Chapter 37
We climb all the way up to the top of the building and when we get to the landing he says, ‘Wait until you see this view.’
He pushes open the thick metal door and lets me walk through. The percussive sound and energy of the party mute and I’m suddenly in an alternate universe of sky, stars, and ocean. On one side, the intercoastal shimmers in the setting sun with vibrant streaks of red-orange and yellow-magenta; above us, stars begin to dot the purple-blue sky, and on the other side of us is nothing but a vast ocean.
We’re alone on the roof so we stroll around near the edges to take in the view. We walk in silence but still connected like when he guided me to the stairs – an invisible energy that’s becoming harder to ignore.
‘I could sleep up here. It’s so beautiful,’ I say stopping in the middle of the roof.
‘I’ve done that,’ he says. ‘The loft doesn’t have great AC, so one night, we all brought up sheets and pillows and slept up here to catch the breeze.’ He closes his eyes and raises his chin so he can feel the air on his cheeks.
‘That must have been incredible.’ I try to imagine sleeping under the stars, hearing the ocean, sharing a blanket with Finn.
‘It was until it wasn’t. A seagull relieved himself right on Luis and I don’t think he’s spent more than a few seconds up here since.’ Finn laughs and walks over to a pair of vintage lawn chairs that are tattered and faded from the sun. He sits down and I sit next to him. A gentle wind weaves around us and makes the humid air less sticky. Above us an airplane moves smoothly through the sky but other than that the evening is calm.
‘What did you think about the folks from Art Barn?’ he asks without looking at me.
‘It was energizing.’ I liked getting into it with them about the craft of writing, but then I think about how my throat tightened when Beverly mentioned the application. ‘But I’m sure they’ve all published a lot more than I have. They’re real writers.’
Now he’s looking at me. ‘Why do you do that?’ he asks but his tone isn’t demanding. It’s almost pleading. He really wants to know. ‘I’m not trying to push but I want to understand. You get so close to accepting the fact that you are a writer. A real writer. And then you back away.’
I don’t say anything. I stare out at the ocean in the distance and then turn my head to the other side to watch the setting sun. During the day, the sun barely seems to move, but as night approaches, it seems to rush like the final grains of sand in an hourglass. I could tell him he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but he does. He knows exactly what he’s talking about, so I need to find another way out.
‘You think I’m a real writer when you’ve never even read anything I’ve written,’ I say. I’m just laying out the facts. He hasn’t. I have no idea where his belief in my talent comes from.
‘That’s not true,’ he says moving his gaze from the streaky red-purple light of the sky to me.
‘The press releases and stuff like that don’t count.’ I look away from the view and down at the top of the roof between my feet. ‘That’s not writing. That’s copywriting. There’s a difference.’
‘That’s not what I’m talking about.’ I can tell he’s looking at me but I don’t look up.
‘Did you read one of my Justine Jasmine novels? Ex-wives of the Upper West Side? That stuff doesn’t count either.’ Why do I have so many ways of erasing myself from the conversation? Disappearing is my best trick.
‘No, I don’t mean that stuff either.’ His voice is even and serious.
‘Then what do you mean?’ I ask, finally looking directly at him. I’m sure he doesn’t have an answer to my question.
Then he says four words I am not expecting: ‘ Closer Than They Appear. ’
‘What?’ It’s not possible. There is no way. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I’m not going to lie. It took more than just a quick search online but after a few hours at the New York Public Library and some help from a lovely archivist named Lindsey, I found it and I read it.’ His eyes search my face for a reaction but I don’t reveal anything.
I don’t know if I should be honored or embarrassed. Closer Than They Appear is the story I wrote that won the Seggerman. I thought that was the beginning of my career. But everything was so hard after that and I took too many detours. I can barely process the fact that he not only sought it out but he found it. Any other feelings I may have give way to shock and confusion. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘At first, I was just curious,’ he says bringing his lawn chair closer to mine. ‘But once I read it I…’ He stops and throws his hands up in the air with a shout. ‘Oh boy! Sam, I loved it.’ His face radiates joy. ‘It’s such a wonderful story. It’s not just beautifully written. It has so much to say about being young and gay and finding yourself. It was funny but also touching.’ He can’t get the words out fast enough. ‘The scene where he breaks into the carousel with the boy he’s in love with and the boy runs and leaves him alone to get caught. It broke my heart.’ He touches his hand to his chest.
‘That really happened,’ I say without thinking. ‘Well, sort of. It wasn’t a carousel. It was the community pool after dark and…’ I stop and bring myself back to the roof. I can’t believe he read it and he liked it. He liked it enough to remember my favorite scene in the story. But I’m sure he’s just being kind.
‘I really connected with Pete and Jay. And the way it was written… it just pulled me in. Reading it I sort of fell in love,’ he says and I look away instinctively until he adds. ‘With the story. I fell in love with the story.’
‘I wrote that a long time ago and I don’t think it was very good. I think I got lucky with the award, and the story is overwritten and too long, and the dialogue is…’ I get up from the chair and walk away from him so I can have some distance.
‘The Seggerman is highly prestigious.’ He gets up and walks toward me. ‘Do you think they were just being nice?’
‘Yes.’ For years I’ve told myself that they made a mistake or maybe they just wanted to give the award to a gay writer for once. I have a hundred excuses for why it happened.
‘You are an amazing writer,’ he says and I can feel my shoulders scrunch up by my neck.
‘We should go back down to the party. It’s getting late.’
He walks closer and stands directly in front of me. ‘You’re crawling out of your skin. It’s hard for you to hear it. Isn’t it?’ He’s being so compassionate and tender. I can’t help but be honest.
I nod hoping we can talk about something else. But he walks over to some stray milk crates left in the middle of the roof. He takes two and stacks them on top of each other. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask but he doesn’t answer me.
He takes two more crates and places them a few feet away from the first set and makes sure both structures are stable. Then he climbs on one and spreads his arms wide and screams, ‘My photos are amazing! I am an amazing artist!’ He is so loud that his voice echoes off the roof. He jumps off the crates, turns to me, and points to the makeshift platform. ‘Now it’s your turn.’
I look at him like he asked me to jump off the building and fly home to New York. That’s as likely to happen as what I think he’s asking me to do. ‘You do not mean…’
‘I do,’ he says walking toward me. ‘I want you to stand up on those crates and say that you are an amazing writer.’
‘I am not saying that.’ I shake my head at the very thought.
‘I don’t want you to say it. I want you to scream it at the top of your lungs!’ He shouts the last few words.
‘Finn, I’m not doing that.’ I cross my arms.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m not.’ I walk over to the crates and move them off each other, so there isn’t even a possibility of getting on top of them.
‘I’m serious.’ He puts his hand on my forearm. ‘Why do you think you can’t say it?’ It’s a fair question. It’s just a bunch of words. ‘Just say it here to me quietly. I am amazing .’ He mouths the words slowly so I can follow along.
‘Fine.’ I convince my mind I’m just practicing a foreign language. The words have no meaning and this will get him to drop it. ‘I am…’ I start and my brain takes over my motor function. I cannot seem to form the words. ‘This is silly.’
‘I know it’s silly but it’s also important,’ he pleads with me.
‘It feels like bragging,’ I say with a wince.
‘Bragging is showing off to people or over-inflating yourself. This is not bragging. This is believing in yourself. There’s a difference. How did you feel when you wrote Closer Than They Appear ? When it was nominated and then it won?’
‘I felt good,’ I say trying to recall the memory. ‘I felt great actually. That was a long time ago.’
‘Yeah, but that feeling. You had it once. You had that feeling. I want you to have the experience of feeling amazing because you are. That’s more important than any of the words. The words are just for us alone together up here on the roof. It’s the feeling that matters. You are what you feel. Maybe just whisper it for right now.’
I try to shut out everything except being on this roof with Finn. I swallow hard, take a breath and, as softly as I can, I say, ‘I am an amazing writer.’ The words escape out of my mouth like puffs of flour from an over-stuffed sack. I’m not sure Finn can even hear me. ‘I am an amazing writer.’ I say the words louder and try to feel the feeling, which is so much harder than saying the words. I know Finn can hear me because I see him smile widely, and his eyes connect with mine. I like seeing him look at me this way, so I try it again. ‘I am an amazing writer,’ I say and for the first time the words are loud and clear. My chest suddenly expands, leaving room for the feeling to enter my spirit.
‘Yes!’ he says, jumping up and pumping his fist. He runs over to the crates and stacks them again. I join him and he extends his hand so I can climb up. ‘You can do it,’ he says and I try not to let my brain stop me. I take his hand and feel his energy supporting me, helping me find my way.
I take a step up on to the crates and I can see Miami Beach in every direction. To one side, the neon lights glow, and the distant cars play music cruising Ocean Drive. On the other side, the city of Miami rises toward the night sky, all clean lines and majesty. We are surrounded by the city yet it feels like we are the only two people that matter.
‘On the count of three?’ he asks.
‘Well, I’m not doing it alone,’ I say and point toward the other set of crates.
‘You got it.’ He lets go of my hand and climbs up to his perch. ‘You first. Are you ready?’
I nod my head.
‘One.’
I close my eyes and try to focus on the feeling.
‘Two.’
I take a deep breath in so I can catapult the words out.
‘Three.’
I let my arms fly out above me and the air in my lungs pushes out like a cannon ball. The words sail across the night sky. ‘I am amazing! I am an amazing writer!’ I feel my entire body respond. It’s a complete release. I can’t stop myself from doing it again it feels so good. ‘I am amazing! I am an amazing writer!’ This time I’m shouting as loud as I can. The words sailout of my mouth and the most amazing thing is I feel them. I really feel them.
I look over at Finn and he’s beaming from ear to ear. ‘Your turn,’ I say.
‘We are amazing,’ he says.
I’m surprised that he says we but I like it. I join him. ‘We are amazing!’ I say and throw out my arms. My fingers touch his. It’s not the first time we’ve made physical contact tonight but this sensation is different. There’s an undeniable energy. Finn must feel it, too, because he grabs my hand, and I respond by grabbing his, and we both come down off the crates and stand in front of each other. The electricity is enough to power every sign in South Beach.
‘I think you’re amazing,’ he says with his mouth only a few inches from mine.
‘I think you’re amazing, too,’ I say.
Our lips find their way to each other, and he’s pressing his against mine as I slowly go deeper with my tongue. At first, I’m unsure, but I can feel how much he wants this. How much we both want this. He puts his arms around me, and I do the same to him. We pull each other even closer so our mouths can explore further. I’m kissing his whole face. Feeling his stubble on my lips. I throw my head back as his tongue enters my mouth, exploring inside. Then I can feel his lips over my scruff and then his mouth travels up to my eyes and his lips gently press against them.
My hands start to explore his body moving from the back to his chest. I can feel his physical strength under his clothes but it’s more than that. I can also feel what an incredible and kind person he is and that makes him even hotter to me. I move my hands down to his belt and I feel his hands move down my back and grab my ass. It makes me kiss him stronger and harder. He pushes his groin into me and I pull him closer. It’s clear this incredibly hot guy wants me as much as I want him.
‘Sam,’ he says gently in my ear as he puts his hand on my cheek.
‘Finn,’ I whisper back in his ear, trying to be as present as possible, continuing to kiss him.
‘Finn. Finn!’ A voice from the stairwell to the roof is shouting his name and the spell breaks. We look at each other for a second but don’t let go.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers. ‘I think that’s Luis. There’s nowhere to hide up here.’ The roof is a flat open space, nothing but shadows and moonlight now that the sun has completely set.
‘I want to finish this,’ he says and kisses me quickly on the mouth. ‘I promised Luis I’d introduce him to—’
‘There you are,’ Luis says huffing as he stands in the stairwell. ‘I know this view is incredible, but Sancho is leaving and I want to make sure the three of us are on the same page about the community outreach project.’
‘Sure,’ Finn says. ‘I’ll be right there.’
I think we’re both hoping Luis will head back down and wait there but he doesn’t.
‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘Do what you have to do and I’ll meet you outside when you’re ready.’
‘This won’t take long. I’ll order a car, and we can head back to the hotel together, maybe go for a late-night swim in the ocean and pick up where we stopped?’ Suddenly he’s a bit shy and I like it. It makes him even more desirable.
‘I’d like that,’ I say and we follow Luis down to the party where Finn goes to meet with Sancho and I head out the door to wait for him.
My head is spinning. The air is warmer on the ground and there’s not nearly as much of a breeze. I’m not thinking about anything else but being on the roof with him and the sky and the stars and the ocean. I don’t want to let any practical thoughts disturb where my mind is, so I push away any that dare enter. When my phone buzzes I don’t have any desire to even acknowledge it.
Eventually, a black car with a rideshare light pulls up. ‘Are you Finn Montgomery?’ The driver asks.
‘He’s coming,’ I say leaning into the open window.
‘Oh, sure, no problem. Roads are busy tonight for Art Week. Is that what you’re here for?’
‘Yes.’ I nod.
‘Are you an artist?’ the driver asks.
‘Yes,’ I say with an easy laugh. ‘I am. I’m an amazing artist.’
‘That’s awesome,’ she says nodding her head. Finn walks out, runs over and kisses me on the cheek. He grabs my hand and we head back to the hotel together.