“I’m not a very good lawyer.”
“He’s a fine lawyer,” said Jeff.
“So you don’t live here, Jeff?”
“No,” said Roger.
Interesting.
“Don’t forget we have the Legal Historical Society benefit on Saturday,” said the Bornic creature.
“Ugh. Is that this weekend?”
“I knew you’d forget.”
“Do I really have to, Jeff?”
“So important to network, baby. We’ve talked about this.”
“Baby?” I mouthed silently to Roger, disbelieving. He answered me with one of his don’t-start-anything looks. And then, Jeff did this awful thing, this truly repulsive, contemptible thing.
Jacket on, briefcase in hand, he turned back to Roger in the kitchen and kissed him a quick good-bye. On the lips.
I could see it coming. I should have turned away, if only to be polite, but something made me watch. Like I needed to see it or I wouldn’t really believe it. But there it was, this boring little nothing was kissing Roger, my Roger, right in front of me. Roger’s hands moved automatically up to the jag-off’s waist.
I saw a pirate movie once where this guy got killed with a red-hot poker being shoved right through his chest. And this was
Just—
Like—
That.
It was quick, Jeff didn’t make a big thing out of it, it was hardly a kiss even. But you know what? It was exactly because it was so off-hand and casual that it was so—what?—repugnant. Because it said “I get to do this all the time.”
And in that moment, man-oh-man, how I hated this little pseudo-me.
And what the fuck was up with that? Jealousy??? Where was this coming from?
This was completely new to me. Honestly, in my whole life, I don’t think I’d ever been jealous—until that moment. I’d always thought that that was because I was a bigger person than petty jealousy, but obviously that was a lie. Apparently I was plenty petty, because I was suddenly, miserably, desperately jealous. Maybe it was just because I’d never had anything worth being jealous of—until now.
But, of course, I didn’t have anything. I sure as hell didn’t have Roger—this constipated twerp did.
At least Roger seemed a little surprised by the gesture and embarrassed about it, like he didn’t want that to have happened in front of me or something.
“So,” I asked all cheery, like none of this was a big deal, “how long you two kids been together?” This was something that had been bugging me, and I wanted to get it clear.
“I’m not sure—what is it, baby? Not quite a year?” said Jeff.
Baby? Really?
It bugged me when Darwin called me Toots, but this was so much worse. Hearing Roger called ‘baby’ by this slug totally skeeved me.
“It was just before the holidays, remember?” said Roger.
“Must have been so nice for you both.”
“Anyway,” said Jeff. “Gotta go. Fletch, are you leaving as well?”
“Actually, I kinda have a couple things to talk to Roger about, but you go on ahead, Jeff.”
“Jeffrey.”
“—rey,” I amended myself.
“It’s okay, Jeff,” Roger said.
Jeff was clearly not happy about leaving me here, but he went.
Silence for a few seconds. Roger set the well-arranged gerberas in their vase on the coffee table.
“I’m glad you didn’t feel the need to keep your boyfriend around for protection from me.”
“What do you want, Fletch? Why are you here?”
“I just want to be friends. After I saw you the other day, I couldn’t think of any reason why we shouldn’t be friends. Look around. You’ve moved on with your life, the past is past. And you can never have too many friends, can you?”
“Fletch, I don’t know. I know it’s the grown-up thing to do and all, but I’m not sure I’m all that grown up.”
“You can’t still be mad at me. After all—although I’m incredibly sorry for what happened, Roger, and for what I did—please believe that—but if you think about it, if what happened between us hadn’t happened, you’d never have gotten this wonderful happy ending with Jeff.”
My eyes were wide, my face glowing with innocence. Not a hint of snark.
Even so, I knew he could read me like a Schubert quartet. He knew exactly what I was doing. He couldn’t argue with me because then he’d have to admit that what he had with Jeff was maybe something less than paradise—and I was getting a good idea that the whole Jeff–Roger thing wasn’t even in a far-flung suburb of paradise.
“So, can we be friends? Please? Please-please-please?” Puppy-dog eyes.
Roger made a scrunchy face, and I knew I had won.
“Fine. We’re friends. What do you want to do, go to a movie?” Such attitude.
“No, I just thought we ought to be able to see each other without being uncomfortable or embarrassed. You look so miserable when I see you.”
“I’m not miserable.”
“Good, I’m glad. That’s because we’re friends. And you know, if you ever need anything, or, I don’t know, need someone to sit with Haggis or whatever, you can always call me.”
He paused.
I let him think about it, while I gave him my best smile, with the dimples.
Of course I understood his dilemma. Did he really want to bring an ex-boyfriend back into his life? An ex-boyfriend who had treated him so badly?
He had Jeff to consider. What would the current boyfriend have to say about bringing me back into his life and into their world? I wasn’t sure I was going to win this round. If the dimples didn’t do it, I might have to fall back on my last resort, my secret weapon, and I wasn’t even sure that that would work.
I’ll tell you this on the condition that you promise to reveal to no one just how much of an A-1 louse I can be. But—if you yawn and stretch oh so casually, your t-shirt will ride up and reveal a peek at your awesome abs, if you happen to have awesome abs, which I do and which Roger hadn’t seen in two long, lonely, ab-less years. Did I mention some people consider me hot? I knew Roger certainly did, especially my abs. The yawn was a despicable move, a pathetic maneuver by a desperate boy at his wit’s end, and I was totally ashamed of myself for even considering displaying my happy trail just to manipulate the Dweeb.
“Well the funniest thing is,” Roger said, just as my arms were moving up into the stretch, “I really do need a dog walker tomorrow. I don’t know why, but my dog walker totally flaked out on me, and I’m kinda screwed. Could you? I mean, I know it’s short notice, but—”
“No problem!” I said, putting my arms down, happily spared the indignity of exposing my navel.
Now, I’m sure you’re thinking, this thing with the dog walker—What a coincidence! Right? But actually—and talk about desperate—here’s the part I didn’t tell you.
I had staked out Roger’s apartment, for no real reason. I swear I had no plan whatsoever, I had no idea what I was getting out of staring at Roger’s windows. I was just standing across the street staring at Roger’s windows because why not?
Well, yeah, there are obvious reasons for why not, but none of them seemed to outweigh my need to stare at Roger’s windows.
Then I saw the Haggis coming out with this hipster girl. Aha! I said to myself. This must be the dog walker. And without a single moment’s thought about what I was doing, I approached her, I chatted, I made with the dimples, and I asked her if it would be a really big inconvenience for her if she didn’t walk Haggis anymore. The dimples got me exactly nothing—maybe I should have tried the yawn?—but she finally agreed, once I promised to pay her what Roger had been paying her.
Per week.
Plus fifty dollars.
Also per week.
To not walk the dog.
It was a crazy, spontaneous, and, yes, a desperate and underhanded and truly pitiful thing to do.
I didn’t plan it, and I can only claim temporary insanity as my defense.
In case you’re thinking Broadway ushers are like Broadway stars or stagehands and get paid truckloads of money, let me tell you: We don’t. We’re at the bottom of the food chain. This added expense in my modest little life was going to be a huge bite.
“Can I depend on you?” Roger asked. “I mean—aren’t you sort of—busy—being a…”
“An usher? No, I don’t think so.”
“Oh, you’re ushering again. I didn’t know. Honestly, after seeing you at the opera with…I thought, you know, maybe you were…”
“A personal escort?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure—”
“My kept-boy days are over, thank you. I’ve turned in my union card and everything.”
“You got to keep the white dinner suit, I hope.”
“I threw it away.”
“What!”
“By the end of the night, I hated the thing.”
“You hated it? It looked great!”
“Long story. I’ll explain sometime. Anyway, I thought about eBaying it, and then I figured it would be too much hassle, so I tossed it on a dumpster.”
“No way.”
“Way. Somewhere out there is one seriously sharp homeless person.”
“You’re insane.”
“Totally. The really stupid part is I forgot that the shirt studs and cufflinks were in the jacket pocket. Those were worth some money. But it was all—what?—ill-gotten gains.”
“Ah. Like blood money.”
“Same principle, although the bodily fluid in question was actually—”
“O-kaaaaaaaaaaay! So. Now you’re a dog walker. I’ll pay you what I was giving the girl who was doing it.”
“Don’t even think about it. I should pay you for letting me hang out with Haggis.”
“He does love you.”
“Do you?” I said in my goofy doggy voice, squatting down to the dog. “Do you wub me, Haggis?” He squirmed. Haggis, not Roger, although probably Roger too.
“You’re sure? Easy enough to write you a check.”
“Definitely sure.” Perhaps “temporary” insanity wasn’t quite accurate.
He handed me a set of keys, no doubt the same set that that moneygrubbing hipster had just given back.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Jeff and all…”
“I need a dog walker. Jeff’s not going to walk my dog. He’ll get over it.” This could not have gone any better, could it? “Tomorrow is going to be a crazy day—and I have the quartet rehearsal here tomorrow after work on top of everything else.”
“No worries. The dog and I will be fine. How’s it going with the quartet?”
“We’re doing one of those recitals on Sunday for an old folks’ home.”
“Cool. The geezers probably remember when Schubert was in the top ten.”
“Not quite. You remember, for them we mostly play popular stuff. I’ve arranged a new medley of sixties’ show tunes.”
“They’ll eat it up. I would love to hear it.”
“You haven’t lived until you’ve heard the highlights from Hello Dolly! played by a string quartet.”
Man-oh-man, I loved listening to him talk.
“Hey,” I said finally.
“Hey.”
We looked at each other for a bit—and held the look about half a second too long. Long enough that he was suddenly awkward and unsure again and I was too.
“I should go. I’m sure you have stuff to do.” I bent down to the dog. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Haggles,” I said and stood. “I’ll leave Jeff’s hat here for him then?”
“Asshole.”
“I know, right?” I grinned and pulled my cap back on, not backward this time, and I tugged it way down over my ears and eyebrows so I looked deliberately dorky.
“Go,” he said, opening the door but smiling at my dorkiness.
As I went past him, I leaned in for a quick kiss on the cheek again—but got a firm “Don’t!”
Oh well. It was worth a shot.
Chapter 12
The Weirdest Déjà Vu
Roger
What a day. Work was awful. Katrina had totally chewed me out (deservedly) over a dumb mistake I’d made—then, being a good boss, she’d immediately forgotten about it. I, being a neurotic employee, had obsessed about it for the rest of the day. And now, here I was leading the quartet—with Jeff tagging along (why? why? why???)—up the stairs to my apartment.
Don’t misunderstand. The quartet was the best thing about the job. I picked Goodkin Berdann over the other firms because Katrina had told me at the interview that she was pulling a quartet together. I truly loved the quartet.
Mostly.
Nearly always. But sometimes…and today of all days Jeff decided he wanted to network with my friends, and that definitely had me on edge.
We trudged up the stairs, our own little parade, with Jeff in the rear carrying Katrina’s music stand.
And the door wasn’t locked. What the hell?
Had the dog walker gone without locking the door? The dog walker who was now Fletch, I reminded myself. That made no sense. Whatever else Fletch was, he wasn’t irresponsible. Well, okay, I mean, he was utterly irresponsible but not that kind of irresponsible.
Anyway. As I opened the door, the dog came tearing around the corner from the kitchen to bark. He skidded to a stop when he saw it was me, but then he barked a few more times, just on principle, I guess.
The semicircle of folding chairs was already set up, and my music stand stood in front of the second chair.
“That’s enough, Haggis” came from the kitchen. The dog was immediately quiet and went about sniffing everyone’s shoes for a couple seconds before tearing back into the kitchen to—Fletch. Of course.
Even more incredible—judging from the smell—Fletch had been baking. In my kitchen.
Had he completely lost his mind???!!
“Fletch?” said Katrina and she looked at me, her eyebrows floating somewhere above her face.
“Fletch?!” said Jeff. “Did you—” he started to ask me.
“Hey, Fletch,” said Bob.
Bob and Janine looked a little uncomfortably at Jeff, at Fletch, at each other, at me, and they were obviously wondering what kind of ménage-à-something they had stumbled into.
“So. Golly gee, Roger,” said Katrina, thoroughly enjoying the situation. “What’s new?”
“Fletch is helping out walking Haggis for me—I think?”
“He’s the new dog walker?” Jeff asked.
“I was going to tell you—”
“Great to see you guys,” Fletch said, stepping out and tossing a kitchen towel onto the counter behind him. “Hey, Katrina, how are you feeling? I heard about your shingles. I’m not really sure what they are—”
“You don’t want to know either,” Katrina said as they kissed each other on the cheek.
“I hope you’re feeling better.”
“I’m a miracle of drugs. Feeling much better. Thanks.”
“Hey, Bob, Janine.”
Greetings all around while Jeff looked at me for an explanation, which I didn’t have.
“It’s a pity you missed the opera, Katrina.” Fletch was on a roll. “But it was so nice of you to give the tickets to Roger.”
“He didn’t take you to the opera, did he?”
“No!” I said.
“No, I bumped into Roger there, and look! Now I’m the dog walker.”
“Go figure,” said Katrina.
“Roger took Tommy to the opera,” Fletch explained. And then he turned to me, all f
ake innocence—as if this had only just now occurred to him. “Hey, why didn’t you take—”
“You remember, Katrina,” I said, trying to keep this from skidding any further out of control. “You gave the second ticket to Tommy, remember?”
“Oh yes, of course I did,” said Katrina, taking my hint. I gave Fletch a look, which he naturally ignored. He knew he’d found a sore spot. “And then you ran into Fletch,” Katrina went on, “at the opera gala of all places. How funny is that?”
“After Roger told me you guys had a rehearsal today,” Fletch jumped in, “I thought it would be great to see you all for a bit before I run to work. So I made my famous cheese puffs.”
“Oh boy!” said Bob. “We haven’t had rehearsal snacks since—ow!”
I’m not sure what happened, but Janine was right next to him.
“They smell amazing, Fletch,” said Katrina.
“The pink ones are salmon.”
“I hate salmon,” Jeff said.
“I’m sorry, Jeff. I didn’t know. The first time I made these, I made a crab filling, and I didn’t realize until later that Janine didn’t eat shellfish, and I felt terrible.”
“Oh, Fletch,” said Janine, “that’s sweet, but the cheese ones were really delicious, I remember. And this salmon!”
“The salmon is courtesy of my friend Marco. By the way, Dweeb, did you know your dog is crazy about salmon?”
“Why do I get the feeling I’ve seen this movie before?” Bob asked Janine.
“Must seem like old times,” said Jeff sarcastically.
“The salmon is fabulous, Fletch,” Katrina crooned.
“I know, right?”
I didn’t know which was weirder: That my ex-boyfriend had let himself into my apartment to use my kitchen to make hors d’oeuvres for my friends? Or that my dog walker had?
My head was spinning. Way back when, Fletch cooking for the quartet had become a regular event. But now?
“Fletch,” I said, stepping into the kitchen. “Can I…”
He followed me. The kitchen was only separated from the living room by a counter and the upper cabinets, but I couldn’t really drag him into the bedroom, could I? We would have to whisper.
“Do you have any inkling how wildly inappropriate this is?”
Where Do I Start? Page 9