“Not that. Daniel. How much did you hear?”
Gavin shrugged, then said, “Everything. This is a nice place and all, but it’s too small for privacy.”
“Why haven’t I moved yet?” I asked Dexter, who’d leaped onto the table and was eyeballing my breakfast. I picked him up and waved goodbye with his paw at Gavin, who resembled a pack mule as he left with his massage table and my dry cleaning.
The phone was still in my hand, so I speed-dialed Violet.
“Oh, good,” she said in lieu of a greeting. “I just got the mock-ups from the art department for the men’s line packaging. Are you on your way in?”
“Violet, do you sleep in the office?” I asked. “Don’t you have a home?”
“Are you on your way in?” she repeated, ignoring me.
“No. That’s why I called. I’m going to be a few hours late.”
I held the phone away from my ear when she yelped, “A few hours! What do you mean? The production meeting has been pushed up and is now at noon. You need to look at these mock-ups and choose a direction for the packaging before the meeting. Plus you need to go over the numbers the financial department just faxed me. Not to mention the—”
“Violet,” I interrupted, “you work for me, right?”
“All the other department heads are going into this meeting today with the assumption that you’re prepared. Rumor has it that Lillith will be there, too. I’d hate for them to be disappointed.”
“Daniel’s coming by,” I said casually. “I think we’re going to talk about the photos.”
“Oh,” Violet said. There was a long pause, until she said, “Fine. But get rid of him before eleven-thirty, because that’s when I’ll be knocking on your door to drag you into the office. I’ll have the packaging samples and reports with me so we can go over everything quickly in the cab. Okay?”
“As if I have a choice,” I muttered.
“And, Blaine? Yes, I work for you,” she said before she hung up.
I managed to finish my breakfast, wash the dishes, shower, and put on a light gray Armani suit before the doorbell sounded. I buzzed Daniel into the building, and as I tied my tie, my eyes darted around my apartment, looking for things that were out of place. I needn’t have worried, because Gavin kept the apartment neat as a pin.
A light knock let me know that Daniel had reached my floor. I opened my apartment door and slammed it shut again when I saw a woman with a blond bob. She wore sunglasses, a charcoal gray suit, and a white silk blouse, and she had a purse dangling from a strap over her shoulder and was holding a briefcase.
When she knocked again, I pressed my back to the door and hollered, “If you’re from the Manhattan Star-Gazette, I have nothing to say to you!”
“Blaine, it’s me,” I heard Daniel say. “Open the fucking door.”
Startled, I cautiously opened the door and peered at the woman in the hallway.
“Are you going to let me in?” she asked, and it finally dawned on me that I was looking at Daniel in drag. “I promise that everything we say will be completely off the record.”
I let him in, still saying nothing, and watched as he set down his briefcase by the door, stuck his sunglasses in a pocket, then sat down on my leather sofa. Keeping his knees together, he reached down and pulled off his black high heels, saying, “These things are killing me. They’re like torture chambers.”
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m massaging my feet,” Daniel said. “They must have grown since I bought those shoes. Of course, your feet do swell during the summer. You know, when it’s hot outsi—”
“I meant,” I cut him off, “why are you wearing a dress?”
“It’s not a dress. It’s a skirt,” he said, smoothing his skirt over his knees. “Technically, it’s a suit. Anne Klein. Do you like it? I got it half off a long time ago, and it still fits me, thank you very much. If you keep making that face, it’s going to stick that way, Blaine. This was the only way I could get past the reporters outside my building. I couldn’t exactly throw on a trench coat and fedora and expect to go unnoticed. Besides, there’s not a cloud in the sky. I figured they’d be on the lookout for me, not a businesswoman on the go. I was right, because I walked right by them, and they didn’t give me a second glance.”
If Daniel had been dressed as he usually was, in jeans and a T-shirt, or anything else from his wardrobe of casual designer clothing, I would have been happy to have a rational discussion with him. Or I would have been tongue-tied with lust for him. But I wasn’t prepared to watch him while he sat on my sofa with a face full of makeup, adjusting the seams of his stockings.
He brushed the hair from the wig out of his eyes and said, “You look just like you did three years ago when you drunkenly confessed that you’d watched my act at Club Chaos. I see you’re still afraid of drag. Ignorance is so unattractive, Blaine.”
“I’m not ignorant,” I said. “I just prefer my men to look like men.”
Daniel opened his purse and fished out a tube of lipstick. He pulled off the top, ran the lipstick over his lips, rubbed them together, then blotted them on a tissue. He then said, “It’s a good thing I’m not your man, isn’t it?” I glared at him, and my suspicion that he was deliberately trying to provoke me was confirmed by his next words. “Speaking of drag, you should apologize to Martin. You were horrible to him at Josh’s bachelor party. You bruised his arm. Not to mention his fragile ego. He was only trying to liven things up and give Josh a laugh. There was no need for you to act like a big ape.”
As he returned the tube of lipstick to his purse and stuffed the tissue inside, it occurred to me that Daniel in drag reminded me of his Aunt Jen. The thought made me almost laugh out loud, but I covered my mouth with my hand and stifled it. After I composed myself, I said, “Okay.”
Daniel raised his head, looked at me quizzically, and asked, “What was that?”
“I said okay. You’re right,” I agreed. “My behavior was churlish and unacceptable.” Daniel, still looking puzzled, turned his head, and I asked, “Why are you staring at the window?”
“I was waiting for the swarm of locusts,” he said. “Enough of all that. Sheila called me. What a way to cap off a honeymoon. We agreed that at least now all those silly rumors about her and me being a couple will be put to rest.”
“Rumors that you and she started, remember?” I reminded him. “Even though that is a fortunate outcome, don’t try to tell me that you engineered this whole thing to stop what the two of you started.”
“You got me, Blaine. I actually own the Manhattan Star-Gazette,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Give me a break. I’m only trying to look at the bright side. Unfortunately, that’s all I’ve been able to come up with.”
“What’s been happening at work?” I asked.
“The show’s executives don’t care if I’m gay, straight, or a eunuch. As long as I know my lines and pass the drug tests the insurance company makes us take, they’re happy.”
“That’s good,” I said. “So you wait until this blows over, which it will, and everyone’s fine.”
“Not really. The network brass doesn’t want anyone to comment. They’re afraid of Seaforth’s reaction if there’s negative viewer response.”
“Isn’t Bonnie an executive producer? Have you seen her or asked her what the Seaforth board is saying?”
“She’s been supportive of me personally,” Daniel said, “but she seems to be in the ‘no comment’ camp. I don’t think Seaforth will get involved unless there’s more publicity.”
“I have a feeling that you’re not going to keep quiet,” I said.
“It would be like lying. Or a lie of omission. I couldn’t live with myself if I walked past people who ask if I’m gay and pretended that they weren’t there. I’d feel like a hypocrite after all those years performing as Princess 2Di4, encouraging gay people to be proud of themselves. And trying to hide the life I’ve lived would be ridiculous. It would only take a
quick search on the Internet for anyone to find out about Princess 2Di4. There were articles about me in Interview Magazine, HX, and the New York Blade. Actually, I’m surprised it took this long before someone put two and two together.”
“It just proves that you’re a good actor,” I said.
“Thanks. I think,” he said, smiling. “Regardless, I’m going to make a statement to the press and say, ‘Yes, I’m gay,’ and get it over with.”
“I think it’s the right thing to do,” I said. “I admire your honesty and the risk you’re taking.”
“If they write me off the show, they’ll have to buy out my contract. If there is a negative reaction and I don’t work for a while, I’ve got a nest egg from the town house sale, so I won’t hurt for money. Don’t start frowning again. I’m not going to name names. I know how you are about your family.”
“My family knows,” I said. “Well, I told my brothers. I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before they tell my parents. But I don’t care if they do.”
Daniel looked momentarily nonplused before he smiled again and said, “That’s good. I’m proud of you, Blaine. That must have been difficult.”
“It was surprisingly easy,” I admitted. We were silent while I thought things over. Although I didn’t care what my family might find out, I had no desire to endure the public scrutiny Daniel was probably in for. There were still some things I wanted to keep private, namely Gretchen and our baby. I finally said, “If you could leave me out of your press conference, I’d appreciate it.”
“Not a problem. I’m going to tell the truth, remember? I’ll just say the man in the photographs with me was my boyfriend, but we broke up and now I’m happily single. I held off making a statement because I wanted to talk to Sheila and you first. I figured you’d both be affected by the outcome, and we should all be on the same page. I see that as far as you’re concerned, I needn’t have bothered.”
“That answers that question,” I said. Daniel looked confused, so I explained, “I wondered if you only came over here to talk about the photos, or if you wanted to talk about our relationship, too.”
“One crisis at a time, please,” Daniel said.
“What makes you think I want to sit around waiting for you?” I asked, suddenly angry. “I’m tired of you putting me off and walking away from me all the time.”
“Trust me. You don’t want me to say everything that’s in my head right now,” Daniel warned.
We both looked at the door when we heard someone knock. I glanced at my watch and said, “It’s Violet. I have to go to work.” Daniel said nothing as he put on his shoes and picked up his purse. I opened the door for Violet and said, “Hi. Give me a couple of minutes.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ve got everything with me for the meeting.”
Violet walked into my living room, but stopped in her tracks when Daniel stood up from the sofa. He gave her an appraising look and said, “And I make you uncomfortable? That’s rich, Blaine.”
I assumed he was talking about her resemblance to Jennifer Lopez, although I could have told him that wasn’t deliberate.
“I’m sorry,” Violet said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Daniel was just leaving.” I picked up his briefcase and held it out. He strode past Violet, and as he took the briefcase, I said, “If you’re talking to the press today, I hope you’re not wearing that outfit.”
“Maybe I will,” Daniel said. “What of it?”
I knew he wouldn’t go to the press in drag, but I said, “Nothing. That skirt makes your butt look fat. That’s all.”
Violet and Daniel gasped audibly at the same time, and Violet said, “He’s angry. He didn’t mean it.”
“Thank you,” Daniel said to her. “You look fabulous, by the way. Is that Calvin Klein?”
Violet put her hand over her jacket and said, “Yes.”
Daniel glanced at me and said, “Uh-oh. He’s frowning again. It was nice to meet you.” He swept through the open door, and I listened to his heels tapping on the stairs.
Violet eyed me cautiously, obviously testing the waters, before she said, “I take it things didn’t go well?”
“If your idea of things going well includes snide remarks and being taunted by your boyfriend—excuse me, ex-boyfriend—showing up in drag, then yes, things went well,” I said. I found my briefcase and added, “Let’s go. Suddenly I can’t wait to be in a boring business meeting.”
CHAPTER 13
Gretchen’s doctor was paged to do an emergency C-section before he could examine her, so the staff at Preston Women’s Healthcare Center put us in a patient room and even ordered a fruit plate for me while we waited. I glanced up from my laptop to watch Gretchen as she aimlessly flipped channels, her feet propped on a pillow. She looked so comfortable on the hospital bed, with its crisp white sheets, that I wanted to trade places with her. The center was famous for considering the comfort of its patients, but the visitors’ chairs left something to be desired.
She’d been complaining about being huge. Other than the fact that her waistline was finally expanding, I thought she looked great. Her face was a little puffy, but even though I knew it was a cliché, she really did glow. She’d stopped getting her hair colored while she was pregnant and claimed to be too busy to get it cut, so she’d started French braiding it close to her head, minimizing the contrast between its chestnut roots and blond streaks. I thought the style softened her and made her look more feminine, but I didn’t dare tell her so.
“Sheila’s on Zandra’s Chick Chat,” I said, looking at my watch.
“I hate that show,” Gretchen said. “It’s like what would happen if Barbies could talk.”
“I think Faizah is on, too,” I said, smiling when Gretchen changed the channel just as Zandra and her guests gathered around the set’s kitchen counter.
“—so I make casseroles, but I wouldn’t dare eat them myself,” Sheila was saying. “Well, maybe a nibble or two, with salad. No dressing.”
“If she delivers one more casserole to me, she’s going to be wearing it,” Gretchen muttered.
“That’s how Sheila nurtures,” I said.
“I had a casserole dish once,” Faizah said. “It made a great water bowl for my dog, because it was heavy. Faizah orders in.”
“Sorry, Blaine, I can’t handle this,” Gretchen said, and hit the channel button just in time for us to see Cressida Porterhouse cowering at the rim of a volcano and bursting into tears on Secret Splendor. “Sorry, Blaine, you can’t handle this,” she said, then turned it to CNN.
“These aren’t new, but I know you two must be bored,” a nurse said, coming into the room with a stack of magazines. “We just got word that Dr. Griffith is finishing up in surgery. As soon as he gets here, we’ll move you to the examining room.”
“Thanks,” Gretchen said.
I took the magazines, then rolled my eyes when I saw Daniel’s two-week-old Us magazine cover. It seemed he was everywhere I turned. I handed Gretchen Architecture Magazine, hiding the Us behind a Town & Country so she wouldn’t know that I was reading Daniel’s article again.
Were you surprised when you were “outed” with pictures in Lola Listeria’s column, the “Lo-Down,” in the Manhattan Star-Gazette?
I was surprised to see unauthorized photographs of me at a private function, a friend’s wedding, sharing a private moment. But I take issue with the idea that I was “outed.” At no time in my career as a performer have I ever pretended to be straight. I don’t discuss my private life, because it has nothing to do with my work. I’ve never denied being gay.
What about the rumors that you were involved in a romantic relationship with supermodel Sheila Meyers?
I suppose you’d have to look at the source of those rumors. I don’t think you’ll find any kind of statement from either Sheila or me that we had that kind of relationship. She and I have been friends for several years. Sheila’s relationship with her boyfriend—now her husband—Jo
sh, has been public knowledge for as long as they’ve been dating. They attend functions together, they’ve done interviews together, their apartment was even featured in an issue of Ultimate Magazine. If a few reporters chose to present the story from a different perspective, they were misleading their readers and viewers.
Still, your show, Secret Splendor, and the network, while not issuing any kind of denial, have refused to answer questions about your sexual orientation.
I think they’re showing me the same courtesy they show any actor on one of their shows. The degree to which we make our private lives available to the public is up to us. There are actors who don’t want pictures of their families printed. Who don’t want their families to be the focus of articles. The network, and my show, are going to respect that.
For your bosses, then, this is a nonissue.
You’d have to ask them, of course, but it seems to be. There’s been no pressure on me to deny the story, or any sense that if viewers know I’m gay, my job is in jeopardy.
Some sources say there are plans to diminish your role as Angus Remington on the show.
Really? We finished shooting a major storyline around Angus in early July. I took several weeks off after that, so in the coming weeks, there’ll be less Angus, because I wasn’t taping. My absence was written into the storyline. But now I’m back at work, and the diabolical Angus is wreaking as much havoc as ever. Those episodes will start airing in about three weeks, I think. And I still have a little over two years on my contract.
Is the man in those pictures someone special in your life?
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