The Hardest Fall (Roadmap to Your Heart Book 3)

by Christina Lee

  There was a long hallway with several closed and open doors and as we walked through the space, Sebastian explained that some were offices and the others clustered toward the end were rooms for residents. The hall bled into a large space with a grand chandelier and the long rectangular tables were packed to the gills with groups of men and women of all ages and cultural backgrounds.

  “Most of these folks are straight off the streets,” Sebastian said, as I took in the spacious room. “Safe Harbor certainly doesn’t have that many beds.”

  A few people who had eyed us up either smiled or nodded in our direction but by and large everybody seemed lost in their own world as they talked quietly or just seemed grateful for a warm place to sit. A table of women tending to a couple of children struck me hard in the gut and I imagined for a moment what it would be like to come to a soup kitchen for dinner as a kid.

  “Baz,” a tall black gentleman said, thumping Sebastian on the shoulder. “Did you bring a guest?”

  “Andre, this is Tate,” Sebastian said, motioning to me over his shoulder. “He’s volunteering tonight.”

  “Thanks for being here, Tate,” Andre said and then he was off calling out orders to the various people who were busy setting up a buffet line. Sebastian walked over to a coat rack in a corner of the room and slipped two aprons off a hook, handing me one. I followed his lead by placing the stained white material over my head and tying it in the back.

  Several people greeted Sebastian by the name Baz and I made a mental note to razz him about that later, but there was too much activity around me to think about it any further. I was asked by a tiny elderly lady with a loud voice to slip on a hair net, and then I was maneuvered in front of a vat of soup and given the job of ladling the creamy liquid into bowls.

  When Andre’s deep baritone rang out in the crowded room that dinner was being served, people rose from the tables and lined up in an orderly fashion. What struck me most of all was that nobody tried to get to the food first or to cut in line. It was more respectful than other situations I’d witnessed where people were getting something for free. Maybe because this was about survival and that lent a certain gravity to the ceremony.

  The men and women who requested soup seemed entirely grateful to be eating any kind of food and it made me wish that the bowls and plates held larger portions. Although I supposed they were smaller for a reason. Some wore threadbare clothing and shoes and I wondered if the only provisions they owned were on their backs. One of the kid’s faces was marred with dirt marks and I couldn’t help imagining just where he’d been all day. Was he able to attend school? My chest felt so tight watching these downtrodden folks eat maybe for the first time all day.

  “Momma Leon makes some of the best tuna casserole,” I heard Sebastian say to a short gentleman in front of him who smiled. In fact, he was the most talkative I’d heard him in the handful of times I’d seen him. Sebastian must’ve been in his element, and suddenly his degree in social work made a shit ton of sense. The tiny elderly woman beside him who had given me the hairnet chuckled, so Sebastian must’ve been talking about her recipe.

  When Sebastian’s gaze met mine down the food line and he raised his eyebrows as if to silently inquire if I was okay, I offered him a small smile, because I wanted him to know that I was perfectly fine. I wasn’t my usual jovial self and that might’ve concerned him. But in fact, I was out of sorts in the best possible way. I couldn’t help feeling all kinds of different ranging emotions from sorrow to empathy to pride. This experience had thrown me for a loop and was one I wouldn’t forget anytime soon.

  14

  Tate

  I had been ladling soup for about fifteen minutes when I noticed a lady in line with long black hair continually staring at me. It wasn’t like I had never been admired or scrutinized before—usually my wacky hair colors did the trick—but this was different because the look on her face was one of sheer curiosity. When she finally got in front of me she blurted, “I like your eyeliner.”

  I supposed I hadn’t been able to wipe all of it off. Plastic gloves covered my fingers so I avoided swiping beneath my lashes. “Um, thanks.”

  Her face was completely devoid of makeup, her eyelashes barely visible, and it hit me square in the chest what a luxury it was to paint your face, even on an occasional basis.

  “Maybe you can help me with my eyes sometime,” she said earnestly and my heart knocked against my chest.

  “That would be great,” I responded and could see Sebastian watching our interaction in my side view.

  After the line faded and all the residents had their food, I removed my apron and followed Sebastian around the room while he spoke to a few of the regulars.

  As we passed the woman who had complimented me earlier, Sebastian placed his hand on her shoulder. “Sally, maybe Tate will come back sometime with his face completely made up. He does a fantastic job.”

  My jaw hung open as I waited for the fallout. These folks may have been in dire straits but a man in drag was often an oddity to poke fun at in the real world. As I looked around the table to all the eyes as they stared and chewed their food, there was no judgment, nor any scrunched up faces about the idea of a man wearing makeup. Only genuine interest.

  “I’d love to see that.” Sally smiled, her front teeth missing. The other men and women at the table murmured in agreement. I mustered a grin but suddenly the idea of me in drag felt pretentious and hollow.

  A gentleman from the table next to ours leaned over and said, “I used to have quite a collection of eyeshadow back in the day.”

  I smiled realizing for the first time that the person I assumed was a gentleman was definitely a woman. Her hair was on the shorter side but beneath her tattered coat was what looked like a dress. My stomach clenched and I immediately thought of asking Jessica and the other queens from Ruby Redd’s to help get some things together for her. I didn’t know if she was transitioning to a female or genderqueer, but regardless, it was hard enough trying to be your true self. Already I was thinking about returning with some bare necessities, which surprised the shit out of me.

  A lump formed in my throat on and off for the rest of the hour, and I could scarcely find it in me to strut or joke, I felt so unlike myself.

  After saying our goodbyes, we walked out to the sidewalk in silence and headed down Varick Street.

  Sebastian touched my arm and it seemed to sear straight through the material. “Tate, no worries if that wasn’t your thing.”

  “No Baz, that’s not it at all,” I said and he barked out a laugh. His eyes glittered with amusement and I loved seeing it. He didn’t look happy nearly often enough. “I just felt…goddamn…that was humbling.”

  He bobbed his head up and down. “I understand.”

  I rushed my fingers through my hair. “I feel like I need a stiff drink after that.”

  Sebastian looked over my shoulder and arched an eyebrow. We happened to be standing in front of an Irish pub. One I’d never been in before even though it was near my apartment. But that was nothing new—this city was painted full of businesses corner to corner.

  I reached for the knob and swung open the door. “Join me?”

  Sebastian’s smile was dazzling. “I’d love to.”

  It was actually quiet in the place given the flurry of activity out on the street.

  We sat down on a couple of stools at one empty end of the bar. The bartender approached us immediately and we placed our drink orders.

  “You like your gin, don’t you?” I asked as he sipped at his top shelf Tanqueray and tonic.

  “It’s an acquired taste, I guess,” he chuckled. “Am I that obvious?”

  “Well, you’ve been in my bar quite a few times and yeah, I guess I noticed what you like to order,” I smirked. “That drink would give you a good stage name. We could call you Ginny Tonic.”

  “Ha!” Sebastian said, knocking his knuckles on the varnished wood. “I’d be laughed off the stage. No way I could pull off your
charisma.”

  His leg brushed absently against mine and for some reason it sent an electric shock wave through my body. But this was ridiculous. I shouldn’t be attracted to this straight man. Or at least my brain was telling me what my body was ignoring.

  “Why?” he asked suddenly, his gaze studying his finger as it curved around the lip of the glass.

  “Huh?” I replied after taking a hearty sip of my beer, with a side of lemon, of course. He wasn’t the only fussy drinker in the room.

  “Why did you notice?” Sebastian’s cheeks washed with color as he continued in a tentative voice. “I’m just a guy who walked into Ruby Redd’s and sat in the back of the room.”

  “Just a guy, huh?” I asked looking him up and down. I enjoyed making him blush even harder. “Nobody’s ever pointed out how hot you are? And usually if I find somebody attractive...”

  I shook my head. God, what in the fuck was I doing flirting with this man?

  “You usually get what you want?” he asked with an amused smirk on his face. But something also lay beneath his gaze, something that looked a lot like interest, but maybe I was only trying to see that. Hoping for exactly that.

  “It’s only for fun,” I said, wondering just what kind of picture I’d painted for this man. “My friends certainly give me the business about my hookups.”

  “Sorry if I messed up your track record.” He leaned forward as if he was confiding in me.

  “The night isn’t over yet,” I replied using my best flirty tone and his lips briefly parted in a small gasp. Uncertainty flitted through his eyes and I definitely didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. “I’m only messing with you, Sebastian.”

  He seemed to relax in his seat, but something like disappointment flickered across his face. So contradictory. No doubt the man was drawn to me, but I supposed the idea of it freaked him the hell out.

  “You’re not at all like I imagined.” His eyes widened and he swiped his wrist across his lips as if to stop his train of thought. What the hell was that about?

  I angled in my seat toward him. “How did you imagine me?”

  “I…I don’t know,” he shut his eyes briefly and shook his head. “Somebody more shy, reserved.”

  My eyebrows slammed together, confused over his logic. “But you’ve seen me up on stage. Frieda Love is no wallflower.”

  “I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about,” he said, looking away. “I guess I just…I wondered if maybe that was just a stage thing.”

  “Maybe in the beginning it was,” I said with a little too much emphasis. I took a breath and toned it down. “Performing drag definitely gave me the confidence I needed way back when. But now it’s part of me. I won’t disguise who I am anymore.”

  His gaze swung back to mine. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve done that for somebody before. Kept myself hidden,” I said, gritting my teeth. Two somebodies in fact, if you counted my dad. “Don’t plan on doing it again.”

  There was pain evident on his face and I wasn’t sure what had placed it there. Maybe Sebastian could relate to my story in some way.

  “If you weren’t yourself then who were you?” he muttered so low I almost didn’t hear him with the bottles clanging and the background music in the bar.

  It was still difficult to say the words even years later. “I was who he wanted me to be.”

  He swallowed roughly. “He?”

  “This guy I was hung up on. At least I thought I was at the time,” I said, wondering why he looked so shell-shocked. “But I know that’s not how love is supposed to work.”

  “Why did you do it?” he asked with a troubled gaze. His fingers clenched the bar top. “Hide?”

  “He was a successful businessman. Stocks and bonds,” I said, remembering how he was always at work, in meetings on Wall Street, or at charity events. We’d meet in different hotel rooms around the city. I’d always stay in drag because that’s how he preferred me. “As it turned out he was hiding something too. Or the better word is someone.”

  Sebastian gasped as if getting my meaning. Yeah, that’s right, the fucker was married.

  “The only reason I came back to the city was because I heard he passed away,” I said. “Prostate cancer. How fitting.”

  Sebastian nearly spewed out his drink. “You…knew…you heard he died? That’s awful.”

  “Yeah, it hit me hard, actually. I was bummed for a while,” I said, feeling that familiar tightness in my chest again. “No matter how things went down between us, I would never want him to die.”

  “Damn.” He twirled his glass in his fingers. “You’re a good guy, Tate.”

  I shook my head, trying to jiggle away the memories. “I’m sorry I’m being a Debbie Downer. Let’s change the subject, please.”

  “It’s okay. I really don’t mind.” Except he looked so distracted and upset. Damn, he probably regretted stopping for a drink with me.

  “So what about you?” I asked, more than happy to inquire about him. “Why don’t you have somebody in your life? Or maybe you do and you just haven’t…”

  He shook his head side to side. “I dated somebody a couple months ago. But she ended it, which was for the best.”

  My chest tightened for some strange reason. “Were you in love?”

  “No,” he said in a flat voice. “I’m not sure I ever have been.”

  It sounded as if he’d done some recent soul-searching. But maybe it was better that he hadn’t experienced that gut-wrenching heart-crushing feeling.

  We sat side-by-side sipping our drinks as if in solidarity. Who would’ve thought I’d help out at a soup kitchen and then pour my heart out in a random bar to a guy I barely knew? Damn, life was strange sometimes.

  Finally, I asked the question that had been on the tip of my tongue for days. “Why have you been coming to my shows?”

  There was a long pause where the only sound that could be heard was the clanging of liquor bottles. We both watched as the bartender restocked the back ledge.

  “Hard to explain, really,” Sebastian said, not meeting my eyes. He stared straight ahead toward a soccer match on the television screen behind the bar. “I wandered into Ruby Redd’s one night and saw you perform. I really enjoyed it, so I came back.”

  There was something that didn’t fly in his explanation, something he was holding back. I could see it in the way he clenched his jaw. “I never expected you to talk to me.”

  “Sorry if I freaked you out,” I said, feeling like I needed to apologize, especially if that was the reason he was acting so strangely. As if I had bulldozed my way into his life even though it hadn’t played out that way at all. He was the one who had invited me to his shop and had showed up at my apartment.

  I threaded my fingers through my bangs, suddenly not knowing what to do with my hands. Fuck, this man had singlehandedly thrown me off my game.

  “It’s not that.” When he placed his hand on my arm, my breath caught. His fingers were warm, his palm smooth and it felt reassuring, as he finally looked me in the eye.

  I inhaled a breath. “Then what is it?”

  “I won’t deny that I’m drawn to you. That’s never happened…fuck,” he said in a rush, as if completely flustered. “Listen, I really should tell you something…”

  “Tate?” A voice rang out over my shoulder and I almost didn’t want to turn to look, because goddammit, I wanted to know what Sebastian was about to confess to me.

  When I angled my head, there were two young guys that I recognized from a dance club I frequented called The Jungle. One of them had gone down on me in the john a few months back. I hadn’t returned the favor. “We thought that was you…”

  “Sorry,” I muttered to Sebastian, twisting toward them. “Give me a minute.”

  “No, it’s okay. It’s getting late.” Sebastian stood up, looking slightly green. But it was hard to concentrate on him when the dudes had crowded me against the stool.

  The two men blubbered on abou
t who knows what and when I turned my head, Sebastian was gone. Damn, he was good at running out on me.

  15

  Sebastian

  I woke with a start. It was another one of those nightmares where I was running toward this thin disheveled woman with golden eyes who I could only assume was my mother. She was pushing a shopping cart beneath a bridge and no matter how fast my feet moved, I still couldn’t reach her.

  Jumping in the shower, I ignored my morning wood, not willing to yank myself raw again. I thought about how it’d been a few days since I last saw Tate. I forced myself not to show up at Ruby Redd’s. I didn’t know what in the hell I thought I was doing. He knew Alan was dead, he admitted he had been emotionally gutted by their relationship. So why the hell would I want to add to that pain?

  Except that envelope was hanging over me like an albatross around my neck. Maybe Tate needed to see the contents in order to understand that Alan was also tormented by his decisions. The same way I was tormented sleeping last night. Most nights, actually. It was a habit leftover from childhood, to sleep with my eye to the door, to wake up frequently to be sure nobody had taken off with my possessions.

  During one of those middle of the night sessions, I watched both of Tate’s makeup tutorial videos like some lurker. He was so charming on screen, like he was born to be on stage or in front of a camera.

  Walking into Rosie’s Repair Shop with coffee and bagels, I scrolled through the pink tickets and waited for Annie to help divvy up a large order of shoes that was dropped off by a woman a few days before. She wanted new toe and heel caps added on all the pumps, along with some rubber soles on the ballet flats.

  I was able to avoid most of Annie’s questions this week about my friend, Tate and instead made some inquiries of my own, which I had rarely taken the time to do before. I knew plenty about her already given how many years she’d worked with my father and of course, being in a confined workspace together.