Open Seating (6 page)

“Of course I do, but why is this tucked away under the stairs like a dirty secret?” Bryce whispered.

Leaning in, Seth explained in a low voice. “Dodi’s father used to own Harrods and erected the memorial to honor the couple. There’s a bronze statue of them dancing on another floor. Perhaps he wanted this one close to the Egyptian memorabilia because he was from that country originally.”

“I read somewhere that he didn’t buy into the accident theory, convinced there was a sinister plot to off the couple.”

“That’s true,” Seth replied. “Mr. Fayed was positive the Duke of Edinburgh had something to do with it. The very notion that the mother of the future king of England was involved with a foreigner, especially one of color, didn’t sit well with a lot of people. Unfortunately, blue bloods have a long history of resorting to violence to get their way.”

“Ya think?” Bryce commented ruefully. “Nothing was ever proven, though.”

“No,” Seth agreed, “but this is a case where rumors had lasting damage. The royal family stopped patronizing the store and had all the Royal warrants stripped.”

“It doesn’t seem to have hurt his business.”

“He sold the store for billions a few years ago to the Qatari royal family, purportedly the store’s best customers. Part of the deal was keeping the memorials, which continue to draw crowds,” Seth said.

“Diana’s ginger boy is hot as hell,” Bryce said. “You think we’ll bump into Prince Harry anywhere?”

Seth gave him a withering look. “I doubt it.”

“Too bad.”

“Perhaps we’ll see some other rich and famous person. Daniel Craig lives in London.”

“Who?”

Seth rolled his eyes. “The guy who played James Bond in
Skyfall
.”

“Too old.”

“What if we run into Hugh Bonneville or Brendan Coyle? Would you ignore them because they’re
too old
?”

“Of course not,” Bryce said. “I told you I was a big fan of
Downton
.”

“Your hang-up with age is quite selective,” Seth teased.

“I don’t plan on hooking up with either of those two,” Bryce said. “But I wouldn’t mind shaking their hands.”

“It would definitely be exciting,” Seth admitted. “I’m a big fan of Brits in general. Why do you think I picked this tour? Mark was more interested in exploring Italy and Spain, but I persuaded him to see things my way.”

Bryce snorted. “Not surprised. He spoiled you rotten.”

“Did not,” Seth protested.

“Don’t bother denying it,” Bryce said. “It was my ear he bent whenever you came up with one of your outlandish requests. The guy was crazy in love with you and would have moved mountains if you asked.”

“Did he ever complain about me?” Seth asked, biting his lip. Guilt swamped him upon hearing Bryce’s comment. Had his selfishness caused Mark undue stress that might have led to his disease? Nobody really knew how one contracted ALS, and online searches had come up with nothing definitive. Did worry tip the scales? If Seth had worked a normal eight-to-five job and pulled his weight in many things, would that have made a difference?

Bryce’s gaze turned sympathetic. “Not seriously.”

“So he
did
bitch?”

“Seth, he grumbled about you in the same way we Chicagoans gripe about the weather. It meant nothing.”

“I was a lousy housekeeper,” Seth admitted. “Was it that?”

“Come on, dude. Don’t put me on the spot.” Bryce looked uncomfortable.

“What does it matter—he’s dead.”

“Which makes it worse,” Bryce said. “He’s not around to defend himself.”

“So now he needs defending?” Seth bristled. “What on earth did he tell you?”

Bryce spun around and headed toward the staircase. Seth stopped him with a tug on his jacket. “Don’t you dare walk away from me!”

Seth let go of the jacket as soon as Bryce turned back and glowered.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Bryce said heatedly. “Mark was my friend, and I’m here to do him a favor, not betray him.”

“But if you have nothing bad to say—”

“I’ll decide what I share,” Bryce snapped, stopping Seth in midsentence. “If I’m walking away from you, it’s ’cause this conversation is over.”

Taken aback by the vehemence in Bryce’s tone, Seth backed down immediately. “I’m sorry.”

Bryce rudely waved his apology away. “Why don’t we separate so we can explore the store on our own? We’ve been glued to each other like conjoined twins since we left Chi-town, and I feel like I’m choking. Let’s meet back here in about an hour and a half and we can grab a bite.”

Seth was speechless, concerned that Bryce was already feeling trapped when they’d only just begun their trip. God, what would he be like in a week? It was no wonder the man was single.

Impatiently, Bryce asked, “Is that okay with you or not?”

“Sure,” Seth said quickly. “No problem.”

He watched as Bryce took the stairs two at a time and disappeared into the crowd. Turning back to the memorial, Seth opened the guest book to sign his name and realized everything was blurry. He blinked back the tears, furious at himself for being so damn sensitive. When was he going to grow a tougher hide? Mark had told him for years he needed to stop taking everything so personally.

A cutting remark from a publisher, editor, reader, or, God forbid, another writer, transformed him into an emotional wreck, drowning in snot and tissues one minute and then screaming invectives at his computer screen the next. Bad reviews plunged him into the depths of hell, and he’d retire to his bed, comforted by bags of Cheetos and reruns of chick flicks. He’d emerge, days later, looking and smelling like a homeless bum. Eventually, Mark put his foot down and insisted on reading everything first. Seth was only allowed to look at review sites when he was given the okay, and he no longer attended conferences unless Mark had enough vacation days to accompany him. Seth knew it was childish and he could have refused, but part of him was flattered that his partner loved him enough to protect him from his own demons.

Now he wondered if Mark’s body had been some kind of sponge, absorbing all the bad juju that should have rightfully gone to Seth. Many cultures in Western Asia and the Mediterranean believed in the evil eye, a malevolent glare that brought misfortune to the receiver. They wore tiny blue pendants in the shape of an eye to ward off the bad wishes and envious thoughts. In theory, the incongruous blue stone acted like a bulletproof vest, shielding the wearer from malignant vibes floating around in the ether as one became more and more successful. Perhaps if Seth had been capable of handling the normal wear and tear on his psyche the way many other writers did, he wouldn’t be in such a pickle—traveling through the UK on the arm of a reluctant companion.

Was that what Mark complained about? His clinginess and childish need for attention? Bryce had been so quick to defend Mark, Seth had to wonder what horrible things he’d shared about their marriage. Seth had been positive there were no secrets between him and his late partner, but the suicide had proven that there were layers to Mark he hadn’t uncovered. What other surprises would he have to deal with going forward?

Determined to be more resourceful and not impose on Bryce any more than he already had, Seth wiped away his tears, signed the book, and began to explore the magnificent shoppers’ paradise. After walking through different departments, he ended up purchasing a few trinkets: a key chain with the Harrods logo, two refrigerator magnets—a corgi and a red telephone booth—a small tin of Scottish shortbread, a bag of English toffee, and a decadent cashmere scarf from Tom Ford’s boutique. Seth realized there was no way he’d be able to cover everything in one afternoon. This was the type of store that would take an entire day or more, but a slice of Harrods was better than nothing. At least he could check one item off his bucket list.

He took the elevator down to the basement level, where he and Bryce had agreed to meet. After inquiring, he was told there was a small café toward the back. Passing through the doors, he scanned the area but didn’t see Bryce. Checking his wristwatch to make sure of the time, he saw that he was a few minutes early and decided to use the restroom first. The bug that had wreaked such havoc earlier seemed to have moved out of his system, thankfully. He rinsed his hands after doing his business, grabbed his two shopping bags, and stepped outside.

Bryce hadn’t appeared yet so Seth requested a table for two. He put his shopping bags on the floor beside his chair and picked up the menu to see if there was anything bland enough to stick to his finicky innards. When the waiter reappeared, he asked for a glass of fizzy mineral water, a bowl of potato and leek soup, and some oyster crackers. They seemed like a safe choice. Once that was out of the way, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped on the Facebook app to see what was happening in his writing world.

He was so engrossed that he’d tuned out the commotion until Bryce shouted a warning.

“Put ’em down!”

“What’s going on?” Seth asked, looking up from his phone. His two shopping bags were yanked out of a stranger’s hands and dumped back down at his feet.

There was a small crowd of people gathered around, watching as Bryce held the guy down in a headlock. He was a pierced and tatted-up bad boy with a faux Mohawk the color of blood oranges. It made him look like a clown, which was nowhere close to the street warrior he was aiming for. He was struggling to get away, but Bryce didn’t move an inch.

“Let go of me, you bloody wanker.”

“Somebody get the cops,” Bryce said calmly.

“There’s no need for that,” the thief said. “The bags are back where they belong.”

“You’d have been out the door if I hadn’t stopped you.”

“It’s your word against mine.”

“The security camera will tell the whole story,” Bryce said grimly.

The young man looked up, spotted the camera, and stopped struggling. There didn’t seem to be any point. Store security came and took down Bryce’s information, leaving with the guy in handcuffs.

Bryce sat down, reached across the table to grab Seth’s glass of mineral water, and took several gulps. “Fighting makes me thirsty.”

Seth’s eyes widened. “I’ll bet it does.”

“You’d better wise up, Seth.”

“What did I do?”

Bryce leaned forward. “You’re clueless! Sitting here playing on the Internet and ignoring your surroundings. You’re a prime target for anyone who needs cash. If you didn’t have your man purse slung across your chest, it would have been long gone with your valuables in it.”

“Well, I have it strapped against me like they warned in the tour books.”

“Didn’t they also mention that London is notorious for pickpockets? That includes shopping bags and anything else they can get their grimy hands on. I’m surprised you didn’t know that since you are so well versed on anything Brit.”

“You don’t have to be such a dick about it,” Seth said. “I made a mistake. Now drop it.”

Bryce gave him a dirty look, then scrubbed his face with both hands. Seth could hear the raspy sound of his five-o’clock shadow scraping against his palms. When he got done, he picked up Seth’s glass again and drained it.

“You’re going to kill me if you keep this up.”

“Don’t say that,” Seth begged. “I’ve already lost one partner.”

Bryce’s face mirrored his surprise. “What in fuck are you talking about?”

“Never mind,” Seth said. “Do you want something to eat?”

“I could eat a horse.”

“They probably don’t have that on the menu,” Seth replied dryly.

“Very funny,” Bryce replied. “I’ll settle for a double cheeseburger and a mountain of fries.”

Which is what he ended up having. Seth watched as Bryce wolfed down his food. He was done in less than ten minutes, washing it down with a second bottle of mineral water and topping it off with a plate of warm bread pudding drizzled with creamy custard sauce. Afterward he seemed much happier.

Wiping his mouth, Bryce remarked, “I wasn’t expecting the food to be this good.”

“Why not?” Seth asked.

“Someone told me English food sucks.”

“Everyone is entitled to an opinion, but it’s always best to form your own. I’m certain there are good and bad restaurants in England like anywhere else in the world.”

“I guess. How’s your stomach?”

“I’m much better.”

“Mark’s pill helped.”

“Yes.”

“You sound pissed.”

“Do I?”

“Sorry if I overreacted earlier,” Bryce said. “If I hadn’t shown up in time, you would have lost your shit.”

“I understand.”

“Then ditch the frown, will you? It makes you look old.”

Seth rewarded Bryce with a wide fake smile. “Mustn’t have that.”

“Come on, dude, stop being such a prick. You should be thanking me for watching your back instead of acting like a diva.”

“I would if you’d quit lecturing me.”

“Let’s call a truce, okay? You shore up those street smarts, and I’ll stop treating you like you’re twelve.”

“Deal.”

BRYCE COULD
tell that Seth was still smarting from his remarks, but he wasn’t going to apologize a second time. One of Mark’s main complaints—which Bryce refused to divulge—was that Seth was inattentive and spacey, but not in an egotistical I-am-the-greatest-don’t-fuck-with-me kind of way. His failing, if one chose to call it that, was more subtle. Seth was almost always caught up in his head, plotting scenarios, observing strangers for future reference, dealing with imaginary heroes and villains, choosing the perfect cover, and tying up all the loose ends that were so much a part of his writing world. Very often, he forgot the flesh and blood partner whose needs were just as important, if not more, than Seth’s current work in progress.

When asked if he felt neglected, Mark had assured Bryce he was okay with this side of Seth’s personality, but once in a while, Bryce got a glimpse of a relationship that seemed rather one-sided from where he was standing. According to Mark, forgotten bills and mundane errands were a given, home-cooked meals a thing of the past, dusty furniture and piles of laundry par for the course. Mark’s biggest pet peeve was coming home to a kitchen that looked exactly like he’d left it after breakfast. Would it have killed Seth to step away from the computer for thirty minutes to wipe the counters and run the dishwasher? Mark never doubted Seth’s love, but he’d wished many times that his partner were as anal about housework as he was about his writing. After all, Mark worked full-time, whereas Seth was his own boss. No one would dock his pay if he decided to take a little time each day for some things that would make Mark’s life easier. He used to, back in the day, before he got on bestseller lists and had deadlines and commitments.