Chapter 11
That should get her attention. I set my phone down and spread my arms out like I’m making a gay snow angel on Olan’s bed. The bathroom door lies across the room, and I can make out some of the details even with the light off. In addition to a shower large enough for at least two people, there’s a giant stand-alone soaking tub, waiting for someone to relax in it. I think of him taking a bath and snuggling under these covers and taking up the space I’m in, and blood rushes to my dick like a mighty wind.
My phone jolts me from my daydream with a buzz, and the picture of Jill’s face wearing cat ears and painted-on whiskers from last Halloween pops up on the lock screen. There’s not much you can count on in this world anymore, but the gay man’s female best friend responding to his bat signal is one of them.
“Hello?” I answer as if I don’t know the caller, mostly to tease her.
“Tell. Me. Everything.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure he’s sleeping with the gorgeous nanny. I mean, why wouldn’t he be? He’s an insanely handsome man, and she’s, well, gorgeous. Why else would he need this enormous bed?” I slide my arm over the comforter. “Anyway, they went out together, hence why I’m here, and the house, Jill, it’s next level extravagant. I’m pretty certain you could fit four of my apartments downstairs alone, and there are three bathrooms that I’ve seen, but I’d bet there are more. Illona was sweet as I expected, and now it’s eight-thirty, and I have at least an hour and a half until they get back, and I don’t want to snoop, but well, I’m lying on his bed, but I’m not riffling through drawers, so don’t even ask.”
Thankfully Jill is used to my rapid-fire verbal onslaught. It takes an understanding friend to be patient with my ADHD.
“Marvin, first, breathe.”
I follow her orders and take audible breaths so she can hear.
“You know the bedside table drawer would offer some excellent evidence, but I respect your ethics.”
“Thank you.”
“Okay, we know he’s an engineer who recently sold his business. I’m Googling him.”
This time, there’s no protesting from me. I attempt to relax while Jill works her private-detective magic. When she wants information, Jill has a way of scoping it out. Google may be her jumping-off point, but she careens down side streets and back alleys on the internet I never knew existed. This isn’t novel. Secretly stalking parents to find out more information is a hobby for Jill. She’s a pro. Jill could find out someone’s weight, eye color, favorite flavor of ice cream, and social security number.
Once, she discovered a mother of a student in her class was running a pyramid scheme, and she anonymously alerted the authorities. I know she’ll get the goods on Olan.
“Oh my god. Are you sitting down?”
“No.”
“Well, sit down.”
“I’m lying down. But I can sit up.” I smooth the pillow, imagining Olan’s face against the ridiculously high thread count.
“Okay, this is interesting.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Hmmm. This explains the money.” She sighs, and my hand travels through my hair in frustration.
“Jill, if you don’t tell me what you’re reading, I will reach into this phone and tickle you until you beg me to stop.”
“All right, chill. Listen to this. Olan Stone, thirty-three, began his company, Stone Aerospace, his senior year at Stanford.”
“Oh, he’s thirty-three. Damn, he has flawless skin.”
“Thirty-four. This is from last year. May I continue?” Another sigh. Clearly, I’m trying her patience.
“Sorry.”
“Based on his capstone research project on a new turbofan engine, Stone’s company created the technology that led to the IR-1 supersonic jet engine prototype, thought to revolutionize supersonic travel; Stone’s work as a student at Stanford propelled him to be one of the country’s top engineers specializing in air and space travel.”
Jill stops and waits for my direction. My eyes widen, and I prompt her, “I have no idea what most of those words mean but go on.”
“Stone recently sold Stone Aerospace to Boeing for an undisclosed amount. While the exact amount of the sale was not revealed, leading industry experts believe it to be a multi-million-dollar deal.”
“Millions?” I say, sitting up and catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror on his dresser.
“No. Multi millions.”
“Fuck. So, he’s got money. That explains the oceanfront home. And he’s, like, smart.”
“Marvin, that’s not money. That’s outrageous money. He’s filthy rich. And Einstein-level smart. And why is his daughter in public school?”
“Diversity. He told me he doesn’t want her in some elite private school.” My chest warms, sharing the source of his decision.
“Well, good for him. And you. Marvin, this guy is a catch. Like, a big one. If you were fishing, and I realize you’d never go fishing, but if you did, this would be like bagging Moby Dick.”
“Okay, first of all, ew. Second, Moby Dick was a whale. Whales are mammals, not fish. Third, he’s clearly straight and literally on a date with his hot nanny as we speak. Fourth, he’s newly separated from his wife. And fifth, I’m his daughter’s teacher.” Even though Jill can’t see me, I put a finger up with each point I make. Olan and I have become friends, and though I know crushes on straight men are hopeless and maybe even a little embarrassing, I don’t need Jill egging me on and making it worse.
Jill begins her cross.
“First, he may be incredibly handsome and wealthy, but he’s a human being. Second, he may have been married to a woman and had a child with that woman, but you have no idea if he’s totally straight. I saw the way he looked at you on the sledding trip.”
“What? How?” I pull my legs under me and attempt to get comfortable.
“Like he was wandering the desert dehydrated, and you were a tall glass of water. And anyway, bisexual people exist. Don’t be biphobic. Third, he may be reeling from his separation and looking for comfort. Comfort you could give him. Fourth, there’s no rule that says you can’t be friends with a parent, and if that friendship developed into something else, well, there are no rules against that either. I’ve seen the two of you at pickup. That’s chemistry, baby.”
“We’re kindergarten teachers. We don’t teach chemistry. Sure, he’s sweet, and we’re getting to know each other, but this is foolishness. Even if he were plausible for me, he’s so, I don’t know, out of my league, and…”
“Stop. Stop right there. You’re adorable. Those unruly curls and that nose, if you were straight and I weren’t married, I’d be all over you. We’d make gorgeous children.”
“Ew,” I say again. My face pinches up at the thought.
“Do you think giant, blond guys are my only type?”
“I mean, no. But I wouldn’t kick Nick out of my bed for eating crackers.”
“No, you’d ask him to share the crackers.”
“With a lovely soft cheese.”
“Okay, enough lusting after my husband. Why do you think Olan winked at you? Can you at least be open to the idea of someone thinking you’re attractive?”
“I’m open to a Destiny’s Child reunion but not much else.”
“Deflecting.”
“Fine. I know there are people who don’t find me hideous. Occasionally, random baristas smile at me. That cute bank teller gave me two lollipops instead of one. So much sucking that day. There, happy?” I can hear the sound of her feet on tiles. She’s pacing, most likely in her kitchen.
“Euphoric. Marvin, you are a catch. And even though I’m your friend and you think I have to say that, I don’t. I need you to hear me on this.”
“All right, I’m a catch. But he’s on a date. With his nanny. Who happens to be a woman. I’m going to eat more candy and work on my TOY interview prep.”
“When do you hear?”
“Next week for the county, but if I move on, there’s so much to do, so I’m being optimistic and keeping busy by starting. What are you up to anyway?”
“Besides attempting to fix your life? I’m about to run a bath. Nick’s watching football, and, well, I’d rather not be in the room when he screams because his team loses. Or wins. There’s screaming regardless.”
“Tell him I hope his team hits lots of home runs.”
“Okay, night, homo.”
“Night, shorty.”
And with that, I’m back to waiting in this ostentatious home. I push myself up and off Olan’s bed and head back to Illona’s door. Peeking in, she’s sound asleep, her breathing low and slow. I head downstairs to wait on Olan and Cindy’s return.
Sitting on the deep brown leather couch, the day catches up to me. I immediately pop off my sneakers, swing my legs up, and look at the artwork on the walls. I’m no expert, and I couldn’t tell you details about the artists or pieces, but these are clearly not the cheap framed prints from Target hanging in my apartment.
One of them appears to be metallic. Geometric shapes have been painted onto the metal with shades of bright orange and blue. There’s a piece partially hanging off the bottom that might be a magnet. It’s a person or creature, it’s too abstract to tell, but the way it dangles off the main frame intrigues me. Almost a part of the universe of the work, but not quite. I lie there and imagine what else might exist in the world the artist created. Maybe a partner for me.