Chapter 5
Chapter Five
He invited his stylist over to the apartment to dress him. He hated to do it, thinking how pretentious it truly was, but as Benson turned to look at the perfectly fitted suit, he couldn’t help but gush at Rodan, “This is the best suit I’ve ever been inside of.”
“Really, Benson, speaking like a street person.”
“Sorry,” he said, though he wasn’t sorry a bit.
The light brown color, which he would have never chosen for himself, seemed to darken in all the right spots, including under each cheek of his ass. His ass, which had been much perkier ten years earlier, but with the suit pants, he could almost remember how that felt.
“Rodan, this is beautiful. What fabric is this?”
“Tropical wool.”
Another spin around as he asked, “I love wool, but this is thinner than any I’ve worn. I never thought of it for a party.”
“You won’t be hiking the Matterhorn, will you? It’s for a party in a motel room filled with mouth breathers. Hot, humid, crowded, so tropical wool will work nicely. I would use linen if it didn’t wrinkle so terribly.”
“For one, it’s not a motel. You’re such a snob.”
“I have every right to be.”
“I suppose so,” he said happily. “Well, send the bill to Joyce. I’ll take this fabric and style in this color and another, of your choosing, of course.”
“Of course. And, Benson, please, no tie.”
He stared dumbfounded. “No?”
“A nice cotton T-shirt in deep aubergine or crimson would be perfect.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. A party is a casual affair. Be…free. At least free looking. Never mind, I’ll have one sent over along with socks, underwear and whatever else you’ll need. Have a nice time.”
“Nice. I will. Thanks again, Rodan.”
On the night of the party, Benson was nervous. He paced back and forth in his bedroom, chewed at his newly manicured nails, felt each board of his floor beneath his bare feet, counting them even as he thought of everything to say and not to say at the party.
When the car arrived, he sat in the back, thinking about what words he’d throw out first, which smile he’d use, which stance he’d take with the rest of his body.
He couldn’t decide on one. He almost had the driver turn around, but they were nearly at the Waldorf. If Benson turned back, he’d truly be a coward.
After the door was opened for him, he got out, remembering himself.
He was Benson Carter. He’d lived the true American dream, coming from nothing to make something of himself.
He’d worked hard to be what and who he was, and he knew he was a good person on top of it.
He didn’t experiment with the markets, didn’t screw over his vendors or his employees, and he liked himself.
And dammit, Luka would like him too. If he didn’t, it was his loss.
And maybe somewhere under the facade of confidence, he might even believe it.
The suite was so lovely he was staring breathlessly as Monty came, slapping him on the back, which restarted his breathing. “This is fucking incredible. Thespis?”
“Of course.”
“It’s perfect. So comfortable and elegant, which is not easy to achieve, believe me. I’ve been trying in our apartment for years. My husband says to give up, but he also knows I never will. Let me borrow your party planner for some help, on the down low, of course, and I’ll be forever grateful.”
“I’ll text you his contact information. So, is…is he coming?”
“I believe so, but don’t expect him to be the belle of the ball. He’s likely going to sit in a corner scowling the entire evening, so you’ll have to work at getting him to say a word.”
“I do like a challenge.”
“You do, and you nearly always overcome them.”
With his jaw dropped, he stared, offended playfully that Monty had added nearly to the declaration.
“Paul Trumbo.”
Remembering the hot centerfielder from the college baseball team, he closed his mouth and nodded before hanging his head. “Right.”
“Yeah, and damn, did you miss out.”
“You did not!”
“Three times in the locker rooms. I told you to join some sport to accidentally run into him!”
They had a good laugh at that, and then the guests began to arrive, each oohing and ahhing over the décor and the food. Monty poured wine, and Benson was introduced to each of the actors, all of whom fawned over him, thanking him for producing the play.
All except Luka. He came late and, as Monty had warned, stayed to himself at the end of one of the sofas, a Grecian blue pillow on his lap as a sort of shield.
Monty told him to wait, not to make a beeline for the guy, and he’d been right so far, so Benson took his time, but eventually, he sat on the sofa close to Luka, though not touching, and said, “I’ve yet to meet you formally, though I have seen your work. I’m Benson.”
“I know who you are, Mr. Carter. I’m Luka, but you said you knew who I was.”
“I do, and I must say, I’m happy to see you took the role Monty said you’d be perfect for.”
Luka was as tense as someone with a lodgepole pine trunk shoved up his ass, and his smile was tenser than that. It was obvious he could act on stage, but when it came to social situations, he was terrible at it.
And Benson liked that about him.
“Listen, parties are great, but not for getting to know someone. Would you care for a walk?”
Luka peered around the room. “I, uh, don’t know. I mean, wouldn’t it be rude?”
“I’ve spoken to most everyone. We’ll be back unless we decide to forget everything and run off together.”
As Luka’s eyes widened comically, Benson laughed and said, “I was kidding.”
“Oh. I’m not good at…humor.”
“That’s okay, Luka. We can’t be great at everything, but if we’re great at a couple things and so-so at others, well, I think that is even better. Tends to help us focus on what matters. What matters to you, besides acting?”
Luka’s eyes dropped and cut away from him, and with that, Benson knew something about him. He wouldn’t confront him with it, but Benson knew that Luka hated acting.
And, further, he thought he understood why he did it, anyway.
“Come on. Let’s go on a short walk, then come back and drink some wine, relax some, and enjoy the food. It’s the best Greek in the city, I’m told.”
“Walk. Then right back? I’m not…I mean…”
“I know you’re not for sale, Luka.”
Luka again glared hard at him. “How did you know that’s what I was going to say?”
“Your entire demeanor.”
“Oh. Okay.”
As they were heading to the door of the suite, Benson glanced over to see Monty with his jaw dropped. At least he was still good at shocking people.
They exited the Waldorf soon after and started to casually stroll along the sidewalk. There were still other people rushing around, but they stood out as they weren’t headed anywhere in particular.
“So, before we go too far, I suppose I’d like to make a couple of confessions.”
“You are interested in me. Right?”
“How did you know?”
“Your entire demeanor.”
Benson laughed. “Touche,” he granted. “Well, that was maybe what I would have told you later, but for now, well, I know a little about you because I asked Monty. Not that he knew much, but I think we have a lot in common.”
“Oh? How’s that?”
He spoke without turning his head to Benson, and Benson figured that made conversation easier for him, so he didn’t mind.
“I grew up in a very poor neighborhood, wore thrift store clothes long before it was a fad, and ate the generic mac and cheese for nearly every meal.”
Luka’s head dropped, but Benson caught the twitch of his lips. “You lived large then.”
“Ramens?”
“Tons of them. Potatoes, when we wanted a change, with Spam or ground turkey on special occasions. Mom…stubborn and prideful. She refused any kind of help. In fact, if the church sent someone with gifts for Christmas, she refused them.”
“Ouch. Her stubborn pride left you without many toys, I’m guessing. Well, no one came to my door with offers like that, but I think Mom could have okayed them. Who knows?”
“So, because we were both poor, this is like something meant to be?”
It was a snide question, but Benson gave it a serious answer.
“I don’t know about meant to be, but it’s a start.
I will confess I have little in common with most people I deal with daily.
Whereas we knew poverty, and came from nothing, most of the people we have to engage with weren’t so afflicted. ”
The snideness was gone as he said, “If they only knew, right?”
“Well, yes. I believe that those who never change their station in life will never know the beautiful things the world truly has to offer. We may have been poor, but our imaginations replaced smartphones and computers. We lived on books we got for free from the library, we appreciated things we ate that weren’t our normal fare, like ramen and mac and cheese.
They take so much for granted, things we will never take for granted, no matter how much money we have or how successful we become. ”
“God, you’re an optimist.”
“Yes. And you’re not. That’s pretty clear. My assistant tells me often that I need a little pessimism in my life. Is it possible that you could use a little optimism?”
Luka’s head dropped back as he stopped walking. “God, yeah, I could.”
After he righted his head to see Benson had moved in front of him, he smiled shyly.
“Well, then, maybe we might have something to work with.”
“I’m not saying yes, but…”
“You’re not saying no.”
“Would it be the time to confess something myself?”
Benson knew what he was going to say but let him say it. “Sure. Confess away.”
“I might be a little bit interested in you because of your money.”
Benson laughed loudly, and they walked again. “That’s perfectly fine. I have quite a lot of it, but is there anything else about me that interests you?”
“I’ll tell you that when I get to know you a little better. I do like the way you look in that suit, though, if that’s something.”
Preening a little, he said, “That is something.”
“Good.”