by Avery Aster
“I don’t understand.”
“Taddy spends about two hours a week hiding her sex toys from her butler. What am I going to do with my bong? No time for bullshit.” Vive paused and the phone line crackled again. “Damn. Lex is calling in again.”
“Do not tell her what I said, please. Just pretend we never talked.”
“I won’t. I better take this. It’s not like her to keeping calling.”
“One day of bed-rest has probably made her crazy. That girl can’t sit still for more than a second.”
“True, Miss Easton needs to learn the art of leisure.” She laughed. “Give Miguel a big wet kiss for me.”
“I will. Tell Lex I’ll see her tomorrow when we pick up M2 for babysitting.”
“Will do. Bye, gorgeous.” Vive clicked over.
When he turned the corner, a large sign read, “If It’s Goya It’s Good.” Inside, he purchased veggies, fruit, and various meat selections. He included Formula 409 to wipe down the kitchen, Clorox to disinfect the bathroom, along with a mop and scrubbing sponges. Also, faux silk curtains in gunmetal gray, which he hoped might add some sophistication, and matching new bed sheets. They weren’t to his liking, but it wasn’t as if there was a Barney’s nearby. He also picked up some potted houseplants and tipped the bagger at the store twenty bucks to help him bring the items home and walk them up the stairs.
“Blake, mira acá. You’ve gotta be joking.” Miguel shook his head.
“You didn’t expect me to carry nine bags up those stairs by myself did you?”
“No, but I didn’t ask you to buy the kitchen sink.”
“You needed it.” He placed the clear plastic bags on the counter and felt Miguel’s stare upon him. This was simply the beginning. His shopaholic talents forecasted new pillows, a shower curtain, and contact paper for the drawers on the near horizon. But he didn’t want to insinuate a complete home makeover, not on the first day. “Wait ’til your washer and dryer arrive tomorrow,” he muttered in a low voice.
“¿Qué?” Miguel wasn’t having his generosity.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t buy me shit I don’t ask for. I have my own money, understand?”
“I couldn't help myself. I went to this bodega store.” He held up the VIP card the cashier gave him. “You know they have everything under the sun there. I could’ve kept goin’ and bought rugs.”
“Blake.” His irritation over the shopping was palpable.
“Understood.” WTF? He scratched his head realizing he didn’t get a haircut at the spa.
He found a pot under the kitchen sink. Blake prepared a New England boiled feast with corned beef, cabbage, potatoes, white turnip, rutabaga, carrot, onion, and parsnip. A conventional dish, it was devoured on many occasions in the Morgan household.
One hour passed.
An apprehensive bite confirmed no zest or zing. Edible? Yes. But not by much. With caution, he studied Brutus under his feet and made a mental note to give the dog the scraps. There’d be oodles.
He wondered if Miguel, raised by Mexican parents, ever ate anything as insipid as corned beef. What was he thinking? The overcooked dish featured carrots, which in theory glowed orange, but instead gave off a lucid hue.
Miguel cleared his plate. Going for a second helping and obviously grateful for the effort put into the dinner, he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he appeared happy just to have Blake around.
“What’s for dessert?” He placed his empty dish in the sink.
A cake or pie would have been nice, but he didn’t think far ahead. “I’m your sweet treat tonight.”
An unexpected frisson of arousal ran through him. He hoped Miguel was kidding earlier at the spa when he demanded they sleep next to one another without having sex on the first night. He wanted them to kiss again. God, he was the best kiss ever. It felt safe being in his arms. But deep down inside, he knew he couldn’t do this for too long. Diego would stir up trouble again. His ex-husband always did.
Upper East Side
Over on Park Avenue, Lex was still chained to the bed, Massimo cuddled against her captive body. Earlier, her fiancé had fed their son and played with him for a few hours while she slept. Then he’d put M2 in the nursery.
On the Nanny Cam’s monitor which sat on the nightstand, she could see her baby. He was on his back staring up at the Fisher-Price mobile of animals. The elephant, lion, and horse danced around and around in circles. Often, M2 kicked his legs in a twitch, right before he zonked out. Any minute he would be asleep until sunrise. She was also able to get some rest. After seeing that letter, she didn’t think she’d be able to nap. But her body kind of gave out the minute she’d put her head on the pillow.
“Birdie should be here by now. What’s taking her so long?”
Her mother had texted Massimo that the flower arrangement design took longer than expected. Thor had to draw up an entirely new concept, something he called the Juliet Rose. A rare and special flower, he declared the arrangements would secure her position in New York society as a trailblazer.
Vive had told Massimo, after his third attempt to reach her from Lex’s phone, that she was preoccupied with other plans. What the hell did that mean? She didn’t know what her friend was up to, but she should’ve come over when asked. She needed to talk to Vive in person about Taddy. But her talk would have to wait until tomorrow.
“You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?” she asked Massimo whose large brown eyes were starting to flutter shut. He’d better not fall asleep.
“No, bella. I’m worried for you. I want you to think about how you are going to approach Birdie. Do not go off on her. I don’t want her to be a mess.”
“I’m fine, Masi.”
“Ha.” Her fiancé didn’t appear to buy it. “Tomorrow, you shall spend the day in bed again.” He brought his body over hers and kissed her gently on the forehead, then the right cheek and the left.
“Dr. Cedar said twenty-four hours.”
“I’m the doctor of you. And I say one more day in bed.”
“You’re being ridiculous.” She loved him for it, but enough was enough already. “Jemma will be here soon with more dress options. I have the Poppy White TV Show taping in the morning. I can’t miss it.” She ran her schedule in her head. The hours were closing in on her.
“Don’t overreact, bella.”
“All I’m going to do is ask my mother about the papers. They could be made up or from a tabloid story.”
“Is that what you’re thinking?” His forehead furrowed slightly. “That they are fake?”
“They can’t be real. As drunk and high as my mom was during my childhood, I can’t imagine her keeping this quiet.”
“Hasn’t your father had many women come forward claiming that he fathered their children?”
“Yes.”
“How many?” His brows shot up higher.
“I don’t know. Half a dozen or so. None of them panned out.”
“Right, so why do you think your mom kept this from you, if it wasn’t real?” Massimo stroked her hair, trying to reason with her.
“Like you said, I think this has to do with Taddy.”
There was a noise at the foyer. “Guys, I’m back.”
“We’re in here!” Massimo shouted. He sat up on the bed.
“Lex, honey, the flowers are—” Eyes wide, Birdie froze at the entrance to the bedroom.
“Come in, Mom.”
“Am I interrupting something?” Her forehead wrinkled as she focused in on the handcuffs. “I’ll come back later.”
“Mom, no. Massimo was just going to uncuff me. Weren’t you, Masi?” Lex was so close to punching him, but her hands were tied.
“Sì.” He pulled the key from his front pocket and unlocked her arms. “Bella, why don’t you tell your mother what’s going on.”
“Tell me what?” Birdie held on to the shoulder strap of her purse, clearly uncertain what to make of this.
She grabbed the paper from
the nightstand and handed it to her. “Here.”
From the look in Birdie’s eyes, Lex realized she’d read the paper before. A paleness, one she’d never seen on her mother’s face, except when she’d overdosed, washed over her.
“Well?” She needed to know and couldn’t wait another second.
“Where did you get this from?”
“It was in one of the boxes.”
Her mother raised her hands in the air as if asking for a minute. She took the chair next to the bed, folded her arms, and mumbled something. Lex realized she was having one of her conversations in her head with her father.
“Mom, stop it. Tell me.”
“Tabitha, that poor girl…” Her voice became shaky as she came over to the bed. She held Lex’s hand.
Birdie’s eyes were wet with tears and wide with sadness. Lex knew she was about to say something she might not want to hear.
“Taddy might be your father’s daughter.”
“Can our week get any crazier?” She sunk her head in Massimo’s chest. How was she going to tell Taddy the news?
Pillow Talk
Lower East Side
Taking Miguel’s cock in his mouth was all Blake could think about. This was such an unexpected distraction from all the negative shit going on in his life over the past few months. His own dick grew hard over the idea of jacking off in his friend’s presence. Earlier memories—Miguel playing with his ass, fingering him, rimming him—consumed his every thought. The Seven Desires danced in his head on repeat.
The day’s butt play had sparked a deeper hunger in him, one he’d never had before. He had no idea he’d enjoy being touched then licked down there, like that, but he did. He loved that tongue-fucking thing. He was getting more comfortable with the idea. But common sense told him not to. Common sense told him to run for the door, even though Miguel said they wouldn’t do anything until the next day.
Naked, Miguel lay next to him. This was torture. He could’ve at least put on a pair of boxers, something…anything.
Exhaustion eclipsed every being in his newly domesticated body. Other than buying pre-made meals and making them appear homemade, Sandra Lee-style, he’d never prepared a dinner from scratch before. Shit, he’d never cleaned an entire apartment from top to bottom, walked a dog, or washed and dried then folded laundry. Growing up with maids and chefs in Fairfield County, Connecticut left no reason to. He didn’t think he was better than household chores; he just didn’t have the need to do them. Until now.
He did notice the more he cleaned the happier Miguel became. It sort of brought him pleasure to see his friend letting someone else do something for him. Nothing he did at home had ever made Diego happy.
Pulling him close, Miguel whispered in his ear, “Blake?”
“Yes?” He rolled over and admired those molten eyes. They were warm and inviting. He was used to keeping his eyes shut tight in bed. His friend’s face was a welcome change.
“What was being married like?”
‘Hell’ was the first word which came to mind, followed by ‘isolation, sleepless, loveless nights’, and—according to his recent divorce papers—‘abandonment’. He’d been tempted to have the lawyer declare cruel and inhuman treatment, but he didn’t possess the urge to rouse danger. He chose the easiest reason for the courts to grant a divorce. His lawyers expedited the separation papers with an alimony agreement giving his life savings to get Diego as far away from his life as possible. He would be starting over in many aspects, including his finances.
“You and I haven’t talked much since my separation.” Blake realized they’d both avoided each other. It wasn’t Miguel’s fault. He should’ve reached out to his best friend much sooner. Depressed and ashamed, he hadn’t seen anyone, including his closest friends in months.
“Sorry I wasn’t there for you. I didn’t know what to say or do. How to react…”
“It’s fine. Diego is now living over at the Worldwide Plaza.”
“That’s rather extravagante for someone who does not have a job.”
“I paid for it.” He felt used by even saying it, but he had to get Diego out of his life and getting him a new place to live in was the best start. “My ex is getting alimony.” He sat up and placed the new bed sheet over Miguel’s groin to concentrate. The gray fabric decked out the place better than he’d expected. “Diego never got back on his feet after the recession. I don’t know many guys who got jobs after Lehman Lynch closed. Do you?”
“No. Most in finance moved back to wherever they came from.”
“After he lost his job, he gave up on Wall Street. We sorta collapsed from there.”
“You never told me you were unhappy. When Thor called and mentioned you two split up, I felt bad. Getting married was your dream.” He put his warm hands in Blake’s lap.
A magician at hiding his real emotions, Blake acted all along as if he’d married Mr. Wonderful. Even weeks after Diego moved out, he pretended everything was status quo. He worked in advertising and PR, and gave good face. Plus, he’d learned from his mom to never speak ill about your spouse to your friends. She’d say, “It’ll haunt you when your social circle reminds you what a nincompoop your husband is.”
He forced a smile to clear Miguel’s worry. “I went into the marriage with the best intentions. We both did.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell Miguel everything. He’d sworn to Diego and himself he’d never speak of what really happened.
“And?” Miguel leaned his face in closer, almost touching his nose with Blake’s.
“One month before the ceremony, I cancelled.”
“What?”
“Called my folks and told ’em to stop the plans.” He paused. “I’ve not shared this with anyone. Not even Thor.” Saying it out loud felt agreeable against the disquiet growing within. Though this wasn’t the real story as to why they divorced. Sure, it was a good one, one which was true and put a wedge between them, but it wasn’t the final straw.
“Why did you call the wedding off?”
“We’d been in pre-marital counseling with our vicar at the Episcopal church. It came up in one of our sessions that Diego pulled away in bed—not making eye contact when we made love.” Here comes the embarrassing part. “He’d often face the wall and check out. My ex treated me as if I were some trick, a stranger. He didn’t even want to kiss me.”
“Earlier today, when I frenched you, it was your first kiss in how long?”
He’d opened the can of worms, might as well tell him the truth. Well, some of it. “Five years.”
“Lo siento, I didn’t have any idea,” Miguel repeated again. “I’m sorry.”
Miguel’s face didn’t seem as shocked as he thought it would be. Then he remembered he’d cried at the spa earlier that day. His friend may not have seen his tears, but he’d heard his sobs. How could he not? He was embarrassed for blubbering like an idiot.
“We weren’t growing on an intimate level. Or, at least the one I’d hoped for.” Sanity required serious concentration on his part as the rejection increased year after year. Lovemaking, which had died in his marriage, felt at times as a white noise—a fixed bandwidth with grave density, and no matter how hard he tried to turn it down, he couldn’t.
“What made you change your mind and move forward with the wedding?” Miguel traced his fingers over his arms, maybe to soothe him.
It worked.
“Empathy, I suppose. I assumed I’d be able to help Diego. Change him. If I presented a committed marriage, knowing I’d be with him for life, along with a good home, he’d open up and be vulnerable, and love me how I needed.” His words sounded desperate the minute they left his lips, but he didn’t care. It was the truth.
“Even if it’s for the best, you can’t change someone. They have to do it themselves, because they want to.” His black eyes narrowed. “You know that, right?”
“Trust me, after five plus years, I know better,” he replied as if the truth was the final kick to his head to end the re
lationship. “I’m an optimistic person, always have been. I believed Diego would get better. Not worse.” Blake wondered if he’d ever regain the hopefulness for his future he’d once had.
When he spoke his vows, his enthusiasm and spirits flew high, en route as the perfect couple. They owned a penthouse in the city and a summerhouse in the Hamptons. He envisioned working part-time from home to raise their kids, while spending time with his folks who’d dote as loving grandparents. All those fantasies were smashed to pieces by his ex-husband’s hunger to live dangerously. Years since taking his vows, he’d come to the conclusion, after Diego had moved out, that the divorce was a blessing. He learned to accept things for how they were and not to strive for perfection.
“People can change if they want to, Blake.”
“I know…Diego didn’t want to, not for me anyway.”
“MLD loved you.”
“As a friend, sure. Not as a husband or a lover.” The oversight was mortifying. “Diego cherished the security and what a relationship offered on paper. But he didn’t care for the day-to-day actions, which made the union possible.” He felt stupid for going down the aisle. What was he, some Disney princess? He was a man, a gay man. The marriage act seemed absurd now. “My ex is damaged beyond repair.”
“Why is Diego damaged?”
“He’d been molested as a child. I knew about his demons when we met in college. He’d sworn he’d moved past them.” Shaking his head, he realized his ex had never gone to therapy for his abuse. How did anyone heal without ever talking about it? “Once we made the wedding arrangements, he started acting out to me at home.” Tears welled in his eyes. Blake didn’t want to cry about Diego again, but he did. “Sorry.” He reached for a tissue from the nightstand and blew his nose.
Sitting up, Miguel leaned in and hugged him. “Let it out, it’s okay.”