“You’re hired,” I said, only half joking. Gavin laughed and handed me my robe. “Seriously, give me your card.” I, in turn, took one of my business cards from my wallet when I paid him. “If you fax me your references, and you’re genuinely interested in moving back to Manhattan, we can discuss it.”
While Gavin took down his table, I thought it over. If Gavin sent me his references and they checked out, I could offer him a job similar to the one he’d done for Lowell Davenport. It would be helpful to have someone manage my home as efficiently as Violet managed my office. Now that Sheila had moved out of my apartment, I even had an empty room. Although there wasn’t much reason for me to stay in Hell’s Kitchen after breaking up with Daniel. I wasn’t crazy about living in an apartment across the alley from him, where looking out my window meant looking at his garden.
Once Gavin was gone, I stared out at the harbor, feeling restless, though it was nearly midnight. I’d never be able to get to sleep after dredging up my bad memories of Daniel. I decided to get dressed and see if there might be a gay bar or club in the area. Anything was better than moping alone in a strange room.
CHAPTER 3
After pushing my way through the lobby doors, I consciously kept my pace slow and steady. I was in Baltimore, not Manhattan, so there was no reason to rush. I heard a dog barking when I rounded a corner, and I wondered how Rowdy would like living in the Big Apple. I couldn’t imagine Frank turning his dog over to one of the dog walkers who stride down the sidewalks clutching a dozen leashes pulling in different directions like a willful balloon bouquet. Rowdy rarely left Frank’s side, and I was sure that wouldn’t change in Manhattan.
A pair of men, obviously a couple, walked toward me. They weren’t holding hands, or walking with their arms around each other, but the close proximity they kept, as well as the affectionate eye contact they maintained as they spoke, indicated that they were a couple. Both men were in their late thirties and were dressed similarly in khakis, sweaters, and light jackets. I imagined the two of them in a Dockers ad in The Advocate, with their hands in each other’s back pockets and grins on their faces.
When they passed me, I could see how attractive they were. One of the men returned my appraisal with a quick wink. I smiled, and I could see his partner give him a playful jab in the ribs to get his attention back where it belonged. After a few paces, I couldn’t help but turn around to look at them. I caught them looking back as well, and they laughed and waved. I waved back.
I remembered taking long walks through Central Park with Daniel when we were still together. We’d buy coffee and donuts to take with us as we meandered through the winding paths in the park. Daniel would point out certain plants and trees to me, explaining their growth habits and blooming periods. I’d listen and nod, but Daniel knew I’d never remember what he told me. To me, horticulture was like quantum physics; I appreciated it, but knew I’d never use it.
We’d have our coffee and donuts on the terrace of Bethesda Fountain. Oftentimes we’d tell each other stories and people-watch, since the terrace was a popular tourist stop. Then we’d follow paths deep into the heart of Central Park, walking hand in hand, oblivious to anyone but each other. When we reached the Reservoir, we’d walk along the running trail, mindful of the joggers while we loped along, talking the whole way, until we’d walked the entire distance around the basin of water. Then we’d go home, to his apartment or mine, it didn’t matter, and lie together on the sofa, holding each other until our breathing matched.
As I watched the khaki couple walk away, I felt a stab of jealousy deep within me. I missed being part of a couple. Standing on a sidewalk in the middle of Baltimore at night, I suddenly felt very lonely.
I noticed that I was in front of a bar that had several signs with rainbow strips of buzzing neon underneath, around, or unfurling from the names of domestic beers in the darkly tinted windows. An imposing man with several tattoos, who was dressed in camouflage pants, a black T-shirt that looked a few sizes too small for his muscular build, and heavy black boots, stood to one side of the door. I glanced at him, looking for any sign that indicated a cover, and found none. He said nothing to me, but simply raised his eyebrows once in acknowledgment of my presence. I nodded my head in response and stepped inside.
There were televisions mounted throughout the bar, playing everything from soundless performances of music videos to clips from MGM musicals and Saturday Night Live skits, none of which matched the music I heard from the jukebox across the room. Through a doorway to the right, I could see two well-built men, one leaning against a wall with a beer poised phallically on his groin, the other stretching over a pool table, carefully lining up his shot. There must have been several tables in the second room; although he hadn’t shot, I could hear the clacking of billiard balls from other directions and the “thunk” of an occasional ball dropping into a pocket.
I walked to the bar. The bartender, a shorter version of Michael Jordan, greeted me with a smile and said, “What can I get you?”
“Sam Adams,” I answered.
“You got it.” He popped the top. “Glass?”
“No, thank you.”
“No, thank you,” he said as he put the change I left with the rest of his tips. “You’re obviously not from here.”
“People from Baltimore don’t tip?”
“Not that much. I’d welcome you to Charm City, but I’m sure someone as cute as you has already been welcomed.” That removed all doubts. I was definitely in a gay bar. He went on. “I can at least be the first to welcome you to Shenanigans.”
I stopped midturn and said, “Shenanigans? That name sounds familiar. Are you famous for something?”
“Do you watch soaps?”
“No,” I answered. Which was honest enough; I hadn’t watched Secret Splendor since Daniel and I broke up.
“Our owner is a big Days of Our Lives fan and named this place after a bar they wrote out of their storyline in the eighties. His little homage to days of our lives gone by.”
“Good times,” I said, and heard him laugh as I made my way to a table. At least I could be sure Secret Splendor tapes wouldn’t be popping up on Shenanigans’ TVs, the way they did in a couple of bars in Manhattan.
I decided to put my people-watching skills to better use than nostalgia over Daniel, settling in to check out the bar’s patrons. I was reminded of those beer commercials with young, vibrant, beautiful people having fun and laughing. Shenanigans was nothing like that. Everyone I saw struck me as ordinary. Perhaps I was used to Manhattan bars, the majority of which were designed to be featured in magazines as the next hot spot, only to be shut down and renamed a month later. I liked the idea of a bar that stayed around long enough to have a floor that felt a little gritty, lighting dimmed by a few burned-out bulbs, and regulars who knew I wasn’t one of them but still gave off no attitude.
I saw a man come out of the poolroom and sit at a table across the room. He saw me squinting at him and raised his glass in my direction. I realized that I’d started an exchange I hadn’t intended. He picked up his napkin and wrapped it around his drink, then crossed the room toward me. As he got closer, I thought of how Lillith always said, There are no accidents. Maybe I did mean to start an exchange with him. He was attractive, with shaggy blond hair, brown eyes, and a five o’clock shadow.
“Hey,” he said. “May I join you?”
“Have a seat. I’m Blaine.”
“Todd. You come here a lot?” he asked.
“No. I’m in town on business. Do you?”
“No, I’m here for work, too. Where you from?”
“I live in Manhattan, but I’m from the Midwest,” I answered. “How about you?”
“Miami. I work for an import-export company. What do you do?”
“I’m in advertising.”
“How long are you staying?” Todd asked.
This was the part I hated. Until Daniel and I split up, he’d been the only man I’d slept with. After we broke up
, I made up for lost time, feeling like I’d spent my twenties in two dead-end relationships. I’d married Sydney because I thought it was the right thing to do. I’d been with Daniel for love. I’d quickly learned that one-night stands were about instant gratification, so I didn’t see the point of forced conversations or shared histories.
“Long enough to fuck you,” I answered.
He started toward my side of the table, and I turned on my barstool to face him. He nudged his way between my legs and put his arms around my waist. Without another word, we tilted our heads and pressed our lips together as I put my arms around him, bringing him closer to me.
When I opened my eyes the next morning, it took me a minute to recognize the hotel room and another minute to realize that I wasn’t alone, although I couldn’t remember his name. I ran through the alphabet until I got to T. Todd. That was it.
I did remember the previous night and how removed I felt when Todd gripped the railing on the balcony overlooking the harbor until his knuckles turned white. Physically, it had been exciting to discover a new body, and a rather nice body at that. Something was missing though. Or maybe it just felt wrong because I’d let him spend the night. Sleeping together in the same bed implied an intimacy that I didn’t feel.
I rubbed my eyes and decided to take a shower to rid myself of the smell of Todd. I got up without causing him to stir, then looked back at him. I feared that in daylight, I would discover that I’d brought home a monster whose imperfections had been hidden by shadow and the dim lighting of the bar.
The blinds cast vertical lines up and down his firm body. In the slats of light, I could see that my first impression had been right. He was handsome. But I felt a shocking rush of discomfort when I realized something else. He reminded me of Daniel. A rougher and less put-together version of him, but a resemblance nonetheless. Maybe I was looking for similarities, but the end result was the same. I wanted to get him out of my bed and my life and get in the shower to wash away the night before. I almost sprinted toward the bathroom, but something squished between my toes. I looked down and saw a hastily discarded condom.
“Yuck!” I exclaimed, not meaning to say it out loud.
“What?” a sleepy voice asked from the bed.
I turned my back to him as I spoke. “Nothing. I’m just going to hop in the shower.”
Todd didn’t respond, and I shut the door to the bathroom and turned on the shower. As the water ran over me, I became conscious of the sore muscles in my back, neck, and legs. Gavin’s warning had come true. I felt as if I’d had a brutal workout rather than a soothing massage. I twisted the nozzle to turn the spray to a pounding stream, centering my sorest muscles beneath the water. I felt like I was trying to beat out more than the stiffness.
When the soreness eased, I turned off the shower and got out quickly to towel dry. Hopefully, I would have the day to myself and not feel obligated to spend it with Todd. I wrapped the towel around my waist and stepped out of the bathroom.
My gaze fell on the bed, empty except for a hastily scribbled note lying on top of Todd’s pillow. I walked over and picked it up.
Dear Brad,
You’ve definitely made my top ten best tricks list. Sorry I had to run. I forgot I have a meeting today. Maybe some other time.
Todd
Brad. I rolled my eyes, offended that he couldn’t even remember my name. I whipped the towel from my waist, and it fell limply on the back of the oak desk chair.
After I dressed, I did a quick sweep of the room, looking under the bed for any misplaced items or stray socks. I picked up the used condoms from the floor and flushed them down the toilet, then grabbed the garment bag and strode to the elevator.
The lobby bustled with tourists and businessmen rushing to their destinations. A slight man behind the desk smiled at me as I approached.
“Was everything satisfactory, sir?” he asked, quickly typing something into the computer after I gave him my room number.
“The suite was fine,” I said.
“Do you have the Amex that was used to hold the room?”
“Yes,” I said, pulling my wallet from my back pocket. As I opened it, I flushed. The five hundred dollars in cash I’d had was missing. “This is not happening,” I said, clenching my wallet in my fist and trying with all my might not to launch it across the lobby.
“Is the card misplaced, sir?”
I opened my wallet and pulled out the card. “No, it’s right here.”
I handed him my Amex and waited while he printed out my bill, silently cursing myself for bringing a stranger into my life and leaving him alone with my wallet. Everything he’d said to me was most likely a lie. Probably even his name.
I decided there was no point in calling the police or trying to get back the money. I’d only embarrass myself in the process. I chalked it up to a five-hundred-dollar lesson and asked the hotel clerk for the name of a car service to take me to the airport. Preferably one that would accept credit cards.
When my plane touched down at LaGuardia, I finally felt at ease and indifferent about Todd, the thieving trick from hell, but I was still bitter about losing five hundred dollars. I felt stupid for carrying that much cash in my wallet. Because of my size, I’d never felt threatened or worried about being attacked on the street. However, realizing that I’d invited a thief into my bed made me think that my mind wasn’t as developed as my body.
I shrugged that off and found an ATM machine to get some cash. My cell phone rang while I stood in line outside the airport, waiting for a cab.
“Hello, Mr. Dunhill.”
“Hello, Ms. Medina,” I said to Violet. “I trust you’ve—”
“Cleared your schedule for today?” she asked. “Yes, I did. You only had one appointment. It was nothing that couldn’t wait until Monday, so I went ahead and postponed it.”
“That wasn’t what I was going to ask, Violet.”
“Oh. I fed Dexter this morning. Though I needn’t have bothered, since he helped himself to a loaf of bread that was on top of the refrigerator.”
“That’s his way of telling me to back off of carbohydrates.”
“I saw a dry-cleaning stub on your counter, so I took the liberty of picking that up for you, since it was ready.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. You owe me fifty dollars.”
“My dry cleaning bill was fifty dollars?”
“No. Your dry cleaning bill was forty dollars. You were out of cat food.”
“What kind of food did you—”
“And litter.”
“What did I do to deserve you? Manhattan, please. Forty-sixth Street and Ninth Avenue.”
“Sounds like somebody just got a cab. You’re not coming to the office today?”
“No. I’m going home.”
“Good. I can cut out early and go to Barneys. I mean, I can finish typing these reports,” she said, as if I would ever reprimand her for taking an afternoon off to go shopping.
The first time Violet ever took a sick day was the previous November, when she literally had to be carried out of the office on a stretcher because of stomach cramps. The pain had gotten so bad she was doubled up on the floor, clutching the itinerary for an upcoming location shoot and trying to crawl to the photocopy room. An ambulance had been called after Violet screamed out in pain when Evelyn, our office manager, tried to help her walk down the hallway to copy the itineraries so they’d go out on time. Two days after her appendix was removed, Violet called me, begging me to help bust her out of the hospital so she could get back to work.
“You’re taking an afternoon off? There must be a full moon,” I joked.
“You sound like Lillith,” Violet said, hitting me where it hurt. “Speaking of Lillith, I suspect the reason you’re not coming in today is so you can have a weekend to figure out what you’re going to say to the boys upstairs about your resignation.”
“If there’s a Cuban version of Miss Marple, you’d be her
,” I stated wryly. “Which brings me back to what I was originally going to ask you. Have you typed your resignation yet?”
“If that’s your clever way of asking me to jump ship and work for you at Lillith Allure, Mr. Dunhill—”
“Which it is. Yes.”
“I’m not sure I can—”
“Take the bridge. Don’t take the tunnel,” I said to the driver. “I’m sorry, Violet. You were saying?”
“That’s okay. If you had given me a little more time, I might have—”
“Do I need to give you money for the toll now? Or do I give you that at the end of the trip?” I asked the driver, who eyed me curiously, as we hadn’t reached the bridge yet.
“You give it to me now. You give it to me later. It makes no difference,” he said.
“Okay. I’ll give it to you later,” I said.
“If you interrupt me one more time, I’m gonna give it to you later,” Violet said.
“I’m sorry, Violet. It won’t happen again. What were you saying?”
“Stop playing games with me. I’m not turning you down,” she said.
“Good,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I was running out of ways to interrupt you.”
“I need more information before I can give you an answer,” Violet said. “Plus I want to be wooed. Take me out to dinner, and we’ll talk it over.”
“Wooed? You want to be wooed? All right. Why don’t we—”
“Sunday night? Eight? At Firebird? I’d love to,” Violet interrupted.
“You’ve already made the reservations, haven’t you?”
Violet confirmed my suspicions by not answering. Instead she asked, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen the papers this morning? One paper in particular, I should say.”
“No,” I answered tentatively, hoping that any news about Lillith Allure hadn’t been given to the press yet.
I'm Your Man Page 6