Twenty-Two Ben
twenty-two
Ben
Did I catch you at a bad time, Benny?” Ben’s mom asked.
Ben tucked his phone under his chin as he pulled his underwear on. “Just getting dressed, Mom. Got an event tonight.”
“A show?”
Ben looked around for his pants. “No, it’s a…” Ben was about to call it a soiree, because that’s what Maurizio kept calling it, but he was pretty sure Maurizio was only doing it to be annoying. “A party.”
It was the preview for next season—a reception for the Philharmonic’s biggest donors and supporters to hear what was on the docket before the press release went out to the general public.
Ben sat on his bed to try to get his pants on without dropping his phone.
“Do you need a date?” Judy asked. “You know, Justin is in town…”
“I know, Mom. It’s at his hotel. And I told you, I’m seeing someone.”
“Really? I thought you were just saying that.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Mom.” That was exactly what Ben was doing.
“What’s his name?”
“Arya. He’s an event planner. You met him at the vineyard.”
“Oh, him! He’s handsome,” she said. “Is it serious?”
“It’s…” Fake. Ben couldn’t say that, obviously, but if he didn’t give his mom some crumbs, she’d only interrogate him harder. “It’s getting there.”
Simon barked. Her nails scampered across the hardwood floor. She must’ve heard Arya’s car.
“He’s here now, Mom. I better let you go… love you.”
“Love you, Benny! I want to hear more!”
“I’ll tell you more, promise. Later.” Ben zipped up his slacks and followed Simon to the door.
“Sit,” he reminded Simon. She really liked to dash out the door whenever he opened it. She never went farther than the mailbox, but still, Ben was doing his best to train her to be patient. She planted her butt at a weird angle, but whatever. “Good girl.”
He opened the door and stepped back to let Arya, who had a garment bag slung over his shoulder, in. “I brought a couple options—”
Arya’s voice died. He stared at Ben.
Maybe Ben should’ve pulled a shirt on—or at least one of those tank tops Arya liked—before answering the door. But he didn’t want to keep Arya waiting.
And, if he was being honest, he liked when Arya looked at him.
Arya swallowed hard. Ben could’ve sworn he saw a twitch in the crotch of Arya’s joggers.
For a second, Ben wondered what would happen if they just bailed on tonight. He was only an assistant principal, after all. But it was tenure track, and this was a tenure track kind of event.
Ben wasn’t sure if the Holbrooks would be there—last he heard, they were traveling again—but on the off chance they would be, he’d asked Arya to come as his plus-one.
Then he found out it would be at Justin’s hotel and begged.
Arya shook himself with a little smile. “I brought a couple suits. Tell me which one to wear?”
Ben was wearing his nicest black suit—he had a bunch of them for concerts, but this was his favorite—and spicing it up with a neon-pink tie. At least he would be. Once he finished getting dressed.
Arya laid his garment bag over the couch. Simon tried to duck under it like it was a blanket, but Ben let her out into the backyard to give Arya a moment of peace.
“The silver,” Ben said, looking over Arya’s suits. “Definitely.”
“You sure? It’s not too shiny?”
“It’ll match your head,” Ben teased.
Arya rolled his eyes but smiled. “What color tie are you wearing?”
“Pink.”
“Got it.” Arya pulled out a rolled-up silver and lilac paisley tie. “Will this complement it, you think?”
“It’s perfect.”
“Thanks again for doing this,” Ben said as Arya pulled his car into the circle drive at the Loews. “And for driving.”
“What are fake boyfriends for?” he asked, shooting Ben a grin and a wink. He let himself out and ran around to Ben’s door before Ben even knew what was happening.
“Thank you.” He’d never expected Arya to be so… chivalrous.
“Anytime.” Arya handed his keys over to the valet and offered Ben his arm.
“Shall we?”
Ben attempted to unhook their arms as they approached the escalator, but Arya just held him tighter and boarded the escalator with him, one foot on Ben’s step, one foot a step down. It was awkward, but they could stay linked.
“Don’t you think you’re laying it on a little thick?” Ben whispered.
Arya leaned closer to murmur in Ben’s ear, “Aren’t you glad I am?”
Ben was about to ask what Arya meant when he spotted him.
Justin.
In a svelte black suit of his own, with a little name badge and everything, waiting at the top of the escalator.
“Oh. Ben. Good to see you. You too, Arya.” Justin’s cheeks colored as he took in their linked arms.
“Likewise,” Arya said smoothly. “How’s your bruise doing?”
Justin had gotten a pretty nasty foul from the catcher for the Olathe Penguins last week. (Arya and a number of their teammates had called it “typical JoCo behavior,” whatever that was supposed to mean.)
“Healing,” Justin said. His teeth weren’t clenched, exactly, but his mouth didn’t move very much. Ben was pretty sure he hadn’t Botoxed his jaw, but who knew these days? “You need directions?”
Arya waved him off. “All good. See you in there.”
He gave Justin a winning smile and gently led Ben down a wide hall.
“You know where we’re going?” Ben asked.
“I’ve probably done fifty events in here by now,” Arya said. “I know my way around.”
Ben didn’t know why that should be so sexy, but it was.
Arya led them unerringly to one of the smaller ballrooms, where, sure enough, a crowd of Philharmonic folks were grabbing drinks from the little cash bar set up by the doors.
“You want anything? My treat,” Ben said. “Though the wine selection is… not good.”
Ben didn’t mean to be a snob, but he’d grown up in Napa Valley. It was in his blood. And he recognized the labels behind the bar as being from one of the giant conglomerates that sold mediocre wine at mediocre prices.
“I’ll have a soda and lime,” Arya said to the bartender. “You want one?”
Ben cocked his head. “Soda and lime?”
“Looks like a drink, but it’s not,” Arya said. “So you can blend in but keep your wits about you.”
“Smart.”
With their (non)drinks in hand, they entered the ballroom.
Ben had been in a fair amount of hotel ballrooms over the course of his career.
Probably not as many as Arya, but still, they all kind of looked the same.
Carpets with random geometric patterns. Huge ceiling lights that always, always, managed to look like giant boobs, with big glass domes and black metal nipples holding them up.
Terrible lighting, and in this case, it was even more terrible. They’d kept the lights dim to show a little slide show of the Philharmonic’s sponsors on a projection screen in the far corner.
“Whoever set this up didn’t level their screen,” Arya observed.
Ben looked closer. Arya was right; it was crooked.
“How come you don’t do this?” Ben asked.
“Hm?”
“Your company. We work with you on the ball, and when we do films and stuff. But not this?”
Arya shrugged. “Ask the CFO.”
Ben didn’t even know who their CFO was. Well, he was pretty sure he did, but he couldn’t summon the guy’s name right now. Or his face. Ben knew they must’ve met, but yeah… he was a nonentity.
“We’re not cheap, you know.” Arya waggled his eyebrows. “At least, I’m not.”
Ben laughed and swatted his chest. “Come on. Let’s make the rounds.”
It was remarkably easy, shmoozing donors, chatting up his fellow musicians, checking in with Martina, all with Arya by his side. Some knew Arya from his work on the ball; others had seen him at Aspire. (The cellos weren’t the only ones who frequented it.)
But most people were just meeting him as Ben’s boyfriend.
Ben expected it to feel weirder than it did, and then he started feeling weird about how it didn’t feel weird. When had he become such a proficient liar? What did it say about him that he could fake being smitten with Arya in front of a bunch of donors?
“You need a refill?” Arya asked, nodding at Ben’s glass. It was empty. Now that the ballroom was filled with bodies, it was getting hot. Especially in his suit.
“Sure. Thanks.”
“Of course, joonam.” Arya placed a fleeting kiss on Ben’s cheek and withdrew.
“He’s handsome. Well done,” Martina said bluntly. Everything she said and did was blunt. She wore a floor-length black gown with her silver hair pulled back into a severe bun, though she’d laced some sort of gold wire through it. She looked terrifying, but in a good way, which she probably liked.
“Thanks.”
“How’s it going?” Justin asked.
Ben hadn’t even noticed him approaching.
“Oh! All right. Thanks.”
“Need anything? Another drink?”
“Arya’s getting it,” Ben said.
“Ah.” Justin smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “How’re things going with him?”
“Great,” Ben said. “He’s a good man.”
“Good. You deserve to be treated well.”
“Thanks.” Ben turned back to Martina, but she’d already gotten sucked into a conversation with an old white woman who probably bankrolled half the season. He thought he spotted Thomas across the room and started sidling that way, but Justin stuck with him.
“And he knows you’re…” Justin began, but his voice tapered off.
Anger flared behind Ben’s chest. He put on a doesn’t-reach-the-eyes smile himself.
“What? Chinese?”
Justin sighed. “Ben…”
“What? Say what you want to say.”
Justin could’ve chosen to walk away. They could’ve both gone back to the party.
Instead Justin lowered his voice and asked, “Does he even know you’re a side?”
“Of course he does,” Ben said, pulling away. Why the fuck was Justin bringing this up now of all times?
He didn’t want to talk about it. Especially not at a fucking work function.
But Justin didn’t take the hint.
“And he took it okay?”
Ben’s anger burned even hotter. Why did Justin have to be such a dick about everything?
He didn’t want to stir shit up, not here, but he couldn’t help himself. He leaned in and told Justin, “He took it as a challenge.”
Justin frowned. “If he’s trying to pressure you…”
Ben laughed, low and dark. That was fucking rich, coming from Justin, who’d pressured him plenty before proposing the whole open relationship thing.
“I meant he took it as a challenge to try new things.” He got even closer to whisper in Justin’s ear. “How come you never wanted to try docking?”
Justin’s face turned red.
He looked like he wanted to shout. Or cry. Or run away.
Ben had never been so satisfied in his life. He wished he’d stood up to Justin a long time ago. Wished he’d told him to go fuck himself. Wished… well, wished things had been different. In a lot of ways.
With perfect timing, Arya reappeared, holding another soda and lime.
“Here you go, joonam. Hey, Justin. What’d I miss?”
Ben could’ve kissed Arya.
Well, of course he could’ve. They were pretend boyfriends. That was the whole point of the exercise. Fool Justin.
But Ben wanted to kiss Arya. He was smart. Funny. Caring.
He had great timing.
He was likable.
Ben liked him.
Ben’s brain made a crashing sound, like a toddler striking their fists on a grand piano.
Ben liked Arya.
He liked him.
This wasn’t in the rules.
Ben pushed his glasses up his nose.
This was not good.
This was…
Arya smiled at him and linked their arms once more, shutting out Justin. “Wanna dance?”
Ben did.
To hell with the rules.