Oooh. Now I wished he had asked me, if only so I could have said that. I should remember that line. That would really frost his birthday cake.
Or how about this one: I really like my dad, don’t need another.
He’d die. I needed to remember that one as well.
“Theo, darling,” said Jasper, gracefully knocking the ash off his swizzle stick, “I know you’re not listening to a word of my terribly enlightening discussion of the distinctions between musical comedy and operetta, so tell me what has brought that perfectly insipid smile to your face?”
“I should go, guys,” I said, and reached for my wallet.
“Don’t worry,” said Swith. “I think I can cover your 7-Up tab.”
I was still working through my it-definitely-wasn’t-a-date argument with myself—an argument I was handily winning, by the way—when I got up to Rebecca’s.
If there was any confusion on Jeff’s part about what this evening had been or hadn’t been or was supposed to have been, it was clearly and totally in no way my fault.
That’s what I was thinking when I slipped my key into the lock as carefully as I could, so I wouldn’t wake him, and I just as carefully closed the door behind me. I used the light from my phone to get around the bed to get to the bathroom, because Christ-on-a-crosstown-bus, I had to pee. After I’d brushed my teeth, I tiptoed out, made my way just as carefully around the foot of the bed, and changed into my new sweatpants.
“You don’t have to be so quiet,” said Jeff behind me. “I’m awake.”
“Sorry. I was trying not to wake you.”
“You didn’t.”
“Oh.” I used the phone to get back around to my side of the couch and got in. With my back to Jeff, like always. “Hey. Are you sure you’re not mad at me about something?”
He didn’t answer at first. He took a deep breath and he let it out slowly.
“No. Absolutely not. I mean, yes, I’m sure and no, I’m not mad. At you, anyway.”
“I’m sorry if I didn’t—”
“Look,” he said, turning on his back. “You were great. It’s all good. No worries, okay? I didn’t take you to the theatre because I wanted you to feel like you owed me or because I wanted you to fawn over me with gratitude or because I wanted anything from you. Because I didn’t. I don’t. Want anything from you, I mean.” He paused for a second, like he was reluctant to say the rest. “I asked you because I thought you’d like it.”
“And I did!” I rolled over to look at him. With my head on the pillow next to his, I could see his face outlined against the windows—he was staring up. There was that glint of light reflecting in his eyes again. “Really, thank you,” I whispered. “It was a fantastic night, and I really am grateful, and I’m really sorry if I didn’t make that clear earlier.” In silhouette like this, as close as I was, I could even see his eyelashes. “I know I can be sort of self-absorbed—”
“Not you, never.”
“Fine. I was trying to apologize. I’m sorry if I should have been more grateful—”
“Completely not necessary.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay then.”
You know, Jessica was right. He wasn’t half-bad looking. Maybe “gaw-jus” was a bit of an overstatement, but he wasn’t half-bad.
In the dark, anyway.
“It’s late. You guys go out somewhere?”
“Yeah, for a bit. Did you come straight back here? It’s almost three. That’s a long time not to sleep.”
“No, I went out.”
“Oh good. I hope you had fun.”
“I did. I found a guy whose name I didn’t bother to ask, and I fucked his brains out.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
I sat up.
“You’re totally messing with me, right?”
“Wrong. In the morning I’ll show you the jerk’s jizm on the leg of my pants.”
“Shut up.”
“I’ve been trying to work it out. Maybe you can explain it—I mean, picture this—he’s bent over and I’m behind him, and somehow he still managed to point his thing around and—”
“Shut up!”
“Maybe the guy’s double-jointed.”
“Shut-up-shut-up-shut-up!”
“See? You can’t figure it out either, can you? It’s like the Kennedy assassination—the magic cumshot that hits the governor of Texas and then turns—”
“Get out!”
“I know what you’re thinking. There was a second shooter.”
“Get-out-get-out-get-out!” I yelled, scrambling up until I was sitting against the wall on the back of the sofa, my feet on the bed.
“What?”
“Get out of my bed, you filthy slut!”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m not sleeping with you, not while you’re covered in—whatever.”
“I showered.”
“I don’t care. God knows what you’ve picked up.”
“I showered really well.”
“Get out!”
“Theo, my friend, since the day we met, you’ve had this strange misconception that I’m somebody you can tell what to do.”
“I’m serious!”
“So am I! Go to sleep!”
Rebecca’s voice came muffled from beyond the bedroom door.
“One night, just one night, I’m begging you.”
“Well,” I said quieter, “get over there, waaaaaaaay over there, on the far edge of the bed. As far away from me as you possibly can.” I could see that he rolled over on his side on the very edge of the mattress.
“Happy?” he asked.
“No!” I let myself back down onto the bed. “You’re disgusting, you know that, don’t you.” I lay down on my side facing away from him, on the very edge of my side of the bed. “Just when I start to think, maybe you’re not a total douchebag—you’re a total douchebag!”
He let it go a minute or so before he spoke again.
“G’night, Theo.”
I’d die before I’d answer him.
Douchebag.
* * * *
When I opened my eyes, it was still dark. I could hear Jeff moving around. It was the first time I had woken up even a little when Jeff got up to run. As usual, it was freezing in the apartment in the morning, and I bundled myself up in the warm blankets Jeff had left behind.
The light in the bathroom was on, and Jeff had left the bathroom door partly open so he could see to get ready. I cracked my eyes. Without lifting my head from the pillow, I watched him move about in his running clothes. I’d never noticed, but he had nice legs. His thighs were like right at eye-level. Tough to miss. He wore longer, baggy shorts to bed, but the ones he had on now were skimpy little things. In the light from the bathroom, I could see the little blond leg hairs on his thighs as he moved back and forth getting ready. I had to admit it—Jeff had really hot legs.
And then of course I remembered that he’d used those really hot legs to screw a complete stranger someplace disgusting.
He was disgusting.
I rolled over and buried my head in the pillow.
Douchebag douchebag douchebag.
Text from Madison
Hey.
Hey.
I’m sorry. I was a dick.
You said that before. Speaking of dicks, had a chance to suck Tanner’s yet?
Don’t be juvenile.
Why shouldn’t I be? It’s what I am, remember? Juvenile—meaning youthful. You remember that? Youth? Think back, Mads.
Think waaaaaaaaaaaaaay back.
So how was your date?
?
I heard you had this big date last night. So how was it?
Wh
o told you?
Let me check. I got texts from
Swithin
Jasper
Jessica
LOL
And some guy named Tyler. Who’s Tyler.
LMFAO!
Seriously. Who’s Tyler?
Date was fabulous. You remember Jeff. Good looking blond? He took me to Hamilton, and then we went out for afters.
Hamilton? I thought Jasper was just yanking me.
Nope. You want to get yanked, ask Tanner.
Grow up.
Chapter 18
The Day after All Those Afterwardses
Theo
There—in the middle of my morning. Madison. Of course I wasn’t going to tell him that my “big date” had topped off his evening by topping off somebody else.
I’ll admit that a part of me was enjoying Mads’ attention—but mostly because I was enjoying being a bitch to him.
I guess I’d have been more thrilled about his attempt to patch things up if I wasn’t so damn sure that it came out of a combination of guilty conscience and the growing realization that he was never ever going to get into Tanner’s well-fitting blue jeans.
And I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to patch things up.
And I wasn’t entirely sure why I wasn’t sure.
In the meantime, I was here at the law firm, laboring for the greater glory of Messrs. Parker & O’Neill—neither of whom, Tommy told me, were still walking among us. In their absence, there was a passel of partners who divvied up the mountains of profits.
I worked for one such partner, Victoria, and a handful of baby associates who were only like my age or a smidge older. The Little ’Uns, I called them—and not a cute one in the bunch. As far as I could tell, associates were lawyers who dreamt of becoming partners someday, but mostly wouldn’t. In the meantime, they did all the work. Jeff and Becca were associates.
The Little ’Uns only gave me their Uber receipts and late-night food orders to get reimbursed. The majority of my time at the desk was dedicated to Victoria. Victoria had decided that I was not only the greatest personal assistant a lawyer could ever have, I was also her favorite godchild or something. I swear she’d have adopted me if she could.
A legal question: Was it sexual harassment if a middle-aged woman pinched you on the cheek? Repeatedly?
Should be.
Tommy’s desk was on the floor above me, where he worked for this guy who’d occasionally been known to chase his secretary around the desk—until Tommy anyway. Tommy got the job because they’d figured he probably wasn’t Mr. Kaminsky’s type.
Tommy’s job was pretty hectic too, and Mr. K. was also big on the board of some not-for-profit that was like Lawyers for Peasants or something. Okay it wasn’t really Lawyers for Peasants, but you get the idea. They did lawyerly things for poor people.
This worthwhile organization was now gearing up for a huge fundraiser at some ritzy hotel, and Tommy was up to his eyeballs in crap for that. Sounded like a nightmare. I’d already stayed late a couple times to help him out.
I was glad I had a friend in the office. The lawyers mostly creeped me out.
But I was a little surprised when Tommy turned up at my desk in the middle of this particular morning.
“I need your help.”
“Sure—you need me to stay and collate again?”
“No, this is way bigger.” There was an empty desk next to me—there used to be crowds more secretaries, back in the era of typewriters I guess, so there were lots of empty secretarial stations around. Tommy plopped down in the empty chair, looking pale and a little desperate.
“You okay?” I asked.
“No-kay.”
“Talk to me, Tommy.”
“I did something that I thought was a really good idea, but in the end, I may have screwed the Puccini but good. Here’s the thing. This benefit at the Pierre? Before I got here, they’d hired some lounge pianist to play through the cocktail portion of the thing. And the pianist has now bailed. Some lame excuse about a death in the family or something. But my best friend Roger plays in a string quartet, they’re still kind of attached to a law firm, Goodkin Berdann, so lots of people will know them. So I, being the gay one and the only one in the room with any taste, made the radical suggestion that they hire someone actually good and sort of classy instead of having some cheeseball knocking out Barry Manilow’s greatest hits or whatevs, and they should get the Goodkin Berdann Quartet to replace the stinky lounge piano. Which they did.”
“So far so good.”
“Exactly. Just wait. The first violin, my friend Roger, is, you remember, Jeffrey’s ex-boyfriend. I’m sure they haven’t seen each other since Roger told him to get lost. Roger’s boyfriend Fletch will be at this benefit too. And I just realized that Jeffrey RSVP’d. I mean of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? Jeffrey loves schmoozing. I knew that. I just didn’t think that far ahead.”
“So you want me to—talk him out of going?”
“Will you at least warn him? I’ll tell Roger because he really doesn’t do surprises well. And if you tell Jeffrey, then he can come or he can cancel or whatever, but at least that way nobody’s suddenly in the middle of something awkward.”
“Wowie kazowie, what do you think is going to happen? Fisticuffs?”
“Not Roger, but Fletch? It’s very possible.”
“Cool!”
“If it were somebody else’s party, I’d be right with you with a box of popcorn. But as it is—just tell Jeffrey, okay? Please?”
“I’ll try.”
“Thanks.”
And he went.
But I had to think about this benefit thing.
Of course I wasn’t invited to this little soirée, which seemed like an awful shame. Jeff the jerk was going. It would have been the perfect opportunity to see the guy who jilted Jeff the jerk. And to see the guy he jilted Jeff for.
What a pity I wouldn’t be there.
Even better—it would be the perfect opportunity to see Jeff seeing the guy who jilted Jeff. And the guy he was jilted for.
And Tommy thought I would do something to make sure that this momentous and potentially extremely awesomely embarrassing meeting didn’t take place?
Are you kidding me???
I might be twenty-four, but I never professed to be a particularly mature twenty-four.
The problem remained, however, that this potentially spectacularly humiliating event would transpire without my witnessing it, and where was the fun in that?
Now.
Sometimes there are temptations in life that are simply too great—and we all know what Oscar Wilde said about temptation—give in.
I flipped through my desk to find Victoria’s invite to Tommy’s little shindig, and I found the number for the RSVP. Damn, the tickets were super expensive. But it was for a good cause, right? I hesitated—for like a hot nanosecond. What would Oscar want me to do?
He’d want me to dial the phone. Which my fingers were already doing.
“Hi, I’m calling on behalf of Rebecca McPherson from Parker O’Neill. I believe she RSVP’d for the benefit next week, is that correct? Rebecca McPherson,” I repeated slowly. “I thought so. She’d like to bring a guest after all. Theo McPherson.” You can guess what the woman on the other end asked. “No, her brother, and it isn’t either a funny name. Do you still have her credit card info on file? Great.” Da-da-dee da-da-da. “Thanks, you too.”
What a wonderful day this was turning out to be.
I typed my way cheerily through the rest of the morning, humming some Sondheim.
I was still smiling when I looked up from the computer to see Jeff the jerk in front of my workstation.
I had been glad to see Tommy. Jeff—not half so much.
“Hey,” he said.
“What? You need someth
ing?”
“No, I was just checking in. Are we okay?”
“Sure. Why not. What are you talking about?”
I went back to typing. He came around and sat at the empty secretary’s chair.
“Last night.”
“Oh, you mean when you were such a douchebag?”
“Yeah. And I’m sorry.”
“Oh speaking of being a douchebag, that reminds me.” I pulled out my wallet and gave him his hundred dollar bill back. “This is yours. It was a douchebag kind of a thing to do.”
“What? I thought I was being nice.”
“No, you were being a passive-aggressive douchebag. ‘I know, I’ll throw a great big gesture on the table, because I’m sure nobody in this crowd of losers can afford to buy his own slice of cheesecake.’ ”
“That’s not how it was at all.”
“No?”
“No—well—I’ll think about it—okay, maybe.”
“See?”
“I’m trying to apologize!”
“Good. You should.”
“It’s just that I was so angry!”
I stopped typing and pounced.
“See! I knew you were pissed off, but you kept saying, no-I’m-fine-I’m-fine-never-better. Douchebag. So why were you so angry, DB?”
“I don’t know! I’ve just been really angry for a while!” He lowered his voice. “And I wasn’t particularly proud of myself last night.” It was just at that point that Rebecca came up. Gosh I was popular today.
“Wow, it’s just like home. Except no one’s screaming.”
“Yet,” Jeff and I said at the same time.
“You agree on something! That’s a first. How it going, working for Victoria?”
“She’s crazy about me.”
“I knew she would be. Can you put in a good word for me on the Hiromi case?”
“Ha. We’ll see,” I teased.
“I’m your sister!”
“I got him tickets to a show.”
“You bastard!”
“Wow, I hadn’t thought about influence-peddling as a sideline, but I could develop a whole new revenue stream here.”
And the Next Thing You Know... Page 11