Chapter 9
9
I invited at least thirty people to the exhibit. The more the merrier. I knew it was as disconcerting for an artist to show his work to an almost empty room as it was for a musician to play to a house full of empty chairs. Every artist hoped for a successful, well-attended debut. So I passed the word along to various work associates and friends.
Aaron assured me that he and Matt would be there, along with his best friend Jay and Jay’s husband Peter. And I knew I could count on Curt and Jack too. I had a good feeling the space would be packed with art aficionados and general well-wishers.
Unfortunately for me, the day of the opening turned out to be one of those ridiculous days when nothing went according to plan. The art department was up in arms over a deadline we’d been forced to expedite and Helene was in rare form. She demanded a last minute meeting to gripe about unfair expectations just as a new firestorm erupted with a New York-based editor who’d been forced to yank advertisement for a brand whose outspoken CEO was affiliated with the type of scandal that incited political unrest, not sales. The director of our New York office was in Paris, and suddenly I was the appointed guru they expected to set everything and everyone straight.
By the time I left my office, I was a bona fide mess. Everything in my schedule was running a good thirty minutes behind. There was no way I’d make it to the gallery before the show started. Everyone I’d invited to attend, including my secretary, would surely be there well before me.
I did my best to keep calm and navigate the congestion along Connecticut Avenue without breaking into a sweat as I headed toward Dupont Circle. There was no time to go home first to shower and change. My hopes of being there before the crowd to offer a hand or simply be there for the nervous artist were dashed.
Seth hadn’t called or texted me all day, which was for the best when I considered how horrid my day had been, but the result was I hadn’t seen or heard from him in over twenty-four hours. He hadn’t spent the night with me because he wanted to tweak a couple of his pieces. I was anxious to see him and to get my first good look at his entire collection. Hell, I was just anxious. And I bloody well hated being late.
I unclenched my jaw and peeled my white knuckles from the steering wheel when I finally came to stop in front of the valet kiosk. The view from the sidewalk into the gallery was slightly obstructed by a hanging piece of art in the large window facing the street, but I could tell it was a standing room only crowd. I grabbed my suit coat from the backseat and took a deep breath of the chilly early October evening before making my way to the entrance.
“There you are! This is amazing! I had no idea Seth was so talented!” Aaron gushed. He was holding a glass of white wine in one hand and a tiny plate piled high with cheese, crackers, and grapes in the other. “If we weren’t getting married in three weeks, we’d buy a piece for sure, right Matty?”
Matt smiled as he wrapped a possessive arm around his fiancé. “Right. Did you just come from the office? You look a little frazzled. Take this. One of the waiters just pushed it in my hand.”
I started to refuse, but a quick glance around the insanely crowded space made me reconsider. The gallery was enormous. High ceilings with exposed ducts and white walls gave the space a warehouse feel. There were a few colorful mobile pieces reminiscent of Alexander Calder hanging above, but I was more interested in the art on the walls I could barely glimpse through the masses. I took the glass from Matt gratefully and raised it in a quick toast.
“Cheers.”
“Great turnout tonight too. Oh wait!” Aaron waved at a tall good-looking man standing nearby. “Peter! Over here!” He turned back to me with a beautiful smile. “You remember Jay, right? I know you’ll see everyone at the wedding, but I have a feeling it might be as crazy as this and?—”
“Oh boy. Maybe you better give that back to me,” Matt grumbled, motioning for me to pass him the wine.
Aaron rolled his eyes and handed him his own glass. “Drink up, darling.”
I chuckled as I scanned the room. I thought I saw Seth on the far side near the back of the gallery, but I couldn’t tell until I moved. I waved a brief hello to a magazine editor I recognized and someone from the agency.
When I turned back to let Aaron and Matt know I was off to find the artist, there were two incredibly gorgeous men standing with them. I’d met Jay a few times, but I’d yet to meet his husband, and wow… he was stunning. Tall, dark, and GQ model handsome. A perfect contrast to Jay’s dark blond good looks and golden skin.
“Paul, you know Jay, and this is his husband, Peter.”
“Of course. Pleased to meet you.” I shook hands with both men, wishing my anxiety level didn’t hamper my ability to enjoy the eye candy.
Peter made a friendly comment about the art and the impressive turnout. I nodded in agreement as Jay chimed in.
“I have to say, it’s strange to meet someone in one context and have no inkling they lead another life. I met Seth recently when he was modeling for a photo shoot at Aaron’s magazine. I picked you up for lunch and ran into his boyfriend in the lobby a couple weeks ago. Remember, A? He looks very proud of his man tonight.”
Aaron coughed meaningfully and gave Jay a pointed look. “Actually Seth is with Paul.”
Jay cocked his head in confusion then glanced between Aaron and me. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t—I was talking to him a few minutes ago. Simon, right? I swear he said Seth and he were together. He made it sound like—I must have misunderstood.”
I started to say “don’t worry” or “yes, you simply heard him incorrectly,” but the words stuck in my throat. The room was overcrowded and humming with congenial conversation and laughter, but I shivered as an odd sense of silent foreboding stole over me. I took a sip of the white wine and was mortified when my hand shook. Aaron and Matt were talking about misunderstandings and joking about how difficult it was to hear in the overpacked gallery.
I backed away with an insipid smile. “Right… um. I thought I spotted the artist a moment ago. I should?—”
Aaron squeezed my arm and grinned up at me sweetly. “Go on. He looked nervous earlier, but I think he’s doing better now. I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch.”
I managed to say a quick good-bye to the others, but everything sounded odd and off pitch. Like the acoustics had been compromised. Or perhaps it was me. I wanted to believe I was having a rare moment of hysterical paranoia brought on by the lingering anxiety of a long day, but the truth was I felt like I’d walked through a spider web. Like an invisible mesh was stuck to my skin, sending a tingle of dread up my spine. Simon was up to something. Déjà vu. Jay hadn’t misunderstood anything.
I’d done this before and remembered I hadn’t cared for the experience. I moved like a ghost through a sea of people with determined focus, wishing I were invisible. I wished I could observe the room like I might view a painting. With curiosity, but the ability to move on at will.
At the far end, near a gigantic canvas, a tight group was gathered listening to someone wax poetic about the paintings on display. It had to be the gallery owner, Harry Weltzer. Other than a passing glance, I ignored the art. Seeing Seth would calm me. Assuming he was in the middle of the group, I pushed my way forward, hoping to catch his attention and cleanse my mind of stupid worry. I breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted him.
Seth looked gorgeous. He was dressed entirely in black. Designer jeans, collared shirt, and a well-cut stylish blazer that certainly came from a couture collection. With his dark longish hair, he reminded me of a vampire. The pretty kind with good coloring, I mused. Or perhaps it was simply that he looked confident and very much in his element. He stood tall and proud next to the short balding man singing his praises. I pushed my way to the far corner wall to hear him speak. And stopped in my tracks.
Simon. My own personal spider. He stood off to the side, but close enough to give everyone the impression he was someone of importance. I’d almost forgotten how manipulative he was, with an evil streak so subtle it took you unaware. He loved games. Though I truly had no idea what he hoped to accomplish here.
He caught my stare and held it for a long moment before making his way toward me like a lion stalking his prey.
“Good evening. I’m pleased you could make it tonight.”
I inclined my head in a cool greeting. “I’m here for Seth.”
“He’s fantastic, isn’t he?” He waved at a piece of art on the wall behind him carelessly. “Seth will go far in the art world. He has a unique vision and knows how to use his inspiration to further his cause.”
He gave me a knowing look as he cocked his head slightly and smiled, a slow moving grin that hooked the corner of his mouth but went nowhere near his dark eyes. It gave him a demonic, dangerous look. I knew there was a game at play, but I didn’t know the rules anymore. I glanced at Seth, whose attention was firmly on the small man next to him, and felt an overwhelming sense of protectiveness. Or was it possessiveness? I couldn’t tell.
“Stay away from him.”
“I can’t do that. He needs me. He’s rather like me in a way. Seth understands what must be done to make a name for oneself. You know how it works, Paul. Don’t be na?ve.”
“I am far from na?ve. And I know you. It’s perfectly in character for you to insert yourself where you don’t belong. I don’t know what you’re up to but?—”
“Tsk. Tsk. Jealousy doesn’t become you, Paul.” He spared me a sideways smirk as he lifted his wineglass to his mouth in a studied show of nonchalance.
“I’m not jealous. He’s mine. Not yours. It doesn’t matter how you spin this or who you lie to now. It isn’t real.”
He laughed. It was a low maniacal sort of sound meant to taunt me. And fuck me, it was working. “You’re sure?”
I gritted my teeth and stepped closer. “Quite. Stay the hell away from him?—”
“Are you threatening me? Really, Paul. The little green monster inside you is clashing terribly with your navy suit. You can’t stand knowing he belongs to me, can you?”
“He doesn’t belong to you,” I hissed, surprised at the venom in my voice.
“But he did. Just like you did.”
“I never belonged to you and neither did he. You are the stupid mistake we have in common. Nothing more. Leave it alone, Simon. This was over six years ago. Stop the games.”
“The game. Life is a game. Life is art. Art is life.”
I rolled my eyes on cue and took another sip.
“It’s all intertwined. Just like us. I could hardly believe it when Seth said he’d met you. Fucked you. Actually he didn’t say that, but the look on your face tells me I’m right. I was jealous then. I admit it. I hated the idea of you together. We fought and?—”
“You punched him.”
“He punched back. Don’t worry about Seth, darling. He can take care of himself. Physically anyway. He needs my help with the rest. The studio, supplies, my connections. Don’t stand in his way. If you care for him, let him go.”
“Not bloody likely.” I did my best to unclench my jaw before lifting my wineglass. God, I hated him.
“You’re being selfish again. Is this about sex? The boy is fabulous in bed, isn’t he? Always in control, always on top. I love that in a young lover. He has a voracious sexual appetite. He’s insatiable really. I love his nasty mouth. Does he talk dirty to you? Tell you pornographic stories. Filthy boy.”
“Fuck off!” Angry tension radiated from me in a powerful wave.
“Mr. Pickard? Sir? Harry wants to introduce you now.”
I visibly started as a young man dressed in a tuxedo with a serious expression came between us and set a hand on Simon’s elbow. His timing was perfect.
“Wonderful. I’m ready.” He grinned. A wicked sort of twist of the lips I recognized.
I opened my mouth to tell him to piss off, but he moved away quickly. He turned at the last moment, as though sensing my stare, and raised his wineglass in a mock toast before taking a slow sip and moving purposefully to Seth’s side.
“And let me introduce you to Simon Pickard, a fantastically talented international artist and visionary who thankfully introduced me to Seth last year in London. After a year of planning, I couldn’t be more pleased with the results. Thank you, Simon, for….”
I tuned the gallery owner out and sipped my wine, willing myself to relax. Nothing had changed between Seth and me. We were fine. And Simon was nothing but a troublesome piece of the past. His presence was unsettling, just as I knew it might be, but it wasn’t cause for alarm. Stirring up mischief was his specialty. It was hard to believe I’d loved him once.
No, that wasn’t love. It was a na?ve sort of worship. It was laughable that I’d even thought to question Seth’s interest in spending time with someone eleven years older when I’d literally dropped everything to do exactly the same thing. Seth was much wiser than I’d been. He knew who he was.
When I was twenty-four, I lost myself in someone else. Happily for a while. I loved being near Simon. I loved watching him as he mixed his paints, stretched his canvases, or settled down to paint. I’d loved his fevered concentration and I became a genius at reading his body language. I could tell the moment artistic expression became physical need. And I’d fucking loved the moment all that passion and energy became mine. But when it was over… I was just lost. And afraid.
The suffocating feeling was back in full force. My hands shook and I couldn’t breathe.
Fuck me. Six years later, he was still the bastard who knew how to get under my skin. Taunting me. Subtly provoking me. Standing too close, using the wrong tense. Belonged, not belongs. I licked my lips, sternly admonishing myself to get a grip. But my mind flew back to his earlier words about Seth needing him. The studio, the paints, the connections. Was he funding Seth’s art? Was he?—
As the first tendril of doubt and dread crept over me, I caught on. The game was jealousy. His talking about having sex with my lover was meant to stir me up. But the idea Simon was acting as a paying mentor, pimping his protégée, was meant to throw me over the edge. And damn… it was working. I had to get out before I got thrown out of yet another art establishment.
I set my wineglass on a passing waiter’s tray and attempted to push my way through the crowd. I made it halfway to the exit when my eye was drawn to a scene I recognized. A dark umbrella, a swath of blue, and falling rain. It was the day we’d been tossed out of the museum. Seth had managed to brilliantly capture my irritation and sheer amazement of being with him without actually painting my face. It was genius. I wanted to linger, but was pushed out of the way by a gaggle of art enthusiasts. I moved on to the next and stopped in my tracks.
The next painting was Simon’s. His style was more violent than Seth’s. The paint strokes were harsh and heavy at times, and his colors collided with a daring quality that shouldn’t work, but did. This particular painting was a riot of reds and black. It gave movement to the subject matter… a naked man with his long dark hair bent over a red guitar. It was called The Music Muse . The next one was also Simon’s. It depicted the same man standing in a shower. The next was the man on a motor bike. The one after was him standing in a kitchen. The subject’s face was never shown, but that had never been Simon’s style. The obvious wasn’t his forte. He was a master at subtle machination in art and life.
As I looked around, I noticed Simon’s art was everywhere, intermixed with Seth’s. My boyfriend’s half-naked body was placed all over the room, posed in ways I was all too familiar with. Reading, watching the telly, playing idiotic games with background scenes of mussed sheets and tossed pillows.
I moved toward the exit, nodding my head to a couple of people I recognized as I passed. Someone called my name, but I didn’t dare stop. I had to get out before I was dragged under again.
This was why artists are a bad idea. This was what you were supposed to avoid at all costs.
I breathed a sigh of immense relief when I pushed the door open. It was cold outside, but it felt good. I needed fresh air and space to breathe. This collision of past and present was making me ill.
“Hey! There you are. Where’ve you been?” Seth was panting as though he’d run a mile.
I swallowed hard before turning to face him. “I was late. Bad day and traffic, but?—”
“You’re here now. Come ins?—”
“I can’t, Seth.” I licked my lips and shook my head sadly. “Go on. Enjoy your night. We’ll talk later.”
I moved toward the valet, but he stopped me with a hand on my chest. “Is it Simon? It was too late to ask Harry to un?—”
“Yes, it’s all a big coincidence.”
Seth cocked his head. “What’s wrong? What did he do?”
“Nothing at all. He was a shit as usual. No surprise. However….”
Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it.
“He mentioned something rather curious.” I winced at the accusatory tone in my voice and my thickened accent. I fumbled for my valet ticket nonchalantly as though I were in no particular hurry and didn’t have a care in the world. Fuck, I was a better actor than I imagined. Unfortunately I’d signed up for the wrong part… an action flick instead of a romantic comedy. I was stepping off a cliff and seemingly desperate to drag someone with me.
“You know better than to listen to him. He’s a snake.”
“Then why are we here?” I yelled.
Seth’s expression went dark. He yanked my elbow and pulled me away from the gallery so we stood in the shadow between the building and the one next door.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? You know why I’m here. Why are?—”
“Is he funding this? Is he your benefactor?” I crossed my arms over my chest in a defensive manner and tried not to flinch when he backed me into the brick wall.
“Is that what he told you?” His eyes blazed with fury.
I held his gaze and nodded. “He began with schoolboy taunts about sharing you, but the real zinger had nothing to do with you fucking him and everything to do with him being your sugar daddy.”
Seth stepped back. Heat and anger, and yes, jealousy, coursed through my veins like wildfire. I was primed and ready for a fight. I didn’t care who heard and I knew I couldn’t trust my tongue. I was drunk on jealousy. It controlled me.
“And you believed him.”
“I—” Some of my righteous indignation fled. I didn’t believe Simon. Not really. The truth was I was a bloody head case. “I don’t know what to believe,” I sighed in defeat.
His intense scrutiny made me uncomfortable. I felt itchy and out of sorts. I hated scenes. This entire evening was steadily descending into my version of a nightmare. Angst and ugliness on public display. All I needed was a fucking microphone now.
Seth remained eerily quiet with his head tilted to the side, searching my face for clues. It was all very clear. I was losing my mind.
“Aren’t you going to say anything? He’s a monster. He’s using us. Your art and the fact we’ve basically all been in the same fucking bed together to?—”
“Stop it.”
“I can’t. I can’t unsee that every painting in that gallery is you. You’re mine. Not his. He?—”
Seth pushed me against the wall and set his hand over my mouth as he molded his body against me. There was nothing sexual in his stance. But there was something sickeningly satisfactory in knowing I’d finally gotten a response out of him. I wanted him to rage and yell at me. I wanted him to tell me I was crazy or—anything but silence.
I went completely still. So still I wasn’t sure I was breathing. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Was Simon telling the truth?
“Baby, look at me.”
I started at the word “baby.” He’d never used it before. If he meant to get my attention, he certainly had it. He traced my jaw and gazed deeply into my eyes as though he wanted to see what he was up against. I closed my eyes, hoping it would keep me from coming apart here and now. I bit my bottom lip and looked longingly at the valet. I was a mess. I couldn’t trust my mouth and I hated feeling so damn vulnerable.
“You’re afraid, aren’t you?”
I stared blankly at him, willing him to step aside and let me go.
“You want to trust me, but you don’t think you really can.”
I sighed. “I trust you, Seth, but you’re?—”
“An artist. An unreliable, unpredictable taker. A bad bet for a guy looking for stability. A bad bet for someone who was burned once and can’t help thinking he’s being set up again. Maybe even with the help of the same guy who fucked you over the first time.”
“He’s using your work, the fact you know me to fuel his art. He wants this. The jealousy, the hurt, the anguish. He’s a bloody puppeteer! He knows you matter to me and he’s using it to his advantage.”
“What advantage? And what do you think he knows about me?” He jabbed my chest angrily and closed the space between us.
“He’s using you?—”
“He’ll never use me! He’ll never touch me. I won’t let him,” he roared. He let go of me and ran his fingers through his hair in a rush of frustration.
Someone called his name from the gallery. He acknowledged with a short wave, but he didn’t look away. Heat came off him in waves, securing me to my spot against the wall.
“Jesus, Paul. No one has that kind of power unless you give it to them! Why are you letting him in? I’m here because I was given an opportunity. This isn’t personal. This is professional. Having his art hanging next to mine isn’t what I wanted, but I’m not in control of that part yet. I am in control of how I view it, though. It means nothing unless I let it. He and I weren’t special. He was easy to leave. Obviously that wasn’t the same for you, but I thought… I thought you knew me.”
“Seth—”
“No. Listen. I know I’m not easy and I know part of you thinks this is a big fucking mistake, but I’m not with you because of anything you have or because I think you can do something to further my career. It isn’t because I need someone older and supposedly wiser in my life. I don’t need your money or your connections. I can figure my own shit out. I….” He swallowed hard and pursed his lips together as though he wasn’t sure he wanted to continue. “I see who you are. The real you. I see past your slick suits and your fancy car. I see the lonely guy who doesn’t like his food to touch, hates being late, and has this weirdass compulsion to watch from the sidelines. I know sad movies make you cry, Chinese food makes you smile, and jazz makes you horny as fuck.
“I know you . I’m your friend. Friends don’t use each other. They support each other. They know how to be there when things go sideways. But most important… they trust each other. I’m not going to defend myself. You believe what you want. I’m not going to try to change your mind. Life’s up to interpretation. It’s up to you to decide what you believe.”
“I can’t do this, Seth. I just… can’t.”
“Can’t do what?” His forehead was creased with confusion.
“This. Us. I’m coming apart at the seams. Again. I almost didn’t survive the first time but this—I know I can’t do it again.”
“Paul, stop it. You’re upset. Go home. We’ll talk in the morning. It’s okay and?—”
“No. It’s not. I’m not… okay. This is over.”
I stared at him for a long moment, then shook my head, mortified when my eyes welled. I looked unseeing down the busy street, wishing myself miles away. Why did I do this to myself? Maybe one day I’d catch on that a geographical move would not save me from heartache and unbearable loneliness.
“Paul!”
I could hear him calling me back and someone else calling him to come inside as I moved to the curb in a curious state of detachment. The city moved around me in a flash of neon and noise. Yet everything seemed so still. I reeled in a state of unreality. My past tried to usurp my present, only to be beaten down by a wild-eyed rebel warrior with a wisdom far beyond his years. He was chaos and frenetic energy.
And I was… a shell. A hollow shell of a man dressed in a designer suit, waiting for my sleek car to whisk me away to my well-appointed and well-ordered life.
I’d never felt so lost or alone in my life. My wish to become a ghost had finally come true. I was dying inside, and every step I took leading me from chaos seemed as final as the lid being closed on a coffin. But I wasn’t dead. This hurt too much to be death. The pain in my chest felt like a thousand knives to the one Simon had slashed across my wrist years ago.
No, the sound of my labored breathing indicated I was alive. Though it was easy to see I certainly was not well.
I awoke early the next morning, alone in my huge bed with a grating headache and a hollow feeling in my gut. His things were all over my house. His sketchpad was on the nightstand, his toothbrush was next to mine, and his stupid video game system was plugged into the flat screen downstairs. I sipped my coffee and stared into space, wondering if I should call in sick. I wasn’t ready to be in the real world today. I wanted a break.
I glanced at my cell when a message lit up the display. It was my office reminding me I had a lunch meeting with Aaron Mendez and was scheduled to be on the nine o’clock train to Baltimore the following morning. I closed my eyes briefly, then turned off my phone. I didn’t want to look at any messages. As much as I hated the idea, if I didn’t want anyone to know I was unraveling, I had to go into the office. I could only hope to somehow make it through the day with my sanity in check.
My office was buzzing with rave reviews for Seth’s exhibit. I’d heard endless praise from my staff and friends regarding his incredible talent. Kerri couldn’t stop gushing about how gorgeous the art, and the artist, was.
“I went with Jenna in accounting and she absolutely agreed. Wow! The best thing is he’s so personable. At least he was at first. He seemed a little worried later. I think he was looking for you. It was hard to find anyone in that crowd. It was crazy!”
“Kerri, I?—”
“Yes?” She gave me a sunny grin as she fingered her curls and waited for my instructions or perhaps a nod of my head. Something to show I still had a pulse.
I tried a smile but immediately gave up. “Uh… which restaurant am I meeting Aaron at?”
“L’Orange. Do you want to go through the list of?—”
“No. I—after lunch. Maybe. I?—”
“Are you feeling all right?”
“Yes,” I lied. “I’m fine.”
Kerri cocked her head and studied me closely before pivoting on her heel and moving toward my door. I braced myself for the inevitable bang, but it didn’t come. After months of barging and slamming, the unexpected quiet was nowhere near as welcome as I thought it would be. In my current state, the silence echoed ominously. God, I was a wreck.
Hopefully, lunch with Aaron would take my mind from my troubles.
L’Orange was a French bistro located downtown. It was a stylish place brimming with important-looking, well-heeled professionals and politicians. The ambience was old-world elegance with a modern twist. Ornate crystal chandeliers hung gracefully over concrete tabletops and giant traditional floral arrangements in galvanized pots were situated throughout the open space. It was lovely and the food was fantastic, but the acoustics were awful.
I’d hoped to meet him early to avoid the lunchtime rush and be seated in a quieter part of the restaurant, but my bad luck was holding steady. I walked in ten minutes late behind a group of self-important politicians in training, gripping my phone impatiently while I waited for the hostess to seat them.
Thankfully Aaron had arrived before me. He was seated at a corner table in a fairly quiet area in the back of the restaurant near a huge window. The sun reflected off his dark hair and when he smiled up at me, his hazel eyes twinkled in greeting. And then he frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
I smiled, but it felt too tight to register as sincere. “Nothing at all. Did you bring the portfolio?”
“Uh yeah. Here you go. I ordered you soda water with lime,” he said as a waitress came by a moment later, promising to return soon to take our order.
“Thank you. Do you know what you’re ordering?”
“Salmon salad.”
“Sounds good,” I muttered. It sounded awful. I had zero appetite. I set the menu aside and figured I’d wing it when the waitress reappeared. “So the shots worked well with the forest background. The designer was pleased with the result. I would thin?—”
“Paul?” Aaron leaned forward, his brow puckered in concern.
“Yes?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like hell. Your face is pale and drawn and you look like you haven’t slept.”
“I didn’t. I had a horrible night’s rest. But I’ll be fine.”
“Hmm. What happened?”
The waitress returned to take our orders just then, but Aaron’s determined stare let me know I wasn’t off the hook. Once our orders were placed, he raised his brow comically and made a motion for me to start talking. I huffed humorlessly and looked across the bistro at all the important-looking people chatting away about business or current events. This was an unlikely venue for a heart-to-heart discussion and, hell, oversharing wasn’t my style.
But Aaron’s demeanor was kind and encouraging. I knew I could trust him. And the fact was… I needed a friend. I simply didn’t know where to start. “I fucked up” worked, but it was harder to admit than I imagined.
“Aaron… nothing happened and, no offense, but this is supposed to be a business lunch. I really don’t think my personal life needs any?—”
“Honey, screw business. We both know the shots are great, the models are beautiful, and the clothes look like art. It’s not important. It’s just another day at the office. So what is it?”
“Right.” I took a sip of my soda water, averting his probing stare for as long as possible.
“Last night was a huge success for a young unknown artist. Seth must be pleased.”
I nodded, then shrugged. Aaron waited patiently as I unfolded a napkin and took yet another drink.
“I’m sure he did well. I’m sure he’s pleased, but… I don’t know. I left early.”
“Why?”
“I—I can’t explain. Not easily anyway.”
“Try.” He held a hand up when I started to protest. “You’ll feel better if you talk about it.”
“You’re sure?”
“No. But it’s worth a shot.”
“I’ve made a mess.”
“How bad?”
I told him everything. I started with my fiasco with Simon at the gallery and made my way back in time to my dysfunctional upbringing, followed by a dysfunctional relationship, and my very real fear of repeating horrible mistakes. Aaron asked a question here and there but mostly, he listened.
“I’m losing my mind. I’m irrational, borderline hysterical, and I can’t think straight. Nothing seems to make sense anymore. I’m… lost.”
I sighed heavily, completely drained. A wave of nausea came over me when our plates were delivered. I wasn’t hungry. I was sick inside and I didn’t know how to heal myself.
“You aren’t lost. You’re in love.”
“I know I am. I’ve actually known it for a while. But it’s not smart. He’s not safe.”
“Safe? Love isn’t safe. I think by definition it’s terrifying. But it’s worth it.” He smiled indulgently at my blank stare. “And it’s too late, Paul. You’re already on the roller coaster. You have to ride it all the way in with your hands in the air and your heart in your throat. You have to set aside the times you failed, and go for it.”
“That simple, eh?”
Aaron chuckled. “No. It’s a risk. But look at it this way… if you don’t recognize yourself and are pretty sure you don’t want to go back to who you used to be, it might be because you’ve already become someone better. Same goes for him. Seth was a casual date. Someone you didn’t like at all, but ended up feeling more for than you thought you could. The reason you’re such a mess… and I’m sorry, but you are, is you’re scared, Paul. But you aren’t hopeless.”
I’d been wrong from the start. I wanted a clear vision of truth with guarantees that could never be mine. No one’s past would be erased. My five years with Simon wouldn’t disappear. Nor would the knowledge he’d spent any time with Seth. It was up to me to set it aside and move on. I wanted to be safe. I’d grown up in an unconventional home surrounded by uncertain affection. I yearned for certainty. Perhaps there really was no certainty in love. Love required faith, trust, and acceptance. There was no place for jealousy or mistrust.
I loved Seth. It was my certainty.