A Kind of Honesty

by Lane Hayes

“I don’t know. You seem a little angry now. I wondered if I struck a bad bi vibe. Like maybe Lance left you at the altar or—”

  “Lance is gay. And at no point were we ever close to talking about commitment. Don’t tell me you’re stereotyping because you think he looks butch. Geesh. You should know better than to assume someone’s sexual orientation based on appearance. You should—”

  I threw my hands in the air in surrender. “Okay, okay! I get it. I’m sorry. I was actually just trying to move the conversation away from me. Not start a fucking war. But I’ve obviously touched a nerve. Who did what to make you so… angry?”

  “I’m not angry.”

  “Don’t brush me off. Tell me.”

  He stared at me for a moment before giving me a ghost of a smile. “My last bi significant other was an actor I met at a bar in Greenwich. He was in town to film a pilot for a television series. We hit it off pretty well. In and out of bed. It was three-and-a-half-month whirlwind affair of great sex that had a clandestine quality I kind of got off on. When filming was over, he packed up and went back to LA. He had auditions and things to do, he said… but he wanted me to come visit as often as possible. The pilot got picked up by a cable network, and even though he was busy, he insisted he wanted to make it work. So we did the long-distance thing for a while. It sucked. But it was very fucking enlightening.”

  “How so?”

  “Long story short, he got famous. The series took off and suddenly he was in demand. He was pretty sure his luck would change fast if his adoring fans found out he had a gay lover, so he asked me to keep things quiet. At least for a little while. I didn’t think twice about it. I guess part of me liked the secrecy at first. We were living this alternate life no one knew about.”

  “Like us.”

  Carter gave me sharp look, but didn’t bother denying it. He shrugged and continued his story. “It turned out he was actually living two separate lives. One with me, the other with his female costar.”

  “Ouch. How’d you find out?”

  “A headline on a celebrity tabloid magazine at the airport. I remember standing in the terminal staring at that stupid headline, thinking it was complete bullshit. It had to be. I wanted to shake my head and walk away from it, but it wouldn’t let me go. I missed my flight. I bought the magazine, read the article, and fuck… the puzzle pieces began to fall into place. The hushed phone calls, secret meetings, and nervous glances over his shoulder in public. The only time he’d really been free was before he became famous.”

  “Did you confront him?”

  “Yes.” Carter stood again and bent to gather my empty bowl. “I don’t know why. I agreed to the secrecy. I didn’t have the right to change the rules because I hoped we could be something more, but I hated being played for a fool. I’m not going through that again.”

  I watched him move into the kitchen. He stacked bowls in the sink and ran water over them. Then he washed his hands and dried them. Twice. When he finally returned to the sofa, he exacted the same casual pose he had earlier, as though he didn’t have a care in the world. This time, I caught a trace sense of anguish in his deliberate motion. I studied him for clues, but there was an enigmatic quality about him now. An invisible gate was closing, and I was about to miss my chance if I didn’t pounce.

  “You said he was famous. Who is he?”

  He plucked at an imaginary piece of lint on his shiny leather pants and shifted slightly on the cushion uncomfortably. “Jonathan Mann.”

  “Whoa! Seriously?” I bolted upright. My eyes were wide with disbelief. Jonathan Mann wasn’t a B-grade television actor. He was hugely popular. I’d heard him referred to as the next George Clooney. He was tall, dark, handsome, with a wicked sense of comic timing and the right amount of street cred that made him fantasy material for both sexes.

  “Yeah. Whatever. It’s the past. It was over three years ago. The only person who knows is Zeke. Don’t… say anything.”

  “Did he ask you not to?”

  He snorted derisively and rolled his eyes. “He offered to pay me off, actually. I thought it was funny initially, but I realized he had no idea I could buy and sell him a few thousand times over. I liked thinking I’d kept my identity hidden. It made me feel less… dirty.”

  “Were you James for him too?” I glared at him. It was hard to fathom that would be the single detail that bothered me in his story.

  Carter’s bewildered look told me he was equally mystified. “No. I just didn’t go into my family history. First of all, it’s boring. And secondly, it tends to scare guys away. Or make them extra clingy.”

  “Then why tell me?”

  “Because my best friend is married to your stylist, who has also become a good friend of mine, idiot.”

  “Hmm. Didn’t that actor get divorced recently?”

  “I don’t pay attention to Hollywood news. I’m not interested in knowing anything about Jonathan. Or any of my other mistakes. I have a reputation for having extraordinarily crappy taste in men. Needless to say, I have serious trust issues.”

  We let the silence stretch. It covered us like a blanket that alternately felt deliciously warm, then stiflingly hot. When the moment threatened to become uncomfortable, I kicked his leg playfully again and smiled.

  “Believe it or not, I know how you feel. You can trust me.”

  Carter grinned. It was a slight upturn of one corner of his mouth, but it quickly morphed into something gloriously radiant. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to.

  “You know, if you weren’t diseased and contagious, I’d stick my tongue down your throat right now.”

  “Gee, I’m flattered.”

  “You should be,” he replied flippantly as he scooted closer. “I’ll know if you can really be trusted after a game of gin rummy. Where are your playing cards?”

  “Uh… gin rummy?”

  “If you don’t know how to play I’ll teach you. What do you say?”

  “I know how to play gin rummy, asshole. If this is how you entertain the go-go boys you pick up from clubs, it’s no wonder you’re going through a drought,” I snarked.

  Carter chuckled, then leaned in to press a light kiss on my forehead before standing. “You may be right.”

  “Are we friends now too?”

  “We were always friends.”

  “What’s different, then?”

  “I’m not sure. We’ve ruined all pretense of anonymity. You know I’m a friendly loner with trust issues, and I know what you look like with a red nose and droopy eyes. And we both know we’re not going to try to trick each other into an unwanted relationship. Neither of us needs the headache. We don’t have to figure it out right away. Let’s just play cards and relax.”

  “Can you relax in those pants? They’re sexy as fuck, but they’re more suited to gettin’ some action than hangin’ out. I probably have something close to your size if you want to borrow a pair of sweats and a T-shirt.”

  Carter grinned. “That would be cool.”

  We spent the rest of the evening sitting cross-legged facing each other on my sofa, playing gin rummy. I lost track of how many times I’d lost after the fourth hand. I wasn’t overly competitive when it came to board games or card games. I rarely played, so I assumed it was a safe bet I was at a disadvantage. Besides, I was more entertained by Carter than I was concerned about winning. He was childlike and silly. And dressed in a pair of my old sweats that were a couple inches too short for him and a T-shirt that was a touch snug, he looked the part. His hair fell into his eyes as he snickered gleefully at his umpteenth win of the night. It was almost hard to picture him in the sexy leather pants he arrived in or one of his usual expensive designer suits. I reached for a tissue, thinking I hadn’t missed out on any eye candy tonight after all.

  “I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t suggest strip poker. I would have been buck naked an hour ago.”

  Carter nodded in a matter-of-fact manner at my astute observation. “I took pity on your sickly state. H
ow are you feeling?”

  “Better.”

  He smiled sweetly and glanced at his watch. “I’m glad. Take another dose of medicine in thirty minutes.”

  “Why do you care if I take more medicine? Are we playing doctor and you forgot to tell me?” I asked crankily.

  “Ooh. Damn, I should have thought of that. No, I get the feeling you won’t take it unless you’re reminded twenty times.”

  “I hate taking medicine,” I grumbled. “It makes me feel loopy.”

  “What kind of a rock star are you? You’re supposed to love sex, drugs, and alcohol. I haven’t known you long, but you seem to only really like one out of three,” Carter commented idly as he shuffled the cards.

  “You’re right. I’m a sucky rock star. I rarely have more than one drink when I go out for dinner or even at a bar. Two at a party. Anything more usually leads to trouble. And I never take drugs. Even cold medicine makes me nervous.” I winked and gave him a lecherous grin that no doubt looked far from provocative in my current condition. “But I love sex.”

  Carter smiled. “I feel the same way. Though I don’t usually count my cocktails at parties. I just know when it’s time to slow down or stop. I’m not into recreational drugs, but if I happen to catch your cold, I won’t hesitate to load up on something to knock me out ’til it’s over.” He cocked his head thoughtfully. “What’s your aversion to cold medicine?”

  “I hate feeling like I’m walking through fog. I’ve always been that way. Any decent psychologist would pinpoint my aversion to growing up with an alcoholic father, an enabling mother, and an addict sister. One of us had to be clearheaded.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s old news. I’m just… wary of repeating family history. My number-one goal in life is to never be like my dad.” I blew my nose and tried to think of a segue to lighten my heated speech. “Plus every hangover I’ve ever had is usually tied to a morning I wake up regretting something.”

  “When was the last time you were hung over?”

  “Benny’s party. Technically, that was your fault.”

  “My fault? How?”

  “You threw me off my game. Seeing you again was strange. Out of context. It was cool too. Kind of exciting in a covert, James Bond way. We were the only two who knew an amazing secret. But… then you were with that incredibly hot guy and I couldn’t stop spinning. I wished I could transport us back to LA and ask the right questions. But more than anything I—I wished things were simpler.” I sighed and stared into space for a moment, wondering if I’d had too much cold medicine tonight. I wasn’t normally an excessive sharer. I had to throw this conversation into neutral before I embarrassed both of us.

  “The time before that I woke up next to an international supermodel. In less than two months I went from thinking I was a lucky bastard to realizing I had to get the fuck away from the crazy lady. It took me another seven months to actually do it.” I huffed derisively and shook my head. “Now she’s claiming an immaculate conception with me as her baby daddy. Fuck, if that isn’t enough to keep me away from drugs and alcohol, I don’t know what is.”

  “Why would she lie?” My eyes snapped open at Carter’s irate tone. “Do you think she really is pregnant? Didn’t you use a condom? What the hell is the matter with you?”

  “Whoa! Chill out. She’s lying, Cart. I’m not about to become a dad.”

  He let out a rush of air as he stood and moved toward the kitchen. He looked upset now. More upset than my news flash warranted. I pushed the blanket away and gingerly crossed the room. I leaned against the island, watching him rinse our bowls and spoons, then wipe down the counter again. He was wearing my clothes, cleaning my kitchen, and steaming now over the possibility I was being duped by my ex. Or was he pissed that I’d told him about it in the first place? Either way this was odd. I wasn’t cruising on all cylinders yet. Guessing would be useless.

  “Why are you angry?”

  “I’m not. You should go to bed. I’ll just put this stuff away and—”

  “Hey, stop. You don’t have to clean. I can deal with it later. Tell me what I said.”

  “I don’t know, but you’re right. I’m angry. I don’t know if it’s because she sounds like a lunatic or if it’s because your ex is a woman and my biphobia is showing.” He dried his hands on the small, striped kitchen towel ruthlessly, then set it aside before giving me a tight smile. “I should leave. Take your medicine before you go to bed and—”

  “Don’t go.”

  We stared at each other for a long moment.

  “Hey… I’m flattered you’re angry on my behalf. I can’t figure out her angle, but I suppose she’s after publicity. It will die down because it isn’t true.” I inched closer to him until we stood a foot apart. “But I can’t undo the time I wasted with her, and I can’t pretend she was a he. I’m bi. Is that going to be a problem?” When he scoffed and stepped aside, I moved in and set my hand on his. “Be honest.”

  “All right. I wish you were gay. Every bisexual man I’ve been with has had a high-profile hetero side. You’re no different.”

  “Then why are you here? Or maybe the better question is, why did you stay?”

  I watched his Adam’s apple slide in his throat, then cocked my head and awaited his reply.

  “This is about sex.”

  “Right. Except we aren’t having sex tonight, so….”

  Carter sighed. “I like you, Tim. Against my better judgment, you’re my type. You’re a funny twist of a good boy gone bad. The preppy sweater and conservative haircut go well with the ink. And the sex is amazing. I guess I wish things were simpler too. But don’t worry. I know the score. I’m not going to try to change the rules.”

  “Kinky sex no one knows about. Those rules?” I asked, inching a little closer. “We haven’t done anything wild or kinky yet.”

  “We’ll get there.” Carter’s tone was low and sensual.

  “If I didn’t have a cold right now, I’d kiss you. And it wouldn’t just be because I want to get in your pants. It would be because I like you too.” I licked my chapped lips and continued. “As far as being bi is concerned… I yam what I yam. Don’t let it scare you away. For now, I have to concentrate on getting my balance back. It’s been a weird year. I’m not ready for anything more than this. And honestly… I don’t know what we’re doing. I only know I like it.”

  “Me too.” Carter cupped my chin and kissed my forehead sweetly before handing me a tissue and stepping aside. “When you’re feeling better, I’m taking you to my yoga class.”

  “Uh….”

  “You’ll be good to go in a couple days. Let’s plan on Saturday morning. My baseball team has a bye this weekend, so I’m free all morning. Mind if I borrow these? I’d rather not go to the trouble of squeezing back into my leather pants for the ride home.” I nodded absently, though I wasn’t sure he was paying attention now as he moved around the island and handed me the cold medicine. “Take one before bed. I’ll check in with you in the morning to make sure you’re on the mend. Call me if you need anything.”

  “Anything?”

  “Anything rated PG,” he amended with a winning smile.

  “Okay, but I’m not going to yoga.”

  “Yes, you are,” he replied decisively.

  “Hang on. I don’t know how to do it. Or what to wear or if the other kids will like me.”

  Carter chuckled at my pained expression. “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back. See you Saturday.”

  5

  My bandmates insisted I stay away from the studio for another couple days, which left me with too much time on my hands. I practiced on my own and even attempted to heed Rand’s advice and do a little writing too. But it was slow going and frustrating. Nothing sounded right. Maybe my lack of synchrony with my life was to blame. I didn’t feel this way when I was working with my friends. On my own, the music and words wouldn’t flow. I sat for hours at the baby grand piano in my music room and stared at th
e keys. Initially, I wondered if I’d remember how to play. It had been a long time since I’d used my fingers instead of sticks to play a tune.

  I started with “Chopsticks” and ran through “Mary Had a Little Lamb” a few dozen times until I made myself move on to a Chopin adagio I used to know by heart. Nocturne, opus 9, no. 2. It was painstaking and no doubt would have made anyone with a good ear wince, but it consumed me. Underneath the twang of skipped notes and clumsy movement, I could hear a glimmer of a familiar melody I once knew well. I spent hours playing the same haunting piece until my fingers ached and my ass felt numb from sitting so long. The exercise sparked something inside me that I couldn’t quite name. It took my mind from my troubles and forced me to remain in the moment.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t keep me from checking my cell for missed calls or texts from Carter. Nor did it stop me from incessantly thinking about him and wishing the weekend would fucking get here already. I couldn’t wait to see him again.

  By Saturday I was feeling more like myself. I glanced at my reflection in the glass outside Mind + Body Yoga Studio in Greenwich Village and sighed. Maybe not. I looked down at my black shorts and plain white T-shirt. My ensemble said dork loud and clear. I should have suggested we meet for coffee or something equally tame. Hiding at a corner table at Grinds seemed like a better idea than making a complete fool of myself at a yoga class.

  “Hey! You beat me here. Come on. I’ll have Greg sign you in. He’s the instructor for the beginner cla—”

  “I changed my mind. Text me when you’re done. You can meet me at that coffee shop on Bedford or—”

  Carter grabbed my arm before I slipped away. “You’re not going anywhere. This is good for you. You’ll like it.”

  “How do you know?”

  He cocked his head and studied me for a moment. “I don’t. But it won’t hurt to try it. If nothing else, you’ll get some exercise.”

  “Hmm.” I pretended to mull over his words while I shamelessly checked him out. He was dressed in black workout leggings and a blue T-shirt that made his eyes pop. I looked like a schlep, but he looked freaking gorgeous.