“When did it get more serious?” Olivia asked.
“Last week. He’s in Alaska right now, climbing Mt. McKinley. Before he left he said that when he came back he wanted me to move in with him. I’ve already met his kids, Sebastian and Elijah, and I adore them!” Bailey smiled big.
“Oh, lord, you’ll probably get married before I do!” Coco laughed.
CJ’s phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and said, “I’m not answering it.”
“Why, who is it?” Coco asked him.
“My father. I’ll call him back later,” CJ said with a hint of insolence.
“What’s that about?” Bailey asked.
“We don’t really get along,” CJ said. “He doesn’t like that I’m gay, and he wants me to keep it a secret. He’s a big politician, running for governor, and he’s afraid it will ruin his career if anyone finds out about his fag son.”
“When did you come out to him?” Coco asked.
“Well, I didn’t really. An evil ex outed me. He called my father and said, ‘Your son is gay and he sucks dicks.’ Nice, right? My conservative, right-wing father! So he calls me into the living room, tells me about the call, and asks if it’s true. I couldn’t bring myself to deny it. I said, ‘Yes, it’s true, especially the dicks part,’ and his response was ‘Whatever you do, don’t tell anybody, including your mother.’ I don’t know why, but I agreed to those rules. As I was leaving the room he added, ‘And by the way, never under my roof.’ So I moved out shortly after that. I took his checkbook and got a place in the city with some friends,” CJ told them.
“Isn’t your father also incredibly religious? Weren’t you?” Bailey asked. The Warfields and the Skodas had attended the same church for forty years. Well, at least their parents had.
“Sorta. I mean he is, but it’s mostly for show, like a lot of Catholics and all politicians. I never really connected to that church—although a couple priests sure wanted to connect to me.”
“Ooh! I bet! Father Bruce, right?” Bailey chuckled.
“Oh, at the very least, sister.” CJ smirked.
“Did you ever tell your mother?” Olivia asked him.
“Eventually. She was upset and thought I became gay because my father was away a lot. So she tried to blame that, then asked me what she did wrong. She kept apologizing for raising me ‘wrong.’ It was interesting that she put it on herself, like she’d screwed up somehow.”
“And now?” Coco said.
“We still pretend that I’m not, I think. We never spoke about it again. But one day I want to reassure her that she didn’t screw up. My father used to take me hunting, golfing, to baseball games. I was on the wrestling team, the whole straight-boy thing.”
“Ummm…. wrestling is the gayest sport,” Bailey pointed out.
They all laughed.
Just then a very handsome older man with auburn hair and a nice smile was seated across from them. The waitress brought him coffee as soon as he sat. He was by himself and read The New York Times, seeming quite engaged in the business section.
“He’s cute,” Bailey said, motioning toward CJ. “Go talk to him.”
“I’m not just going to walk over and say ‘hi.’ I don’t even know him.”
“What’s to know?” Coco agreed. “Not a lot of available guys in this part of the world, and he’s really cute.”
Coco waved at him but then realized he might think she was hitting on him, so to be sure, she began pointing at CJ and mouthing “my friend.”
The guy laughed.
Bailey walked over and said, “I’m Bailey, that’s CJ,” pointing at a completely crimson and mortified CJ.
“Ted,” said the man.
“Ted, what do you do?” Bailey asked.
“I’m a dentist.” Ted smiled, slightly uncomfortable but playing along.
Bailey turned, looked CJ square in the eye, and said, “CJ, give me your card.” CJ sighed and handed her his card.
Bailey handed CJ’s card to Ted, and continued talking with him, out of earshot.
CJ turned to Coco and Olivia and said, “I just had Botox, so I can’t express how truly angry I am with her right now.”
Bailey came back and announced, “He’s single, forty-seven, works in Pound Ridge. Martha Stewart is one of his patients. You can date Martha Stewart’s dentist! Won’t that be fun?”
“I’m going to kill you,” CJ hissed. “See this face? Imagine it scowling.”
Fifteen
Threesomes with the Foursome
CJ sat on his couch rehearsing in his head what he would say to Malcolm—something that didn’t sound too corny or too contrived. But every time he mustered up the courage to call, his phone would ring and it would be someone from work. Weekend calls from his junior associate producers were a matter of course regardless of where he was or what he was doing. His was the kind of business that could only be described as “chaotic” in its calmest moments when they were in the midst of a season. Once he’d had to hide in the bathroom during a friend’s wedding in order to frantically book a last-minute guest for a show. CJ never complained since he was grateful to be working in the television industry with people he adored. For as many backbreaking hours as he and the crew labored through together, they still missed each other when they went on hiatus.
The other distraction CJ had was his parents’ looming homecoming. He was there to care for Nanny while they were gone, and he enjoyed doing so as she had done for him his whole life, of course, but their return in a few days made him incredibly anxious, not to mention the fact that he hadn’t been home to his own apartment in over a month. This little sojourn had turned into a horror show—he never would’ve gone to that godforsaken party and witnessed a murder if he’d been at his place in the city. But then he never would have met the girls, whom he was coming to love more and more each time he saw them.
He felt another Nelly coming on. He didn’t like being alone in this enormous house that held so many memories, good and bad—though mostly bad, of late. Nanny was spending the night at her cardiologist’s house, which was the safest place she could be, considering her condition and the trouble CJ and his friends had gotten into.
The phone rang yet again.
“What fresh hell is this?” CJ said aloud as he picked it up. “Oh, it’s you, hi,” he said to Coco.
“I haven’t spoken to you yet today. We have to fill our daily quota,” she said with a laugh. “I’m now to the point where if I don’t talk to you and the day is over, I feel like I’ve missed something.” After Philadelphia and the yoga and the brunch, they talked constantly, like high school lovers. “So, what’d I miss?”
“Ugh, nothing. Just the usual drama at work. This one can’t do her job because that one isn’t answering her e-mails. The usual hell that is my life.”
“You love it.”
“I do.”
“So any news from Malcolm? When are you seeing him?” Coco asked.
“I think I’m glad my mother isn’t interested in my gay life,” he said, “if this is what it would be like.”
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.”
“I appreciate your concern for my love life. But it’s probably I who should be badgering you about yours,” he said.
All of a sudden the doorbell rang.
“That’s the door, stay on the phone with me. The kind of day I’m having, it’s probably a process server.”
CJ went to the door. It was the local florist delivering the most incredible bouquet he had ever seen.
“Someone must really like you. This is our most expensive arrangement,” the delivery guy said with a wink as he handed CJ the floral treasure. CJ took it inside as he held the phone between his shoulder and cheek.
“Someone sent absolutely gorgeous flowers. Probably for Nanny. She’s banging her cardiologist. He has more money than God, who he is actually older than,” CJ said.
“Wonderful. Your seventy-year-old Nanny has a better sex life than me,” Coco said bitterl
y.
“Oh, honey, you still didn’t talk to Sam about a three-way or something to spice it up a bit?” he asked.
“Well, a three-way isn’t my idea of fun, necessarily,” she replied.
“Girrrrl! Do not knock it till you’ve tried it!” CJ said.
“I don’t feel like talking about me. I want to hear what happened with Malcolm.”
“I chickened out. I still haven’t called him. I’m kind of waiting for him to make the first move. I don’t know.”
“CJ, this isn’t The Bachelor, and you aren’t looking for your perfect fit. We need this guy to help us, and, besides, I thought you didn’t really like him.”
“I don’t! I’m just a girl who likes to be wooed, that’s all,” CJ said.
“CJ!” she said sternly. He knew what she meant.
“Fine! I’ll call him. God, you’re so pushy.” He laughed. “I’ll call you after I talk to him,” he said.
“That’s all I’m asking,” Coco replied.
They hung up. CJ fixed his hair in the mirror of the front hall bureau, where the flowers were. He noticed a card that had his name on it and that it had originally been slated for delivery to him at the Rachael Ray show. One of the secretaries must’ve given them his home address. Surprised, he opened it and read:
I wanted these flowers to see how beautiful you were.—M
CJ choked up, almost to tears.
“Oh, girl, don’t do it, your eyes will puff right up,” he said to his reflection.
Bailey was so excited that Graham was coming home she didn’t know what to do first: prepare herself or prepare her bedroom. She still hadn’t unpacked her stuff from L.A., which included lots of shopping bags—her room looked as if Rodeo Drive had thrown up on it. She also had this thing, this ritual, before seeing men she really liked, men she enjoyed having sex with. Actually, it was three things. First she would shower, then she would groom her nether regions so that they were smooth, stubble-free, and ready for action. Second, she would dab perfume on all of her erogenous zones; and third, she would watch the Marx Brothers classic A Day at the Races, to put her in a jovial mood. She hadn’t done any of this for a man in a long time.
Tonight Graham was coming straight from LaGuardia (only half an hour away without traffic, but he wouldn’t dream of simply meeting her in the city) to pick up Bailey at her house and take her back to the city to the suddenly hot again Balthazar restaurant in SoHo, where even he had had to make a reservation earlier in the week. As an avid list maker, she ran through her date night checklist:
1. Cute new outfit bought in Beverly Hills: new Zac Posen flirty dress, DVF clutch, and YSL shoes…. check.
2. New toothbrush for boyfriend to use when he stays over, to help him feel welcome…. check.
3. Groomed, fresh, and ready for action…. check.
She was ready to move in for the kill.
Graham’s car showed up on time, a miracle on a Sunday night. He greeted her warmly and was excited to tell her about Denali, and climbing Mt. McKinley, regaling her with stories about everything he and his sons had done on the trip, grizzly bears sighted and a couple new Sarah Palin jokes from the locals. The boys were on their way back to their mother’s house, and Graham already missed them.
When they got to Balthazar, they had to wait for their table, much to his chagrin. They sat at the bar and had a drink; everything seemed fine. Graham caressed her hand, then touched the small of her back as he led her to her seat. Even at the table when they ordered food and talked more about his trip and when he had to be back on the set of Chicago Counsel, it was all good. Then dessert came. Graham leaned in to speak more intimately to Bailey, or so she thought. The background noise faded into the distance. They could’ve been the only two people in the restaurant; heck, they could’ve been the only two people in the world at that point. He took her hand and spoke gently.
This was it. Bailey shook nervously but imperceptibly. Moving in seemed a fait accompli so…. Was he about to propose? she wondered.
“I had an epiphany on the mountain,” he began.
Here it comes.
“Bailey, I came to realize that you’re not the one for me,” he said.
And that was all he said. He let it hang there, thick in the air like syrup. Bailey had no idea how to respond. She had two possibilities, she thought. No, three actually. She could yell about the fact that he had waited until they finished dinner, that he should have told her at her house instead of making her come all the way into New York and sit through a three-hour meal, only to have it completely spoiled at the end. She could also have made a scene, enraged that she’d been blindsided by his news, since before his trip he had pledged his undying love for her and asked her to move in with him. Her third option was to say nothing, just take the sucker punch and be devastated later. She chose number three.
He might as well have slipped a Mickey into her drink. From that moment, the night went black. The next morning Bailey called in sick to work. She didn’t answer the phone for anyone, not even Gertie Whitmore.
“I left two messages for Bailey and one for Malcolm. I haven’t heard from either one today,” CJ said. “She was supposed to find out about this Blackbeard character from the problem-solving guy at her station. Olivia says that even Detective Casey was interested. Where the heck is everyone?”
“Oh, I spoke with Olivia. She’s probably in the middle of a happy baby pose about now. I have a conference call, and then we’re meeting up to go shopping for clothes. If that brunch ensemble taught us anything, it’s that the woman obviously needs a shopping partner,” Coco said. “I may not have the world’s best sense of style, but I know when to say no.”
“Well, you’ll be proud of me. I haven’t heard from Malcolm yet, but I’m going to his place after work. When I called him last night to thank him for the flowers, we made a date for tonight.” CJ had been so excited about the flowers that he’d immediately called Coco back to tell her about them. It had also gotten him off the hook with her, since she’d been needling him about contacting Malcolm.
“That’s great news. How are you going to tell him about the mayor?” Coco asked.
“I need to gauge his loyalty to the man before I do. It could be tricky,” CJ replied.
“So your plan is no plan?”
“Basically.”
“Oy.”
“Coco, don’t worry. I get stuff out of people for a living. If you knew how much we prepped those guests for the show back when I worked for Tyra, you’d flip. They come on camera and spill it! Don’t you worry.”
“Why is it that actually does worry me?” Coco said with a laugh.
“Look, what I do is like a well-choreographed tennis match. I serve it up, but they rarely hit it back where they want to. I’m like Serena and Venus rolled into one.”
“Just don’t lose your balls.” Coco couldn’t resist the pun.
“Gotta get back to work. Call ya later,” CJ said and hung up.
Sam walked into the kitchen, where Coco was having her afternoon jolt of caffeine.
“Hi.” He was relatively cold and didn’t look her way.
“Mmm. Hi.” Coco sipped her coffee, speaking with no affect while looking at him over the top of her mug. “It’s not as good when I make it. You do it so much better. What’s your secret?”
“Just have the touch, I guess.” He looked toward her when he knew she was looking down at the paper.
Something was slightly amiss in their relationship for sure, but all of this tension, ill-timed travel, and secrecy had brought it to the surface.
Coco wanted to say, “Look, all this stuff with the envelope and the forged documents…. it’s, uh, because I witnessed the murder of a young girl in the mayor’s mansion, and now he’s extorting us. I need your love and support because I’m scared.” What came out instead was “Are you hungry?”
“Nope, I’m fine.” The big problem was that every time they talked about it, either they fought or he turned it
into an indictment of her ring-a-phobia, as he liked to call her fear of marriage. “You waiting for that conference call?” he asked.
“Yep.” She didn’t mean to be cold, it just came out that way. This whole situation was frustrating, and if she engaged him, she knew where it would end up.
Then out of nowhere Sam said in an accusatory tone, “Who is Jordan Ainsworth?”
“One of Rory’s new clients. He’s kind of a tool. Why?”
“So he was in Philly with you at the awards ceremony?”
“Yes…. but I don’t like the implication of ‘with me.’ He was there. I was there, but by no means was he with me,” she replied.
“Then can you explain this?” he said, and he threw down the Philly paper, revealing a photograph of Coco passed out and Jordan Ainsworth with his arm around her giving the camera the thumbs-up. Clearly he’d taken the photo himself, since his reflection could be seen in the mirror as he held the camera out in front of them.
“That asshole!” Coco screamed as she grabbed the paper and held it up to get a closer look. “That fucking social-climbing bootlicker!”
“Whoa,” Sam said. “A little defensive? Maybe you should be explaining this instead of going off on him. Who’s the injured party here? Why the fuck is there a picture of the two of you in a hotel room, and why are you passed out?”
She barely heard Sam, she was so engaged in the tabloid.
“‘My torrid night of passion’? I’m passed out! Can’t they tell?” she screamed. “Do I look engaged in passion here to you?”
Sam took the paper and looked at it closely. “Hard to tell. You do always look tired. Maybe this is afterward,” he said snidely. “Is there something you need to tell me? I think I’m starting to understand why you don’t want to get married.”
“Sam. Oh, c’mon, Sam.” She looked at him pityingly. “You know that’s not my style. CJ was there too, and they don’t mention that anywhere! Assholes!” She was really pissed now. Goddamn, these local newspapers kept getting her into trouble.
“Can you just tell me who this guy is?” Sam said.
The Yoga Club Page 22
