I'm Your Man

by Timothy James Beck

  “Mixed metaphor, anyone?” Daniel asked. The audience laughed.

  Robby continued, “We wanted to do something different. We didn’t want to ask hard-hitting questions.”

  “Good.” I breathed a little easier.

  “Yes. We saw this as an opportunity to do some good,” Robby said.

  “That’s been our goal all along, too,” Daniel said.

  “So many interviews have focused on the two of you that we thought we’d shed some light on the other people in your life. Certainly the support of those around you has helped you to be as safe and secure as you are today, right?” Rhonda asked.

  Suddenly I felt as “safe and secure” as a tightrope walker. I was distracted for a moment, thinking of Zodiac’s future Aries ad. Sheila . . . on a tightrope . . .

  “We thought we might share the stage with some of your closest friends,” Robby interrupted my thoughts. “Let’s bring out the first of our guests, Martin Blount!”

  I nearly had a stroke and looked at Daniel, who shrugged helplessly. Martin ran from the backstage area with the enthusiasm of the Kool-Aid Man after being named an honorary citizen of Nebraska. He waved to the applauding audience with a maniacal grin on his face. He bent to hug Daniel, but merely smiled at me from a safe distance.

  “Martin, welcome! It’s no secret to a lot of our viewers that before Daniel assumed the role of Angus Remington, the two of you shared a spotlight. Tell us a little about what that was like,” Robby baited him.

  “Whatever he says, it isn’t true,” Daniel said with a smile. I knew that he was trying to signal Martin that this should be a nice interview, not a bitchy one, but I didn’t have much faith in Daniel’s ability to tone him down.

  “Oh, you,” Martin said. “We did share a stage, but rarely a spotlight. Daniel was the star. When he performed as Princess 2Di4, and I performed a myriad of characters at Club Chaos, there was no one who could hold a candle to him.” I glanced at Daniel, who gave me a See? look, as if to remind me that Martin wasn’t always an evil bitch. Then Martin added, “He was practically shellacked in hairspray, Robert! The fire hazard was far too great!”

  I smiled sweetly at Daniel, who pretended not to see me when he said, “Martin is too modest. It was a pleasure to work with him, and I always look back fondly on that time in my life. Martin and I have had our ups and downs—”

  “Like the bipolar lesbian nun!” Martin said.

  “—but we remain close to this day,” Daniel finished.

  The four of them continued to exchange quips. I was grateful that I didn’t have to say much of anything, and I started to relax again, until Rhonda said, “We don’t want you two to feel like you’re on an episode of This Is Your Life, but we do have another surprise for you. Ladies and gentlemen, an argument for the gay gene theory, Daniel’s sister, Gwendy Stephenson!”

  “And her girlfriend, Gretchen Schmidt,” Robby added.

  Daniel and I both went slack-jawed as the curtains on the side of the set parted briefly and Gwendy and Gretchen came out. After exchanging a bewildered look, we plastered smiles on our faces and stood as they approached, clapping like trained seals. Gretchen hugged me, and Gwendy hugged Daniel. We both asked, at the same time, through locked jaws, “What are you doing here?”

  Gretchen patted me on the back and whispered, “Don’t worry; we’ve got it under control.”

  “We’ll be back after this message from Deity’s Narcissus, the new fragrance by Lillith Allure!” Robby exclaimed.

  Someone shouted, “We’re off!” Robby and Rhonda left us without a word and retreated behind the curtains. I turned around, looking in every direction for Lillith, but Violet was standing alone. When she saw my frantic expression, she grabbed a pitcher of water and hurried to join us.

  “You’re all wearing microphones,” Violet spoke quietly. “Somebody drink water, so I don’t look like an idiot.” Daniel and I both gulped down a glass, while Gretchen and Gwendy watched with amused expressions. “Never send a man to do a woman’s job. For the rest of the show, the two of you need to—”

  “Fasten your seat belts,” Gretchen finished with a Bette Davis impression so bad that Martin and Daniel flinched.

  “What the hell is going on here?” I whispered.

  Gretchen smiled, gazing out at the spectators, and said, “This is only live for the studio audience. Trust me, when we’re finished, this tape won’t be shown in Manhattan or anywhere else.”

  Gwendy pretended to accidentally disconnect her tiny microphone. As it fell to the floor and a couple of techs headed our way, she quickly said, “While the two of you can do nothing but piss and moan, thanks to being alerted by Violet, the rest of us have been doing research and gathering reinforcements. It’s time to kick some butt.”

  “The rest of you?” Daniel voiced my thought.

  Gretchen looked adoringly at me and said, “Laugh like I said something funny so nobody catches on.”

  We all threw back our heads and roared with laughter. Robby and Rhonda came back and sat down, and Violet retreated to the wings.

  “Isn’t this fun?” Rhonda squealed.

  “I can’t remember having a better time,” I answered.

  “Well, there was that time—” Martin started, but stopped when I locked gazes with him.

  “All right, folks,” the producer said, “we’re back on in three,” then used his fingers to show two, one, then pointed to Robby and Rhonda.

  After a brief reintroduction by Robby, our hosts asked Daniel and Gwendy questions about growing up in Wisconsin, a conversation that thankfully excluded me. I certainly didn’t want to talk about my family, especially after all the plugs Gwendy was making for PFLAG.

  I began to feel calm again, only half listening while Gwendy talked, then I glanced at Daniel when he shifted in his chair. He was looking at me, so I stared back, wondering if he was trying to send some silent communication my way. After a few seconds, I realized I was feeling it again—that giddy sense of euphoria that watching him sometimes gave me. The corners of my mouth turned up slightly. His expression became softer, even happy, and the only thing I could think about was how much I loved him, even after our tumultuous year apart.

  I wanted to give in to my impulse to reach for him. No one but our friends would be surprised. Everyone else already thought we were a couple. But my attention was diverted when I heard Robby say, “Gretchen, you look like you’ve had an exciting year! When are you due?”

  I swallowed hard and felt my protective instincts well up inside me in spite of the fact that Gretchen seemed to have the situation under control. She radiated serenity as she answered, “Next week.”

  “We hear so much about couples in your situation choosing to have children. I think it’s just wonderful,” Rhonda said. “Did you use artificial insemination?”

  Daniel had already stopped looking at me, and at that question, his face went blank.

  “I sure did. I’ve been very fortunate through this whole process. I have friends who support me, and Gwendy to help indulge my late-night cravings.”

  “Er, cravings?” Robby asked, looking a little nonplused by Gretchen’s suggestive expression.

  “Yes. I have a voracious appetite for—”

  “Cookies warm from the oven,” Gwendy said. “When do we get to meet Mrs. Fields?”

  “We’re having so much fun, I’m not sure we’ll have time for our other guests,” Rhonda said.

  Martin looked crestfallen and asked, “Not even the bipolar lesbian nun? I used to perform as Sister Mary Amanda Prophet, and I’d hoped—”

  “We do have another surprise for you,” Robby smoothly interrupted. “We’ll be bringing her out after this message from ToothTape, the revolutionary new denture adhesive from Seaforth!”

  “We’re off,” the producer said.

  Robby and Rhonda sprinted to the side of the stage to confer with their producer, and I felt my stomach tie into a knot. I wondered what else could possibly be in store for
us.

  “Why don’t they let Robby bake his cookies, already?” Daniel asked impatiently.

  “Where are Lillith and Bonnie?” I asked. “They got us into this. They need to—”

  “The fun’s just beginning,” Gretchen insisted, her eyes glittering in a way that made me even more nervous.

  Robby and Rhonda joined us again. “Ready to wrap this up?” Robby asked me.

  “You can’t imagine,” I said.

  “We hope you’ve had fun,” Rhonda said. “We sure have enjoyed having you all on the show!”

  “Thank you,” Daniel said, exchanging a look with Robby.

  When taping resumed, Robby addressed the camera. “There’s been a lot of publicity about this young dynamic couple. Some of it has been true, some of it has maybe been stretched a bit. Haven’t they been good sports to answer our questions today?” The audience applauded on cue. “But we’d hardly have a show if it wasn’t for the tenacity of one reporter who introduced us to this amazing story in the first place. Manhattan Star-Gazette columnist Lola Listeria!”

  As Daniel went pale, I felt my own face flush. Lola came onstage in a yellow suit, her flaming red hair spilling out from under a huge, yellow-feathered hat, making her look like a cross between Bette Midler and Big Bird. The chairs on the set had been arranged so that Lola sat on the other side of Robby and Rhonda, apart from the rest of us. Wise choice.

  “Hello, Lola!” our hosts chorused.

  “Hello, darlings! Lola is so happy to be here! You know, since I broke this story, poor Lola’s phone hasn’t stopped ringing!”

  “Neither have my ears,” Daniel muttered.

  “Why does she talk about herself in third person?” I heard Martin whisper. “Who does she think she is? Bob Dole?”

  “Our little lovebirds thought they could hide in their nest, but Lola knows what the people want to hear, and Lola knows how to deliver!”

  “Like Domino’s,” Martin added a little louder. Lola shot a scathing look his way.

  “How do you get these stories, Lola?” Robby asked.

  “Darlings, all I had to do was look into Daniel’s résumé. It didn’t take long before I could see all the good he’d done for his community. I felt that shining some light on his perfect relationship would be an example for all to aspire to. I just needed to give him a little push.”

  “I’d like to give you a little push. Right off the Brooklyn Bridge,” Martin muttered.

  “But you know, darlings, Lola’s eyes and ears can’t be everywhere—”

  “—like her hat,” I said.

  “—like her nose,” Gwendy added.

  “—like her ass,” Martin said at the same time. The three of us exchanged admiring glances, and Daniel laughed.

  “I’ve noticed you rely on a lot of anonymous sources for your stories,” Gretchen spoke over us. “It must be difficult to balance the public’s right to know with an individual’s desire for privacy. I was speaking to my dear friend Jane Gorman, the Hollywood producer. Maybe you’ve heard of her?” When Lola gave her a vacant look, Gretchen continued. “Jane’s an out lesbian, but she talked about what a tough time all women have in the entertainment industry, which is why so many Hollywood lesbians prefer to keep their sexual orientation private.”

  I wondered if Gretchen’s plan involved boring the audience to death with some political rant, but my eyes were drawn to Rhonda, who’d scooted to the edge of her chair. Her eyes were wide, and her complexion had suddenly become blotched with red spots.

  “I think Lola wants to introduce us to one of her sources,” Rhonda quickly followed up Gretchen’s remark.

  “I wonder which Hollywood lesbian Rhonda slept with?” Daniel said in an undertone.

  “Yes!” Lola gushed. “I want to give credit where it’s due, so I’d like to take this opportunity to welcome and thank a new friend who worked tirelessly with me on this story, the renowned artist, Sydney Kepler-Dunhill!”

  I literally saw red, since Sydney strolled onstage from the opposite side of the set wearing a bright red dress. My pulse doubled when I looked at her, and I felt my heartbeat pounding out a rapid rhythm in the veins in my neck.

  “Redheads should never wear scarlet,” Martin said disapprovingly, applause making his comment inaudible except to our group.

  “Especially not in front of an angry Taurus,” Daniel said.

  I tore my gaze from my ex-wife to look at him. I was in no mood for astrological jokes, but once I saw his amused expression, I couldn’t help but return his smile, because it was genuine. He’d obviously decided to stop letting any of this get to him. I wasn’t sure I’d ever loved him more than I did at that moment, because his smile was all it took to make my anger evaporate.

  “Hi, Sydney,” Robby greeted her after she settled next to Lola. “Is it just a coincidence that you share a name with one of our other guests?”

  “It’s not a coincidence,” Sydney said. “It was more like a mistake. Wouldn’t you say, Blaine?”

  “One of my biggest,” I answered dryly.

  “Sydney helped so much on the legwork of this story,” said Lola. “She’s quite a resourceful gal, and very handy with a camera.”

  “Speaking of cameras,” Gwendy said, facing the camera and emulating Robby and Rhonda’s cheesy banter, “here’s a woman who’s no stranger to cameras! Her husband is a major fashion photographer, and she’s the daredevil spokesmodel for Zodiac Cosmetics. Let’s welcome Sheila Meyers and her friend, Faizah!”

  The audience, though perhaps confused about who was hosting the show, reacted accordingly and applauded when Sheila and Faizah strode onto the stage. They bypassed Robby and Rhonda, who were gaping at them, and sat down in the chairs that Martin and Gwendy vacated.

  “Hi, Robert,” Sheila said, reaching over to pat his arm. “I think it’s so fantastic that you landed this hosting job. I mean, a person can only do so many performances of Anything Goes, right? Oh, wait. Did that close?”

  “Child,” Faizah drawled, “Faizah saw Robby in that show. What a bomb! And I don’t mean that in the street slang kind of way. It stunk up the theater like burnt cookies! And Faizah should know what—”

  “Cookies!” Rhonda trilled. “Isn’t it time to bring out Mrs. Fields?”

  “Why?” Martin asked as he situated himself into a kneeling position at Gretchen’s feet. “Is she the famous lesbian you’re sleeping with?”

  “Mrs. Fields is a housewife!” Robby gasped.

  Faizah shook her head in disbelief and said, “Don’t you know better than to call an entrepreneur a housewife? If my mama heard you, she’d snatch you baldheaded.” Faizah turned to Gretchen and said, “Mama sold Avon back home in Maine. Only thing on earth that kept those mosquitoes away.”

  “Faizah! You can’t talk about Avon when this show is sponsored by Lillith Allure. Or while I’m on it,” Sheila reprimanded.

  “Why not?” Faizah asked. She pointed to Lola and Sydney and said, “They look like an Avon representative’s wet dream. Look at those clogged pores. Faizah feels like she just performed a lunar landing.”

  Sydney’s upper lip curled as if she was channeling Billy Idol. Lola looked miffed. Though I imagined she was more upset by Faizah’s commanding use of the third person, rather than the slight to the condition of her skin.

  “Sydney and I have been exchanging makeup tips since we were girls together in Eau Claire, Wisconsin,” Sheila said. “I remember how pretty she was the day she married Blaine. I was invited to their wedding.”

  “Robby. Rhonda,” Faizah said, leaning forward in an inviting manner, “what you may have missed in Sheila’s polite statement is the underlying tone of anger and betrayal she feels because Sydney not only crashed her wedding, but took pictures with a camera. Obviously not a good camera. If she had used a good camera, it would be one thing. No. She used one of those cheap cameras. Disposable. Just like her integrity.”

  “Sheila is appalled,” Sheila chimed in. Faizah nodded and high-f
ived her friend.

  “Well,” Rhonda said, trailing off and looking to Robby for help.

  “Anything Goes did not bomb,” Robby said. “The revival I was in had one of the most successful runs in Broadway history.”

  “Faizah stands corrected,” Faizah said. “I meant you, specifically. If you plan on singing during this little gabfest, Faizah’s out of here.”

  “Who invited you?” Sydney asked.

  “You’re one to talk!” Sheila exclaimed. “You crashed my wedding. I crashed your show.”

  “It’s our show,” Rhonda said, gesturing to herself and Robby. “Just in case anyone was wondering. Let’s get back on track.”

  “Yes. Let’s!” Gwendy said. “I want to hear about Sydney’s illustrious art career.”

  “Thank you for asking,” Sydney said. “I just had my first successful—”

  “—face-lift,” Martin interrupted.

  “—independent thought,” Gwendy interjected.

  “—orgasm,” I said at the same time.

  “—show in London,” Sydney continued, glaring at us. “It received rave reviews.”

  Sheila extracted some folded pages from her jacket pocket and said, “I took the liberty of downloading a few of those reviews. Would anyone like to hear the highlights?”

  The audience applauded while Sydney blanched. Rhonda looked offstage to her producers for guidance. Robby slumped back in his chair, apparently having given up trying to maintain control of his unruly guests.

  “The Guardian Unlimited called Sydney’s work ‘trash that never should’ve left the sidewalk,’ ” Sheila read.

  “Ouch,” Daniel said.

  “They didn’t understand what they were seeing,” Sydney protested.

  “Neither did you when you put on that dress and looked in the mirror,” Martin said.

  “The Telegraph says, ‘If great art is like giving birth, this is afterbirth. ’ ”

  “Speaking of birth,” Sydney said, her voice rising above the laughter of the audience, “shouldn’t one of you be enough of a gentleman to proudly claim paternity of Gretchen’s baby?”

  There was a brief pause, until Daniel and I chorused, “I am.”