“Way ahead of you,” Frank said. “Lillith and I already decided to have Violet work with our realtor to look at office space in Manhattan and coordinate the move with our people here. I'll feel better knowing she's involved.”
“Good. I can give your agent a recommendation regarding moving and setting up computer equipment. A friend of mine who's based in Wisconsin has a Manhattan office, too.”
“I always like to give business to someone from the Badger State,” Frank said. After a pause, he added, “You said
if
you decide to take our offer. What's making you hesitate, Blaine?”
“I was thinking earlier of when I first went to Breslin Evans Fox and Dean,” I said. “Except for your account, I was basically a grunt. You were the one who trusted me. They didn't. They gave me the most menial tasks on other accounts because they thought I didn't have what it takes. I used to seethe about the humiliation and think to myself, âOne day, it will be Breslin Evans Fox and
Dunhill
.' ”
“What happened to Dean?” Frank asked with a laugh.
“I'll never tell where the bodies are buried,” I said. I gave him a rueful smile and said, “If I leave, it's like I'll never get a chance to prove myself there. Does that sound pathetic?”
“Not pathetic. Inaccurate,” Frank said. “Your creativity helped put Allure Cosmetics in a new league and was an important part of the Lillith Parker/Allure merger. You don't have anything to prove to anyone. If you choose to come to Lillith Allure, you'll be the final authority on our advertising, reporting only to Lillith and me. That's not a step back.”
“True,” I said, knowing he was right.
After I left Frank, I called Violet so I could tell her that I'd decided to stay in Baltimore.
“I know; I already spoke to Sheila,” Violet said. “I'll check on Dexter.”
“A couple of hundred years ago, you'd have been on trial for witchcraft,” I said, awed as always by her efficiency.
“A couple of hundred years ago, I wouldn't have been anywhere near your Puritan ancestors. I would have been reading chicken entrails in Cuba.”
“Could you please not ever mention that to Lillith?” I begged.
Violet laughed and said, “I booked you a suite at the Harbor Court Hotel. It's got a view of the Inner Harbor, a fitness center, and a couple of restaurants. Or twenty-four-hour room service if you prefer, because I also took the liberty of booking a massage therapistâhis name is Gavinâto come to your room at nine. Henry from Brooks Brothers will be delivering a couple of changes of clothes and underwear to you. Anything else?”
“Yes. Will you marry me?”
“No. The first thing you'd do is cut my salary. Have a good night, Mr. Dunhill.”
“You, too, Ms. Medina. Tell Dexter I miss him.”
The view from my hotel room was as pleasing as Violet had led me to believe. I decided to forgo the restaurants and fitness center, ordering from room service. While I was eating, Henry arrived with my new clothes, crisp and fresh from a detour to the cleaners. He made me try on everything to reassure himself that Violet's measurements had been accurate. Obviously he had no idea how thorough she was.
I had been through many assistants before and after the days of Sharon. Even Daniel had worked for me, until it became obvious that our relationship was getting serious and we needed to separate our personal and business lives. But no one could compare to Violet Medina, who'd initially been assigned to me on a temporary basis. After a week, I'd have given her anything, including my salary, to hold on to her.
More than a year later, I had only one reason to regret hiring herâher physical appearance. She was a dead ringer for Jennifer Lopez. In fact, building security had more than once ushered the celebrity's young fans out of the lobby when they'd followed Violet from the subway or the sidewalk. Straight men in the office tended to gather wherever she was, but she paid them little attention. My biggest fear was that she'd get married one day and leave me. I knew nothing about her personal life, but Sheila told me to relax. She was sure Violet would be with me for a long time. Since Sheila always seemed to know everything about everyone, I took her word for it. Mainly because anything else was unthinkable.
I took a quick shower and was watching CNN in the terry-cloth robe provided by the hotel when Gavin arrived. I was impressed. Violet had managed to locate a massage therapist who was not only courteous and professional, but also handsome. His curly auburn hair was clipped short and gelled off of his high forehead. His bright brown eyes matched his chatter as he set up a massage table. Once I dropped my robe and settled onto the table, he was quiet, only asking if I minded if he turned off the television to play a CD.
As soon as his hands made their first pass down my back, I knew how much I'd needed this kind of work. “Did my assistant schedule you for one or two hours?” I asked.
“One.”
“You're staying for two. I hope that's not a problem.”
“Not at all.”
I relaxed, letting my mind drift as Gavin found knots and aches I hadn't known were there. After only a couple of minutes, I was bored thinking about work. It was obvious to everyone, including me, that I'd leave Breslin Evans and go in-house with Lillith Allure. It would be exciting to manage a staff of my own, with Violet's help, and get more creative freedom than I'd had as part of the agency. And the salary increase would be great. Of course, it was nothing compared to what Sheila was making. But Sheila's career had a short shelf life, as she was well aware. I had decades ahead of me, and I knew Frank was right. Going to Lillith Allure was not a step back but a step forward.
It was weird not to call Daniel and share my good news. I wondered if Sheila would tell him. Or if he'd call to congratulate me. Or if he'd even care.
I didn't realize I was crying until I noticed the dampness of the cover on the face rest. I felt like an idiot and hoped Gavin couldn't tell. He was working deep into my lower back and glutes, though, so unless I sniffed or something . . .
“Do you need a Kleenex?” Gavin asked quietly.
“Yeah, I guess.” He handed me one then went back to work. “Sorry,” I said. “It's not like you're hurting me or anything.”
“It happens more often than you'd believe,” Gavin said. “Sometimes this is the first chance people have to be quiet and think about stuff that's bothering them. Don't worry about it.”
In some ways, Gavin was right. My emotions about Daniel ran the gamut from anger to hurt, but I could usually block them out. Until I went to bed, when I'd replay the months before we broke up, trying to figure out how it happened. I'd thought we would be together forever.
It was hard to know when the strain between us started. There wasn't any one event; something easy to pinpoint like infidelity. Or the usual issues that broke people up, like money worries, incompatibility, a drinking problem, or family crap. Nor had the magic gone out of our relationship. Sometimes when we looked at each other, the entire world seemed to vanish, and he still made my heart race.
There had been some tense moments because of friends, although we both got along great with Sheila, Josh, and Gretchen. Daniel was also originally from Eau Claire, and we had mutual friends there, including Adam Wilson, the computer genius that I'd recommended to Frank. Adam and I had become close friends, and I made a mental note to suggest that, in addition to helping us set up our systems at the new office, he take over Lillith Allure's Web site from the company that presently handled many of Breslin Evans' accounts.
But Adam was part of a package deal. His boyfriend, Jeremy Caprellian, had been Daniel's boyfriend only a few years before. They'd salvaged a friendship out of their bitter breakup; sometimes Daniel was a little too preoccupied by Jeremy to suit me. Still, once Jeremy moved to Wisconsin to be with Adam, he wasn't always demanding Daniel's time and attention the way he once had.
It was Daniel's other friends who caused problems. For several years, he'd performed as a female impersonator, becoming something of a Manhattan celebrity. Though he'd given up the job before I met him, many of the people from those days remained part of his family of friends.
I felt as if someone was always asking Daniel for something. His time, his attention, his money. He never said no. Which was admirable, but it got tiring, especially the histrionics that accompanied breakups, cruel landlords, lost jobs, and traitorous friendsâfew of those whiners ever took the responsibility for their own misfortunes. I accepted that what Daniel did for them was his business, but it got annoying to live with a choir of poor-me victims singing in the background.
Likewise, Daniel had issues with some of the people from my past. Although he understood my unwillingness to confront my parents with the truth about my sexuality, he didn't always understand why I let it upset me so much. Nor did he like feeling that our relationship became invisible when we went to Eau Claire. But what he really didn't like was the way I capitulated to Sydney. He could always sense when I'd heard from her. He didn't ask for details about the money I gave her, but he found ways to silently communicate his disapproval.
In retrospect, I supposed that it wasn't what we fought about, but how we fought, that caused most of our problems. Daniel and I both tended to sit on our feelings until they exploded. By the time we got around to fighting, it was nastier than it needed to be. We could also both hold a grudge, so old issues tended to reappear during our fights, which didn't help.
In spite of that, we'd had no major problems until a few months after Daniel got his role as Angus Remington on
Secret Splendor.
I didn't notice any changes at first. I'd always worked long hours, so most of our time together came on the weekends, whether we took trips upstate, enjoyed Manhattan nightlife, or just hung out at his place or mine. It gradually began to dawn on me that not only were Daniel and I no longer going out, but Daniel never went to Club Chaos, the nightclub where he'd once headlined as his alter ego, Princess 2Di4. Since his friends weren't seeing him there, they tended to appear at his apartment at odd hours, often interrupting our dinners, videos, and more intimate moments.
I complained, and the river of needy friends slowed to a trickle. When I finally realized that Daniel had seriously curtailed his social life, he confessed that a few of the people at his show's network had advised him to keep what they called an LGPâLow Gay Profile. Apparently soap viewers had a tendency to overidentify actors with the roles they played. Angus Remington was written as a lady-killer, and although the executives hadn't asked Daniel to step back into the closet from which he'd emerged well over a decade before, they did encourage his discretion.
It didn't really bother me. I'd never been one for trumpeting my sexual orientation to the world, especially since my family was clueless. So it was probably unattractive of me to enjoy taking an occasional shot at Daniel for his new discretion. I considered it payback for the times that he'd jokingly told people how he had to drag me kicking and screaming from the closet after Sydney and I separated. Maybe Daniel felt he had it coming, too, because he tolerated my verbal bullets.
Looking back, I could see what a toll the situation must have taken on him. He'd always lived his life with an honesty that I admired, and he was struggling with his new boundaries.
Us
magazine gave him a cover, dubbing him “Soap's Sexiest Snake,” and his fans were clamoring for information about him. The press was willing to play his game as long as they had something to hook their stories on. Sheila's rising celebrity provided exactly that.
It came to a head the night Sheila and I got back from our publicity junket in Europe. In spite of the excitement we'd felt about our trip, we'd both been homesick. She missed Josh, and I missed Daniel. It was the longest he and I had ever been separated. I'd wanted to make a celebration of our return, so I asked Daniel to hire a limo and meet us at the airport with champagne and Josh. What I didn't know was that Lillith, delighted by the attention Sheila had garnered, wanted to keep the momentum going. She'd arranged for us to be met at the airport, too. By a team of reporters and photographers.
I was used to stepping away from Sheila when the media focused on her. The only thing I wanted was to feel Daniel's arms around me. But when I walked toward him, he took a step back and looked nervous. When I stopped, confused and hurt, Sheila spotted him and rushed to hug him. While the flashbulbs exploded, I met Josh's eyes. He shrugged, as if to remind me that it was all part of the game. Unfortunately, I didn't feel as resigned as he did.
This incident added to the Maddie Awards caused bad feelings to simmer between Daniel and me for days. It might have been resolved eventually, and at least half forgotten, but it was still too fresh when I found out by accident that Mrs. Lazenby was dead. In fact, had been dead for several weeks.
“Did that hurt?” Gavin asked, jolting me back to the present.
“What?” I asked.
“You made a noise. I thought I hurt you.”
“No. It feels great. Sorry.”
“I'm ready for you to turn over,” he said.
I did, and he started working from my feet up into my quads, while I brooded about the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. I'd just stepped out of bodyWorks, my Chelsea gym, when I heard someone call my name. I turned and saw Daniel's friend Martin Blount and our artist friend Blythe Mayfield walking down the sidewalk, their arms loaded with bags from Bed Bath & Beyond. I stopped to talk to them, awed that Blythe's hair, usually magenta, was now brilliant purple with an occasional red streak. It took me a few minutes to comprehend what they were excited about.