DRINK ME UP BEFORE I GO-GO
I've done everything I can do, the rest is up to salesmanship, fate and luck. I hope my salesmanship holds up. I don't trust either fate or luck. I'm meeting Greene for dinner tonight, but before that, Brog and I arranged for drinks at a bar not far from Daniel's, the chic restaurant where Greene is padding his expense account. I need a couple shots and maybe even a little friendship before I face the biggest account in my career. Potentially.
I get there first. Breederville. Of course it is. A midtown, expensive watering hole, not my kind of place. I get cruised by most of the women in the place and a few men who are obviously into denial. Still got it. I ignore them all and wave a tired hand at Brog when he enters the bar. He plops down next to me and orders a drink. I'm already working on my first.
"You look tired," he says and I shrug.
"Been working non stop."
"I don't think I've ever seen you so uptight about an account."
"This one could be transformational for my business."
"What are your chances?"
I shrug. Who knows? "Good," I lie. Always keep up the facade of presumed success. "So how's the queer thing going?" I don't want to talk about the account. It's preoccupied enough of my life lately.
He smiles. "It's not a queer thing."
I cock a brow. "You mean Parker is the butchest woman I've ever met?"
"I mean it's a relationship and he just happens to be male."
I nod as I consider that bullshit. "And just happens to have a dick that you suck and vice versa among all the other bad boy activities you two get up to, but that's not queer."
"Kinney, are we going to have this argument again because I'm tired of it."
"It's not an argument."
"Yes it is."
"No it isn't."
He beams at me, slipping into one of our many Python sketches. "It's a contradiction. I want to buy an argument."
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do."
We both laugh. Okay, it's funnier when Cleese does it. I say, "That's Verbal Abuse, next door."
We can turn fifteen or less when we're together faster than I can revert to adolesence with any other person. He taps my glass with his. "Good luck tonight."
"Thanks."
"And thank you for what you did for Parker."
Here it comes. I figured he couldn't keep his trap shut. "Don't start."
"He was very moved by it, Brian. I don't know if it was some of your Irish mysticism or bullshit, but it worked for him. It helped."
"It's exactly what I told him it was. It's what I saw."
"You see dead people," he said with a grin that I wanted to smack off his face.
"Yeah, and the soon to be dead if you don't shut the fuck up about it."
"Anyway," he stretched his torso, catching a glance from two women at the next table. He looked back and smiled. I shake my head.
"Still interested in cooze?"
"You really need to stop, Brian."
"Are you?"
"Know what? The only thing I'm interested in is Parker."
"Right. And I'm interested in Justin, but that doesn't mean I'm blind to the lure of other men. I appreciate a nice ass as it walks past me, a full package in tight jeans, a smirky smile, a cruise. How about you? Who do you notice on the street? Men or women?"
"Yes."
We both laugh. "You're so fucked up."
He reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezing it gently. "Kiss me right here in this straight bar in the middle of Manhattan if you think I'm not committed to where I am now in life."
"Any excuse to kiss me," I smirk.
"You're the coward, not me."
I lean over, grab the back of his head and land one on his mouth. Big kiss. Tongues and all. Then I drop back and smile at him. The ladies at the next table are still staring but maybe with a different reason. He chuckles and shakes his head. "Same ol' Kinney, could never turn down a dare."
"That's right."
"What if your dinner date has big ideas for you that go beyond the account, Brian? What then?"
"I'll deal with that if it happens."
"Think it might?"
I frown and shrug. I think it might. Something about Greene's manner set off my gaydar, but it's hard to tell with British men. They all have a little fey thing going on. "I'm not worried about it." Not true. I am a little worried. Not for my precious virginity that I'm saving for marriage. But because I don't want to be in the position where I have to balance fucking up my relationship versus missing a big account. Or where I have to decide if my talent or my talented cock are what I have to offer. He orders another round and then reaches over to pat my arm.
"You'll do good. You always do."
"I need this one, Brog. I need to pay for the jail conversion, bankroll the expansion, break into the big time. I can't let this one slip away no matter what."
"Okay, then don't."
I flip open my cell as it vibrates an incoming call. Justin. "Hi."
"I'm at this gallery benefit thing. A lot of the 'beautiful people' are here. It's a fucking bore. Are you with Brog?"
"Yeah."
"Tell him hello. Wish you were here so we could make fun of people."
I smile. "Wish you were going to my dinner with me."
"You'll dazzle him. Relax."
"I hope so."
"See you later at the home place, right?"
"That's the plan."
"Brian..."
"Yeah?"
"I think I love you!" He breaks into a horrible rendition of the ABBA hit. Is it ABBA? Whatever. "So what am I so afraid of? I'm afraid that I'm not sure of a love there is no cure for! "
I laugh. Okay, that broke the tension. "Are people staring at you like you just farted at the funeral?"
He laughs. "A little. Let's just say there's a lot more space around me."
"You're crazy."
"I know. Later."
"Later." I hang up. Brog beams at me.
"He's so good for you."
"You can shut up now," I respond, feeling the color burn in my cheeks. Another round appears mysteriously at our table. The waiter says,
"From the ladies," as he nods at the table nearest us. I guess the kiss didn't have the expected impact. I pick up the glass and tip it towards them in gratitude.
"We think gay men are hot," one of them says, and I laugh.
"Yeah? Me too."
"You two are a pretty couple," she goes on.
I glance at Brog. "Him? He's not my lover. He's just a rent boy. I got him from a personals ad in the Voice."
She giggles. "You rent out to girls too?"
Brog seems to consider that as a new line of business and then says, "Sorry, but my boyfriend might not like that very much."
"He might not like you kissing him, either," she teases.
"He knows I'm harmless," I respond and then I feel her gaze land hard on my face.
"Honey, there's nothing harmless about you."
Bouyed by that, or is it the whiskey, I think I'm ready to meet Greene now. Sometimes an ego boost, an old friend, a kiss, a call from your partner and a couple of belts is what it takes to beard the lion in his den. I let Brog pick up the tab as I make my exit and walk the couple blocks to the restaurant that's in an alabaster townhouse in the mid-sixties. It's like entering a majestic home, not a restaurant. The maitre de wears Italian designer, natty and handsome. He greets me cordially, as if I'm a Very Important Person. I tell him I'm meeting David Greene. He tells me Mr. Greene hasn't arrived yet but please have a drink as I wait. The "bar" is really a lounge with comfortable brocade chairs, limestone floors, silk pillows for your back, softly lit Baccarat chadeliers above your head. I can't afford another drink on an empty stomach. I ask for fizzy water.
All around is ambiance, beauty, and...money, money, money.
I love the fuck out of New York.
And then he enters the scene and I know immediately that he's the man I'm here to meet and that this is going to be a very interesting night.