I'm Your Man

by Timothy James Beck

  “Just give him the paper,” Lillith said, finally breaking the silence, and Violet, as she had so many times in the past, handed me the Manhattan Star-Gazette, folded open to Lola Listeria’s “Lo-Down” column. I scanned the text, but I didn’t see anything pertaining to Sheila or Daniel.

  “The pictures,” Violet said.

  “Ah,” I said, my eyes traveling to the row of grainy black-and-white photos to the right of the column. My first reaction was surprise that, in a picture of the bride and groom dancing, Sheila looked less than stunning. Her mouth was hanging open and her eyes were glazed. Apparently Lola had lost her infatuation with Sheila. The caption read, “Sheila Meyers an exhausted bride in her nuptial dance with groom Josh Clinton.”

  The second photo showed Mr. T handing over his mushroom cap to Faizah, but when I dropped my eyes to read that caption, I zeroed in on the next picture. Daniel holding me—although my back was to the camera—in our dance outside the tent. That picture, and the three that came after it—one in which the two of us were in profile, still dancing; one in which Daniel was kissing me; one in which we were pulling away, but still staring into each other’s eyes—were all untitled. The final picture, which must have been taken just before we turned to walk back inside the tent, clearly showed our faces, and beneath it was printed, “Lola now understands that she was ‘steered’—get it?—in the wrong direction regarding Daniel and Sheila. The portrayer of Secret Splendor’s Angus obviously grazes on the other side of the fence.”

  Rowdy let out a soft whine and lay back down on the floor with a heavy sigh, and I said, “I know how you feel, buddy.” I looked up to see them all still staring at me, even Rune Reader and the newly awakened Barbara, and I felt the first stirring of my famous Dunhill temper. I looked at Gavin and asked, “Has Daniel called?” When he shook his head, I looked at Violet.

  “He hasn’t called the office either. Have you been checking the messages on your cell phone?”

  “No,” I said.

  “He may have left one there. Although your voice mail is jammed with my messages.”

  I crossed the room to look down at Daniel’s apartment. Tiny white lights twinkled around his plants, but his apartment was dark. So he was in the city, but either out or asleep.

  “Violet did beg for your number at the cabin,” Frank said. “It was my decision not to bother you. I thought you deserved your vacation.”

  I turned around and said, “It was a working vacation. Lillith, don’t worry. I have an advertising strategy for the men’s line. I’ll present it to you and Frank on Monday.” I looked at Violet and said, “I’m sorry if I’ve caused you anxiety. I know you’d do anything to take care of me, but you can see that I’m fine. Just tired.”

  “I’d like to strangle that redheaded bitch, Lola Listeria,” Violet said.

  “Karma,” Lillith warned her.

  “Erase, erase,” Rune Reader said, looking heavenward.

  “We should leave and let you get some rest,” Frank said as he stood up.

  Gavin, Violet, and Barbara began clearing the table while Rune Reader packed his stones and Ryan helped Lillith retrieve her belongings. I continued to lean against the windowsill, and Frank crossed the room to me after turning off the television.

  “I didn’t loan you the cabin so you could do nothing but work,” he scolded.

  “Trust me, working on the men’s line without distractions was exactly what I needed. I felt great at the cabin,” I assured him, taking the key from my pocket and handing it to him.

  “Then you came back to this,” he said, glancing around.

  “Has the story been picked up? With any more details?”

  “A few of the entertainment shows seem interested. So far, there have just been generic ‘no comment’ statements from unnamed sources connected to Secret Splendor.”

  “I wonder how Lola got the pictures? I thought Adam’s security people thoroughly screened the press.”

  “They aren’t professional shots,” Frank said. “Apparently someone sneaked a camera in.”

  “Trust Lola Listeria to find that person. Or maybe she set it up.”

  “Gavin told us earlier that listeria is a food bacteria also found in sewage,” Lillith said, joining us at the window.

  “How appropriate is that?” I asked.

  I was grateful when they were all gone. I left Gavin cleaning the kitchen and shut my bedroom door behind me. Dexter was asleep on my pillow, which he knew was forbidden, but I ignored him and took my cell phone from one of my bags.

  There were no calls before Wednesday, but Violet was right. My voice mail was full. After hearing the third message from her asking me to call about an urgent matter, I began deleting hers, but listened to the others.

  “Hi, sweetie,” Gretchen said in a message from the night before. “You might want to get your hands on a copy of the Star-Gazette before you come back to the city. Civil Liberty and I are fine. We took a vacation, too. Call me when you get back.”

  “Blaine, it’s Ethan. Your assistant tells me you’re out of town. Give me a call when you get back.”

  “Hi, Uncle Blaine. Hey, was the wedding you told me about the one with that actor from here who’s on a soap? I think something happened to him, but I don’t know what. I’ll e-mail you if I find out.” So as of last night, apparently, my picture wasn’t in the Midwestern papers. Or else Nick hadn’t seen it.

  The last few messages were from Violet and had filled my mailbox. If Daniel had tried to call, he wouldn’t have been able to leave a message. I dialed into my voice mail at work, but it was empty, so I assumed Violet had handled everything there.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, too tired to think but unable to stop, and the only thing on my mind was Daniel. What a miserable few days he must have had. First finding out about the baby, then this spiteful act by a scandal-hungry woman who didn’t have the grace to admit she was wrong. She’d used her little bit of power to strike out at him. If he hadn’t stubbornly, stupidly walked out on me, I’d be doing whatever I could to help him through it. Although I knew that was his choice, I couldn’t help but feel guilty.

  Even after I put Dexter out of my bedroom and went to bed, I lay awake thinking in circles. Everyone who knew Daniel would tell me that my best option was to wait for him to come to me. I fought my impulse to get dressed, go to his apartment, and force him to see me.

  It was a relief to open my eyes the next morning and realize that I’d slept. I took a shower and unpacked before I went to the kitchen, where Gavin was waiting with a cup of coffee.

  “Did you sleep at all?” he asked, looking at my bloodshot eyes.

  “Not much.” I took the coffee and walked to the window. No sign of life at Daniel’s.

  After I ate breakfast, I called Gretchen, forestalling any discussion with a terse request that she let me come over. She agreed and within the hour was ushering me into her loft.

  “You look like hell. You saw the paper, I assume?”

  “Yes, after I got home last night.” I told her about my welcoming committee, and she shook her head.

  “Daniel hasn’t decided what he wants to do yet,” she said. I appreciated her ability to know what was uppermost on my mind. “The network wants him to do nothing. Bonnie and the Seaforth Chemical people are leaving it up to him. But everyone’s giving him advice, and it’s making him crazy. You know Daniel. He’s reeling and needs time to process.”

  “At least he’s talking to you,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said and gave me a sympathetic smile. “Don’t look so worried. He’s okay, and I’m sure he’ll get in touch with you soon. He probably thinks you’re still out of town.”

  “He knew?”

  “I told him. I’d better tell you everything from the beginning.”

  “Okay,” I said, sitting down.

  “I didn’t come home from Eau Claire right away. Once I got your note, I decided I could use a few days off, too. Gwendy knew I was still there, so on T
uesday night she asked me to have dinner with Daniel and her. I don’t know how she talked him into it, but I thought it was a good idea. After I explained everything to him, he was mostly concerned for my health. Things were friendly enough between us that we agreed to fly back to New York together on Thursday. Which we did, with neither of us knowing what had been printed in Wednesday’s ‘Lo-Down’ column. One of my friends told me about it. I was finally able to talk to him Friday, and that’s how I know what little I know. I’m sure he was probably ready to talk to you about the baby, but of course, all this has pushed that to the background. He’s got a lot of decisions to make.”

  “I feel like I should be helping him.”

  “Let him come to you,” she said.

  “I knew you’d say that. Can you believe Lola Listeria, though? Okay, enough about that. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m great,” she said. “So is Civil Liberty. My amnio’s been scheduled. I know you wanted to be at all the ultrasounds, but do you want to be there for this procedure, too?”

  “Of course,” I said. “You told them we don’t want to know the sex, right?”

  “Yes. We won’t have the results for about three weeks after the procedure, but they agreed to keep that out of the report. Of course, all my friends think I’m crazy. Now that the news is out, prepare yourself. Everyone, and I mean everyone, is an expert on pregnancy, childbirth, and childcare. But amazingly, none of these experts agree. Tell me again, why did we want to tell people we’re pregnant?”

  “Baby gifts,” I said. “For years, I’ve had to shell out money for wedding presents, anniversary presents, congratulations on your divorce presents, and baby presents. I’m expecting a big payoff.”

  “I never realized you were so greedy. Would you really use our innocent child to—”

  “Where have you registered so far?” I cut her off.

  “I’ve done it all online. Wait’ll you see all the cool stuff we’re asking for.”

  I managed not to think of Daniel more than a dozen times an hour over the next few days. Lillith and Frank reacted favorably to my Gods of Mythology men’s line pitch. The entire advertising staff was inundated with samples so we could work with Lillith’s metaphysical and marketing experts to match myth to product. Gavin said I came home every night smelling like a whorehouse, although I wasn’t sure how he came by his knowledge of such places.

  Adam called to apologize for the breach of security at the wedding. We agreed it was pointless to speculate on Lola’s infiltration method. We also agreed that Sheila was going to be livid over the photo of her chosen for “The Lo-Down.” Neither of us had heard from Daniel, nor had Jeremy. But Adam said so far, there’d only been one small reference in the local newspaper to Daniel, as more of a footnote to ongoing stories about Sheila’s splashy wedding in the society section. He assured me that hometown coverage of Sheila would be much more to her liking. The photos were fantastic and she was regarded as Eau Claire royalty.

  I had an e-mail from Nick that explained how he’d come by his information about Daniel. Although the Eau Claire paper wasn’t running the story, apparently whatever chat rooms Nick visited online were full of people who’d seen the pictures or heard the story and were speculating about whether or not Daniel was gay and would come out. It was clear that my nephew hadn’t heard any rumors about the man with Daniel in the pictures, and I wasn’t sure if there was any reason to tell him it was me.

  The night before Sheila and Josh were expected home, I met Ethan for dinner at their favorite restaurant, Julian’s, to get myself into a Sheila frame of mind. Ethan greeted me with an enthusiastic hug, made small talk until our orders were taken, then sat back.

  “So,” he said. “I saw the pictures. You and Daniel are back together?”

  “Oh, no,” I said. I caught him up on everything, monopolizing the conversation while he ate in silence. I took special pleasure in skewering Martin for his bachelor party antics, since Ethan and Martin were friends. I finally finished with, “The irony of it is, Daniel was okay with the idea that I’d had sex with other guys. I didn’t have sex with Gretchen, but he freaked out over our news.”

  “Hmmm,” Ethan said. When I waited for more, he went on. “He’d probably prepared himself for other men. But the baby thing—you have to admit, that’s not something a man hears about his ex-lover every day.”

  “No,” I admitted reluctantly.

  “And he didn’t find out under optimal circumstances. Maybe if you and Gretchen had been able to prepare him for it—”

  “Whose side are you on?”

  “Besides, if Gretchen’s right, he was already starting to deal with it. Until Lola’s bomb exploded. I noticed in subsequent columns, no mention has been made of Daniel or Sheila.”

  “My assistant told me that, too. I’ve been avoiding any kind of entertainment news, but according to Violet, in the few gossip columns or shows that have mentioned it, the word from Daniel and company is still ‘no comment.’ I wish I knew what he planned to do. I keep thinking my name’s going to pop up any minute.”

  “How do you feel about that?” Ethan asked.

  “I honestly don’t know. Other than the feeling that it’s something I can’t control, so the best course of action is no action.” I frowned, wondering why that sounded familiar, then remembered Lillith’s rune stone reader. I expressed surprise that Ethan actually laughed after I told him that story.

  “Lillith is quite the character. I know her through Bonnie Seaforth-Wilkes.”

  “That’s right! I’d forgotten that Bonnie’s a friend of yours. Have you talked to her about any of this Daniel stuff?”

  He shook his head and said, “No. That was one reason I called you. To find out how you and Daniel wanted it handled. I have a certain amount of influence with Bonnie, and if I can be of any help, I will be.”

  “You could always ask Martin for Daniel’s thoughts on the matter, if you don’t want to talk to Daniel yourself. As for me, I’m clueless.”

  “Martin,” Ethan said, shaking his head with another smile. “Speaking of characters. Martin always has good intentions. You’re too hard on him.”

  “He’s a pain in the ass,” I disagreed.

  When we stepped outside the restaurant to be assaulted by the sultry July night, Ethan said, “I always swear I won’t be in Manhattan at the end of summer. But somehow I never plan things right.”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I said, realizing how much more relaxed I felt after talking things over with him.

  We stood on the sidewalk, and I wondered if he, like me, was trying to decide if this was the end of our evening. Then I felt like someone was staring at me, and I spotted a couple of men intently looking our way. I was trying to figure out if I knew them from the gym or something, when one of them softly spoke to the other, and realization dawned on their faces.

  “It is him,” I heard one of them say, and they headed in our direction.

  “One of my summer indulgences is that I never take the subway,” Ethan said, stepping smoothly between me and the approaching men to open the back door of a cab. I slid in, saying nothing when he gave the driver his address. “You can keep the cab after he drops me off,” Ethan told me. “Since the windows were down, I didn’t want to risk those guys hearing your address.”

  “Maybe they were heading for you,” I said. “You’re the famous author.”

  “Except for a handful, most writers are faceless,” Ethan said.

  “Lucky for you,” I said, “or Lola’s next column might say, ‘Brave Indian—get it?—takes back the range, claims Angus’s mystery man as spoils of war.’ ”

  “You’re a little too good at that,” Ethan said, and we spent our ride coming up with increasingly worse photo captions. He paid the fare when the driver stopped at his building, then said, “You’re welcome to come up, of course.”

  I wasn’t ready to go home and brood about Daniel, so I followed him from the cab. I liked his apartment immediatel
y, in spite of its nod to his metaphysical interests. It was sparsely but comfortably furnished with mission pine furniture set off by beautiful Missoni rugs with geometric patterns. The bookcases were full of books, and I scanned the titles while he got us something to drink, wondering how a man with Ethan’s spiritual interests could be friends with Martin.

  When he returned and noticed that I was staring at a drum hanging on his wall, he said, “All of these drums were given to me by various Native American craftsmen. They’re used in Shamanic ceremonies.” He lit candles on a little altar between two windows, and I watched the light flicker over various animals carved from stone. “Don’t worry. I won’t force you to participate in any bizarre rituals.”

  “I don’t remember complaining about any of your bizarre rituals at Happy Hollow,” I said and tried to smile at him.

  He gave me a measuring look, then said, “Tell me what you’re feeling right now.”

  “I feel like a star,” I said. His look of distaste made me shake my head and explain, “I don’t mean a celebrity. I mean it literally. A star.”

  “In what way?”

  “Like I’m a hundred light-years away, so everyone can still see me. But I burned out. There’s just dark space where I used to be.”

  “Blaine, that’s so sad,” he said, the compassion in his eyes making me look away. He took my glass and set it next to his on the table, then put his arms around me. “The Menomini say a falling star leaves a fiery trail, but it doesn’t die. Its shadow goes back to the sky and shines again.”

  “You’re making that up to comfort me,” I mumbled against his shoulder.

  “I am not making it up. But I would like to comfort you.” I nodded my assent, and he led me to his bedroom.

  We took our time with each other. I appreciated his familiar scent, skin, and hair, but especially the energy that was his alone. It was a mystery that he could both stimulate and calm me, but I savored every minute of it. Later we lay on our sides, facing each other, while I played with a strand of his hair.

  “Remember the fox?” he asked.