The Hideaway Inn

by Philip William Stover

  I know we had an argument but why is he completely shutting me out? He can’t be that nervous about the media event. He’s a natural in front of people.

  “I don’t have time to referee with you boys today. Now, I need you to go over these remarks and review the RSVP list.” Anita hands me some notecards and a folder with papers in it.

  “Fine,” I say like a petulant child and go to the dining room to review the material. I push through the kitchen door and I’m struck by how beautiful the place looks. I hadn’t noticed the effect because it had been incremental but in this moment I’m able to see how the place has transformed. When I first arrived I wanted to just gut the place and make it modern rustic but with Anita and Tack whispering in my ear to keep the traditional charm of the place I gave in and I have to admit I’m glad I did. The place is not grand or stunning but it’s comfortable and charming. I can imagine making this place a thriving business with Tack. We finally open up the rooms and maybe expand the owner’s suite so there is more room for Jules when they come to stay and a place for them to hang out with their friends. Life on the river might not be bad at all.

  “Out. Out!” Anita says, rolling through the door. I’ve been so lost in my daydream that I haven’t paid attention to the time. “I’ve spent hours making everything perfect in here. I don’t need you messing it up. Tack’s ready in the kitchen.” I get up to join him.

  “Who’s here?” I ask.

  “A few of the city papers. One of the queer food bloggers we wanted and a small local paper that has a big following.”

  “Great,” I say. “Is Tack ready?”

  “Yes. I want you two to put on your happy faces. He’s all set to do a cooking demo in the kitchen.”

  Tack walks into the dining room looking perfect. I never had a thing for chef aprons before but this summer has changed that. The white fabric clings to him in just the right places and makes his golden skin look even more so next to the crisp cotton.

  “Are we all set?” he asks, making sure his eyes don’t connect with mine.

  “I believe so,” I respond, echoing his flat tone.

  “Let’s get this show started, Mr. Amato. After all, time is money,” Tack says and quickly enters the kitchen.

  Something is going on. This isn’t about a stupid pair of shoes. I want to pull Tack aside but when I follow him into the kitchen, Anita has everyone seated around his open workstation and Tack has started.

  “Thank you all for coming,” Tack says to the small crowd. His voice lacks its usual charm and playful cadence. “Today I’m planning to demo a roasted vegetable frittata using local and organic ingredients.”

  The reporters murmur their approval and this is my cue to talk about the local suppliers.

  “Thanks, Tack. We’ve worked hard at The Hideaway Inn to develop relationships with the community that will benefit everyone. Most of all, our customers, who get delicious food created by our wonderful chef.”

  “Thanks, Vince,” Tack says stiffly and continues. He loosens up during the actual demo since he is in his element. He cracks eggs, chops vegetables and shows off just enough to capture everyone’s attention. The reporters take notes and a few of them take pictures. I’m sure Tack will look as delicious as the food. Before Anita ushers everyone into the dining room for brunch, I ask if anyone has any questions.

  There are a few about the ingredients and then a few about Tack’s culinary background and then the woman from the queer blog raises her hand. “I have a question for Vince.”

  “Go ahead,” I say.

  “There was a rumor earlier in the summer that The Hideaway was being eyed by a real estate developer that wanted to put a chain in this space. Is that true?”

  I give a short laugh to shift the mood. “That was just a rumor. I’m the owner and I can tell you there is no hostile takeover looming.”

  “May I say something, Mr. Amato?” Tack asks. I nod hesitantly. Any joy he may have exhibited during the demonstration has completely evaporated. “I may just be the chef but with the help of Mr. Amato, I’ve learned a thing or two about business recently.”

  For a second I think he is going to publicly thank me for helping him with his Restaurant Operations class but one look at the sharp squint of his blue-gray eyes and I know that’s not what he’s going to say.

  “The thing about a hostile takeover is that it might not be hostile at all. It might seem sweet and kind and say all the right things. It might make you think that you can finally relax. That everything is going to work out. But then...” He grabs a cleaver and takes a random carrot from his prep area and lowers the blade down. “You find out you’ve been on the chopping block all along.” One half of the now severed carrot rolls off the cutting board on to the floor.

  I need to get everyone out of the kitchen and have this out with Tack. “That ends our demonstration, everyone. Please join us in the dining room.” I open the kitchen door and usher everyone through as quickly as possible.

  We’re alone in the kitchen and I lay into him. “What was that? Are you rehearsing a scene from Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? Are you still mad at me from yesterday?” My voice is gentle and reconciliatory, trying to get him to look at me. “Look, I’m sorry. We’re trying to build something together here and we’re not always going to get it right.”

  “Oh, are we? Is that what’s happening? You and me? We are trying to build something? Did you think I would just go along with your whole scheme? The dumb farm boy tricked by the fancy rich real estate tycoon?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He walks over to the desk behind the kitchen demo area and opens a drawer to pull out an envelope. “This was hand delivered for you yesterday. It’s an offer to buy the inn. The woman who delivered thought this place would make, and I quote, ‘a fabulous RiverTyme property.’”

  The look on Tack’s face is so simultaneously sad and angry, I can barely meet his eyes. Why didn’t I return Barry’s calls and tell him I didn’t want to sell? I know he kept leaving messages and I should have told him I wasn’t interested anymore. I should have calculated that FunTyme would be ready to make offers by now and told Barry that The Hideaway is not for sale. More importantly, why didn’t I tell Tack about this when I changed my mind?

  “Let me explain,” I plead.

  “Explain what? I’m not that stupid. I get it. You pump some life into this place and then sell it to the highest bidder. You had no intention of staying around here. You just came here to flip this place. Fuck the local chef while you’re at it. You don’t care about me or this place or this town. You just want to turn a profit. How could you betray me like this? Lead me on?”

  “I haven’t betrayed you. Yes, I was planning to flip the place when I got here but that was in May. Months ago. That was before...”

  I stop.

  I don’t tell him that was before I fell in love with him. Before I started fantasizing about helping him raise Jules? Before I thought about making a family? Before. Before. I feel myself getting lost in a fantasy that maybe never really had any hope of coming true.

  “Months ago? Vince, that’s worse. Was it all just part of putting together an attractive package for FunTyme? Was ‘local chef’ just one of the items on the balance sheet to you?”

  Tack takes the envelope he’s been holding and throws it on the table like it’s toxic waste.

  “I don’t want to sell. I’m not selling the inn,” I say.

  “Are you sure? You haven’t even looked at the offer. Might be exactly the number to change your mind. That’s what matters to you in the end—profit, not people. Vinny was a great kid but Vince turns out to be a real asshole.”

  I don’t say anything. Maybe he’s right.

  “I thought this time would be different with us. I have worked so hard to be with you. To show you who I am now, to share myself and my family with y
ou.”

  “I know that. I’ve loved that. I love that. I love being with you and Jules.”

  “Poor Jules. You were working on this deal all summer? You knew about it during the Fourth of July, when we went tubing, at every visit to the farm.”

  “I knew about it, yes. But Tack—”

  “It’s not even about the deal at this point. The people here will never let a chain move in. I know them. It’s about you, Vince. I can’t trust you.”

  The words hit me like darts dipped in acid. I feel the walls closing in and my options vanishing. I put my hand on the table to steady myself.

  “Tack, please, you can’t mean that. How could you say that?” Everything I was feeling, everything I felt with him was real. He has to know that. He has to have felt that.

  “Well, you do have an envelope with a deal in it in front of you that you’ve told me nothing about.” He throws his open palm out toward the document. I stare at it. Two feet in front of me are both my future and my past. But I can’t seem to wrap my mind around which is which in this moment. If Tack can’t trust me what’s the point in staying here? If he doesn’t believe in us then what we have—or rather, what we had—isn’t real.

  I realize that I screwed up here but regardless the rejection from Tack feels like a muscle memory rising from my core.

  “I can’t go through this again,” I say and put my hand on the envelope.

  “You’re taking the deal?” he asks, spitting out each word like poison. I don’t know what to do exactly.

  “Is that what you want me to do?”

  “Is that what you want to do?”

  It’s not the answer I was hoping for. If Tack wanted me to stay he would have said so. He’s been lashing out with honesty all day. Why would he stop now? I grab the envelope from the table and hold it in my hand, giving him one last chance to stop me from leaving.

  “Go ahead, run away. That’s what you did last time. I should have known that you would do it again. You’re this big tough guy who came back here to teach everyone a lesson about how successful you are now. I got it. Lesson learned. You’re done here.” The passion that was in his eyes just a few days ago has been replaced with a steely glare.

  He’s fucking right and the realization knocks the wind out of me.

  Everything I thought I was doing to protect myself was actually destroying what I tried to build. Tack could never want to be with someone who has deceived him, never mind want Jules to be around someone as insensitive as I’ve been. My insides start to crumble like a cave about to collapse in on itself. How could I have been so stupid, so pigheaded, so wrong about everything?

  I can’t be with Tack a second longer. I turn away from him completely defeated and walk out of the kitchen unable to look back.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Tack

  “There’s nothing to say,” I tell Evie again and wipe the tears from my eyes. “He’s leaving. He was always going to leave.” I’d called to tell her I was going to be late to pick up Jules and she could hear something was wrong in my voice. Evie asked her aunt Rhoda to stay with Jules and then Evie came over and met me in a quiet spot on the bank of the river next to the playhouse.

  “Evie, he never wanted to be here. He didn’t really want to start a life with me. It was just a way to boost his profit. He’s not the Vinny I remember.”

  Evie laughs gently. “And you aren’t the same Tack.”

  “I guess that’s true,” I say and stare out at the muddy water as it rushes past us. “Things were going so well, at least I thought they were. I wanted this to be our second chance. I disappointed him in school, I know that. First I sent him mixed messages and then when I couldn’t take it I just blew him off and married you.”

  “Ouch!” Evie says. She turns away from me and faces the river. I’m a dirty bomb of emotional destruction today.

  “That was a shitty thing to say. It wasn’t like that. You know that. We had great times and I loved you. I still do.”

  “I know,” she says, turning back. “I love you too and I’m grateful that we co-parent so well. I want you to find what I found with Ines.” She puts her hand on my arm. She’s always been so understanding with me.

  “I know Jules needs that. They need to see both their parents in stable relationships.” I want my kid to see that their dad is capable of that.

  “It’s not just for Jules, it’s for you too. We both want you to be happy. Jules came home after tubing with you and Vince and would not stop talking about how much fun they had and how their dad was so happy and what a great time all three of you had together.”

  “I know it was great.” The three of us went tubing down a gentle part of the Delaware on one of the sweltering hot days last week. We tied our tubes together so that no one would float away. I liked floating but I liked feeling connected to two of the most important people in my life even more.

  I look out at the river. The water looks more brown than gray today and the level seems higher than usual. Even when I don’t see it for days or weeks or when it floods or a drought reveals the hidden islands that rise to the surface, the river is always there, no matter what happens or what I do.

  “I love him, Evie. I think I always have.”

  “I know you always have,” she says gently. “Tack, I’d have to have worn a sack on my head to not see the looks you two gave to each other at school every time one of you thought the other wasn’t looking. Maybe neither of you saw them, but I did. You two belong together, you always have. I wish you could both see it.”

  Suddenly it all makes sense. I need to make him see it. I know I can’t sit down and talk with him face to face right now. Everything is too raw. Nothing will come out right. Maybe there is a way I can show him. I look out at the river and see a fallen tree branch sticking up out of the water. The obstacle does little to impede the water; the river always finds a way to flow, to get where it’s going. I know exactly what I can do to make him understand.

  “Evie, thank you.” My head is already racing ahead figuring out the logistics of what I need to do. I’m walking away from her as fast as I can. I have to make it back to The Hideaway before Vince picks up his stuff and leaves for New York.

  “Wait. Where are you going? What are you going to do?” she asks.

  “Something I should have done a long time ago,” I shout back to her as I run up the river walk back to the inn.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  For many years, the Gramercy Park Hotel was my playground. The overstuffed leather chairs and dramatically lit potted palms were a background to a variety of hijinks. Usually when I walk into the lobby I’m met with a certain rush of excitement but today I only compare it to the quirky comfort of The Hideaway and feel a flutter in my heart. I really grew to love that place but it doesn’t matter anymore. I screwed up the whole thing. It’s time to pick up where I left off.

  After I packed my bags at the inn, I waited for a car service to pick me up and take me back to New York. I opened the offer from FunTyme on the way into the city and the number was significantly higher than I could have expected but it doesn’t make me any happier to have to take the deal. I called Barry to arrange a meeting to sign off on the contract immediately. I also told him I’d like to approach FunTyme about a full-time position in their New York office or one of their overseas branches. Anything to get me as far from New Hope as possible. Barry said he would float my name around and see what he could do. No matter how much I may want things to be different, there isn’t anything keeping me in New Hope anymore.

  “Mr. Amato, it’s very good to see you here again.” The concierge comes over to greet me with a smile that shows me he has got more than dinner reservations on his mind.

  “Max, it’s good to see you as well,” I say, surveying the way his perfectly structured cheeks and lips are made even sexier by the slightly sunburnt
edge of his nose.

  “We didn’t see you on Fire Island this summer. People are wondering where you’ve been,” he says, grabbing my bag.

  “Well, I took a little detour this year,” I say, hoping my eyes don’t reveal the fact that I’m lying my ass off. I didn’t take a detour. I took a huge gamble and I lost.

  “I’ll be able to sneak away in about an hour.” He looks from side to side and then comes within a few inches of me. “Would you like some company?” he whispers in my ear.

  Max is a stunning guy, all muscle, and we’ve had some fun in the past. Usually I’d have this guy’s legs in the air before the elevator doors have had a chance to close. He’s my type—a total ten and ready to worship me exactly as I want.

  Sex should be on the agenda; it’s a great mind eraser. In the past I’ve used any number of hard-muscled studs to diminish my stress or make a failed deal seem less important. Hooking up will prove that I never really had true feelings for Tack.

  Max gives me another devilish smile. I should tell him to be at my door in fifty-nine minutes but I don’t. I lie and tell him I can’t tonight because of a conference call. I head upstairs alone.

  I open the door to my suite. Usually the crisp white sheets on the bed, the perfectly framed view of Gramercy Park and the minimal decor make me feel powerful and in control but I don’t get that rush this time. Today it feels cold and empty.

  For a second I think about the fireplace at the inn and the uneven walls that make it clear the place was built in another century. I take a deep breath and push that thought out of my head.

  Barry isn’t in until late tomorrow night so I just crawl up into a ball on the bed and force myself to sleep.

  * * *

  I spend the next day trying to change gears by doing the things I love doing in the city. I go for a run from Gramercy over to Chelsea Piers and all the way down to Lower Manhattan, following the water down and back up on the east side. Usually a long run makes me feel exhilarated but at the end I’m exhausted. I grab a hot dog from Gray’s Papaya and undo all of that work but I can’t help myself from slathering the whole thing in mustard, ketchup and as much sauerkraut as they will let me have. I end up taking only a couple of bites before throwing the rest away. I never thought I’d have a problem that a greasy hot dog couldn’t ameliorate but I’ve completely lost my appetite.