by Mel Gough
There’s a special lightness about Damien today, and Brad is in no doubt about the cause. He’s never seen Damien’s eyes as bright as when he looks at Zoe.
“Your little girl’s a treasure,” Brad says.
Damien glances up, his eyes soft. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Idil’s been asked many times to have her agented to work as a child model. But on that one we’re agreed. Zoe’s much too young. She can decide herself what she wants to do later.” He smiles. “Right now, she wants to be a doctor. She’s really bright, no idea where she got that from.”
Brad lets himself relax against Damien. “Her dad,” he says. And then, when Damien gives a snort of disbelief, “I mean it. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
Damien’s eyes grow dark. “I don’t feel so smart, a lot of the time.”
Brad wonders if he thinks of Vivienne. But he doesn’t want to throw a shadow over the day, so he asks, “How come Zoe’s here with you? Something good must’ve happened in LA.”
“Yeah,” Damien says. “I was gonna tell you, but then everything moved much faster than I thought it would. The last couple of times I went to LA Idil and I had some court-mandated therapy sessions, and I guess they worked. Idil is in town for a photo shoot now. She usually doesn’t even bring Zoe when she comes.” As Damien says those words, Brad can see the shadows of a painful time in Damien’s eyes that Damien can’t quite believe is over. Brad has a feeling that Damien is struggling to tell him something important. “I did something bad,” he finally whispers. “That’s why Idil didn’t want me near Zoe.”
“What do you mean?” Brad asks. So much for not throwing a shadow over their day, but it looks like Damien needs to unburden himself.
“When our marriage started breaking down, I…I started drinking too much. My migraines were very bad. I’ve had them since I was a teenager, but they got more frequent after I turned thirty.” Damien takes a deep breath. “One night, I got wasted and OD-ed on my migraine meds.”
Brad’s throat is tight with apprehension. Not suicide, not again. Damien interprets the look on Brad’s face correctly and quickly continues, “I wasn’t trying to off myself, I swear. I wasn’t trying to get high, either. They weren’t those kinds of pills. I was such a wreck from the booze, I lost track of when I’d taken my last dose. The meds I had then, they were dangerous with alcohol, but I didn’t pay attention to what the doctors said. It was the alcohol interaction as much as the overdose that landed me in the ER.
“But Idil, she took it bad. She was the one who found me, passed out on the living room floor. She was still pregnant with Zoe. We’d already been rocky, and it wasn’t ever the same afterward. She was scared that I’d do it again while Zoe was with me. I stopped drinking for a long time after that night; I didn’t even find it hard. But we just couldn’t work things out…” He gives a sigh, and Brad has a feeling there’s something else, something Damien can’t say right now. Before Brad can wonder about it, Damien continues, “So we got a divorce, but we were okay about Zoe for a while. The last couple years, the headaches are so bad again that I have to take medication all the time. Idil’s terrified I’ll do something stupid again.” He stops and wipes his eyes.
“Damien, I’m so sorry,” Brad says.
“We never discussed any of this properly, until the therapy. But there, she did listen, and I think she starting to trust me again.” He looks up and smiles, the relief palpable. “She called last night, said she wants to try joint custody after all. That Zoe needs both of us.”
“Well, she’s right,” Brad says.
Damien gives Brad’s knee a squeeze. Then he asks, “Hey, how are you?”
Brad feels tears sting the corners of his eyes. Sometimes, that happens suddenly; he’s grown almost used to it. He wipes them away. Damien’s hand on his knee tightens.
“It comes and goes,” Brad says. “As you can see. But I’m mostly okay.”
“I’m sorry I brought it up,” Damien says.
“Don’t be,” Brad says. “I try not to think about it all the time, but it’s there, whether someone mentions it up or not.” He gives Damien a small smile, to reassure him that he’s okay. “The funeral’s next Friday.”
Without hesitation, Damien asks, “Do you want me to come?”
Brad considers. His first instinct is to say yes. But after a few moments he shakes his head. “Aiden’s death has caused a bit of a stir. There could be press…”
Brad thinks Damien will tell him that he doesn’t mind getting into the gossip columns. But he keeps silent. Maybe he gets it, that Brad isn’t ready for the limelight. He’s not going to argue with keeping things low-key for a while.
“Thanks for offering, though,” he adds, hoping that there won’t be hard feelings. But his worry is baseless when Damien smiles at him again and rubs his thigh.
Then they can hear Maria’s footsteps in the hallway and quickly sit up straight, edging apart on the sofa. “Hey, I had an idea,” she says when she appears in the living room. “Zoe said something about feeding the ducks.” She grins. “I think we can do better than that. How about we take the kids to Prospect Park Zoo?”
They have great fun at the zoo. Watching Damien and Zoe hurry from one animal enclosure to the next, Brad can’t say who enjoys themselves more. He’s happy that Damien will have a chance to spend more time with his daughter. They eat ice cream and watch the keepers feed the penguins. Brad notices a few zoo visitors giving Damien curious looks. But Damien seems to have a sixth sense for them and moves on, taking his daughter firmly by the hand. Nobody approaches.
On the way to the zoo they’d all piled into Peter’s sedan, but when they get ready to go home Damien says he’ll call a cab. “I have to take Zoe back to her mom,” he explains to Maria and Peter. “Thank you so much for today. It was awesome, and Zoe had so much fun! Beats feeding ducks, huh?” he asks, crouching down to her level, and Zoe nods with an earnest expression on her small face.
“Yeah! The penguins were so cool!”
“Poor, neglected ducks,” Damien says, and the other adults laugh. Then Damien glances at Brad. “Wanna come with us?”
Brad nods. “Sure.” He hides a smile when Maria gives him a wink.
They say goodbye to Maria, Peter, and the twins, then climb into the back of a yellow cab outside the gates to Prospect Park. As they make their slow way through traffic Zoe chatters away, recalling all the animals she saw, and the things Kyle and Jay told her. But after a while her voice slows down and cuddles up to Damien. Yawning, she closes her eyes, and falls asleep. Damien strokes her hair with a tender expression on his face. “Quite the day, huh, little one?” he whispers.
Shortly after that, the cab approaches the Brooklyn Bridge. Brad hadn’t even thought of this, or he could’ve asked the driver to take a different route. Before he’s aware of the entire barrage of feelings that assault him, Damien reaches out and takes his hand. He holds on with a tight grip, and they stay like this all the way into Midtown, until the cab pulls up outside the London Hotel.
Damien looks down at Zoe, who’s still fast asleep. “Guess I can just carry her inside,” he muses.
“Hang on,” Brad says. He gets out of the taxi and goes around to the other side. He opens Damien’s passenger door, and together they lift the girl out of the cab. She’s light as a feather when Brad takes her so that Damien can climb out.
“I’ll wait in the cab,” he says when Damien takes his daughter back into his arms.
“Thanks,” Damien says and, slowly so as not to wake Zoe, he walks into the hotel.
He’s only gone for about ten minutes. When he climbs back into the cab he sinks into the seat, grimacing. “Right,” he says. “Shall we go to my place?”
“I think so,” Brad replies, studying Damien’s face with a frown. “It’s closer, and you don’t have your meds on you, do you?”
Damien looks at him, surprised. “How did you know?”
“You’re getting that look,” Brad says. He gives
the driver Damien’s address, then takes Damien’s hand in his. It’s clammy and too warm.
“You don’t have to stay, you know,” Damien says from between tight lips. “I won’t be any fun now.”
“Try and stop me,” Brad growls. Damien regards him from puffy, bloodshot eyes. His face is already gray.
“Thanks,” he whispers.
“What brought it on?” Brad asks.
Damien shrugs. “I never really know.”
“Not seeing Idil, was it?” Brad asks, trying not to sound accusatory.
“I don’t think so,” Damien replies. “I mean, we’re not exactly friends, but she’s much better about it all…” He grimaces and hides his face in his hand. “Ouch…”
Brad reaches out and places his hand on Damien’s neck. “Tell me if this doesn’t feel right,” he says, and starts to massage the base of Damien’s skull.
“No, feels good,” Damien murmurs. He gives a dry laugh. “We’re quite the pair.”
“That’s what boyfriends do, isn’t it?” Brad says. “Look after each other.”
Damien glances at him. “You just made me feel a million times better,” he says.
35
After browsing the Broadway shops for a few hours, Viv is ravenous. So when she returns to the penthouse she settles down in the dim sum restaurant on one of the other corners nearest to Damien’s building. From here, she doesn’t have a view of the entrance, but she makes the waiter give her a table in the window. She can see every car going into Damien’s street, which is one-way, so when Damien comes back by cab this is the only way in.
The food is delicious. Viv orders a selection of savory and sweet buns, and surprises herself with the speed with which she demolishes them. As she eats, she makes notes in her notebook about the last few days, and adds an entry for today:
Sep 16, PH, 12.00 D+Z dep
She is halfway through a second portion of sweet buns when a yellow cab drives past the window and turns into Damien’s road. Throwing down three twenties, Viv grabs her coat, bag, and notebook and hurries out of the restaurant.
Shrugging into her coat, she stops on the corner, watching the cab. It’s not Damien who gets out, but that Detective Moretti. He bends into the driver’s window to pay the fare. Then he goes back to the passenger door. A hand extends from the cab and grabs his arm hard, and the next moment Damien emerges, pulling himself up with Moretti’s help.
Viv is shaking with fury. Is Damien drunk, is that cop once again rescuing his sorry ass? But even through the anger clouding her brain, Viv knows that that’s unfair. Damien must be suffering from another bout of crippling headaches.
Fine, she thinks with savage venom, let that detective deal with him. Who’ll want him in that state, anyway? She turns on her heel and walks past the dim sum restaurant and onward, on the lookout for an available cab. She needs to get away.
36
Brad has been to his fair share of funerals, but usually he’s one step removed. He only ‘meets’ the deceased after they find an untimely, brutal end. Sometimes he bonds with the family during the investigation, which can warrant an invitation to the funeral.
Aiden’s memorial service hits much, much closer to home, and it’s as horrible an experience as Brad anticipated. He deliberately resisted requesting Aiden’s case file, both because he couldn’t face the details and because Eric would never let it go. So Brad is just a mourner, like everyone else.
There are only ten people present, and he knows about half of them. Despite the brief flurry of media attention, Aiden’s sister Cindi, who organized the whole thing, managed to keep the date, time, and venue of the service a secret. On the one hand, Brad is glad that they don’t have to contend with a barrage of paparazzi. On the other, seeing just how much Aiden’s illness shrunk his social circle makes him very sad. He spoke a few words with Sydney, the girl Aiden had been rooming with. When they got to the church Eric introduced Brad to her, but after a few tearful minutes neither had anything else to say and they’d drifted into separate pews.
Cindi and her husband, with their two teenage daughters, sit in the front, and the rest of the people spread out in the rows behind them. Brad doesn’t know whether that is supposed to make it look like there are more people in the church. If so, it doesn’t work.
Brad tries not to listen to the priest’s eulogy. When he and Aiden started dating they’d sometimes joked about how being lapsed Catholics should make them either get along famously or send them to hell extra quick. Now, that doesn’t seem funny. The mournful voice of the old man on the pulpit makes Aiden’s death even more pathetic and pointless.
Instead of taking in the meaningless phrases he grew up with, Brad steals away in his head to the plans he has for after this torture is over. Guilt twinges in his gut, like somehow thinking of the new man in his life is disloyal to Aiden. Brad doesn’t even believe that. He’s desperately sad about what happened, and he’s still angry at the universe for letting a life go to waste. But even if Aiden hadn’t killed himself, he and Brad were finished months ago. Whether he’s with Damien or not had no impact on Aiden, one way or the other. Aiden didn’t even know about Damien. And Brad works on coming to terms with the role he played in Aiden’s life. He’s acknowledged the truth of what Damien said: You can’t love away depression.
But thinking of Damien brings mixed emotions for other reasons, too. Brad has spent every single night at the penthouse since the day they went to the zoo. Damien is finally on the mend from his latest, long bout of migraine. When he looked down at Damien’s pale, tired face in his lap as they watched TV last night, Brad wondered just what it is that draws him to people who need his help.
As he sits on the hard bench in the cold church, he realizes the fault in his thinking. Aiden never asked Brad to become his caregiver. Brad thought he had a duty to assume that role, and before they knew what was happening they’d both been locked into an impossible dance of codependency. He can’t let this happen again. Damien is not in the same impossible pinch that Aiden couldn’t get out of. Brad swears to himself then and there that he’ll not allow himself to be drawn into that situation ever again. He wants him and Damien to work out, and he’ll support Damien, but he’ll not lose himself again in the process.
The priest drones on, and Brad finds it harder and harder to shut out his words, or Cindi’s sobs. His mind wanders to Aiden, the smiling, playful version he met all those years ago, and with whom he’d spent such a short, happy time. If that Aiden were here now, he would nudge Brad and whisper something in his ear, about the ridiculousness of organized religion in general and the folly of Catholicism in particular. Then he would kiss Brad right on the mouth, pull him up from the bench, and they’d sneak out of the church, breathless with suppressed laughter. This little daydream makes Brad smile.
But he remembers the last time he saw Aiden, pale and too thin, with his hair starting to grow out, dazed from the drugs yet determined to get better. And suddenly, it’s all too much. Exhausted from the gamut of emotions coursing through his veins, his vision blurs with tears.
Just when the organ starts to play for what Brad thinks is the final hymn, he gets up off the bench and, wrapping himself in his coat, he hurries down the aisle with his head down. As he strides past the back benches he catches glimpses of people to his left and right. He’d forgotten about this odd habit in Catholicism, of going to Mass even if the service is put on for a deceased they didn’t even know.
He stops on the pavement outside the church, breathing hard and shaking. He desperately wants a cigarette, even though he hasn’t smoked since the clubbing days in his twenties. Maybe Damien is a bad influence after all. Before he can decide whether to try and find a corner shop to buy a pack, or just get into the unmarked car that’s parked down the street, Eric appears by his side. Without needing to be asked he lights a cigarette and holds it out to Brad in silence. Brad takes it, and Eric lights another one. They stand for a few drags, not speaking. When the nicotine has
dried the last of his tears, Brad finally turns to Eric. “I had no idea you smoked.”
“I don’t,” Eric says. “But I bring a pack to every funeral. Sooner or later someone always needs one.”
They’re quiet again. Brad needs to say something else, but it takes him a few minutes to get the words out. “I can’t go to the gravesite,” he finally whispers.
Eric regards him. “I didn’t think you’d be able to, not today,” he says, no judgment in his voice. He adds, “I’ll explain to Cindi, don’t worry. Just promise you’re not going home to brood.”
Brad shakes his head. “I’m not.” To his surprise, the thought of Damien conjures a smile to his face. Eric cocks his head.
“You are seeing someone new.” Again, no judgment. But Brad detects something else, maybe relief? He takes a deep breath and shrugs.
“Maybe.”
Eric’s face shines with a wide smile. “I hope it’s the guy you went on that maybe-date with,” he says. “Introduce him soon, okay?”
“I will,” Brad says. “Thanks, man.” He lifts the half-smoked cigarette in a salute, then turns down in the direction where he has parked the car. He doesn’t often borrow a station car, but today he’ll be glad for the privacy it offers on the journey back to Manhattan.
37
Viv stays inside her apartment for almost a week, depressed and uncertain what to do. Her mood swings between total lethargy, where she can’t do anything but lie on the sofa for hours, staring at the TV or into empty space, and cold, visceral anger that’s quite unlike her. The smallest provocation can set off that new and ugly side. When the cork breaks off inside the neck of a bottle of red wine on Thursday, she gives a howl of rage and hurls the bottle against the kitchen tiles. It shatters, spraying the kitchen with red liquid that pools at her feet in a sea of glass shards. Shaking, she storms from the room and hides under the covers on her bed for over an hour.