I'm Your Man

by Timothy James Beck

  Sheila’s parents, Nora and William, walked over and I introduced them to Gretchen. “Nora’s a concert violinist,” I said to Gretchen. “And William is an architect.”

  “Oh, Blaine. You flatter me,” Nora said, and one of her hands fluttered up to her mouth. “I haven’t performed professionally in ages. I’m just a teacher now, giving private lessons.”

  William put his arm around his wife, drew her close to his strong Nordic frame, and said, “Don’t let Nora fool you. She still does guest performances with the Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra now and then.”

  Nora glanced up at her husband and rolled her eyes, one of her trademark self-deprecating gestures.

  “Why don’t we go inside? Everyone’s here, so I’m sure they want to get the rehearsal under way,” I said. “Wait a minute. Daniel’s not here yet.”

  William Meyers smacked his forehead and said, “Uff da! I completely forgot.” He hurried to the car, fished his keys out of his pocket, and unlocked the trunk.

  “I was beginning to feel like a spare tire,” Daniel said as he crawled out of the trunk and dusted himself off before giving Gretchen a hug. He smiled at me over her shoulder and we exchanged a little eye play.

  “Isn’t it funny?” Nora Meyers asked me. “It’s just like when Cressida Porterhouse hired T-Bone Reynolds to kidnap Angus Remington. He was locked in that trunk for weeks.”

  “It was only two days in soap time,” Daniel said. “Good thing he’d left that box of Fiberforth bars in the trunk. Shall we go rehearse?”

  The wedding party gathered under the main tent in the large field behind Adam’s house, and the minister guided us through the steps we’d take during the actual ceremony. Afterward, we socialized with cocktails inside Adam’s house.

  Later that night, we reconvened for the rehearsal dinner. We drove five miles out of the city to the Fanny Hill Inn. Sheila and Josh had rented the whole facility for the evening to ensure their privacy. A few of the reporters followed and leaped out at us as we went inside, but the rest of the night was quiet and relaxed. Josh’s parents had flown in that afternoon, as well as both his and Sheila’s grandparents, who all joined us.

  Faizah Harris, Sheila’s friend, fellow Metropole model, and maid of honor, had also arrived from Paris. She shared my table at dinner, along with Sheila, Josh, Daniel, and Gretchen. Faizah, in addition to traveling the globe because of her modeling career, was in her third year at Columbia University’s school of law.

  “I’m just cashing in on my good genes so I can go to law school,” Faizah explained to Daniel, who had asked about her career plans. “The minute my looks start to fade, I’m going to hang out my shingle. Or maybe go into politics. Pass Faizah the salt, baby. Thanks. Of course, being an African-American, my looks won’t fade for a long time to come.” Nobody said anything, and Faizah looked around the table for a reaction. Finally, she cut into her veal and said, “I throw out a perfectly good generalization, and nobody even challenges me on it. Then again, I am in the whitest state in America.”

  “Actually,” Gretchen said, “I think South Dakota currently holds that title. Or is it North Dakota? I get the two mixed up.”

  “No. You want to know the whitest place in the U.S.? Maine,” Faizah said emphatically. “I grew up in this little town in Maine. Not even on most of the state maps. Faizah grew up with her own title: The Black Girl. I even listed that as my nickname in my senior yearbook in high school. My mother wasn’t amused. And you want shock? Try growing up thinking other African-Americans are like the people on The Cosby Show, then move to Harlem at eighteen. Talk about a rude awakening. Anyway, I can’t wait to get into politics. I’m going to run for mayor of New York City someday.”

  “You’ve got my vote,” Daniel said, and Faizah smiled.

  “No offense, but with a gift of gab like yours, you’d be a perfect politician,” Gretchen said.

  “Gretchen!” Sheila gasped, her Nordic heritage obviously kicking in and fearing conflict.

  “It’s all right, honey. I’ll be the first to admit Faizah’s got a big mouth,” Faizah assured Sheila. She turned to Gretchen and said, “I like you. You’re honest. Tell me, if it’s not too personal, are you voting for Hillary?”

  When Gretchen told Faizah that the First Lady did indeed have her vote, the topic at the table turned to politics. Although Daniel was one of the most politically aware people I knew, he stayed out of the conversation, his focus mainly on Faizah and Gretchen as they tag-teamed Sheila and Josh during a heated debate regarding the Senate race. I wondered what he was thinking as his gaze volleyed between the two women and when we’d have time alone to talk about us. Both of us had been too busy; he with his family and the open curiosity of the other guests about his burgeoning fame, and I with running errands left and right for the bride and groom. As well as keeping tabs on Lillith Allure and assembling my thoughts on paper for the men’s line.

  When the political discussion waned, Gretchen speared a stalk of broccoli and gesticulated with it as she said, “Speaking of the approaching elections, now that your returns have all been filed, I need to tell you about something.” I froze, afraid that she was about to tell the table about our baby. My fears were put to rest when she said, “I won’t go into all the technicalities, but whenever there’s an election, the stock market tends to go haywire. Most likely, stocks will plummet. I’m going to take a look at your portfolios and start moving a lot of numbers so you’ll all be covered. I just wanted to warn you ahead of time, and I hope you’ll trust that I know what I’m doing.”

  As we all assured Gretchen that we had faith in her abilities, I noticed that Daniel looked a bit uncomfortable. His eyes darted from his plate, to Sheila, the wall, anywhere but in Gretchen’s direction. Which she didn’t notice, because she was too busy eating the last of her broccoli. I knew financial planning didn’t interest Daniel in the least. He would rather focus his energy on his creative outlets. As long as he had an agent to represent him, lawyers to read the fine print of his contracts, and financial wizards like Gretchen to handle his money, he thought there was no reason to concern himself with those things.

  It was a part of his personality that always frustrated me. I’d try to get him to see the importance of understanding how the financial world operated, but he’d roll his eyes and tell me his way of doing things seemed to be working just fine. I’d point out articles in the newspaper about crooked lawyers and insider trading on Wall Street, but he’d wave me away, telling me I should have more faith in humanity. He’d known his lawyer for years, and certainly Gretchen would never betray him.

  Gretchen flagged down a passing waiter and said, “This broccoli is amazing. Can I have some more?” The waiter nodded and walked away. Gretchen eyed the half-eaten veal on Faizah’s plate and asked, “Are you gonna eat that?”

  Faizah said, “No. Go for it. I’m stuffed. And I have to fit in that dress. Whoever heard of a purple dress on black skin? Faizah’s going to look like a goddamned bruise.”

  Gretchen stabbed the cutlet with her fork and began to cut it into little pieces immediately. She popped a piece into her mouth, began chewing, then said, “Oh, my god, this is so good.” Sheila’s mouth hung open. Daniel stared at Gretchen like she was a complete stranger. Gretchen noticed their expressions and asked, “What? What are you staring at?”

  “You’re eating meat. Veal, even,” Daniel said.

  Gretchen looked stricken for a moment, but regained her cool composure and said, “I guess my body needs protein. Or iron. I was feeling a little light-headed earlier. Anyway, it doesn’t mean anything. Just shut up.”

  Daniel and Sheila looked at each other skeptically. Much to my relief, and most likely Gretchen’s as well, Daniel’s cell phone rang. I was startled. Daniel had been one of the last great holdouts to join the cellular age.

  “Excuse me,” Daniel said, getting up from the table to take the call.

  As he walked away, Faizah said, “So, Josh, when’s your bachelor party?
”

  “If I’m not mistaken, it’s tomorrow night,” Josh said. “Right, Blaine?”

  “Yes, tomorrow. I didn’t forget,” I said.

  “I hope you didn’t plan anything distasteful,” Sheila said to me. “No strippers, lap dancers with tassels, or anything like that.”

  “Of course not,” I said. “It’s going to be at Adam’s house. Men only. Totally stag.”

  “How about us, Sheila?” asked Faizah. “What’ll we be doing while the men are doing their stag thing?”

  “You didn’t plan anything for me?” Sheila teased, knowing Faizah couldn’t have, since she’d been in Paris for the last week. Faizah looked miffed, so Sheila continued, “I’m just kidding. We’ll have a party of our own, trust me.”

  “Will there be strippers?” Gretchen asked hopefully. “Lap dancers with tassels?”

  Daniel returned to the table and announced, “Martin has landed.”

  “On the moon, I hope,” I said.

  “We were just discussing my bachelor party,” Josh said. “Is Martin coming, too?”

  “I’m not certain,” Daniel answered, glancing briefly at me. I could feel my face twitching.

  “Call him back and tell him to be at Adam’s tomorrow,” Josh begged Daniel. “I haven’t seen him in a while. It’ll be fun to have him there.”

  “Okay,” Daniel said weakly.

  After the rehearsal dinner, we all went home. On the way back to Adam’s, I stopped at a drugstore to buy some Pepto-Bismol. I hadn’t anticipated spending much time with Martin during the wedding. I figured since he would be staying with Adam’s parents, the distance from the altar to wherever he sat during the ceremony would be enough to bear, and during the reception, it wouldn’t be difficult to maintain a similar distance. It had never occurred to me that he might be at the bachelor party. But it should have. He probably would’ve crashed the party if he wasn’t invited.

  An hour into the bachelor party the following night, I began to think I’d done a lot of needless worrying. Adam’s living room was filled with Josh’s friends who had come to Eau Claire for the weekend, along with a few of Adam and Jeremy’s friends, as well as Jake and Daniel’s, but Martin hadn’t shown up. I’d hired the same caterer that was being used for the wedding to set up food in the dining room, as well as a bartender. There were two poker games going on in the den, but most of the guys were standing around the living room talking. It was a perfectly respectable party, just as I’d intended.

  “Great party, Blaine,” Adam said, leaning on a wall in the living room next to me. “When do the strippers arrive?”

  “I promised Sheila a PG party,” I said. “Thanks again for letting me have it here.”

  “No sweat. It’s not every day that I get to have thirty or forty men in my house,” he said.

  “Oh? Weren’t you just saying a few days ago that you wanted some time for yourself?”

  Adam laughed, then said, “That’ll be tomorrow, after everything’s over and the men are all gone. I’ll have this to reflect on while I—”

  “Okay,” I interrupted. “I get the picture. Besides, all these guys are straight.”

  Adam smiled at me and said, “Not all of you are, Blaine.” Despite the fact that the lights were dimmed, Adam must have seen me blush, because he gestured with the beer in his hand and said, “I’m sorry. Alcohol makes me flirt.”

  “I’ll remember that,” I said with a quick grin before I walked away.

  I poked my head in the den just as Josh threw down a winning hand and yelled, “Yes! Come to Papa!” He swept the chips toward him and said, “Now I can pay for a real honeymoon!”

  While the other guys laughed, I turned around and ran into Daniel. “Oh! Sorry,” I said.

  “I’m not,” he responded. “We haven’t been able to talk. How are you?”

  “Honest answer?”

  “Yes, but leave the brutality on the side, please,” Daniel said.

  I motioned for him to follow me to a quiet corner in the hall, next to a coat closet and a small table with a lamp. “What’s going on with us?” I asked. “I like that we’re talking again.”

  “Knowing us,” Daniel said, “it could be the calm before the storm.” I thought about the baby bomb that Gretchen and I were about to drop and inwardly cringed. I had no idea how Daniel would react to the news. Even if he and I couldn’t get back together, I still wanted to save our friendship.

  “I’ve missed you,” I said. I reached out and touched his arm, felt a shiver run up my back, and added, “I miss my friend.”

  Daniel stepped toward me and took my drink out of my hand. He set it on the table then wrapped his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder. “So do I,” he said. “Sometimes I still get angry, though, when I think back on our arguments.”

  “Me, too,” I admitted.

  “The question is,” Daniel began, pulling back just enough to look me in the eye, “do we want to work through this? Together?”

  I was about to answer when someone said, “Excuse me.”

  “Oh. Sorry,” Daniel said, moving out of the way as the bartender walked by pushing an oversized cake on a small hand truck. He wheeled it into the living room, and we heard everyone whooping and calling Josh into the room.

  “What the hell was that thing?” I asked. “I didn’t order that.”

  I went into the living room to see Josh being dragged in from the den. His eyes widened in surprise at the enormous cake, and he said, “Oh, no. Guys, I hope this isn’t what I think it is.”

  Just as someone cranked up the volume knob on the stereo, the top of the cake flew open and a woman popped out, flinging confetti and glitter everywhere. The men cheered and hollered as she was helped down and began dancing to a Whitney Houston dance mix. She was wearing high heels, long gloves, and a tight dress. As she let down her long, blond hair and shook it out over her shoulders, I looked on in horror as I realized she was Martin Blount in drag.

  “It’s Martin,” I growled.

  Daniel was standing beside me and said, “Yes.” He was laughing while he watched Martin take off a glove and run it across Josh’s cheek, but covered his mouth with his fingertips when he saw my scowl.

  “Miss Houston is wrong,” I said. “This is neither right, nor is it even remotely okay. How could he do this? That fucker.”

  “Blaine, please,” Daniel scoffed. “Look, Josh is enjoying it. Everyone is.”

  “Not all these guys are from New York, Daniel,” I said. “Not everyone is open-minded, you know. Not everyone loves a drag queen.”

  “That’s a clown. Everyone loves a clown,” Daniel said, his irritation with me evident by his frown. “Martin is not a drag queen. He’s a performer, and sometimes a female impersonator. An actor.”

  “Oh, an actor. I see,” I said. “I should have known you’d stick up for him. You always do. Then again, you didn’t bat an eye when that cake was wheeled by us. You knew all about this, didn’t you?” Daniel bit his bottom lip for a second and turned back to watch the show, his silence the answer to my question. “I knew it,” I said. I left and headed for the dining room, where the bartender had resumed his post. “Vodka with an essence of tonic. Make it a double.”

  After another double, I could finally unclench my jaw. I wandered into the den and started flicking poker chips across the room. I could hear hooting and hollering in the other room and figured Martin was still entertaining. The door opened and Adam walked in. He saw me and shook a finger at me.

  “You’re not having fun,” he said.

  “Sure I am,” I said. “This is just my poker face.”

  Adam rolled his eyes, then stepped in front of me. He reached down, grabbed the leg of my chair, and yanked it so I was facing him. The quick movement nearly made me fall over, since I was feeling light-headed, but I managed to stay seated. Adam sat down directly opposite of me, and pulled me forward in my chair until our knees were touching.

  “What’s going on in there, Blaine?
” he asked, reaching over to tap my forehead with his finger.

  I batted his hand away and said, “Nothing. I hate Martin.”

  “Oh,” Adam said. He plucked his beer off the table, took a pull, then said, “That old song and dance.”

  “Yeah, that’s just it. Song and dance. I’m sick of Martin butting in to everything I do and fucking it all up,” I said loudly.

  Adam quickly set down his beer and stood up, pulling me with him. He folded his arms around me and rubbed a hand between my shoulder blades. “Just calm down, okay?” he said slowly. Then he started laughing and said, “It’s not right, but it’s okay.”

  His giddiness was contagious, and before I knew what was happening, we were laughing together and holding each other up. When I could breathe again, I said, “I’m sorry. He’s your stupid friend, too. I should know better than to insult that idiot in front of you.”

  “It’s okay, Blaine,” Adam said.

  I left the room and went back to the bar. I ordered another double and noticed that people were walking around again. I saw Jake and pulled him aside, asking, “Is the Martin Show over?”

  “Yeah,” Jake said. “Sheila’s mentioned him, but I never knew he was so entertaining. I’m going to grab a beer. Do you want anything?”

  I held up my drink as an answer and turned away, muttering, “Entertaining. I’ve had gas more entertaining than Martin Fucking Blount.”

  I wandered into the living room, where a large number of men were still crowded around Martin, asking him questions about New York, his part in Cabaret, and his past as a female impersonator. After a few minutes, Martin broke away from the phalanx of men and walked by me on his way to the dining room. He was still in his dress, wig, and heels, but the gloves were off.

  “Hey there, Paul Bunyon,” he said as he breezed by me. “Fancy seeing you here.” I turned and followed him into the hall, then grabbed his arm and dragged him after me. “What the hell are you doing?” he exclaimed. “Let go of me!”

  I slammed my drink down on the small table, then grabbed both of his arms and pinned him against the closet door.