Turning the Tables
The voicemail said something about “unfinished business.” That meant Brian was going to tell Parker about what he saw at the jail. About Sherm. About Parker’s ex.
He’d debated it endlessly, well before he’d brought it up to me, occasionally slipping into that broody Irish mode he does so well, that moody morose thing where he swirls the Beam around the glass and stares into it like a scrying mirror.
I understood why he would probably prefer to leave it alone, hell he and Parker aren’t exactly pals and who really wants to go out of their way to make themselves look like a nut case? I understood something else as well.
It was about me, too. Brian would sometimes shift his gaze to me, thinking me too busy with something to notice. That’s when I made the connection, about the umpteenth time I caught him and he didn’t look away. We’d joked about each of us haunting the other if something happened but something had happened. To me. I’d gone away. Brian knew something I didn’t, felt something I, thank god, had never had to endure: that sense of bone crushing loss. He had a pretty good idea of what Parker had gone through so he was doing what he could to help. He’s good like that, better than anybody knows. Well except me.
I toe off my Nikes and settle myself on the bed, back against the headboard, and consider my options as I turn that bloody bracelet in my hands. I remember thinking what a stroke of dumb luck it was to run into Eric that day, no clue who he was then. Now he and his Vampirella wife are just colossal pains in the ass. I’m not about to fuck him and as for Brian doing Beverly, as if. If only they weren’t so well connected, we could just tell them to fuck off. I’ve got to figure something out soon, before that reception at the Whitney tomorrow night. I wriggled out of the BAM thing but this is a great chance to make some contacts and be seen. How do I tell Eric to step off without pissing him off? I have a sudden idea and grab my phone. My call is answered on the second ring.
“Yes?”
“Teri, it’s Justin. Do you have a minute?”
“Yes, Justin, I have some time. What is this regarding?”
“What do you know about Eric and Beverly Vartanain?” I fill him in on how I met Eric by chance and our few social encounters with them, their offers to help us.
“Those two, yes, I know them well. Socially very well connected. He has some influence in the art world, she essentially does nothing but be seen. Thoroughly unpleasant people. I assume one or both have made advances. Am I correct?”
“You know about that?” I exclaim.
“Those two are so predictable,” he snorts. Well if Teri snorted, he would have. “She collects trophies and Eric fancies himself as something of a Svengali, molding promising young artists into his creations. Unoriginal boors.”
“Brian said it was like she wouldn’t take no for an answer! And Eric, he’s just creeping me out now - Brian’s gonna kill him!” I tell him about Brian’s lunch with Beverly, Eric’s presents to me and the note.
“How trite. Is he still using that vile line? You’d think after so much time he’d have changed his routine.”
“He’s done this before?” Well apparently, duh.
“Justin, when I first met them he had just come to the city and she was still on the runways. Parvenus. They were boring then as well and impossible to avoid. Some things never change.”
“So what do we do about them, Teri? I don’t want to piss them off, they could be a big help to us.”
“The woman is annoying, but I hardly think she’s going to throw Brian down and ravish him. If he continues to refuse her advances, it’s likely she will become more insistent, however. The woman is delusional and feels herself irresitable.”
“But he’s gay!”
“Greater challenge and what better validation when she wins. More than a few gay men have given in eventually, even if only to be done with her. It’s an option.”
Just fucking wonderful. “And Eric?”
“What about him?”
“Teri, he’s making me nuts and Brian’s going to whack him and end up in jail if this keeps up. The thing is, he’s been really helpful and I’m making contacts that might be useful. He even told me about this great studio space that I can actually afford! I don’t want to piss him off, but I don’t want him owning me either.”
“Where’s your space?” I tell him and am floored when he says, “Vartanian owns that building.”
“Oh, Christ. Teri, I’m being played big time here.”
“Then play with the player,” he tells me. “Use him to get what you want.”
“But what about what he wants?”
“Keep him wanting it. Don’t give it to him.”
“Um, okay, and I do that how?”
“Therein lies the interest of the game. Goodbye, Justin. And Justin?”
“Yeah?”
“Beverly and Eric. They’re not.”
Somewhere inside me, something I didn’t even know was tensed, relaxes. They may be creepy and controlling, but they’re not Dunraven. “Thank you.”
“Goodbye.” The line disconnects and I’m left to plot my campaign.