And the Next Thing You Know . . .

by Chase Taylor Hackett

  Anyway, that’s where I was, and that’s what I was thinking, when the door to Jeff’s office opened.

  The look on his face—not exactly combobulated, if you know what I mean. Can’t tell you how much I loved surprising this guy.

  “Theo.” He stopped in the doorway.

  “Hey, like my shoes?” I said cheerily, waggling my pretty feet at him. He came in, closing the door behind him, and sat down in the guest chair. “I had them on last night, but you didn’t seem to notice.”

  “Theo—if you want to have a tantrum, okay, but please let’s do it after work away from here.”

  “Tantrum? Me?! Never! I’m not really the tantrum-throwing type.”

  “If only.”

  “Which is, I’m sure, why you hired me as your new assistant-assistant, remember? I was just getting a head start on our day. You’ve got a 9:30 with Mr. O’Malley, in case you forgot.”

  He looked a little relieved. Yeah, don’t get too comfortable, Jeffie.

  “I don’t suppose this means that you picked up the dry cleaning,” he half-laughed.

  “Of course I did. Your fourteen identical gray pinstripe suits are all hanging up. In the closet. Right next to you.”

  He looked up at me, he took a deep breath.

  “Theo, if it’s at all possible, try to see my side of things?”

  “Oh, I understand completely. Honestly, it’s pretty damn funny. Because you’re totally out here, completely cool about it. But you’re not out to your family.”

  “No one in New Jersey—my dad is really old-fashioned, he could never understand.”

  “Not going to clasp you in his arms and shout ‘darling boy’?”

  “He would kill me.”

  “So—what? Like somewhere in the middle of the Lincoln Tunnel, you turn straight?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Some powerful mojo in that tunnel. Is there anything else I should know about your double life on the other side of the Hudson?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, let me see, you got a wife and kids over there maybe?”

  “No!”

  “Girlfriend?”

  He didn’t answer so quickly.

  “No.”

  “But you have had.”

  “I don’t do that anymore, I swear. My dad’s trying to set me up with somebody, but I can’t.”

  “Such integrity.”

  “Hey, great, mock me, I don’t care, I was an idiot to ask you to try to understand—”

  “What’s really funny about all this is that nobody here knows you’re in the closet, do they?”

  “No.”

  “You’re so frigging dishonest, you’re in the closet about being in the closet.”

  “Yeah. I know—it’s pathetic.”

  “You’re not only in the closet, you’re like in a shoebox tucked away in the back of the closet. Like my brother’s porn collection, now that I think of it.”

  “Nice metaphor.”

  “Simile.”

  “Simile.”

  “For somebody who looks like he really has his shit together—you’re a total mess.”

  “I’m a complete sham.”

  “But don’t worry. I’m not even going to tell my sister what a craven coward you are. But I do reserve the right—without prejudice—to torment you mercilessly about this and other things.”

  “As if you ever needed my permission to torment me.”

  “So tell me—you were thinking you and Roger were this serious thing? How were you going to explain him to the parentals?”

  “I had a plan. A fantastically stupid plan, but still.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t tell you. You’ll laugh.”

  “That’s so not fair. You only say that because I always do.”

  “I thought Roger would help ease things along. My dad wants nothing more than to be all waspy and shit. And nobody is waspier than Roger Prescott.”

  “So you figured…”

  “Yeah. I knew he still wouldn’t like having a gay son, but if his new gay son-in-law was from good Puritan stock, well...I told you it was dumb.”

  “And you were right. Here, take your chair back. I need to get to work.” I stood up and let him sit.

  “I don’t suppose you actually picked up my dry cleaning, did you?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Can I at least have the receipt back, so I can send Darlene out?”

  “Ehhhh—the thing is, there was a trash bin right there on the corner at Columbus Ave., and it was calling out, ‘Theo! Theo!’ in a strangely alluring and plaintive way—”

  “Great.”

  “But,” I added, glancing at my wrist because I never wear a watch, “I’m sure if you hurry, hmmmm, you’ll still be too late. Sorry!”

  “Fair enough, I suppose.”

  “Let me know if I’m uninvited to your birthday party.”

  “Will it make a difference?”

  “I’m far more likely to come if you tell me not to.”

  “Then definitely don’t come.”

  “Cool. It’s a date.”

  “Need the address?”

  “I’ll just get it out of your contacts.”

  He slumped in his chair, capitulating. My work here was done. I started to go but then—

  “Hey,” I said, pointing out the window. “Is that a great big gorilla climbing up the side of that building?”

  For half a second he actually looked out the window—which was long enough to kiss him on the cheek.

  “Thanks for the shoes, by the way.” He smiled, and he maybe even looked embarrassed for a second.

  Like I said, I really liked keeping this guy off-balance.

  Speaking of off-balance, I left Jeff’s office just as Darlene was sitting down to her desk. She too seemed a teensy bit discombobulated to see me, a temp, coming out of a closed-door confab with an attorney. Her attorney.

  In fact, she stood there with her cardboard coffee cup in her hand, and gaped.

  “Love your hair like that, Darlene. So cute.”

  Yeah, well, let her think.

  Chapter 35

  The Birthday Party

  Jeffrey

  I hadn’t really been looking forward to this. I was turning thirty.

  I had planned to host this little clambake myself, but the contractor’s change in scheduling—which included cutting a large hole in my living room floor three weeks earlier than originally planned—left me with an apartment that was essentially little more than a gigantic liability claim waiting to happen.

  Then Dave—an old frat brother and occasional FWB—called and asked what was up with the party, and I told him about the hole-in-the-floor thing and my vision of watching one lawyer after the other stepping into the void like so many over-educated lemmings, and Dave volunteered to spare me the embarrassment and subsequent litigation and said he would host. Or more accurately, he volunteered his boyfriend Michael’s place for the party. They’re actually married with flower girls and cake and the whole nine-and-a-half yards. I had been one of two best men at the ceremony. He even referred to Michael as his ‘husband’ and everything, a word I couldn’t really wrap my brain around.

  As I said, Dave and I knew each other from college, the two closeted gayboys in the fraternity. It didn’t take either of us long to suss out the other’s secret and, well, boys will be boys.

  Dave’s hubby, Michael, whom Dave acquired subsequently, was loaded. I assumed it was family money. He did something in publishing, which notoriously pays crap, but he seemed to have piles of the stuff and a fantastic apartment. And a sailboat.

  In any case, the party was at their huge apartment only a few blocks from mine. And that’s where I found myself i
n the middle of a group of noisy well-wishing friends and acquaintances, nodding, smiling and thanking. Who were these people? And for reasons I wasn’t really comfortable exploring, I was constantly on the lookout for you-know-who. I mean, I had invited him, so naturally I should look after him, etc. He wouldn’t know anybody here, etc. That’s why I had my eye on the door. That’s what I told myself anyway, and that it had nothing to do with wanting to see him or that ridiculous hair.

  That ridiculous hair, which I didn’t see, and as the evening wore on, that was bumming me out even more than turning thirty. Where was he, the little squirt? It would be just like him to stand me up after all, birthday or no.

  I needed to be nice to the hosts—they had really gone all out to do this. Dave was bustling around while Michael smiled graciously—but there was a hired bartender, a waiter shifting trays of food whom Dave would not stop bossing, and at least one other person in the kitchen. All for me!

  “Dave,” I said, catching him in the midst of fussing, and nagging at the poor waiter-guy, “I can’t thank you guys enough.”

  “How often do you turn thirty?” said Dave, giving me a hug.

  “Probably not as many times as you will.”

  “Of course with my looks, I can get away with lying about my age so much better than you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Any time.”

  “But seriously, you saved the party I was ready to cancel, and it’s terrific. I owe you one.”

  “Absolutely.”

  He went back to bossing the poor little cater-waiter, and I went back to staring at the apartment door—just in time to see Michael letting Theo in.

  I had to stop myself from pushing through people to get to Theo, just to say hello. I went on with the small talk, and only occasionally let myself peer through the crowd of blathering lawyers to see if I could find him in the sea of shoulders and heads. He was so short, he was easy to lose. I thanked people for their happy-birthdays and I absentmindedly talked shop, while now and then straining to see another glimpse of red hair. He finally tore himself away from the buffet table to meander over to me, like I was the last thing on his mind, instead of the reason he was here.

  “Hey, birthday guy,” he said.

  “Hey, cutes. Glad you came.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I know, crazy, right?”

  “Come here,” he said, and he grabbed me by the hand and pulled me off into a hallway—almost private.

  “Hey.” I looked at him for a bit. “Talk to me about something that has nothing to do with law.”

  “Sure—but what do you mean?”

  “I’ve come to the realization that the only thing lawyers can talk about is work—and I’m just as bad as any of them.”

  “Well, let me see. The food here’s really good.”

  “Is it? Good, I’m glad.”

  “There’s even a great big bowl of caviar over there. I’ve never been to a party before where they had a great big bowl of caviar.”

  “You like caviar?”

  “You kidding? Me? Caviar?” He shrugged, and laughed an I-eat-it-all-day laugh—then he leaned up toward me and whispered, “There isn’t enough money in the world to make me put that stuff in my mouth.”

  “That’s what I figured, Iowa farm-boy.”

  “Iowa farm-boy and proud of it. So read any good books lately?”

  “I read cases and briefs and drafts of briefs.”

  “Opera? Theatre?”

  “How about golf?”

  “You’re pathetic. Tommy says I should give you a break, that you just need training, but I have my doubts.”

  “Tommy said that? I thought he hated me.”

  “Could be. Could be he just hates Madison more.”

  “Understandable.”

  “I don’t have a present for you.”

  “How about a truce. That’ll do.”

  “Yeah, I can do that. How about no teasing—just for today though.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “And I can give you this,” and he leaned up on his toes and kissed me on the cheek.

  “Hey, it’s not just my birthday, you know, it’s my thirtieth birthday.”

  “I’m trying not to think about it.”

  “What I’m hinting at is—it’s a big birthday. You can do a little better than a peck on the cheek, I think.”

  His eyes looked up at mine. I could see he was weighing this in his head, trying to read behind it. Of course I didn’t know myself what I really meant other than kissing him seemed like a good idea. He finally went up on his toes again and kissed me on the lips. My arms pulled him in.

  And after about a second and a half—he pulled away.

  “Many happy returns,” he said, with that sort of wicked, teasing, sideways look he gets. And he walked away and left me there. Not quite the outcome I was hoping for—definitely not what part of me was hoping for. Before I could rejoin the party, I had to rearrange things in my expensively worn-out-looking jeans.

  Michael found me first. I was always a little uneasy around Michael, given my past with Dave. Michael was a great guy, he seemed nothing but generous and warm. He was older. Probably forty. And honestly—he deserved better than Dave.

  He’d probably tossed out a couple thousand on a birthday party for me, and now he had an apartment full of people he’d never met in his life. Who does that? And these weren’t even people—they were lawyers. Guy deserved a medal.

  “Hey, old man,” said Michael.

  “Hey, Michael,” I shook his hand. “Can’t thank you guys enough for this fantastic party.”

  “It’s nothing, and this apartment is really made for parties.”

  “Send me the caterer’s bill, anyway. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Don’t even think about it. Happy birthday, Jeffrey.”

  “Wow. Thank you. You know, this is far nicer than the party I was going to throw myself.”

  “As it should be, as it should be. We’re happy to host. Which reminds me—doing anything tomorrow?”

  “Not sure. Why?”

  “Dave and I are taking the boat out.” I mentioned before that Michael had money. He had a sailboat he kept out on Long Island. “Want to tag along? We’d love the company.”

  I was a little reluctant. Sailing could be fun, but then after a while it was just sitting and looking out at water. And more looking, more water. The last time I’d gone out with them, I’d found myself yawning and thinking of a dozen other things I could have been doing instead.

  “I’ll check my calendar, okay?”

  “Do try! It’ll be lots more fun with you along!”

  “Happy birthday!” said another lawyer, throwing herself around my neck.

  “Thanks, Allison,” I said, looking apologetically across to Michael. He nodded and smiled and went off to play the host for someone else, and I was relieved to be out from under.

  After another eternity of best wishes and lawyer-talk, with me trying to catch a glimpse of Theo to see where he’d got off to, he sneaked up on me from behind and tapped me on the shoulder.

  “Hey there, you with the stars in your eyes,” he said.

  “Stars in my eyes?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Having fun?”

  “It’s starting to wear thin. You?”

  “Not gonna lie. You were right about lawyers talking about lawyering—although at least one friend of yours has something else on his mind. Seems to think I’m cute. Or maybe he’s blind and he’s trying to read me, I don’t know.”

  “Touchy-feely?”

  “And persistent.”

  “If I hear cries for help, I’ll come running.”

  “If you hear cries for help, they’ll be his, as I carefully break one finger after the ot
her.”

  “Who is it? I’ll straighten him out.”

  “Some guy, he told me his name but I wasn’t listening,” he said. “He actually pushed his way into the bathroom with me. I pushed him back out so hard he bonked the back of his head against the wall behind him. I think he got the point, finally. My God, the guy is like your age!”

  “Oh, thanks!”

  “But better looking.”

  “I thought we had a truce!”

  “You’re right, I forgot. Sorry. Old habits. Definitely not better looking.”

  “Thank you. You look pretty nice, too.”

  “Hey, I know it’s your party and all, but—you want to get out of here?”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Just a walk.”

  Bail on my own party? I thought about it, and then thought why the hell not?

  “Sure.”

  We grabbed our jackets, and I kissed Rebecca on the cheek as we passed her.

  “Where are you two going?”

  “For a walk,” I answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

  I’d been a little shy with Rebecca about whatever it was I was doing or not doing with her little brother. My guess was that Theo had been just as reticent. Now she looked from me to him and back a few times before she finally leaned closer.

  “Do not kill him.”

  I wasn’t sure which of us she was talking to.

  Theo seemed to have somewhere in mind, and soon we were crossing Fifth Avenue. He was taking us to the park.

  You’d think the kid from the farm would be intimidated by the city, but he seemed to have no fear. By comparison, growing up in New Jersey, with horror stories of the big city looming just over there—I was certain that Central Park at night was a no man’s land of chaos and crime, where drugs were dealt, gangs warred, tourists disappeared, and bodies were scooped up in the morning.

  But the ever-intrepid Theo took us straight to a hill he seemed to know, where we sat together on a large rock. It was nice.

  “Hey, Jeff,” he said finally, still looking out at the park.

  “Hey.”

  “Happy birthday.”

  “Yeah. It’s my birthday. Thanks.”

  “Did you call your mother?”