I'm Your Man (26 page)

I turned my head to look over the back of the couch when Adam came in. He was holding the phone toward me as if it was going to bite off his hand. I gave him a questioning glance, and he mouthed something that I couldn't understand. I took the phone, wondering who would be calling me at Adam's, other than Sheila, Violet, or Gavin, none of whom would elicit such a strange reaction from Adam.

“Hello?”

“Blaine?”

A chill ran up my spine as I heard the voice. “How did you get this number, Sydney?”

“I have my ways,” she replied smugly.

“The phone book?”

She ignored me as she continued, “I want to meet with you. Tonight.” Her tone was stern, yet somehow unsure. It was typical of her.

“You expect me to drop my plans just because you say jump?”

“As far as I can hear, Blaine Dunhill, you're watching television. And don't try to tell me you're doing something later. We both know that nothing happens around here after 9
P.M.
Unless you're going to a bar.”

“Fine. Where do you want to meet? And why?”

“Meet me at Drayden's department store at nine. As for why, just come.” She hung up without letting me get in another word.

Sydney had always been spoiled and accustomed to getting her way when she issued commands. But it hadn't always been bad times with Sydney. When we were first dating, and then married, she had shed some of the snobbery that she'd developed over the years. She'd had dreams of becoming an artist—the next Mary Cassat. She had worked hard to convince her parents that art school would be a logical step for her. It still baffled me that they hadn't given in. They'd had no real aspirations for her except to meet a rich man who would take care of her the way they had.

Once I began bringing home larger paychecks, Sydney became a terror. She demanded an allowance in addition to the money that I'd been shelling out to have a famous artist take her under his wing. Late into our marriage, it dawned on me how much I resented her. At first I thought it was because she was constantly in need of a new outfit, or trying to find any way she could to spend my salary. But eventually, I had to admit to myself that my resentment was not over the way she squandered money. Regardless of how much she spent, I always had money left over. I just wasn't being honest about what I truly wanted. A man. Once I accepted that, my marriage was doomed, even if Sydney hadn't known it at the time.

When I got to Drayden's, I found my ex-wife standing in the window, knee-deep in fake grass, holding up a papier-mâché tree, the leaves of which were replaced with bikini tops and bottoms. I couldn't help but smile while I watched her struggle to make the tree stand upright.

“Let me help you with that,” I said, steadying the tree before it could fall on her.

She swung her bright red hair over her shoulder, her steely eyes turning on me as if they were razors. “I don't need help from you.”

“Fine,” I said, letting go of the tree.

Sydney let out a yelp as she fell into the fake grass. She grumbled as she stood up, picking green plastic strands from her hair and removing a bikini top that dangled from her arm.

“You prick. How could you let that happen?” I stood back and tried to muffle my laugh. She glared at me, then stepped down from the window box. “Let's get to the point. I was going to try to be civil, but that obviously doesn't work with you.”

“I was being perfectly gentlemanly; you've turned into a raving psycho. What are you doing working here, anyway?”

“My family owns the store now, and my mother thinks I do better work on the windows than the girl they brought in from Milwaukee. Besides, I need money, Blaine. I have a show going up in London, but I have to pay to have it shipped there. Or rather, you do.”

“Sydney, you do realize this is blackmail.”

She stepped closer to me, her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched. “You wouldn't want your family to find out about your little secret, would you?”

My first thought was that I had to protect my baby, then I realized she was referring to my sexuality. “Why are you doing this, Sydney? You were a decent person at one time.”

“That person is gone. You can blame yourself for that. Walking around like a god who can just point his finger and people will fall in line.”

I felt a surge of anger at hearing one of Daniel's accusations spewing out of her mouth. If I hadn't taken it from him, I sure as hell wasn't taking it from her.

“Do you know why I give you money, Sydney? Because I feel sorry for you. Your parents never cared enough about you to let you do what you want. Or maybe they knew just how third-rate your talent is and didn't want you to make the family image as garish as your paintings. The one person who ever admired you was Sheila, and you repaid her by stealing her boyfriend and gloating about it. As for me, I don't blame you for making every minute of our marriage miserable. You couldn't help it that you were born without a soul, much less a cock.” She flinched, but I couldn't stop myself. “As for not using the brain, heart, and spine that you do have, I should never have subsidized that. You're right. I am to blame. You've gotten your last payment from me.”

“If you think that I won't tell—”

I held up a hand to silence her, looking past her into the accessories department. She whipped her head around to see the cluster of employees and customers who gaped at us, obviously drawn by my raised voice.

“Go ahead,” I said. “Tell them.” When she looked back at me, trying to see if I was bluffing, I loudly said, “Attention, Drayden's shoppers. I'm gay!”

A mother put her hands over her daughter's ears and led her away, and an elderly man turned to the woman with him and said, “Who's Ray?”

“Not Ray.
Gay.
”

“Oh, Gay. Nice woman. I thought she died.”

The rest of the group laughed nervously when I did, except for one man in front, who asked, “Are you single?”

“Uh, I think he's her husband,” one of the employees said.

“Figures,” he whined, turning away. “The hottest gay men are always straight.”

When the group dispersed, I looked at a shell-shocked Sydney and said, “Tell whoever you want. My parents, your parents, the whole goddamned town can know I'm gay. I really don't care.”

I was exhilarated as I strode back to my rental car, but when I unlocked the door, I was hit by the magnitude of what I'd done. I felt like my knees were going to buckle, and I quickly slid into my seat, trying to assess my reaction. Then I smiled. I could hear myself telling the story to Daniel, and I knew what he'd say:
But how did you
feel,
Blaine?

I felt scared and anxious and . . . free. I didn't feel regret. I felt a strange sense of power.

I was struck by a flash of brilliance. My muddled ideas about work fell into place. I knew what the concept for the men's line from Lillith Allure would be: an entire line based on the ruling male gods of mythology—Zeus, Osiris, Thor. I was so excited that I needed to get back to Adam's to write it all out. I looked back at the store window, where Sydney remained as motionless as a mannequin next to the papier-mâché tree.

“Thanks, Sydney,” I said as I sped out of the parking lot.

When I turned into the driveway at Adam and Jeremy's house and stopped at the security checkpoint, I was momentarily blinded by flashes from cameras when the lurking reporters rushed to my car. They were pushed aside by two of the security guards, who didn't have to use much force when the reporters realized it was only me. One of the security guards tapped on my window. I lowered it and said, “Hi. Can I get through, please?”

“We'll need to see your ID, sir,” he said stonily.

“It's me, Blaine Dunhill. I've driven through here twice since I got here this morning, and you were on duty both times,” I said.

“That may be, sir, but I'll still need to see your ID,” he insisted.

“I'll bet Thor never had these problems,” I muttered as I fished my wallet out of my back pocket.

When I finally reached the house, I found a note from Jeremy letting me know that Josh had called while I was out. I returned his call, and he gave me an address where I was supposed to be the next day.

“Just meet me there. I'll fill you in then. I hate to be rude, but I've got a ton of things to do,” Josh said.

“That's okay,” I assured him.

“I'm at my future in-laws' house. Sheila's back in raving lunatic mode. And Nora is worse,” he said.

“Sheila's mother? I can't believe that. Mrs. Meyers is always such a calm woman.”

“That's just it,” Josh said. “She's a nervous wreck, worrying constantly, and keeps knocking things over or dropping anything in her hands. She's like the eye of a hurricane. On the outside, she's cool as a cucumber. But she leaves mass destruction in her wake.” I laughed, but was left with dead air after he said, “Shit. I gotta go. Nora just walked by with a crystal punch bowl.”

The next day I arrived at the appointed address to find Josh and Jake waiting for me in front of a building downtown.

“Look!” Jake exclaimed, pointing at me. “It's your best man.”

Josh was on his cell phone and finished up his call while Jake gave me a bear hug. “It's not a crisis, Sheila. I swear. It'll be fine . . . Okay. I'll see you soon,” Josh said. He flipped his phone closed, and said, “It's another crisis. Sheila and Nora were at a fitting for the wedding dress. Apparently, Nora somehow managed to rip out an entire seam in the dress. They're not sure if it can be mended in time. Is it too late to elope?”

“Yes,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. Josh rested his head on my shoulder and sighed audibly. “This will all be over in a few days. Then you can whisk that lovely bride of yours away to . . .”

“Los Angeles,” Josh said.

“What kind of honeymoon is that?” I asked.

“It's only for a day or two. I have a shoot I couldn't reschedule. And Sheila has a screen test.” Jake and I quickly glanced at each other, but before we could question him, Josh added, “I can't say what it's about, so don't ask.”

“Okay. Where are we? What are we doing here?” I asked instead.

“Isn't this one of those places where they have estate sales?” Jake asked.

“Yes. One of your mother's friends has a friend whose husband died, and this is where most of the estate ended up. Nora's friend has it on good authority that there are several vintage tuxedos inside.”

“Cool. When the reporters ask me who I'm wearing, I can say, ‘Urban Legend,' ” I said.

“It's a retro-chic wedding,” Josh said, “and none of the vintage shops here had anything from the forties. We've got reproductions as a backup, but Sheila insists it's better if we can find the real thing.”

“Hey, guys. Hope I'm not too late,” Daniel said, walking up to us from the street. His sudden appearance startled me, even though I knew he was one of Josh's groomsmen. It was completely logical that he'd be there to find a tuxedo, but seeing him caught me off guard and made me feel vulnerable. He brushed his fine blond hair off his forehead in a harried manner, and said, “I can't believe I never realized that my stupid driver's license had expired. Talk about humiliating. For two weeks, I've been at the mercy of my sisters, or my parents, to drive me around. Being back here without a car is just like sixteen all over again.”

The sound of a horn made us all turn around, and we saw Gwendy pulling away from the curb in her Jeep. We all waved, except for Daniel, who flipped up his middle finger at her. She returned the gesture, thrusting her hand through the sunroof and waving it frantically as she drove away.

“That's my kind of woman,” Jake said.

“She could've joined us,” I said.

“She's pissed off because she had to pick me up and drive me over here on her lunch break,” Daniel said. “Bitch.”

Inside the store, we met the manager, who'd set aside fifteen different suits and tuxedos, ten of which were said to be from the forties. We took his word for it and took turns trying on the formal wear in a room off the showroom. Josh and I had the hardest time of it, as his arms were longer than most of the jackets', and mine were big. But we finally found suits that were big enough to be scaled down to our size.

“You boys lucked out,” the manager assured us. “Most authentic articles of clothing from that time period are considerably small.”

“It's a good thing we're not wearing hats, Blaine,” Jake said, nudging me with his elbow. “You'd be hard pressed to find one that would fit that big melon head of yours.”

“Hats!” the manager exclaimed. “I think we have some upstairs. Excuse me.”

While he ran off, Daniel emerged from the room we'd commandeered for our fittings. He was tugging at the cuffs of an Arrow collar shirt, arranging them just so under his tuxedo jacket. He said, “I wish we had cufflinks, so I'd know how this will look on the big day.”

Daniel's tuxedo fit his lean physique perfectly. His shaggy blond hair graced the collar of his silver shirt and black jacket. Daniel's penchant for the latest trend in clothing often caused him to look like he'd stepped out of a fashion magazine or department store catalog. On him, the vintage tuxedo looked like it was new and about to be revived on a Paris runway as the hot look for fall.

He caught me looking at him and said, “With a couple of alterations, that tux will look great on you, Blaine.”

“You don't look so shabby yourself,” I offered, wishing I could be alone with him.