He grabbed my hand to comfort me. “Listen, baby. I want things to be okay with us. Don’t worry about embarrassing me. I can help you dress and then you can work on being more outgoing.”
That was the wrong thing to say. He should have apologized, not reiterated his disapproval. I wasn’t a slob, and I was outgoing enough. It was his shallow friends, and Christopher’s expectation of impressing them, that made things awkward.
The waiter led us to a table in the middle of the dining room. People whizzed past us on all sides. By then I just wanted the night to be over. We ordered our food, and I ordered an appetizer to give us something to do besides talking. I pointed to the appetizer on the menu for the waiter because there was no way I could have possibly pronounced it.
The mystery appetizer came in less than five minutes and we picked at it. It was something fried with a dipping sauce. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t be with you if you embarrassed me,” he said. How could I not forgive that smile? “Come on. You’re my arm candy. When I walk in with you, all my friends are so jealous they start spreading rumors about me. I love it!” I kept wondering why he referred to me as arm candy. He grabbed my hand and intertwined our fingers. I couldn’t help but to buy it, so I smiled back.
“I’ll let you pick out my outfit for the next time we go out,” I said.
“They invited us to a Christmas party next week. I’m going back to Michigan Avenue and buying the same shirt we bought last time but in Santa red. It’ll go with your new vest, and you can wear it to the party. And don’t worry; I’ll go by myself, so you don’t have to suffer through it.”
“Phew. Can you do my taxes too?”
A smile crept across his face. “Yeah, but you’ll probably go to jail.”
“Are most of the same people going to be there?” Just how big was Christopher’s social circle?
“A few.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Plus some who are a little more, shall I say, uppity.”
“What does that mean for me?” I asked, cringing my face. “What do I need to do around your uppity friends?”
“Just be the person you are when you’re around me. Don’t be shy. Don’t be afraid to go up to strangers and tell them how happy you are to be dating me.” He was only half-joking.
“If you tell me they’re uppity, how do you expect me to feel comfortable talking to them? I hate them already.”
“I hate them too, but we need to impress them.”
“Why? This is ridiculous.” The waiter came by, but I brushed him away.
He grabbed my hand and murmured. “I need to look good in front of these people. That’s why I need you. Only the cream of the crop of Chicago’s gay society will attend this party.”
I didn’t buy it. My blood boiled. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Maybe it’s best I don’t go.”
“You have to,” he said in a shrill voice. “I’ve already told them you’re coming. They’ll be expecting you.”
“They can find something else to do with their time.” I signaled my hand to the plate, telling Christopher to finish the appetizer.
“Calm down now and think about it later, okay?”
The waiter came by to pick up the appetizer we couldn’t bear to finish. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
The next day, I sat at a table in the back of Kona in Andersonville. I arrived first and immediately regretted choosing this place to meet. I loved this little coffeehouse and didn’t want it to become ingrained in my memory as the last place I would ever see Jesse. Then again, it also crossed my mind it might become the place where we rekindled our love.
I flipped through Jesse’s Facebook page while waiting for him. He had five new friends. All guys. He still had pictures of us together on the photos page. I made those photo albums inaccessible on my page although I didn’t have the heart to delete them yet. There were new pictures of his mother who had died the year before.
Jesse walked in wearing the same mid-length leather jacket with the tie around the waist he had on when I met him. I loved the way it fit his body. He raised his hand and nodded when he saw me, but didn’t smile. He walked past the pastry counter and sat down. The table was near the travel book section. Kona billed itself as an international coffeehouse, with tables in the middle and books and artifacts from around the world along the perimeter.
“Well?” I asked as he sat down. He texted on his phone. I glared at him. “Put your phone down.” He put it down but wouldn’t look at me. “What did you want?” I asked.
“Closure, maybe. I feel awful. And I miss you.”
“What am I supposed to do? You’re the one who broke up with me.”
“That’s not fair,” he said. Our hip urban lumberjack waiter with a long beard and a red flannel approached the table to take our order. We both decided on scones instead of a sandwich.
“I’m simply stating the facts.”
“You’re mad. You never say you’re mad. You just make nasty remarks,” he said. “Don’t you think this has been difficult for me too?”
The waiter reappeared and placed the scones on our table. I didn’t lower my voice. “You need to tell me exactly what you want out of me. I can’t put words in your mouth. If I do, then I become the asshole.” I paused and exhaled. Our waiter delivered two large pieces of cake to a table across the room. My desire for the cake was a temporary distraction.
“I want… I think I want, things the way they were before.” He focused on me and swallowed. Then he looked around the dining room. He was acting the way he did the day he broke up with me.
“What are you asking? Are you saying you’d like to get back together?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Now, I’m the asshole, huh? I keep getting dumped by the same guy, and there I go asking him if he wants to be with me.” Two women at the next table cocked their heads as if they were listening in on our conversation. Jesse and I nibbled on our scones.
“I want us to not really be dating but not date other people either, because we plan on dating in the future, when I’m ready.” He paused and caressed my hand. “I want you to wait for me.”
I pulled back. “When you’re ready, huh? You’re either my boyfriend, or you’re not my boyfriend. I can’t save myself for a guy who’ll probably never come around.”
“Save yourself? Why? Are you sleeping around?” He snarled his mouth. “Don’t you think it’s a little too soon to be dating after a major breakup?”
“I have the right to spread my legs and have the whole of Chicago take their turn. I’m single.” My voice raised.
He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “How long have you been with this other guy?”
“Are you talking about Christopher? None of your business.”
“Christopher, huh? You replaced me with a Christopher.” His tone flattened.
“You dumped me, okay?”
“Now it’s you who doesn’t want me, I guess. You’ll only date me if we go all the way with the label and now you have this Christopher. It seems like I’m the one who’s been dumped.”
“You can’t be dumped by someone you’re not dating.” I got up.
He leaned across the table and placed his hand on my arm to stop me. I sat back down with my head cocked up towards the ceiling. “Wait, don’t leave yet.”
I exhaled, realizing I was making a scene. “You have thirty seconds left. What do you want to tell me in the next thirty seconds?”
“Don’t close the door forever.”
I brushed the crumbs off my shirt. “You’re the one who closed the door.” The truth was, I wanted him back. But I needed it to be on better terms. I couldn’t allow myself to get sucked back into his indecisiveness. He had to decide whether he truly wanted to commit all the way. It took all the strength I had to walk out of Kona and leave him sitting there alone. Marlene would have been proud.
The four of us settled into Silas’s basement the next day, ready to record. I looked forward t
o getting back to work. Being in Silas’s studio helped me relax and avoid thinking about relationships for a while.
“Duncan brought something new, and I want you to be open to the idea,” Silas said to Marlene and Robin. They sat next to each other on Silas’s old armadillo-colored couch. “Even if it’s different from what we’ve done before.”
I rose and crossed my arms. I flexed my fingers before I spoke to Robin and Marlene like I was standing up in front of the class to present a speech on the Spanish-American War.
“Today’s songs seem to revolve around sex, and I wanted to try something more risqué and out of my comfort zone. Perhaps, what song pluggers are looking for aren’t songs about my love tragedies…”
“Drama queen,” Marlene said.
“Maybe it’s something more fun. Anyway, I’ve gone in this direction, at least for now.”
“And I agree,” Silas said. “As cheesy as the song is, it’s grown on me.” He pressed play and Marlene, and Robin leaned forward.
I want to
Pump your body, pump your body
I want it
In your body, in your body
“You expect me to sing this?” she asked over the music playing.
“I guess you could change the last line to ‘in my body’ if you wanted to,” Silas chuckled.
“As much as I don’t like the song, it has hit written all over it,” Robin said. I flopped back into the chair with relief.
“Silas got feedback from a plugger saying my song ‘I’m My Own Worst Enemy’ is dated,” I said, “like it was from the ’90s or something. So, I guessed we’d try this one. Music today, that isn’t about having sex or hanging at the club, is all about self-empowerment.”
As far as the eye can see
The world is mine
“It’s mine,” Marlene said. “This song is for me, not the song pluggers.” I wanted to run a victory lap. Marlene only wanted the best songs, so this was a score.
“Are you sure?” Silas asked. “Because I’m sure we could get someone to buy this one.”
“Mine.” She tapped her chest.
“And here’s another one I wrote a long time ago about Jesse,” I said, pressing play.
“I already know I don’t want it,” Marlene said. I pressed play. “Yup, don’t want it,” she said, shaking her head.
“It’s not your best,” Robin said. “It sounds like a beginner songwriter wrote it.”
“I was just starting out when I wrote it.”
“You’ve gotten better since then. Let’s stick with the newer songs,” Robin said. He picked up his guitar and strummed. I scored a significant victory.
Chapter Ten
THE PRETTY ONE
The idea of going to a Christmas party with Christopher, after the disaster of the last party, made me want to hurl. I wore my new red shirt with my vest. Christopher fiddled with my hair for almost half an hour before we left. I’d never had that much product in my hair. I wasn’t sure if my neck could support the extra weight. Christopher looked ultra-trendy in his metallic shirt and solid white belt with a four-inch peace sign buckle. His hair was as high as I had ever seen it. He swatted my hand away when I tried to touch it and then took a few selfies of us before waving me out the door. He demanded we take an Uber rather than public transportation, lest the wind move our hair a half an inch.
When we reached his friend’s condo in the Gold Coast neighborhood, he insisted that I walk one step in front of him. It was a short walk through the small front yard of the three-flat and up a few stairs. He paused and adjusted his shirt and vest before ringing the doorbell. When we were let in, he had us stand in front of the door and hold hands, despite someone motioning for us to move to the side, away from the door. Christmas music played low in the background. Most of the people who were talking grew silent as we walked in.
“Everybody is staring at us,” Christopher whispered in my ear like this was good news. He was right—they were staring at us. I didn’t understand this at all. “Just stand here for a minute,” he said. He waved his arms wide as if to say hello to the whole room. Then he turned my shoulders to the right, and we walked toward the hallway near the refreshments table.
Christopher would have killed me had I averted my eyes like I wanted to. Instead, I focused on the details of the living room to take my attention off all the people. There was a stone fireplace on one side. They were fake-weathered; uniformly charred on each stone. A massive gold menorah perched on the mantle which made me wonder why the owner of the place was throwing a Christmas party. Next to it sat a decorated tree in all red. A framed painting of a penis hovered next to the tree. On the opposite side of the room was a dining room with a table made from one massive chunk of wood. In the middle of the room sat a sea of gay men, each dressed to impress, each with the same cologne. The room was lit up with track lighting.
An energetic, towering guy nodded toward me and smiled. His hands waved in every direction as he rose and walked toward me.
“My, my, you must be the pretty little thing Christopher’s dating. I’m Bradley. This is my breathtaking home.” Bradley was either: very confident, very arrogant, or on his fourth eggnog. Or all three. He seemed to enjoy his role as the friendly host.
“That would be me, I guess.” I paused and cleared my throat before looking back at him. “Your home is lovely.”
“Duncan, grab Christopher’s hand, and I’ll parade the two of you around the room,” Bradley said. Christopher gave him a satisfied look.
I don’t remember how many couples he introduced me to, and I forgot most of their names. In each case, Christopher introduced me as my Duncan. I never thought of myself as being so much of a catch that somebody would be proud to be with me, the way I felt proud to have Jesse when we were together.
“I need a drink,” I whispered in his ear.
“Just a few more,” he said.
Bradley approached us again, and three more couples followed. We made a circle, and everybody shot off questions in rapid succession. It started off easy with questions about my work and where I grew up, but then developed into an interrogation of whether I owned summer homes and stock portfolios. Was I supposed to feel bad I didn’t? One guy leaned in and asked how attached I was and if I wanted to keep my options open. He wore thin-rimmed glasses that fell down his nose as he raised his eyebrows.
“I’m happy where I am,” I said. I wasn’t sure if that was a lie or not, but I certainly didn’t want to get it on with a guy asking people if they would cheat on their partners after just meeting them.
“You’ll break soon enough,” he said, winking. “When it happens, I’ll be there.”
A flamboyant guy with a pure-white, faux-fur sweater and hot pink jeans chimed in. “I have a brownstone in Lincoln Park. You should come see it sometime. It has a hot tub on the rooftop with a nice view of downtown.” I couldn’t concentrate on remembering his name because the sweater was distracting me.
“I bet you like being the pretty one,” said a voice behind me. Behind me, a drag queen with a Jackie O wig smiled at me. She had really broad shoulders or was just wearing shoulder pads underneath her shimmering black dress. “You’re the pretty one. Don’t act like you don’t know it.”
The notion stopped me in my tracks. Was I? Is that why Christopher was so adamant about calling me arm candy? Jesse was always the pretty one when we were together. I scanned the room and mentally ranked the attractiveness of each person. At first, I hated myself for being so shallow, but then I told myself it was in the name of scientific research. I guessed I would rank decently in this crowd of gay men who ranged from their mid-20s to their 50s. There were so many hotties. I came across a guy standing near the fireplace and figured he was without a doubt cuter than me. He had a nice body and was not afraid to show it off. This was the first time another guy caught my eye since I met Christopher.
“If I were with you I’d tell you how pretty you are every single day,” said the drag queen. “I
’d praise the day someone like me could get someone like you.” She opened her arms to hug me, and I demurred. Where was Christopher to save me?
“Thanks, I guess.” The hair on the back of my neck stood at full attention. I turned back around and pretended to be part of a circle of people I didn’t know.
The doorbell rang a moment later. Bradley walked through the crowded living room to press the buzzer. When he opened the door a moment later, I almost shit my pants. It was Jesse. He stood next to a guy I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t clear if they were together, together. Jesse looked like he was straight out of GQ, with a gunmetal blazer over a red, form-fitting sweater and slicked back hair. I felt small. Even worse, the guy he was with was tall, with thick dark hair and a chiseled face. Jesse smiled at Bradley, and I waited for him to notice me. He walked through the living room and made rounds. When he reached our circle, he stopped and hesitated before putting a stupid grin on his face.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said. “You were the last person in the world I expected to see here. Can I have a hug?” My hug was limp because I didn’t want to reveal my wet armpit stains.
“My, my. You sure clean up,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Not that you needed to clean up.”
Christopher surprised me from behind by interlocking his arm with mine. “This is my Duncan.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with whom he is,” Jesse said, giving a boisterous laugh. I had seen Jesse grandstand at parties before. This was a far cry from when he broke up with me or during our chat in Kona. He didn’t know who he was at the time. He didn’t know now either, but he put on a show, regardless. This was not like him.
“Great, we’ll all get along just fabulously,” Christopher said, putting his arm around my shoulder. I went limp. My heart raced over Jesse, though it should have raced over Christopher.
Blueberry Pancakes: The Novel Page 8