Clients did not give their lawyers presents—if a client paid his exorbitant bill without bitching too much, that was considered gift enough.
And the second?
While there might be a God, there might be a devil, and there might even be a Santa Claus and a Tooth Fairy, I was pretty damned sure —
There was no such thing as a free ticket to Hamilton.
Chapter 14
Afterwards
Jeffrey
You’ve probably figured out that I didn’t actually get free tickets to Hamilton. I lied. It wasn’t easy to get tickets—period—even if you were willing to shell out huge sums of money for them, which is exactly what I’d done. I managed to get my hands on two tickets to Hamilton for an undisclosed amount and an internal organ to be named later. Why?
Beats the hell out of me.
I’d sat there with my hand on the mouse for a long time. I clicked on the buy-these-tickets-button, and a little window popped up—like my conscience—saying, “Are you sure you want to buy?”
I looked at the Yes and No options. I left the mouse hovering there for about forty minutes while I invented a thousand ways to rephrase the question “What are you thinking, you dumbfuck?” I finally came to the conclusion that this made no sense. It was totally stupid. What would anyone think of me? I was just making myself ridiculous. Okay, I’d never tell anyone what the tickets cost me, but who in their right mind would pay that much? I was definitely not going to buy the damned tickets. For sure not. Absolutely not. And—having made that firm and unequivocal decision—my index finger spazzed all on its own.
I had just bought two astronomically expensive tickets to a show I didn’t give a flying rat’s ass about.
I guess I still felt like I needed to make up for something with Theo. And because his songs were good and it was clear he wasn’t a talentless loser and he really cared about this stuff. And because I knew he’d get a kick out of it. And because I had crates of money, even when I was pouring thousands and thousands into an apartment where I could no longer actually live, so what did I care? Or maybe I just wanted to see what awesomely cool hipsters the founding fathers actually were.
For whatever idiot reason, I had just bought the two most expensive theatre tickets in the history of all mankind.
Of course, afterwards, the obvious question was: Was all that money for two not particularly good orchestra seats really worth it?
Okay, frankly, for that much money? If Jesus Christ had been in the show and if he had stepped down off the stage in the middle of the second act to get on his knees and give me head—while Aretha Franklin sang backup—it wouldn’t have been worth that much money.
It was a musical, for fucksake. It was not a trip to Mars. It was not a Stanley Cup game. It was a bunch of rappers in powdered wigs.
If you’re looking for more details about the show, I am sorry to disappoint. I spent most of the time watching guess-who. Which sounds totally pathetic, but I have never seen anyone enjoy anything so much. He actually shook with excitement, and at intermission he just rattled non-stop, texting like crazy at the same time, those pretty features of his face so animated, his face beaming. He was like an eight-year-old on Christmas morning, without the crying.
So. Was it worth it? Well you know, yeah, maybe it sort of almost was.
After the show, I’d planned to take Theo to Joe Allen’s. It’s just down the street from the theatre, it’s nice, the food is decent, they have posters on the wall of musicals so obscure that probably even Theo wouldn’t recognize them, and it’s the only place I know where you can regularly see celebrities—which I also thought the little farm-boy would get a charge out of.
But it wasn’t to be.
Instead of going to the nice, nearby restaurant with decent food and Bradley Cooper at the next table, Theo insisted we had to go to some diner on 57th Street. So I got us a cab and we went to this bright, noisy greasy spoon. As soon as we walked through the door, I realized why we were there. Halfway back was a table of waving faces—the ones I’d met at Theo’s cabaret.
When did he arrange all this then?
Theo fairly galloped to greet them and plopped himself in the chair at the end that they’d saved for him. While I still stood by the door.
At least there was no Madison. That I could see anyway.
So, feeling like yesterday’s mashed potatoes, and pretty seriously pissed off, I went over to the table to which I hadn’t actually been invited, and sat next to the beach boy with the unlikely name.
“’Sup?” he said from behind a veil of blond bangs. I smiled, and extended my hand.
“Jeffrey.”
“Swithin. We met at Don’t Tell Mama.”
“I wasn’t sure anyone remembered.”
“Are you kidding? That was the best! Madison turned purple.”
“I thought I’d bust a gut!” said the Brooklyn woman. She nodded at the guy next to her who was elegantly smoking a breadstick. “Jaspeh peed a little.”
“I’m so glad.”
That was me, always with the high jinks. Regular life of the party, that Bornic boy.
Theo was at the other end of the table and in full flight, raving about the show. His excitement distracted me for a moment from my general annoyance with the way this evening had turned. I was glad I was able to do this thing for him that he could never have done on his own. But why was I in this awful diner?
The others threw out questions and opinions, all talking at once. A couple of them had seen the show downtown, and the rest of them knew it, if only from the CD. It didn’t matter if they’d seen it or not—they all seemed to have an opinion about it.
After a few minutes of this, it was clear that I was utterly superfluous. I was not exactly accustomed to being a wallflower. I was more of a quarterback type than a benchwarmer.
I weighed my options. I could sit there, being quietly ignored. That was an easy ‘no.’
I could take charge, the way I had at the cabaret. Or –
I could go find a more fun crowd than this one. If I wasn’t wanted at this party, I could find another. I obviously wouldn’t be missed.
Having no idea where I was going, I pulled a bill out of my wallet to pay for a Diet Coke I hadn’t touched and tossed it on the table. The bill, not the soda.
“Night, boys,” I said (although one of them was the Brooklyn woman). Theo looked up at me from the far end of the table, his brow furrowed. He seemed surprised.
Surprised that I was leaving or surprised that I was even there?
I wasn’t really sure what I had expected out of this evening. Maybe I didn’t expect anything. I don’t know.
But whatever those non-existent expectations were, this certainly didn’t measure up.
Chapter 15
Afterwards II
Theo
Jeff was leaving? That somehow didn’t seem right.
Did I want that? Yeah, maybe, but—no, not really. I sort of knew that I’d been ignoring him, but not consciously. At least I didn’t think I was doing it consciously. None of that made any sense.
Look—I know I can be a bitch, and I’m fine with that, but I didn’t want to be that much of a bitch. I certainly didn’t want to be an ungrateful bitch. He could have scalped the ticket for some serious bucks. He could have taken anybody. And he took me. I should say something.
I pushed my chair back, but I didn’t get up.
“You need to talk to him,” said Swithin.
“Do I?” I was suddenly chicken.
“Darling, don’t just sit there. Go!” Mississippi had spoken. I got up, hustled out of the diner and looked east, and then west. Damn, his legs are so long, he was almost to Broadway already.
“Wait!” I yelled after him, running to catch up. “Hey. Are you—mad about something?”
“No. Why shou
ld I be mad?”
“I don’t know, but you seem bent about something.”
“Not in the least. I’m totally good. Never better.”
“Fine. Don’t tell me. I’m not going to dig. Thank you for the ticket. I know I’ve said that already, but I can say it again. Thanks, I don’t know if you can appreciate just how much that meant to me.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
“I hope you didn’t hate it.”
“I didn’t hate it.”
“Good. I’m glad.” See how stupidly arrogant that sounds, you smug fuck?
“You better get back inside. Your little circle-jerk in there will miss you.”
“See, now what’s that about, huh? Kind of a bent-douchebag thing to say, doncha think?”
He looked at me, dropped his head and shook it, and took a deep breath.
“I don’t know what that’s about. I’m sorry, forget I said it. I’m just in a mood, so I’m going to go. Have fun.”
He turned and stalked off, arm raised for the next taxi, and almost immediately there was one pulling over. I brooded my way back to the Apollo.
I’d done something wrong, something dumb, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what.
“Hey,” said Jessica as I sat back down at the table. “Is he okay, your boyfriend?”
“Definitely not my boyfriend. And he says he’s fine.”
“Didn’t look too fine to me, darling,” said Jasper.
“I know, right?” I said. “But you know what? I’m not his babysitter. If he’s cranked about something, he can tell me what it is, but I’m not going to try to guess.”
“No? You can’t guess?” said Jasper. “Anyone here have any ideas? Hmm? Anyone? Hands?” Everyone raised a hand.
“Fine. You’re all so smart—what???”
“Are you two…whatever?” asked Swithin.
“No!” I said. “We can hardly stand each other.” Glances were exchanged around the table. “What???”
“So,” said Jessica, “yeh tellin’ us that this good-lookin’ guy got all dressed up to take you to the biggest hit show since Thespis stepped out of the chorus to do a solo, and all because—he can’t stand you?”
“Well, yeahhhhhhhhh.” I could feel my face scrunching up.
“Really, darling, and all just for the sheer love of musical theatre then?” was Jasper’s follow-up.
“Ehhhhhh—I’m not sure he’d ever seen a musical before. I didn’t ask.” I guess I might have asked him. I could be such a jerk.
“He dropped some serious bucks on those tickets,” said Swithin.
“He said they were freebies from a client.”
“It’s a nice lie, darling, but just so you know, it’s still a lie.”
“First rule of show biz,” said Jessica. “Never give away tickets to a hit, and boy is that show a hit.”
“I mean—” I tried to explain. “I saw my ticket, and it said five-forty-nine. Which made me cringe, but he said not to worry about it.”
“When did he get these tickets?” asked Jessica.
“Yesterday.”
“Scalped,” said Swithin. “Way more than five-forty-nine.”
“You know,” said Jessica, “if he just bought them yesterday, I bet he paid two grand, maybe more.”
“For the pair?” I couldn’t believe this.
“Apiece,” said everyone at the table.
Fuck me.
“But you know,” I argued, “he’s not like us. He has bushels of money. It doesn’t really mean anything to him.” Even I knew I was trying to talk myself into something. “Besides, he’s sort of an ass.”
“He’s sort of an ass—in a really nice suit,” said Jasper.
“If you like suits,” I said.
“Nice looking,” said Swithin.
“Nice? He’s gaw-jus!” seconded Jessica.
“And that sort of an ass took you out to a really expensive show.” We’d worked our way back around to Jasper. “Darling, if you don’t want that beautiful man, throw him my way.”
“I think the sort of an ass is kinda pissed,” said Swithin from his end of the table.
“Why?” I asked not feeling well at all. “Did he say something?”
“No.” Swith picked up a bill from the table. “But look how he paid for his Diet Coke.”
“Is that a hundred?” asked Jessica.
Fuck me.
“You acted like he wasn’t even here,” said Tyler quietly. You probably didn’t know Tyler was at the table because he never speaks. Well he spoke. Yeah, even Tyler was impressed by just how awful I was. And then he added, even more quietly, “He thought this was a date.”
Fuck me fuck me.
“Darling Theo, you brought a rich, good-looking beau in a Dolce suit to the Apollo Diner. To hang out with us. And you can’t begin to guess why he might be in a tizz.”
Fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me.
Chapter 16
Son of Afterwards
Jeffrey
I hadn’t done that in a while. In the aftermath of the whole Roger thing, I was a bit of a slut, having nameless sex every other night, if not every night. That was months ago.
But now, here I was, coming out of the Playpen on Eighth Ave., having taken advantage of the lovely Buddies Basement they advertise in neon outside. It’s so dark down there, you can’t see how disgusting you know it is, and the booths are barely big enough to do what you’re there to do. At least it didn’t take me long.
What is that on my pant leg? I wondered, as I glanced down, waiting at the corner. God damn it. Of course I knew what was on my pant leg, and it wasn’t mine.
How, when I did the guy from behind, did he manage to get jizz on my pant leg? I mean, he had to have been aiming to do that, right? What kind of a kink is that?
Taxi!
God, I was in a vile mood.
First this stupidly overpriced musical. Then Theo and his pathetic friends. I was such a chump.
And what possessed me to go to that lousy sex shop???
It’s just because Theo pissed me off so damned much. He says I’m arrogant. Ha! What a spoiled little brat he is. You can tell—Rebecca and his brothers have been looking out for him his whole life, he’s never had to worry about a thing, so he has no sense of responsibility—which is why he has that impossible temper because he knows he can get away with it, somebody else will always clean up after him.
And heaven help you if he doesn’t get his way!
Forget him.
So what happened tonight? It certainly hadn’t been my intention when I left the diner to end up in a cab at a stoplight, steaming mad, with some nameless guy’s splooge on my D&G pants.
I could scream.
At Rebecca’s, I let myself in very quietly—so as not to wake the sleeping prince—but the ungrateful little wretch wasn’t home yet.
He and Fat Madison were probably somewhere watching The Sound of Music and jacking each other off.
No wait. Madison was in Connecticut or something. Good. Let him stay there.
I tossed back a quick shot of Rebecca’s vodka. Add booze to the long list of things I owed Rebecca McPherson—even if she was the one who had inflicted Theo on me.
Theo. Theo and Madison. Fuck, I mean, if they’re happy, what did I care? Totally none of my business.
But!!!
But.
Hateful as Theo could be, that thing with Madison was just wrong. Theo was awful, but he should have been able to do better than that.
And the guy apparently treated him like crap too! What was that about?!
I didn’t normally drink, but my hands were shaking. I was a frigging mess. Hands I hadn’t even washed yet. I was revolting. I threw back another vodka, and I headed into the bathroom, pulling
off my clothes as I went.
And then I stood under a hot shower for a long time, for a long, long time.
Chapter 17
The Never-Ending Afterwards
Theo
After the diner, we had gone out for beers at a bar somebody knew. It was too loud, I didn’t really feel like partying, and I would regret all of this in the morning when it was time to go to that awful law firm.
Fuck, I regretted it, even as I was sitting on that barstool.
So I sat there between Swithin and Jasper, feeling like I’d somehow screwed everything up. The evening had been so much fun—and now it wasn’t. I certainly didn’t mean for that. I’d loved the show and now I was just miserable.
I knew I’d done something stupid, something I’d done because I was just too naïve or dumb or something, because I’m just this socially backward farm-kid. Or because, in my astonishing self-absorption, I had missed some clue somewhere that anybody else wouldn’t have missed. Anyone else would have known how to behave. Anyone else would have understood and said, well, in that case, da-da-dee da-da-da. Only I didn’t know, and I guessed I’d somehow behaved rather shabbily, and I didn’t mean to. And I hated being stupid, and apparently I had been stupid.
But then—you know—apologies are hard, even when you know what you’re apologizing for. So I wasn’t in any hurry to run home and bump into old Jeff under the sheets so I could say I was sorry—for whatever it might be. And admitting that I didn’t even know what I’d done wrong? That wasn’t going to happen, now was it. Certainly not to Jeff.
After some serious contemplation of my 7-Up, I’d finally decided there was no way that Jeff could have thought this was a date. Was there? I mean, I don’t care what those guys said, Jeff didn’t even like me. Did he? He certainly didn’t act like he liked me.
So why would he take me out on a date?
And even so, it wasn’t my fault if he thought it was a date. I didn’t say that it was. He didn’t say that it was. If he had said it was a date, I’d have straightened him out. I’d have told him to forget about it. I’d have told him to kiss my flying buttress. I’d have told him—I wasn’t the answer to anybody’s midlife crisis.
And the Next Thing You Know... Page 10