by Lane Hayes
“I’m real people.”
“You’re jaded.”
“If by ‘jaded’ you mean I can choose not to dodge assholes who don’t look where they’re going… guilty.”
“I’m saying sometimes your bank account skews your vision of reality.”
I reached for his hand and laced my fingers through his. When he looked up at me in surprise, I gave him a lopsided grin that was something closer to a smirk. My smirk quickly turned to a grimace when I took a hit in the stomach with a tourist’s shopping bag. I scowled at my unrepentant assailant, then resumed the brisk pace Benny set as we traveled north on Fifth Avenue.
“Are you telling me if Hector pulled up to the curb on this fucking ninety-degree day with 95 percent humidity that you’d turn away from a private, air-conditioned Mercedes?”
“I would. Why waste Hector’s time when we can walk?”
“His time isn’t wasted. It’s what he’s paid to do. Hiring him was the best move I ever made. Listening to you on a hot summer day when you insisted on taking the subway wasn’t so bright. I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. This is what I get for—how much farther?” I complained as I dodged another tourist.
Benny stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk and set his hands on his hips. The red man-bag slung over his shoulder did nothing to detract from his fierce aura. His graceful, proud carriage turned me on almost as much as his smart mouth and willful impetuousness. Mischievous one moment, then easygoing and playful the next. There was no point denying that the things that once drove me crazy, like his ever-changing hair color and vivid clothing, made me smile now. Today, for example, he wore a bright blue, snug-fitted T-shirt to offset the purple highlights in his bangs. For whatever reason, I thought he looked sexy as hell.
“You’re an asshole.”
“What did I say?”
“Quit whining. I told you I wanted to see the new additions at the Met. You’re the one who insisted on coming with me. I’m not sure I invited you in the first place.”
“Who were you going to invite? This is part of our deal. For better or worse, I’m your date, baby.”
“Then I’m making an amendment about keeping complaints to a minimum. You’re worse than a kid,” he scolded, thumping his finger against my chest. “Behave.”
He was going for no-nonsense, but he looked really fucking cute. I captured his hand and placed a chaste kiss on his fingers. “I’ll try.”
THIRTY MINUTES later we were in a darkened room staring at fancy old clothes. I wondered all over again if this particular adventure was worth the trip. I was a fan of modern design and architecture. While I appreciated the lighting and artful displays, I couldn’t understand the allure of what Benny called the art of shape, texture, and color in fabric form. I glanced up at the feathered dress on the mannequin and then at him. He had an awestruck look on his handsome face that would have made more sense to me if we’d been staring at a life-sized replica of the Millennium Falcon. Not fabric and feathers.
“I’m not seeing what you are. I see feathers in weird places on a dress I have to think most women wouldn’t wear to pick up their mail. What am I missing?” I whispered.
He didn’t bother reprimanding my lack of imagination. He was too enthralled with the wispy, haute-couture creation on a raised platform behind a shield of protective glass.
“It’s perfection. Man-made and handmade. A fearless blend of old and new technique in design. This entire exhibit is about technology’s influence on modern design. And this dress is… angelic,” he pronounced reverently.
“It looks like an uncomfortable shedding liability. If I’m cleaning up feathers, I’d hope it’s after a naked pillow fight instead of a costume malfunction.”
Benny burst into laughter, quickly covering his mouth when a fellow fashion enthusiast shot an irritated glance our way.
“You mean I can’t wear this to bed?”
I snaked my arm around his waist and gave him a lopsided, lecherous grin. “You can wear whatever you want. Even a dress.”
He turned in my arms and kissed my chin before stepping out of reach. “You’d only rip it. Your appreciation for the finer things in life doesn’t extend to costumes.”
“Hmm. I’m just saying real people don’t wear feathers.”
“Not true. And that isn’t the point. This is art. There is a message here.”
“Which is?”
“You can be whatever and whoever you want. No limit. No fear. No shame. The colors, the texture you drape yourself in can be your shield from adversity or your source of strength. They say so much about an individual. And I’m not talking from a haute-couture high horse. I’m talking about real life. Look at what you’re wearing.”
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I asked, looking down at my khakis and light blue, short-sleeved designer shirt.
“Nothing. But I can read you like a book. Your clothes say ‘safe.’ They say you’re a well-off, successful man who knows he’s good-looking and doesn’t mind accentuating his assets with complementary color choices. At a passing glance, you rank a thumbs-up.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“But if you read a little deeper, you see a man with a subtle lack of imagination and some serious control issues.”
I caught the glint of humor in his gaze and chuckled softly. “Oh? Go on….”
“I’m not being unkind. I’m stating a truth. We can’t help but give pieces of ourselves away through our dress and appearance.”
“Isn’t it what’s on the inside that counts?” I asked in a teasingly condescending tone.
“Yes, but we’re talking about two different things. Fashion 101… just because something is expensive doesn’t mean it’s art. Cost isn’t what matters. It’s when the authenticity of the wearer and the fabric meet that something truly special happens. You can pull that off by shopping at a thrift store all day long. Clothes don’t make a man. A man… or woman makes the clothes. It’s all about attitude. Take this winged gown, for example. The piece itself is art, but it can become transcendent when a free-spirited woman with attitude wears it.” He winked as he yanked at my arm playfully. “Or a fearless man who’s learned to accept himself.”
“Strangely, that makes sense,” I commented as I reached for his hand again. I couldn’t seem to stop touching him. “How did you become interested in design?”
“My mother and grandmother both sew. I grew up surrounded by Vogue pattern books. I used to pore over them the way most boys my age flipped through comics. My favorite thing in the world was an excursion to the fabric store. I loved the rows of bright colors and drawers filled with sequins and beads, like gold and jewels from a treasure chest. It was better than picking out candy. The frustrating part was that even though I learned how to sew early, I didn’t have the creative outlet to go crazy. I learned to make tablecloths and napkins for the restaurant, then curtains and eventually clothes. But we couldn’t afford luxurious fabrics, and no one in my family was attending a gala anyway. It wasn’t until I found a cast-off dress form to practice on that I was able to do my thing. I was fifteen by then.”
“Why didn’t you ask for one earlier?”
“I did. It didn’t go well.” He gave me a sad smile as he dropped my hand and headed toward the next exhibit.
“What happened?” I asked in a low voice as I followed him.
“My dad left.”
“Because you liked to sew?”
“No, but I think it was the final straw. I was too much for my dad in the wrong ways and not enough in the ways he hoped I’d be. He heard me ask my mom if I could borrow my cousin Ella’s doll. I probably said I wanted to make her something, as a gift. My six-year-old self knew not to ask for a doll of my own. But asking to borrow it didn’t go over any better. I remember being so disappointed because I’d chosen that word with care.”
“Borrow?”
“Yes. I wasn’t asking for something of my own. Just a chance to spend time w
ith something I coveted that couldn’t be mine.” He let out a humorless chuckle and shook his head. “Now I know better than to settle for anyone’s castoffs or to borrow happiness. I deserve my own. At six, I didn’t know but… semantics hardly mattered. He left anyway.”
We stared at the red vinyl minidress on display in silence and then moved again. In a strange way, his story resonated with me, though I couldn’t say why. I was nothing like Benny as a child. I hadn’t wanted dolls or to make dresses. I liked sports and anything to do with space travel. I couldn’t remember feeling conscious of hiding pieces of myself until my teen years.
“He didn’t leave because of you, Ben. He left because he wasn’t brave. He wasn’t strong enough to deal with what he didn’t understand.”
“Brave. Hmm. You’re right. You have to be brave to love sometimes.” He cocked his head sideways and gave me a long, searching look. “It just doesn’t seem right that a parent would need courage to love their kid.”
“Maybe brave isn’t the right word. I meant—”
“I think it is,” he insisted with a wan half smile. “I’m not a parent, so I can’t speak from experience, but I imagine you have to give up a ton of preconceived notions to truly love someone unconditionally. Some people get there and others struggle for life. Thank goodness I landed with my momma. She encouraged me to be proud of who I am and who I could become.”
“That’s good, but give yourself some credit. You’re a brave man, Benny.”
“Sometimes I am, sometimes I’m not. I’m just me. The difference is that now I accept myself. Come on, there’s a Lagerfeld up here I’m dying to see.”
“Hang on.” I scratched my head and then stuffed my hands in my pockets and smiled. “I—it’s his loss. He doesn’t know what he missed out on. That six-year-old kid turned into a fucking amazing guy. Brave, strong, and bold. I’m proud to know you, Ben.”
He didn’t say a word, but I figured his sappy smile was promising. A second later, he launched himself into my arms and held on tight. I breathed in the sweet scent of his shampoo and cologne before gently pushing him away. It was dark in the gallery, but I could see the joy in his face clearly. As we stood staring at each other wearing matching goofy grins, I felt an intense desire to be inside his head. I wanted to know every detail about him. What made him happy, sad, angry, or thoughtful. Somehow I knew he wondered the same things about me. It felt very boyfriend-like, but different than it had for me in the past. This time it felt like a beginning.
“GUESS WHO I just ran into at the gym?”
I swiveled in my office chair to stare unseeing at the city view behind me. I’d spent my entire morning on a conference call and had thirty minutes ’til my lunch appointment to meet with a prominent new client with a substantial portfolio. The guy had assets strewn across three continents and a staff of people managing his finances. I was under the impression he didn’t really understand what he had. He only knew it was a lot.
“I’m busy, Carter. Let’s pop some popcorn later and do each other’s hair. Then you can tell me—”
“Fuck off, asshole.” His hearty laugh made me chuckle too.
Carter’s self-deprecating brand of “realness” was what I needed on a day like this one when stress threatened my sanity. He was like Benny minus the sass and attitude, I thought with a smile. I had a brief vision of my lover lying naked in my bed that morning with the covers low on his hips. I’d stared at him for a long moment, thinking he looked so damn perfect. Like he belonged there. The thought hadn’t freaked me out. We spent every bit of our spare time together, and unbelievably, it wasn’t all spent in bed. The heady sexual attraction was easier to explain than the light-headed, woozy feeling I experienced when he walked into a room. Hell, even just hearing his voice on the phone made my pulse race. It was only a matter of time before my friends and coworkers noticed.
Gina didn’t ask what I was doing over a weekend now. It was always “Benny and you.” I didn’t correct her or glibly point out that we weren’t actually a couple. What difference did it make? We were together doing “boyfriend” things, like hanging out at the local coffee shop or going to the movies or the theater. We hung out with each other’s friends and even visited family together. For all intents and purposes, we were in a relationship. We simply chose not to label it.
“Are you there?”
I sat up quickly and refocused. “Yeah. Sorry, what’d you say?”
“Where did I lose you?”
“Somewhere around hello.”
“You getting worse in your old age, Zeke. You can’t hide the fact you’re an asshole quite as well as you used to.”
I snorted and swiveled around to check my incoming e-mail on my computer. “And the best part is I don’t even care. So who did you see at the gym?”
“I’ll tell you at lunch. I’m just calling to make sure you didn’t forget about me.”
I stopped typing and sat back. “I forgot. I have lunch with a new client. Sorry.”
“You’ll have to guess who now.”
“I give up. Who?”
“Taylor.”
“Ahh. And what did he have to say?”
“Nothing much… except he told me you’ve been talking.” His intonation clearly said he wasn’t pleased.
“Relax, Cart. I’ve talked to him via cellular device a couple times. Nothing’s going on and—”
“Does Benny know?”
“About what? There’s nothing to—”
“Don’t fuck up a good thing, Zeke.”
My brow furrowed in indignation. “Hang on! I’m not fucking anything up.”
“I hope not. What did Taylor want from you?”
“Nothing really. You know the rule about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer. He’s up to something and… I’m curious. That’s all. Don’t worry. We aren’t getting back together. My dad would disown me, and though I sometimes think that could be a blessing in disguise, I can assure you it won’t be over Taylor.”
“I think it’s weird. The guy is a snake. Why would he even mention that he’s been talking to you to me? Unless he wanted to plant a seed. I wonder if he thought I’d be jealous,” he scoffed.
“Are you?” I teased.
“Dream on, sunshine. But I still don’t trust him. He fucked you over. End of story. What happened to his married lover?”
“According to Gina and the office grapevine, his boyfriend’s wife is onto him. Maybe things got complicated in paradise, and Taylor’s drawing me in to make his man jealous. He claims they’ve been over for months. Frankly, I don’t know, and I don’t care.”
“Then why bother?”
“Because at some point, it may be useful.”
“You’re hopeless. What can you possibly have to talk about with that idiot?”
“Baseball? It’s not important.”
“Zeke, Benny is—”
“Hey, Benny and I are friends. This is separate.”
“Why do you do that?” Carter sighed.
“Do what?”
“That thing where you try to convince yourself and anyone who will listen that you’re a lone wolf. It’s okay to admit you’re happy and that maybe you’ve actually met someone special. You give yourself away every time you look at him, anyway.”
“How do I look at him, smartass?”
“Like you don’t want to look away.”
CARTER’S SIMPLE observation was on replay in my head throughout my lunch meeting and most of my afternoon. He was right. I was becoming obsessed. I had plans to see Benny that weekend, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I had a feeling something might be wrong with me. I thought about him constantly, and just when I was beginning to think I was in this alone, he’d call or text and everything felt… kind of perfect. This wasn’t what I’d planned. Friendship and sex was supposed to be the extent of Benny and me. Mooning over him like a lovesick idiot… not so much.
I moved around my desk later that afternoon as I listened
to his story about Spiral’s new album cover. He sounded excited. I had a conference call in ten minutes, but I wasn’t ready to say good-bye.
“If they go with the shot featuring the band, then my name goes on the cover as stylist. That would be huge! Can you imagine how incredible that would be for my portfolio?”
“Who makes the final choice?” I asked, glancing at my watch.
“Supposedly the label, but if I know Rand, it will be him. He’s a control freak. There’s no way he’ll let them make a decision he isn’t one hundred percent behind. And I know that photo is his favorite.”
“Then congratulations.” I beamed, turning to peer out the window at my Jersey skyline view on another gorgeous day.
“Thank you, but we’ll have to see what happens. No point in getting excited only to be disappointed.”
“Probably wise. Hey, I have to get going, but… are you free for dinner tonight? I’m taking a side trip by way of Brooklyn within the hour, but I won’t be late and— Maybe we should celebrate or something.” I winced as soon as the words left my mouth. Desperate much?
Benny chuckled. “That sounds great. But I’m taking you out to dinner.”
“Oh?”
“Yep! Dinner at Johnny’s. I have an inside contact or two who can guarantee the best table in the house. And the special tonight is chicken parmigiana. It’s magnifico! What do you say?”
“I say magnifico.” I repeated in a very American accent to make him laugh. “Then we’ll go back to my place and play pool.”
“Before or after sex?” he asked nonchalantly.
“After, of course.”
“Of course. See you later, Prince Charming.”
I knew I had a dopey smile on my face when I ended the call. Whatever. It couldn’t be helped at this point. I stood to grab a bottle of water before signing on to my conference call and noticed I’d missed a message.
Taylor.
Most likely it was one of his occasional hello calls. I hadn’t seen him in weeks, but we’d talked. And as I’d tried to assure Carter, our conversations were… harmless. Boring even. He talked about work, new restaurants he’d tried, or a show he’d been to. I was curious about his motivations, but I didn’t feel a fiery mistrust the way I had earlier in the summer. Now, it was background noise. A text message popped up a moment later.