Someone Like You

by Timothy J Beck

  “See anything that interests you?”

  “You can’t sell after hours,” Derek reproached him.

  “I didn’t ask you to buy anything. I asked if anything interested you.”

  “Sorry,” Derek said, feeling chastened. “I’m Derek Anderson.”

  After a pause, the man said, “Nice to meet you, Derek. I’m Ed Rochester.”

  Derek lifted an eyebrow and said, “Ed Rochester? I was an English major. I assume you picked the name because Edward Rochester disguised himself as a gypsy in Jane Eyre?”

  “Oops,” the peddler said.

  “Really,” Derek said. “Give me some credit. But it’s okay with me if you want to be incognito, Ed. We all have our secrets.” He picked up a greenish blue stone and said, “What’s this one?”

  Ed looked at it and said, “Chrysocolla. It’s a healer.”

  “What does it heal?”

  “It helps regenerate the pancreas, regulate insulin, and balance blood sugar.”

  “I don’t have any of those problems,” Derek said and started to replace the stone.

  “It also eases heartache, purifies and harmonizes the home, and increases the capacity to love. You can keep it. It’s small and will fit easily into your pocket.”

  “Thanks,” Derek said, taking another bite of his hot dog as he studied the stone. “So, Ed, do you tell fortunes?”

  “Not all gypsies do,” Ed said.

  “But since Mr. Rochester’s gypsy did—”

  “Everything you need is in your own backyard,” Ed smoothly interrupted.

  “I’ll be sure to tell my roommate that. Vienna practically killed people to get away from the smokestacks and slag piles of Gary.”

  “Gary very well may be in her future,” Ed intoned. “It’s the circle of life.”

  Derek slid off the stool and said, “Thanks for the chili dog and the rock.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Ed said. “See you around, Derek.”

  Derek finished his walk to the Galaxy Building and took the elevator to the apartment, feeling forlorn. Neither Vienna’s nor Ed’s kindness could erase his post-Hunter letdown. He’d been so touched to hear his lover threaten Natasha, then thrilled to be in his arms again, only to end up more miserable than ever. Any man would know that a simple “I love you” could have brought him back home. But an honest man, which Hunter was, wouldn’t have said it unless it were true.

  He realized that his overalls smelled like Marc Jacobs cologne, so he changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt and curled up on the sofa, intending to wait up for Vienna. It was pathetic how his intention to be a good friend seemed to always turn into running to her for comfort. He could tell Davii anything, and could rely on Christian for good-humored companionship, but Vienna was his rock. He jumped up and went to his bedroom, finding the stone from Gypsy Ed in the bib pocket of his overalls. Then he went back to the sofa and napped.

  When he awoke, he was still clutching the rock in his palm. He opened his fingers to let his hand cool off, then he heard voices from Vienna’s bedroom. He sat up, wondering if he should leave the apartment to give her more privacy. As he stood, the rock slipped from his grasp and hit the coffee table. The voices stopped, and he heard Vienna call, “Derek? Are you awake? Come here, baby.”

  He wandered down the hall and found her sitting on the bed next to Christian. Both of them were fully dressed, although Vienna had undone the straps of her overalls. Derek blushed and said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  Vienna shook her head and said, “We were just rehashing your bad night.”

  “Natasha,” Christian clarified.

  “And Hunter,” Vienna added, as if friendship required full disclosure.

  “Hunter?” Christian asked.

  “Right,” Vienna said.

  “Hunter Congreve?” Christian turned to stare at Derek. “Your boyfriend is Hunter Congreve?”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” Derek said.

  “How could you not know that?” Vienna asked. “What do men talk about? Whose apartment did you think we moved him out of in the dead of night?”

  “I don’t know,” Christian said. “I knew his boyfriend worked at the Congreve—”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” Derek said again. He went to the bed when Vienna patted it and slid between the two of them, lying on his back and pulling one of her pillows over his head.

  After a pause, Vienna said, “It makes my blood boil the way Natasha treats people and gets away with it.”

  “It sounds like Drayden Lvandsson’s on to her, though,” Christian said.

  “It’s not enough,” Vienna stated. “Sure, she’ll be inconvenienced by going to Chicago, sitting through monotonous seminars, and participating in role-playing games about how to treat people nicely. But that’s as far as it’s going to go. You know she’ll come back and pick up right where she left off, treating everyone like shit. No, I want retribution. For Derek’s sake.”

  “It sucks that he has to deal with that bitch on top of his situation with Hunter,” Christian said.

  “I’m still here,” Derek moaned from behind his pillow.

  “Christian, has a man named DeWitt called you?” Vienna asked.

  “Actually, yes. I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. What’s his story?”

  “I’m so glad you asked,” Vienna said. “DeWitt was doing some sewing for Natasha, and they had a falling out. She was vicious to him. If you could’ve seen how beaten down the poor guy was, your heart would’ve broken.”

  “Trust me, I think I understand his misery,” Derek said, having removed the pillow so he could listen to Vienna’s story.

  “Why don’t you just quit, Derek? There must be something else you could do instead of selling shoes,” Christian said.

  “Not tonight,” Derek said. “I know you have my best interests at heart, but I’ve already had this discussion once tonight. Maybe tomorrow, okay?”

  “Fine,” Christian said. “So DeWitt was Natasha’s tailor? Did he mess up a hem or something?”

  “He wasn’t her tailor,” Vienna stated with a strange grin. “He was her dolls’ tailor.”

  Derek maintained a stupefied silence, and Christian finally said, “Okay, I’ll bite. He made clothes for her doll?”

  “Not doll. Dolls. Apparently she has a lot of them,” Vienna said.

  “She collects dolls?” Christian asked. “That’s weird, but how does this information help you get retribution against her?”

  “They’re all Dolly Parton dolls,” Vienna stated. “It’s not a collection. It’s an obsession. They could be instruments in avoidance behavior. Or they play a part in an obsessive-compulsive personality disorder. Maybe a combination of the two. I’m not sure yet. But when DeWitt told a mutual acquaintance—” she broke off with a frown. “Hoagie? Something like that. It’s not like me to forget a name. Anyway, when she found out that DeWitt told someone about her collection, she decimated him. Obviously she feels she has something to hide.”

  “Maybe I should quit,” Derek said.

  “Based on this information, I have a plan,” Vienna said. “I could use a little help, though.”

  Derek turned to Christian and said, “Or maybe I’ll get fired.”

  “It could be more fun that way,” Christian agreed. “I have the feeling that Vienna’s going through with her plan whether or not we help her.”

  Vienna shrugged and said, “Laura Bartlebaum had a breakthrough after I stabbed her.”

  “You what?” Christian asked.

  Derek enjoyed watching Christian’s face as he heard the tale of the unfaithful husband and the careless patient. He found it reassuring that Vienna could so calmly discuss what had once been her darkest secret. He couldn’t wait to tell Davii about her progress.

  “In the end,” Vienna finished, “Laura dropped Kevin like a bad habit and decided to remain faithful to her husband. She even agreed not to press charges against me and wrote to the Board of Psychiatry on my behalf. Sometimes
patients just need a little push to get better. We’re going to push Natasha gently toward sanity.”

  She looked expectantly at Christian, who finally said, “I’m in. And not because I’m afraid of you now.”

  Vienna laughed, then they both turned to Derek, who stared back at them, wondering what Vienna was planning. After a pause, he said, “We’re not going to break the law, are we?”

  “Laws are like hearts,” Vienna said sagely. “Some of them work better after a little breaking.”

  25

  It’s Everywhere You Want to Be

  Riley broke the lead of his pencil when Hunter called his name for the tenth time in two hours. He was beginning to wonder if he couldn’t devise some way to get his boss sent back to Sydney. He’d been a beast since his surprising return to Indiana. Although his mood was satisfying evidence that relations between Hunter and his boy toy continued to deteriorate, Riley’s months as acting head of the Hotel Congreve had left him with little patience for Hunter’s resumption of power.

  Still, Riley had other consolations. For one, although it still annoyed him that Natasha Deere had dodged his phone calls, he no longer needed her. Derek was doing a marvelous job of ending his love affair, as Riley had seen in a terse note that Hunter sent to Garry Prophet to apprise him of the state of the disunion.

  Pro,

  Situation with Derek completely fucked. His refusal to quit his job is either a childishly willful gesture, or he lacks the self-esteem to want more and better. Either is a huge disappointment. Coming home accomplished nothing, and I think he definitely has another boyfriend. I’ve seen them together. Is there anything more pathetic than a scorned lover who turns to stalking? Yours in stealth mode.

  Con

  The e-mail left Riley with a velvety feeling of contentment. Apparently, Hunter had glimpsed Derek with his limber sex pal, Christian. Which would explain his vile mood. But should Riley detect any thawing in relations between the crown prince and the pea brain, he still had a few aces up his sleeve, and they didn’t require Natasha’s cooperation.

  In fact, since Hunter was being such a pest, Riley decided to give himself a special treat and throw a card on the table. He went into Hunter’s office with his usual obsequious expression and said, “Sorry, did you call me? I was trying to confirm some charges on Derek’s Visa account.”

  Hunter looked up with a frown and said, “Derek is still using his Visa?”

  “I haven’t received the current statement,” Riley said. “I’m just verifying unusual charges on the last one I have.”

  Hunter seemed to be lost in thought, then he said, “Are any of the Lvandssons still guests of the hotel?”

  “Miss Lvandsson left after Drayden’s Planter’s Day Preview Night,” Riley said. “Mr. and Mrs. Sven Lvandsson are still here. I believe Mrs. Sven has just been appointed to the board of a Terre Haute art group—Vigo County Stages, Wabash Symphony—I’m not sure.”

  “Find out exactly which organization and send her one of the hotel’s fruit-and-chocolate baskets,” Hunter said. “With a note of congratulations. Drayden Lvandsson? Is he still a guest?”

  “Yes,” Riley said, wondering why it mattered. He’d have to do some reconnaissance. Maybe Drayden was Hunter’s new romantic interest.

  Hunter frowned again, then said, “Derek’s Visa bill. Let me look at it.”

  “I’ll get it,” Riley said. He went back to his desk, pulled the entire file of Visa statements, and took it to Hunter, who waved him out of his office.

  Riley smiled as he turned away. The file should keep Hunter busy for a while. For months, Derek’s charges had followed a pattern. Books at Patti’s Pages, an occasional meal so inexpensive that it was obviously for one, a charge or two a month at Aveda, and a clothing purchase every couple of weeks. Then there were the online purchases of porn DVDs. For all Riley knew, Derek and Hunter had enjoyed those together. In any case, month after month, the charges were innocuous and consistent.

  Until the last two bills, when there had suddenly been a dramatic increase in purchases of new clothes, hair products, and haircuts, along with large bar tabs and steep meal charges indicating that Derek had not been drinking and dining alone. Then there were the gift cards. Those were Riley’s favorite charges. They made it look as if Derek had expected Hunter to pay for his lavish generosity to his new friends and fuck buddies. Visa provided a satisfying means of assisting the slow, painful suicide of a relationship. It was a mercy killing.

  Riley was given a few hours of peace while Hunter shut himself in his office. Not only didn’t he emerge for lunch, but he didn’t ask Riley to order from the hotel restaurant. Riley took advantage of his boss’s preoccupation to enjoy a leisurely meal at Bert’s Bar & Grille. When he returned, Hunter came out of his office and dropped the Visa folder on his desk. He looked tired.

  “Just pay the damn thing,” he said. “I want to see the next one when it comes.”

  “Certainly,” Riley said. When Hunter didn’t leave, he asked, “Was there something else?”

  Hunter appeared to hesitate, then he finally asked, “Did you see much of Derek while I was away? Did he spend a lot of time in the hotel? Have friends over? Before he moved, I mean.”

  Riley pretended to be flustered and dropped his eyes as if embarrassed, saying, “I’m sure it would be better if you asked Derek. His answers would be more accurate than mine. It’s often easy to misunderstand what one sees. When one doesn’t know all the details.”

  Hunter scowled and said, “And what did one see, Riley?”

  “Derek seemed to make a few friends here and there. Of hotel guests. Maybe he considered himself a bit of a goodwill ambassador in your absence.”

  “Hotel guests?” Hunter repeated, as if he hadn’t heard Riley correctly. “Are you implying that he tricked with men in this hotel?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Riley quickly responded in a tone that sounded horrified but with an underlying trace of regret that Hunter had figured it out. “I never saw him take anyone to your suite.”

  “I see,” Hunter said. “And this went on until he moved out?”

  Riley dropped his eyes again and said, “I honestly didn’t keep tabs on Derek’s nocturnal activities. It was nice to see him making new friends that he could go to dinner with or catch a movie with or…whatever they did. Like his friend Davii. And Christian. Well, that’s what had me concerned about the Visa bill.”

  “I don’t follow,” Hunter said.

  “Christian’s last name is Mercer.”

  “Okay,” Hunter said with a blank look.

  “Apparently, he’s the son of Patricia Mercer. She’s quite the celebrated Midwestern artist.”

  “Your point, Riley?”

  “Maybe you noticed a rather steep charge to the Rania Gallery in New York? That was for a signed Mercer print. It was such an unusual high-dollar item that I confirmed the purchase. But I suppose you’ve seen it hanging in your suite.”

  “There’s no new art in my apartment,” Hunter said. He went back to his office without another word.

  Riley smiled. In time, Derek would undoubtedly wonder why his check for the last Visa bill had never been deposited in Hunter’s account. It had been accommodating of him to slide it under the door to Riley’s office without actually confirming that Riley had received it. If Derek ever got around to asking about it, Riley could say he’d never seen it and suggest that the cleaning crew had thought it was trash and disposed of it.

  The damage was done. As far as Hunter knew, Derek had stuck him with a lot of charges involving other men. Even if Derek swore he’d tried to pay the bill himself, the only proof of that had been shredded by Riley long ago.

  Riley sharpened a new pencil and began drawing an approximate version of the Manhattan skyline on his desk pad while he made business calls.

  26

  Love at First Stroke

  Christian worked his fingers into the pastel, defining the sparkle in the eyes of Perky, Emily-Anne
’s West Highland terrier. He sat back from the easel, satisfied with the actual rendering but discomfited by what he thought was a lifeless portrait. Frustrated, he plucked a bright red pastel from the container to his left and began filling and enlarging the dog’s lips.

  He tossed the chalk back into the box and thought, Like mother, like dog.

  He wondered if collagen injections might mar Perky’s chances at the next AKC show. Then again, Emily-Anne appeared to suffer no ill effects from her surgical enhancements. Christian had tactfully tried to guide his client to the realization that her efforts to defy aging were turning her into a caricature. Much like Perky. With a sigh, he pulled the archival paper from the easel and crumpled it, tossing it over his shoulder.

  A glance at the clock alerted him that he needed to dust himself off before beginning his cloak-and-dagger foray into Mall of the Universe. While he exfoliated in the shower with an apricot scrub, he thought about Derek’s horror at his array of grooming products. He decided to boldly skip the after-cleansing moisturizing gel, but once he’d dried off, he couldn’t force himself to disregard the rest of his routine. When he was finally satisfied with his hair, he dressed in dark indigo jeans and a camouflage shirt with a printed eagle on the chest. He wouldn’t blend in with the pinks and oranges that were currently popular in Couture and Women’s Shoes, but his choice of greens and yellows seemed appropriate for his duties.

  Just before leaving the apartment, he picked up his PalmPilot and his phone. His conscience did battle with itself. He wanted to devote his full attention to Derek’s situation, but he couldn’t be inaccessible to his clients. He left the phone turned on as he began a brisk walk to Drayden’s. Just as he reached the store, “Morning Train” pealed from his belt, and he switched his headset on with exasperation.

  “Christian, thank goodness. It’s Courtney. Mama’s fighting with me in Drayden’s Wedding Salon. She’s insisting on an empire waist. What is this, 1976? You’ve got to come talk sense into her.”