Dirty Secrets Social Club

by Jo Adler

  He offers a high-pitched giggle. “That’s no cleaning person, silly. That’s Alec.”

  “Okay,” I reply. “Then it sounds like one of your boyfriends is a little off-key.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” he asks. “The poor thing’s as tone-deaf as a tree stump.”

  “That’s kind of harsh,” I say. “Especially to the tree.”

  Richard snickers again. “So what’s up? How are things going with the hot tattoo love god?”

  “That’s actually why I called,” I tell him. “Adam said that he’s ever been to Fire Island. And that left me a little confused about how Tate and Alec could’ve ever shared a summer house with him.”

  The vacuum and singing slowly fade before I hear a door closing on the other end of the line.

  “You still there?” I say.

  Richard sighs. “Fuck, Nick.”

  I laugh. “Sorry?”

  “It’s about what I told you,” he starts. “The story about Adam knowing Tate and Alec.”

  I hold my breath. Whenever I suspect that someone lied to me, I have a visceral reaction that sends a chill down my back. I’ve never known the cause, but Dede told me it’s somehow related to something bad that happened when I was younger. “Childhood trauma has that kind of power,” she’d explained. “You may not realize what’s at the root of the reaction, but your brain has it all stored away somewhere deep inside. When something triggers it, the synapses fire and the primordial defense mechanism kicks in.”

  I’m trying to get her voice out of my head when Richard asks if I can forgive him.

  “For what?” I ask.

  “I wasn’t honest with you,” he says. “About Adam and my two guys.”

  “Uh, okay. And why would you tell me a fib?”

  “Because I’m ashamed,” he says. “And because it’s a secret that nobody else knows.”

  I stay quiet, hoping that the silence will prod him to keep going better than anything that I can say.

  “About two months ago,” Richard continues a moment later, “we were going through a really stressful patch because of Alec’s cancer. And before you say anything, what I’m telling you is an explanation, not an excuse.”

  “Just keep talking,” I say, feeling my stomach twist as my overactive imagination starts to fill in the blanks.

  “I went out one night,” he says. “Got smashed, hooked up with this guy and we went to a really sweet townhouse on Barrow and Hudson.”

  “Oh, shit,” I mumble. “I somehow thought that’s where you were going with the story.”

  “Wait!” Richard shouts. “Hold on, Nick! It wasn’t Adam. It was his nephew, Liam. He was staying there at the time, but he moved out a couple of weeks later. When I ran into you the other day and it was obvious you were over the moon about Adam, I just couldn’t…” His voice drops and he’s nearly whispering. “I couldn’t blurt out everything. I felt so awful about fucking a random guy because I was upset about what was going on here home.”

  When he stops, I ask if he’s told Tate and Alec yet. I’ve never known the intimate details of their relationship, but Richard’s urgent confession suggests that his tryst with Adam’s nephew was a hush-hush escapade.

  “I haven’t told them,” he says quietly. “But the guilt is killing me. Even though most people would consider our situation really untraditional, we still pledged to be exclusive to our little tribe.”

  “I guess some pledges are easily broken,” I say.

  Richard sighs. “I suppose so. And even though I never wanted to be that guy, here I am.”

  26

  ▬ ☼ ▬

  ADAM

  “Mrs. Banes finally approved the marble for the kitchen countertop and backsplash,” Charlotte announces with a dazzling smile. “Do you know long we waited for that decision?”

  I shake my head.

  Her mouth curls into a grin. “I thought so,” she says, raising one brow. “We don’t even have a client named Banes.”

  “Then why did she tell you what marble she wants in the kitchen?”

  “No, you big goose,” Charlotte replies. “I was testing you.”

  I put down my phone. I’ve been staring at it for the past half hour, waiting to hear back from Nick about tonight. It feels like I’m sixteen again, back in high school and waiting for my crush to accept my invitation to the movies. I’ve been swinging all day between laughing at my jangling nerves and cursing my lack of maturity and confidence. I know that part of the anxiety is worrying that Nick will ask me again how I knew so much about him the night that we met. And dreading the possibility that he’ll get angry and walk away when he hears the truth.

  “Adam?”

  I sweep away the nattering worries and look up at Charlotte.

  “Sorry, Char. I’m a little scattered today.”

  She glares at me over the top of her glasses. “Today? You’ve been scattered since you met that boy.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “You’re right. I was just thinking about how ridiculous I’m acting.”

  “Ridiculous?” She frowns slightly. “What are you talking about?”

  I wave my hand over the folders, fabric samples and blueprints on my desk. “All of this work. We’ve got a dozen projects to complete, but I can’t focus on anything for more than a few minutes.”

  Charlotte sighs. “I think it’s kind of sweet. You haven’t been this happy for a very long time.”

  “I know, but—”

  She wags one finger. “None of that, please. You need to enjoy this, Adam. Love doesn’t come along—”

  Now I’m the one waving a hand. “Whoa, slow it down, sister. This is not love. I just met Nick.”

  She huffs. “Uh-huh. You just met him. But I’ve known you forever and a day. I know that twinkle. I know that goofy grin. And I know the jittery nerves.”

  “Well, thanks,” I say. “But we still have a business to run.”

  She looks at her phone. “And you still have a dinner to get ready for. It’s almost six. Are you going home to freshen up before you meet Nick?”

  “Not enough time,” I say. “I took a shower earlier at the gym after my swim. I should still be sparkling enough for dinner.”

  She walks closer, slips off her glasses and lifts her chin. “But what about after dinner?” she asks in a husky voice. “Are you clean enough for that?”

  27

  ▬ ☼ ▬

  NICK

  When I come around the corner from Hudson onto Barrow Street a few minutes before seven on Friday night, I keep reminding myself to slow down. But it’s impossible. I’ve been thinking about this moment since Adam invited me to dinner after our incredible interlude in his office.

  I was so anxious about the date that I enlisted Oliver’s help in getting dressed. He rejected everything in the closet until he spotted a pair of black gabardine pants.

  “Those are positively you!” he cheered, reaching for the hanger. “They’ll look amazing with that blue cashmere sweater on the shelf! They’re fashion forward, sleek, stylish and—”

  “And positively not me,” I told him. “Because they’re not mine. Those belong to David.” I studied the pants as Oliver held them up for inspection. “Or probably Luke, now that I see the inseam.”

  “If David’s the short one,” Oliver had sniffed, glancing at the label, “then these definitely belong to Luke.”

  We’d laughed about the difference in height between our two friends. On more than one occasion, strangers had assumed that David was Luke’s son because he was younger and shorter. They were thirty years apart in age, but ideally suited in every way to be partners. Or husbands, since they’d tied the knot a few days before leaving New York on a months-long trip around Europe.

  As I make my way down the tree-lined block, I imagine Adam standing in the foyer of his house after I arrive. What if he’s running late from work and answers the door in a bathrobe? I feel my cock jolt in my pants. Then I smile and wonder if we’ll even make it
to the restaurant. I can’t speak for him, but I’m so fucking horny that I’ll probably sink to my knees as soon as I hear the door close behind me.

  I dismiss the silly porn-influenced fantasy and check the address on the nearest house.

  “Fuck,” I whisper to myself. “I’m almost there. I don’t want to be early.”

  I turn around and walk toward Hudson. Before I reach the intersection, I pace back and forth, killing time and thinking about how nervous I feel and what I should say after Adam opens the door. When it’s almost seven, I head back toward his townhouse, walking at a slow pace so that I don’t seem too eager.

  When I reach his house, I stand in the middle of the sidewalk at the bottom of the front steps and gaze up at the four-story red brick building. The shutters and front door are painted a deep navy blue, there are pots of geraniums on either side of the entrance and a gleaming brass lamp hangs above the door.

  Classic and elegant, I think. With the window boxes and the—

  I abandon the thought when I see someone walk past the windows in what looks to be the living room. At first, I think it’s Adam because of the broad shoulders and close-cropped hair. But when I move closer to the front steps for a better look, I realize it isn’t him.

  Instead, it’s someone closer to my age, with a beard, narrow face and wide forehead. He’s wearing a tan jacket and striped polo with a backpack slung over one shoulder. An unlit cigarette is lodged behind his left ear and he’s swigging from a bottle of beer.

  Classy. Too cool for a glass. And he smokes. I thought Adam told me that he detests cigarettes.

  My mind goes blank when I finally see Adam. He moves into view, but he doesn’t notice me because he’s staring intently at the younger guy. They’re obviously having a heated conversation because at one point fingers are waved and arms start flying and faces become red.

  Who is this guy? Is it his ex? Is it just another boy that he’s fucking?

  I try to remember if Adam mentioned the name of his ex-boyfriend, but my mind is too busy whirring in circles to come up with a concrete answer.

  Something dark and menacing crosses Adam’s face as he seems to lecture the younger guy with an intensity that sends chills along my spine. I’ve only known him for a few days, and we’ve been together just twice, but I’m startled to see the jagged sneer that contorts his handsome features into an angry grimace.

  As I watch the exchange, I start to think that I can hear them, but then I realize the voices are coming from a group of people heading my way on the sidewalk. I wait until they walk past, taking a moment to offer a friendly nod. When I look at the window again, the intimidating snarl on Adam’s face is gone.

  While their conversation continues to cool, I keep my eyes pinned on the interaction. Between the now tender expressions and handful of times that Adam reaches out to touch the other man’s shoulder, there’s obviously a familiarity and warmth between them.

  Affection and warmth. Some kind of a connection. A shared history. But is it current or from the past?

  The longer I stand on the sidewalk, gazing into Adam’s living room window, the more my imagination starts to overheat. I imagine a dozen different scenarios, none of which calm the frantic dread that’s flooding my heart.

  What the fuck was I thinking? I fell for it. I fucking fell for it again. He lied to me about being single.

  I pull out my phone, send a text to Oliver to tell him what I just saw and invite him to meet for a drink. He tells me that he’s in the middle of something and will be back in touch as soon as possible. After that, I walk down the block and dial Dede’s office number.

  “Why are you calling me?” she asks. “I thought tonight was your big dinner with the sexy hunk.”

  I groan loudly. “It fucking was supposed to be tonight, but he’s inside with another guy.”

  “Inside the restaurant?” she asks.

  “His house,” I say, stepping off the curb to allow a woman and man to pass by. “We were meeting here before going around the corner for dinner.”

  “Well, who is it?”

  “I have no fucking idea,” I tell her. “But they were hugging.”

  “And?” Dede sounds calm and reasonable; the perfect counterbalance to my skittering nerves. “Can’t two friends hug?”

  “But that’s just it!” I say. “It didn’t look like a friendly hug. There’s definitely something between them.”

  “Well, then fucking march up to the door and ring the bell,” she says firmly. “There’s no need to torture yourself like this, sweetheart.”

  “It doesn’t feel like torture,” I tell her. “It feels…inevitable. I swear to God, Dede. All men are pigs!”

  She chuckles. “You’re not. And Oliver isn’t.”

  “Okay, so maybe there are two exceptions to the rule. What I’m saying is—”

  “Hang on!” she blurts. “I know what you’re saying. If Taylor cheated, every man will cheat. If he lied to you, then Adam’s not being truthful. And if the other guy in his house is a boyfriend or a trick or whatever, then the last thing that you need is another broken heart.”

  I don’t know if it’s what she intended, but I feel buoyed by Dede’s words. Like hearing her voice and getting her opinion was all that I needed to find my way forward.

  “I’m done,” I say after a few seconds trying to decide what I’m doing next. “I already called my old roommate. We’re meeting for a drink at the White Horse.”

  “Really?” Dede asks, sounding uncertain. “You don’t even want to ring the bell and find out for yourself?”

  “I’ve seen enough,” I answer. “Life’s too short for this bullshit.”

  She starts to say something more, but I cut her off. After thanking her for taking time to talk, I hang up, put the phone in my pocket and walk back to Adam’s house. I glance through the window just in time to see him hugging the bearded guy once more. The embrace is brief and tender, but lingers long enough to confirm my verdict.

  “Fuck you, Adam Coleman,” I hiss, scuffing the toe of my shoe against the sidewalk as I turn back toward Hudson Street. “I’m not doing this. If you want to lie and mislead people, that’s your choice. But I’m not going to play that game ever again.”

  28

  ▬ ☼ ▬

  ADAM

  After a nearly sleepless night spent staring at the ceiling and watching the clock crawl toward morning, I climb out of bed at eight on Saturday, hoping to find either a text or call from Nick. When he didn’t turn up at my house at seven last night, I left a note on the door and walked to the restaurant, hoping to find him sitting at the bar.

  It took me about ten seconds to realize that I still didn’t have his number. For some idiotic reason, I didn’t ask for it as he was leaving my office on Wednesday. I checked the logs on my phone and the number that Nick called from the other day is a pizza joint. I left a couple of messages there late last night, but never heard back. Probably because I sounded like a lunatic. “My name is Adam Coleman and I’m trying to reach Nick…” I hung up at that point because I also realized that I don’t know his fucking last name.

  “You’re an idiot, Coleman,” I mutter as I head for the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. “A scatterbrained fool who was so excited to hook up with Nick that you forgot to ask for his last name.”

  While the coffee maker starts to sputter, I sit down at the table and open my laptop. I’ll check email again—for probably the twentieth time since returning home last night. I keep hoping that Nick found my address on the company website and wrote a note to explain why he didn’t want to have dinner.

  Because that’s obviously why I didn’t hear from him. He changed his mind and decided to ghost me instead of being a man about it.

  The little fucker.

  Coward.

  Asshole.

  I keep cursing and fuming until I scroll through the inbox a few times and realize that there’s nothing from Nick. No call. No note. Not even a fucking text from his p
hone.

  After reading a couple of work emails, I decide that it’s probably late enough in the morning that someone will be at the pizzeria. I confirm the theory a few minutes later when I dial the number and a woman answers.

  “Trattoria Roma,” she says. “Dede speaking.”

  For a split second, a spark of fear rises in my throat. This is insane. Hang up the phone. Stop being so desperate. Maybe it wasn’t a matter of Nick ghosting me. Maybe he was—

  “Hello?” the woman says. “I can hear you breathing.”

  “Uh, sorry about that.” My cheeks get hot. “Is Nick there by any chance?”

  I wait for twenty or thirty seconds before repeating myself.

  “I heard you the first time,” the woman says scornfully. “Is this Adam?”

  Fuck. She knows my name. She’s heard my stupid message from last night.

  “It is,” I say. “Adam Coleman.”

  “Aha!” she exclaims. “The asshole himself, huh?”

  I flinch at the remark. “I beg your pardon.”

  “No need to,” she says. “And we’ve got nothing to talk about. I’m not wasting my time on the jerk that lied to my friend.”

  The remark hits like a ragged slap on the face. I didn’t lie to anyone. What the fuck is she talking about?

  “Excuse me? I have no idea what you’re—”

  “Save it, bud,” she snaps. “Nick called me last night. He told me all about coming by your place for dinner and seeing you basically maul some other guy in your living room. The fact that you didn’t have the balls to tell him you were already involved with another man is all the proof I need to tell you to fuck off and stay away from Nick. He was almost over the last asshole that broke his heart. But then along came Big Adam, another one of the many jerks who think they can—”

  “That’s enough!” I finally shout. “I don’t know where you get off thinking that you can lecture me, lady. I have no fucking clue what you’re going on about.”