hair, brown eyes, and a five o'clock shadow.

“Hey,” he said. “May I join you?”

“Have a seat. I'm Blaine.”

“Todd. You come here a lot?” he asked.

“No. I'm in town on business. Do you?”

“No, I'm here for work, too. Where you from?”

“I live in Manhattan, but I'm from the Midwest,” I answered. “How about you?”

“Miami. I work for an import-export company. What do you do?”

“I'm in advertising.”

“How long are you staying?” Todd asked.

This was the part I hated. Until Daniel and I split up, he'd been the only man I'd slept with. After we broke up, I made up for lost time, feeling like I'd spent my twenties in two dead-end relationships. I'd married Sydney because I thought it was the right thing to do. I'd been with Daniel for love. I'd quickly learned that one-night stands were about instant gratification, so I didn't see the point of forced conversations or shared histories.

“Long enough to fuck you,” I answered.

He started toward my side of the table, and I turned on my barstool to face him. He nudged his way between my legs and put his arms around my waist. Without another word, we tilted our heads and pressed our lips together as I put my arms around him, bringing him closer to me.

When I opened my eyes the next morning, it took me a minute to recognize the hotel room and another minute to realize that I wasn't alone, although I couldn't remember his name. I ran through the alphabet until I got to
T.
Todd. That was it.

I did remember the previous night and how removed I felt when Todd gripped the railing on the balcony overlooking the harbor until his knuckles turned white. Physically, it had been exciting to discover a new body, and a rather nice body at that. Something was missing though. Or maybe it just felt wrong because I'd let him spend the night. Sleeping together in the same bed implied an intimacy that I didn't feel.

I rubbed my eyes and decided to take a shower to rid myself of the smell of Todd. I got up without causing him to stir, then looked back at him. I feared that in daylight, I would discover that I'd brought home a monster whose imperfections had been hidden by shadow and the dim lighting of the bar.

The blinds cast vertical lines up and down his firm body. In the slats of light, I could see that my first impression had been right. He was handsome. But I felt a shocking rush of discomfort when I realized something else. He reminded me of Daniel. A rougher and less put-together version of him, but a resemblance nonetheless. Maybe I was looking for similarities, but the end result was the same. I wanted to get him out of my bed and my life and get in the shower to wash away the night before. I almost sprinted toward the bathroom, but something squished between my toes. I looked down and saw a hastily discarded condom.

“Yuck!” I exclaimed, not meaning to say it out loud.

“What?” a sleepy voice asked from the bed.

I turned my back to him as I spoke. “Nothing. I'm just going to hop in the shower.”

Todd didn't respond, and I shut the door to the bathroom and turned on the shower. As the water ran over me, I became conscious of the sore muscles in my back, neck, and legs. Gavin's warning had come true. I felt as if I'd had a brutal workout rather than a soothing massage. I twisted the nozzle to turn the spray to a pounding stream, centering my sorest muscles beneath the water. I felt like I was trying to beat out more than the stiffness.

When the soreness eased, I turned off the shower and got out quickly to towel dry. Hopefully, I would have the day to myself and not feel obligated to spend it with Todd. I wrapped the towel around my waist and stepped out of the bathroom.

My gaze fell on the bed, empty except for a hastily scribbled note lying on top of Todd's pillow. I walked over and picked it up.

Brad.
I rolled my eyes, offended that he couldn't even remember my name. I whipped the towel from my waist, and it fell limply on the back of the oak desk chair.

After I dressed, I did a quick sweep of the room, looking under the bed for any misplaced items or stray socks. I picked up the used condoms from the floor and flushed them down the toilet, then grabbed the garment bag and strode to the elevator.

The lobby bustled with tourists and businessmen rushing to their destinations. A slight man behind the desk smiled at me as I approached.

“Was everything satisfactory, sir?” he asked, quickly typing something into the computer after I gave him my room number.

“The suite was fine,” I said.

“Do you have the Amex that was used to hold the room?”

“Yes,” I said, pulling my wallet from my back pocket. As I opened it, I flushed. The five hundred dollars in cash I'd had was missing. “This is not happening,” I said, clenching my wallet in my fist and trying with all my might not to launch it across the lobby.

“Is the card misplaced, sir?”

I opened my wallet and pulled out the card. “No, it's right here.”

I handed him my Amex and waited while he printed out my bill, silently cursing myself for bringing a stranger into my life and leaving him alone with my wallet. Everything he'd said to me was most likely a lie. Probably even his name.

I decided there was no point in calling the police or trying to get back the money. I'd only embarrass myself in the process. I chalked it up to a five-hundred-dollar lesson and asked the hotel clerk for the name of a car service to take me to the airport. Preferably one that would accept credit cards.

When my plane touched down at LaGuardia, I finally felt at ease and indifferent about Todd, the thieving trick from hell, but I was still bitter about losing five hundred dollars. I felt stupid for carrying that much cash in my wallet. Because of my size, I'd never felt threatened or worried about being attacked on the street. However, realizing that I'd invited a thief into my bed made me think that my mind wasn't as developed as my body.

I shrugged that off and found an ATM machine to get some cash. My cell phone rang while I stood in line outside the airport, waiting for a cab.

“Hello, Mr. Dunhill.”

“Hello, Ms. Medina,” I said to Violet. “I trust you've—”

“Cleared your schedule for today?” she asked. “Yes, I did. You only had one appointment. It was nothing that couldn't wait until Monday, so I went ahead and postponed it.”

“That wasn't what I was going to ask, Violet.”

“Oh. I fed Dexter this morning. Though I needn't have bothered, since he helped himself to a loaf of bread that was on top of the refrigerator.”

“That's his way of telling me to back off of carbohydrates.”

“I saw a dry-cleaning stub on your counter, so I took the liberty of picking that up for you, since it was ready.”

“You didn't have to do that.”

“I know. You owe me fifty dollars.”

“My dry cleaning bill was fifty dollars?”