“YOU, SIT,” Jordan ordered, once the elevator deposited us in the middle of my apartment. “First a drink, then you can take a bite out of my ass.”
Still feeling a bit sub-par, I didn’t put up a fight—alcohol on an empty stomach, why not? It’s not as if the day could get any worse. I wedged myself into the corner of a couch. Kicking off my shoes, I crossed my legs under me. Then, feeling the need for a shield, I pulled a pillow over my lap.
Jordan handed me a tumbler of Wild Turkey, keeping another for himself, then sat in the other corner of my couch so he faced me. In this light I could see the strain on his face. He’d told me once that living a lie took a lot of energy. Each erg expended through the years had engraved his face, leaving a visible accounting of the toll it had taken. At this moment, he looked every inch the fifty-year-old man he was.
“I don’t want to take a chunk out of your ass.” I reached over and squeezed his hand. But he looked so sad, I felt I should be wrapping him in a bear hug instead. “I only want to know one thing.”
“One? This is my lucky day.” He gave me a weak smile. “Fire away.”
“Is Rudy pushing you to do this?”
“He would never.” Jordan’s anger flashed. “That’s not the kind of choice you put a person to, especially when you love him.”
“I didn’t think so, but I needed to hear it from you.” Against my better judgment, I took a sip of the witch’s brew in my hand. My folly rewarded me with a trail of fire down my throat that burned a raw hole in my hollow stomach. However, the pain was worth the reward—a relaxing warmth to mask the cold dread. “Then why now? Look at you…well, not right now…but normally you’re a hunk and a half with at least a decade of good roles in front of you.”
“Thank you, I think.” He gave me a dirty look, then took a long pull on his drink as he visibly transported himself back in time. “I’ve known I was gay since I was fourteen. It’s not a lifestyle anyone chooses, you know?”
“I wouldn’t think.” No one in his right mind would pick a homosexual lifestyle in a heterosexual world. I mean, why climb the sheer face of the mountain when there’s an easy trail to the top?
“That’s a long damned time to hide such a vital part of me, I can tell you that. It was like trying to run with only one leg—something integral was missing.” He stared over my shoulder, the hint of a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “And then, thanks to you, I met Rudy, and I was whole. Happy…no, ecstatic, for the first time in my life.”
The pain, raw and visceral, that filled his eyes as he once again looked at me, stole my breath. Like stars overwhelmed by the intensity of the sun, words paled. There truly was nothing to say.
Knowing Jordan, he had thought his decision through from every angle, analyzed every sacrifice against its gain, so I wouldn’t insult him by asking if he had. Trapped not only by the choices we made, but the hand we were dealt, the cards in the game of life sometimes ran cold. The only way out was to fold the hand.
With nothing to add, I sat with him as he talked, hoping the comfort of friendship was enough.
“The last movie I starred in has been out on DVD for almost a year, so when my sex appeal tanks, I won’t be taking any investors with me. My production company is going strong. We have a film up for consideration by the Academy this year, two more in the can, and options on a couple of novels, neither of which are vehicles for me.” He jumped as the elevator whirred to life. Someone had called the car we had ridden up in. “I enjoy being a producer and would like to concentrate on that. Since we can now afford him, Rudy is going to be the company’s general counsel.”
“You’ve worked this all out.” His was a good plan, and it didn’t sound like justification at all. It sounded like the truth.
“It’s not like news of my sexual orientation is really going to come out of left field, anyway.” Jordan swirled the amber liquid in his glass as he talked. He seemed at peace. “The tabloids have been speculating for years. I’m fifty, never married, never sired any children. Either I’m gay or I’m the shallowest, most superficial man on the planet.”
“When you put it that way, being gay doesn’t sound so bad.”
He gave me a shocked look. “I never said it was. However, the choice that little complication put me to…that was living Hell.” He glanced over the rim of his glass at me as he took another sip of fortification. “Will you help us?”
“Was there ever any doubt?”
Even though it was almost two in the morning, juiced on fat, starch, caffeine, and true love, I knew trying to sleep now would be futile. Filled with enough hamburgers and French fries to fortify even the weakest soul, and after hours of chatter, funny stories, and wedding plans, Rudy and Jordan had repaired to the largest of my guest rooms, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I checked to make sure the service had fed the bird—they had—and cloaked his cage for the night, then made a mental note to move the bird to Teddie’s for the duration of Jordan’s stay.
I swapped my day-clothes for one of Teddie’s shirts, poured myself another drink—limiting it to one finger of bourbon—and settled into the big chair by the window. The lights of the Strip stretched before me. Usually I found the view and my surroundings comforting—my home was my sanctuary. But not tonight.
Like a ballroom after the band had packed up and the last guest had gone, my apartment was nothing but a hollow shell, echoes of the party magnifying the emptiness. All the joy had left. The guests had gone to bed…and my heart had tripped off to California.
Sipping my drink, I tucked my bare feet under me and wondered where Teddie was. What was he doing right now? Was he asleep? Was he looking out his window like me? Were we looking at the same moon hanging in the night sky?
He’d said something about a party tonight where they wanted him to play a set, so I hadn’t expected a call. But not talking to him, not telling him about my day, not hearing about his…didn’t seem right somehow.
Sipping my drink, I fiddled with a button on his shirt. Hanging by a thread, it needed fixing, but if I owned a needle and thread, I didn’t have a clue where I might have hidden them. I was always a failure at the girl stuff. Thank God Teddie didn’t see that as a major shortcoming; his take on women was broader than that.
I took another sip of anesthetizing bourbon.
God, what a day! Beginning with Teddie leaving, not to return until I-don’t-know-when, segueing into a breakfast over photos of the inedible parts of Numbers Neidermeyer, and ending with being invited to preside over the destruction of a legendary Hollywood career, the last twenty-four hours really took the cake. Add a district attorney up to his ass in alligators who was trying to rush a murder indictment against the Beautiful Jeremy Whitlock, and my humiliation over that little weak spell in the limo—in front of witnesses, no less—and this day was truly one for the record books.
I needed to talk to Teddie.
Reaching for my phone, I flipped it open and hit number two on the speed-dial before I talked myself out of it.
After five or six rings, I thought my call would be kicked to voicemail.
At the last minute a voice answered, a female voice—young, giggly female voice. “Theodore is busy right now. He can’t come to the phone.”
Music thumped in the background as I thought I heard Teddie say, “What are you doing? Give me that thing.”
“Theodore, quit that. That tickles.” The female voice again, dissolving into a fit of laughter.
I heard scuffling noises, more laughter, then finally Teddie’s voice. “Hello?”
“I guess this isn’t a good time for some phone sex.” I kept my voice neutral even though my heart raced.
“Lucky! I’m so glad you called. This day has been fucking amazing!”
Scuffling noises came over the line, as if he’d covered the microphone. But he didn’t cover it fully and I heard him say, presumably to the young woman “Quit that. Go away. I’ll be right there.” Then back to me. “God, honey, they loved my stuff!” He sounded half looped, riding on an incendiary mix of euphoria and too little sleep. He wasn’t drunk, that much I knew. He never mixed business and alcohol. However, the rest of what he was up to was a bit murky.
“I’d love to hear about it, but you sound busy.”
“I’ve got so much to tell you! But I gotta go. They want me to play some more.”
Play some more, I bet.
“Can I hit you back later?” he asked.
I heard the girl in the background pleading with Teddie to quit talking. “If that’s music-speak for call me later, sure.”
First Romeo, now Teddie—everybody was speaking Martian and I felt old. And even more alone than before, if that was possible.
I folded the phone, disconnecting the call, thought for a moment, then flipped it open again and punched the red button until the thing powered off. Even though I felt like flinging it across the room, I set it carefully on the side table. Since I had refused to spring for a landline, if I shattered my cell off the far wall, I’d effectively cut off contact with the outside world—not that I wanted any right now, but tomorrow was another day.
Curling up in a ball in the big chair, I pulled an afghan over me and hugged myself tight as I stared out at the lights of the Strip.
Well, that call had certainly made me feel better.
A hand on my shoulder gently shook me.
“Lucky? Did you sleep in this chair?”
A male voice. Not Teddie’s. I tried to concentrate. Last night. Images, soft and blurry, hiding behind the veil of a screaming headache.
“Honey,” the voice seemed to be attached to the hand that shook me harder, more insistent now.
I eased one eye open. Light—an arrow of pain. I snapped it shut again. Then I remembered—Jordan, Rudy, bourbon, Teddie…more bourbon.
“Lucky, are you okay? Why did you sleep in the chair?” Jordan sounded horrified.
“My bed was too big and empty.” My voice sounded whiney, like it didn’t belong to me. Putting my feet on the floor, I bent over. Elbows on my knees, I buried my face in my hands, as the world whirled, then slowly righted itself. “The sheets were cold, and Teddie was off at some party in L.A. with some giggly female.” One eye shut, the other a slit, I looked up at Jordan. “Giggling is so…unattractive.”
“No, so female.” Reaching down, he grabbed my arm and tried to pull me to my feet. “Most men find women who giggle alluring.”
“So said the world’s authority on male/female attraction,” I groused, as I stood and let him lead me toward the kitchen, then instantly regretted my harsh assessment. “Sorry, that was uncalled for.”
Patting a stool at the counter, he smiled. “I still find women attractive, you know. However, right now, you look a bit worse for wear.”
“Worse for wear? You’re being kind.”
“Maybe, but I love you enough to try to hide the truth.” He helped me onto the stool. Then, satisfied I wasn’t going to keel over, he moved around to the kitchen side of the counter “So what is this about Theodore?”
Why do I have this annoying habit of opening my mouth before engaging my brain?
“Don’t look at me with owl eyes,” Jordan said.
Clothed in one of the thick white Turkish robes from the Babylon, his hair tousled, and a shit-eating grin on his face, he looked good enough to eat.
“Come on, give it up,” he said. “If you do, I’ll fix you my famous hangover cure—time-tested, it’s one hundred percent guaranteed.”
“You play dirty.” Still excruciating, my headache reduced my field of vision to a small circle of clarity. I felt half-sick—no, more than half. Absolute misery, that’s what I felt, in both body and soul. “Start working on your concoction. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
Jordan fell to work. He grabbed apples and lemons from the fridge, sugar from the pantry, and a bottle of Napoleon from my secret hiding place in the back of the cupboard beside the sink. “Teddie? Don’t tell me you finally took pity on the boy and gave him a tumble?”
“You knew, too?”
He snorted as he squeezed the lemons, then tossed all his gatherings into a blender with some ice. Then he hit the switch, and almost dropped me to the floor.
Reflexively, my hands flew to my ears.
“Sorry,” he shouted over the noise, looking far happier than I thought he should. After an interminable time, he cut the switch and poured some of the thick concoction into a mug. “Honey, everybody knew but you. Drink up. Hair of the dog and all of that.”
I took a tentative sip, igniting a craving on some visceral level. Draining the whole thing in one long session, I thrust the empty mug toward him. “More.”
Jordan complied and I sipped, more slowly this time, as I filled him in on my recent adventures in love.
When I had finished, he didn’t comment immediately. Instead, he looked at me for a moment as if trying to find the right words. When he finally spoke, his words weren’t the ones I expected to hear. “Quit fighting yourself, Lucky. Let it happen. Life’s like Disneyland, and love is the best ride in the park.”
“The one that snaps your head around, then breaks your back?”
I set my empty glass on the counter and pushed myself to my feet. Thankfully, the world had stopped spinning.
“Well, if I’m not going to get any sympathy, it’s time to get a move on. The circus awaits.”