by Kylie Adams
This scenario swirled inside Finn’s mind as he hesitated, searching for the right words. Finally, he spoke. “Are you okay? Do you want to meet for a drink and talk about it?”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” Dean Paul said. But his tone was mocking. “Will you hold my hand and encourage me to feel the pain?”
Finn felt stupid. And Dean Paul had an uncanny knack for making him feel that way. “Your wife just dumped you. I thought you might be upset. For a minute there I forgot about what an incredible asshole you are.”
Dean Paul laughed. “I need a place to crash for a couple of days. Do you mind?”
Finn’s heartbeat picked up speed. “You want to stay with me?”
“If it’s inconvenient, I can just go to a hotel.”
“No!” Finn exclaimed, his protest coming out far more desperate than he intended.
“Okay, calm down, I’ll stay with you. Jesus.”
“No ... I mean ... it’s no inconvenience. Really.”
“Good. Because I’m right outside your building.”
Finn rushed to the window and gazed down.
There, sixteen floors below, standing on the sidewalk with an overnight bag in his hand, was Dean Paul Lockhart.
Finn experienced a moment of pure rapture, though he felt positively imbecilic as a result. He was a well-educated man who had traveled all over the world. That this could be the most fantastic thing he had ever seen in his lifetime just seemed pathetic. But it truly was.
“Can you handle it?” Dean Paul asked.
As he watched him from above, Finn touched the windowpane,downright giddy over the fact that Dean Paul had come to him in crisis. “Handle what?”
“Me sleeping in the next room.”
“I’ll try to manage.”
“Just in case you can’t control yourself, I’m sleeping with a Taser gun.”
“Hey, that sounds like kinky fun. Come on up.” Finn disconnectedthe call, then tidied up the apartment in a mad frenzy until the fateful sound of three loud knocks rapped the door.
Finn sucked in a deep breath and stepped over to open it. “Just so you know—you’re not the first unhappily married man to show up here unannounced.”
Dean Paul smiled. “Oh, I have no doubt.” He walked inside,surveying the sixties mod décor with an affirmative nod. “Nice place.”
“Thanks.”
“I can’t believe I’ve never been up here.”
“Well, consider it home.”
Dean Paul gave him a strange look.
“For as long as you want to stay,” Finn clarified.
“That’s sweet. Does a robe come with that? Maybe a pair of slippers?”
“Okay, dickhead, I give up. The study’s all yours. You’ll have to move the desk to fold out the sofa bed. Sheets and blankets are in the hall closet.”
Dean Paul stepped toward the bedroom and peeked inside.“Is that a queen size bed?”
Finn gave him a fuck you smile. “What else?”
“It looks comfortable. What’s the problem? You can’t share a bed with me and keep your hands to yourself at the same time?”
Finn regarded Dean Paul carefully, stunned to discover that he appeared to be serious.“You want to sleep in the same bed?”
“I don’t want to, necessarily, but it sure beats a lumpy sofa bed.”
Finn fought to contain his excitement and delight over the idea. In a faux display of no-big-deal, he shrugged. “It’s fine with me.” One beat. “Unless you snore, of course.”
Dean Paul shook his head. “You won’t even know I’m there.”
Hardly. Finn knew that the proximity alone would keep him up all night. “Okay.”
Dean Paul broke out into a gotcha smile. His teeth gleamed. “Dude, I’m not going to sleep with you.”
Finn fought a superhuman battle not to let his disappointmentshow.
“The sofa’s fine,” Dean Paul went on. “I’ll already be makingone of your dreams come true by staying over. Two would just be spoiling you rotten.” He laughed at his own joke. “I need to get hammered. What do you have to drink?”
“Vodka.” He glanced over at the near-empty bar. “And more vodka.”
“That’ll get the job done,” Dean Paul said. He dropped his bag with a thud and kicked back on the living room couch with a frustrated sigh. “This won’t be a clean break like the last time. I said good-bye to Aspen and never had to look back. But I’ve got a kid with Tilly. I’m always going to be linked to that crazy bitch.”
Finn busied himself prepping a batch of dirty martinis. “Were you asking for it?”
“Asking for what?”
“For her to tell you to leave.” He dashed into the kitchen for ice and proceeded to shake up the night’s poison, not bothering to talk over the ear-piercing rattle. When he finished,he went on. “The scene at the club with that girl ... well, let’s just say it was anything but discreet.”
“Nothing happened. I barely dry-humped her.”
“And if Tilly hadn’t shown up ... would it have ended there?” He poured, garnished each drink with a plump green olive, and headed over to the couch.
“Whose side are you on?” Dean Paul asked. He impatientlytook possession of the martini and started to drink fast. “By the way, don’t sit down yet.You might as well make me another one before you get settled.”
“I’m on the side of logic,” Finn said as he doubled back to the bar. He returned with a half-full bottle of Pravda and a shot glass. “There. My bartending skills would be wasted on you tonight anyway.”
“So you think I asked for it? Where’s your sense of male solidarity? Wait a minute. Don’t answer that.”
Finn glanced at the coffee table and zeroed in on Benji’s sleek mobile phone, the one with the damning video of Dean Paul dirty dancing with Juicy, the one he had confiscated in exchange for the promise to help reintroduce Benji to the New York social scene and media influentials as something more than an opportunistic fraud. He reached for the device and played the little movie.
“How many times have you rubbed one out to that?” Dean Paul asked.
“You stupid fucker!” Finn roared. “If I hadn’t stepped in, that shit would be all over You Tube and TMZ and every trashy entertainment show!”
Dean Paul laughed. “Play it again.”
Finn rolled his eyes and did the honors.
“Man, I look pretty out of it,” Dean Paul commented, watching himself with a smug sense of marvel. “She’s hot, though. I should’ve fucked her.” He finished the martini, ate the olive, and poured a generous shot of vodka. “I mean, same end result and everything.You know?”
Finn slammed the phone shut and tossed it back onto the coffee table.
“Who is she anyway?”
“As I understand it, her name’s Juicy.”
“And I bet she is. Get her number for me. I won’t let you watch, but I’ll give you a detailed play-by-play.”
“So I’m already your hotel and your bartender, and now you expect me to be your pimp,” Finn said. The sick part was that he was already factoring out in his mind how to track down Juicy.
“I know you want to be everything in the world to me, dude. I’m just giving you a chance. Take advantage of it while you can.”
Finn tried to give Dean Paul a serious stare. But sometimesit was difficult to gaze too long. He was not merely good-looking or even exceptionally handsome. The man was beautiful. And with his naturally tousled hair, three-day beard growth, wrinkled white Oxford, and lived-in jeans, he was putting forth zero effort to be that way. Which made him even more gorgeous.
There was the rare benefit of no distractions tonight. Finn decided to take advantage of that. “Why do you say those things?” he asked.
“What things?”
“You’re always putting it out there that I’m obsessed with you and just praying for the day.”
He gave Finn an annoyed look. “It’s called a joke. I thought you could take one. My mistake.”
<
br /> “But it’s a joke that never seems to end,” Finn continued. “Sometimes it’s funny. I mean, I can get a laugh out of it, too. But ... sometimes I get the sense that you think of me as the joke. Like I’m just a stupid faggot.”
“What are you talking about?”There was a wounded expressionin Dean Paul’s piercing blue eyes. “I never think of you that way.You’re my best ... you’re a friend.”
Finn’s feelings were all over the place. He loved Dean Paul deeply ... as a friend ... and as someone more than that. The unrequited aspect was something that would probably never die. But hearing Dean Paul almost slip and utter the qualifier best in front of friend filled Finn with an almost nurturing sense of joy and pride.
“Don’t pay attention to most of the shit I say,” Dean Paul went on. “Sometimes I talk just to fill the airspace.” He tossed back the first shot and poured another one. “I didn’t realize it bothered you that much.”
“Usually, it doesn’t.”
“I see the way you look at me sometimes, and it’s not the way that a buddy looks at another buddy. Joking about it helps me deal. Takes the edge off, I guess.”
Finn could feel his face grow hot. His cheeks were burningwith embarrassment.
“I joke about it, but I’m not making fun of you.Well, I am, I guess. But not in a mean way. Does that make any sense?”
“You’re being sensitively insensitive,” Finn said.
“Yeah ... sensitively insensitive ... that’s me. I talk smack to you, but I don’t feel any attraction at all. I’ve never even been curious.”
Finn had drained most of the martini and in spite of the awkwardness could feel himself start to relax.
Dean Paul laughed. “I can’t believe this shit.”
“What?”
“My wife kicks me out, and we’re sitting here tiptoeing around your schoolgirl crush.”
“Actually, you’ve made more references to that tonight than you have to Tilly, so I figured ...”
“That I’d come rushing into your arms?”
Finn gave him a weary look. “Okay, let’s talk about Tilly.”
Dean Paul waved off the notion as he poured a third shot. “Fuck that. I’m over it.” He chased down the vodka. “Everybody’sgiving me a chance to start over.”
“What do you mean by everybody?”
“Tilly dumped me. Hollywood Live fired me. I’m a free agent all the way around.”
Finn lurched forward in alarm. “When did that happen?”
“This morning,” Dean Paul said easily. “Today was a one-twopunch.” He seemed to be considering a fourth shot but made no move for it. “The show’s tanking fast. It’s probably a good thing not to be around when it officially dies.”
“Yeah,” Finn agreed absently, his mind taking in the sweepingimpact of these changes. With no wife, no home of his own, and no job, Dean Paul had no reason to stay in New York. Granted, there was baby Cantaloupe. But Finn could easily see Dean Paul convincing himself that a long-distance parenting situation could work.
“Have you spent much time in Miami?” Dean Paul asked.
“Some,” Finn answered, a sense of doom coming over him.
“I’m done with this city,” Dean Paul said. “I’m moving to Miami.”
THE IT PARADE
BY JINX WIATT
Fill in the Blanks
Having friends with money doesn’t mean you won’t find yourself flat broke. Just ask the gorgeous Black American Princess who’s cohosting that new buzz-building TV chat hour. Her gal pal is an old money heiress with a modeling gig that pays point money. Her new beau is an entertainmentmogul with a fleet of cars to his name, not to mention his own private jet. Meanwhile, the cash-strappedgirl in question has been reduced to returning merchandise to snooty boutiques to pay off her sky-high bills. It’s not necessarily the company you keep, darlings.
20
Simone
“I felt like a single mother before, so I hardly think this will be a radical adjustment,”Tilly was saying. “And I plan on petitioningfor full custody, of course. Dean Paul couldn’t care for a Chia Pet properly. I’ve done everything as it relates to Cantaloupe’s care.”
“Where is she now?” Simone asked.
“With the nanny,”Tilly said. “The one that I interviewed and hired. I’m telling you, I do everything. He packed an overnightbag when he left, and he’s almost completely moved out. There are some clothes left but not much else. The furnishingsin our apartment are things I picked out with the decorator. Again, he barely sat in on a single meeting. He was never truly invested in the marriage. All the signs were there, but I just chose to ignore them.” She sighed deeply. “Okay, I’ve gone on and on about me.What’s going on with you?”
“I’ve been so stressed lately,” Simone began. “I got overextendedon my—”
“Did I tell you that I called your fellow cohost?”Tilly cut in. “Emily.”
“Emma,” Simone corrected.
“Whatever,” Tilly huffed. “Anyway, I called her right up and told her she could have Dean Paul. And then later that very same night she broke up with that geriatric magazine publishershe was dating.” Tilly shook her head. “So pathetic. If they get together, I give it a month.” She glanced at her near empty wineglass and rudely snapped her fingers to a passing waitress. “Do I have to fly to the Napa Valley and stomp grapes, or can you fix this problem?” She tapped the rim of her glass with a manicured nail.
The waitress was momentarily taken aback. “I’ll see about it right away. What were you drinking?”
“I thought that was your job to know things like that,” Tilly snapped. “You’ll have to ask our runaway waiter. I haven’t seen him in ages. He’s probably in the bathroom getting stoned.”
Simone was appalled. In a meager attempt to overcompensate,she gave the waitress a reassuring look.
Tilly cast an annoyed glance around the restaurant. “The service used to be so much better here.”
Simone said nothing. They were at Pastis in the MeatpackingDistrict, and the service was—as always—impeccable.
The waitress swooped back with more red wine.
“Now that wasn’t so difficult, was it, dear?” Tilly murmured.She beamed a direct look at Simone. “You were sayingsomething?”
“Yes,” Simone launched in again. “I got overextended on—”
“Wait—I almost forgot,”Tilly interrupted. “This breakup with Dean Paul is happening just in the nick of time. Seriously. I feel like Kiefer Sutherland in an episode of 24. He just got the ax from Hollywood Live. Is there anything worse than an unemployed husband and father? Can you imagine being married to that? It’d be like living in a black neighborhood.”
Simone tensed up immediately. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, Simone, please,” Tilly said dismissively. “Everybody knows that most black women are forced to raise their childrenalone because the fathers are either in jail or playing basketballin the park during what should be productive work hours. There was a study. I heard about it on talk radio.”
Simone was surprised by her own reaction. Though never one to fall in line behind Al Sharpton and march in protest against injustices to black people, she was still insulted by Tilly’s diatribe. She raised a halting hand. “I’m offended.”
“Oh, me, too,” Tilly went on, completely oblivious. “And you don’t even have a baby. Yesterday, I saw a black woman struggling with her stroller and trying to get it down the steps of a subway entrance. No father in sight to lend a hand. In a way I could relate. Basically, I’m in the same position now. Maybe that makes me an honorary sista or something.” She laughed a little and drank more wine. “I should do a seminar for them at The Learning Annex. You know, give the black girls some tips on being strong and raising a child alone. Take last night. I had this adorable interactive playpen delivered for Cantaloupe. Of course, it required assembly. I’m worthless. Nanny Veronika is more so. The Honduran housekeeper can barely speak a word of English, much less re
ad it. And there are no instructions translated into Spanish. Only French and Japanese. Go figure. So I’m about to have a nervous breakdown,and then I remember reading about that Rent-A-Guy service in the Style section of the Times. I call, they send a very handy college boy over, he puts the playpen together within minutes, I write him a check for seventy-five dollars, and the crisis is solved.”
“I might be going out on a limb here,” Simone began dryly, “but I don’t think unwed black mothers should be your target audience for this seminar.”
Tilly paused in thoughtful consideration. “You’re probablyright.They’d never be able to afford Rent-A-Guy.And why torture them with talk of a service beyond their means? It’d be like showing them my jewelry. An exercise in cruelty to say the least.”
“The very least,” Simone grumbled.
“Oh!”Tilly exclaimed. “You got me off track. I was trying to tell you about the timing of giving up on Dean Paul.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “I suspect that he might have peaked. Now to be fair, he still looks good. Scrumptious, in fact. He’s in phenomenal shape and will age like a dream—the bastard. But he’s just meandering, you know? He has no real purpose. And he’s at the point in life where suddenly that quality is very unattractive, almost pathetic. I’m not sure women even find him that appealing anymore.And I’m speakingof women with high standards like myself. There will alwaysbe bar trash who want their way with him and romantic obsessives like Emily.”
“Emma.”
Tilly rolled her eyes. “Whatever. But I think his Lothario ways have just grown tiresome. Even the columnists are done. They’re so bored with him that they’ve reduced the gossip to floating around these gay rumors about Dean Paul and Finn. And for what? To create a modicum of excitement? I’m just thankful for the ironclad pre-nup. What’s mine is mine. What’s his is his. And the apartment deed is in my name, thank God. My parents gave it to me as a wedding gift. It should be a clean break. Except for Cantaloupe. But I’ll fight him to the death on that issue. I’ve already retained all the A-list family lawyers in the city, so he’ll have to go second-tier for representation.I’m not worried about it, though. He’s a perpetualadolescent. Any judge will see that. I kicked him out of the apartment, and instead of checking into a hotel like an adult, he goes over to Finn’s apartment to sleep on the couch. I mean, really, how frat boy.”