Dirty Secrets Social Club

by Jo Adler

  “That’s bullshit! Nick saw you through the window last night. He got to your block a couple of minutes before seven. He didn’t want to seem overly anxious, so he paced around a few doors down from your house. And when he finally went the rest of the way to your place, he saw you in the front room with a random guy.”

  In a flash, I realize what she’s telling me. Nick saw Liam. And Nick’s last boyfriend cheated on him. So with that as his most recent romantic history, it makes sense that he would be especially wary with someone new. It also helps explain why he might jump to conclusions based on the fact that we barely know one another and he saw me hugging Liam.

  “I can explain all of that,” I say quickly.

  The woman scoffs. “Uh-huh,” she says. “Guys like you can always do that.”

  “But I’m serious,” I tell her. “Nick saw my nephew last night. Not my boyfriend. Not some random hookup from Grindr. That was my nephew. And Liam’s been going through a really rough patch lately. He came by last night to tell me that he’d decided to check himself into rehab.”

  “Why should I believe you?” she asks.

  “Because it’s the truth,” I say. “Why would I lie about something like that?”

  She laughs. “Look, buddy. I don’t know you. But I do know Nick. Actually, let me step back. I love Nick. He’s like the younger brother that I never had. And whenever he’s hurting, I’m hurting, too. Which is where he’s at right now. He’s hurting. And he’s also confused. Because he met a guy that he really liked. And even though we’ve talked about this almost every day, he fell hard and fast. For you, asshole. And what do you do?” She pauses. “Well, I think we’re back to the beginning, so I’ll let you figure out what comes next.”

  When the call drops, I hear a muffled scratching sound and then silence.

  “Fucking bitch,” I mutter, dialing the number again.

  When she doesn’t answer, I decide that I can ignore the situation and hope that I hear from Nick. Or I can Google the pizzeria’s address and go talk to the woman face-to-face later in the day.

  “Plan B,” I say to the empty room. “I’ll go over and try again. But let’s hope that she’s a bit more civil in person.”

  29

  ▬ ☼ ▬

  NICK

  “Hey, sunshine!” Oliver says when I wander into the kitchen around noon. “How’d you sleep?”

  I shrug, drop into a chair and reach for his coffee. After a hesitant sip, I push it back across the table.

  “That’s cold.” I point at the cup. “Is there any that’s hot?”

  He pulls a face. “Not unless you make it. But we do have this thing called a microwave. You’re gonna love it!” He spins around and points at the appliance on the counter. “It’s like magic, babe. You put the cup inside, close the door, punch a couple of buttons and— voilà—it’s steaming hot again!”

  I glare at Oliver, flexing the muscles in my jaw to convey the simple fact that I’m not in the mood for his usual brand of bitchy theatrics. He stares at me for a moment, the customary smirk quivering briefly before melting into a soft grin. Before I can say anything, he’s up and out of the chair. With a few deft moves, all of which he narrates in his warbly Katharine Hepburn voice, he starts a second pot of coffee before returning to the table with a box of maple walnut scones and a clean plate.

  “There you are, Your Royal Highness,” he quips with a frothy chuckle. “The coffee won’t take but a minute or two, so here’s something to nibble in the meantime. What else can I bring for you?”

  I manage a smile. “How about a cure for the blues?”

  “Now that I can help with,” he says quickly. “Do you want that remedy to be medicinal, spiritual or from Saks Fifth Avenue?”

  I fold my arms on the table and put my head down. “Let’s start with drugs,” I grumble. “Then go on to more drugs. And then finish with shopping.”

  He sits beside me and drapes an arm over my shoulders. “What’s going on?” His voice lowers into a softer, gentler tone. “You really do sound troubled. Did something happen?”

  I lift my head. “It’s actually the exact opposite; something didn’t happen. Specifically, Adam and I didn’t have dinner last night because he—”

  “Wait!” Oliver calls. “Let me guess! The date was canceled because you found out that Adam’s married, lives in Westchester and has two kids along with a picket fence, a maid named Hazel and a—”

  “Fuck!” I scream, slamming one hand on the table. “Can’t you take any fucking thing seriously?”

  He puckers his lips. “Very rarely,” he admits. “My shrink said that making bad jokes is how I handle stress.”

  “Really? I always thought you did that with champagne and spending someone else’s money.”

  He winces. “Ouch! That’s a little too close to home, babe.”

  “I’m kidding, you silly twit. I love you like a brother.”

  “And we always hurt the ones we love, right?” Oliver sighs loudly before slumping down further in his chair. “But enough about me. What’s going on with you and Adam?”

  “Didn’t you catch that already? The answer is nothing. Nothing’s going on. I went to his place last night, as planned, and he was hugging a hot guy in his living room.”

  Oliver’s eyes go wide. “Oh, fuck.” He covers his mouth with one hand. “I forgot to text you back, didn’t I?”

  I smile.

  “Fuck,” Oliver says.

  “Exactly,” I say. “Fuck. As in, fuck him. And I’ll never fucking meet an honest person. And I’m fucking over the whole concept of happily ever after.”

  Oliver giggles. “Well, considering that they’re about as real as unicorns, it’s good to cross that bullshit off your list as soon as possible. Personally, I knew at a very early age that there is no such thing as unconditional love and undying devotion.”

  He’s smiling, but there’s deep pain in his voice. I’ve seen Oliver in nearly every emotional state known to mankind, but the genuine ache and sorrow in his eyes leaves me speechless for a few moments.

  “You’ve never told me that before,” I say finally.

  “Because you never asked,” Oliver replies, sounding genuinely mournful. “But, as I said a moment ago, enough about me. What are you going to do—”

  “Oh, not so fast, Your Royal Whineness! Why are you so convinced that love isn’t in the cards for you?”

  He clears his throat. “Uh, hello! Don’t you remember my mother and father? It was like growing up with Attila the Hun and The Bride of Frankenstein for parents.”

  “Oh, c’mon! They weren’t that bad.”

  “Not to the outside world,” he says. “But once the door closed and it was just us, they were…” His voice cracks. “…they were not nice, okay? And I really don’t want to get into the whole Dr. Phil and Judge Judy portion of my tale of woe. Tell me more about what happened with Adam.”

  “There’s not much more to it,” I say. “I saw him hugging this guy, so I left.”

  “I didn’t think Adam was home when you went by,” Oliver says. “Isn’t that what your text said last night?”

  “I lied.” I turn away and look through the window. “I was so freaked out that I didn’t want anyone to know.”

  He laughs. “And now that it’s a new day, you’re ready to talk?”

  I shake my head.

  “Maybe call the bastard to get his side of the story?” Oliver adds.

  “Not a chance.” I glance back at him again. “I’m not interested in hearing some pathetic excuse.”

  He cocks his head. “But how do you know that’s what he’ll tell you? Maybe there’s an innocent explanation for what you saw through the window.”

  “Not interested,” I say. “After what happened with Taylor, I promised myself that I would never go down that road again.”

  I wait for Oliver to challenge the declaration. But instead of saying something sassy, he gets up, pours coffee into two cups and bring them to the ta
ble.

  “As promised,” he says.

  “Thank you for listening to me,” I reply. “I don’t know how I’d get through this shit without you.”

  “I do.” He flashes a megawatt smile. “It’s called Xanax. But since a prescription is required, I suggest lots of chocolate and shopping as a suitable alternative.”

  For the next few minutes, we drink coffee and slip into a comfortable silence. Oliver pages through the Post, giggling about a couple of Page Six items that involve so-called housewives from one of the reality shows that he worships. After the caffeine starts to connect with my sluggish bits and pieces, I open the SilverFox app on my phone and start going through profiles for new members.

  “What are you doing today?” he asks.

  I think for a few seconds. “Working for Dede tonight. That’s all I know so far.”

  His eyes spark. “How about we really do go shopping then? My mom’s birthday is coming up. There’s a sample sale at the Derek Lam store in Soho. Maybe I can snag something delicious for her at a bit more affordable price.”

  “I don’t know what that is,” I say, scanning the SilverFox profiles.

  “What what is?” Oliver sniffs. “Affordable or Derek Lam?”

  “Don’t be a dick,” I mumble. “You know what I meant.”

  I flip my eyes up for a second, give him a wink and then go back to the pictures of older hunks. When I spot an especially handsome guy with buzzed gray hair and tattoos encircling one bicep, I put down the phone. The last thing that I need to see this morning is anything that reminds me of Adam.

  30

  ▬ ☼ ▬

  ADAM

  I check the time on my phone. It’s half past five, so either Nick is running exceptionally late or he called in sick for his Saturday night shift at the pizzeria. I’ve been sitting in the coffee shop across the street for the past hour, hoping to catch him before he starts work.

  And say what?

  The question has been rolling around my brain since I talked to his friend Dede earlier. She was cold and aloof as I repeated my story about Liam. I think she was shocked that I’d taken the time to visit her pizzeria and have a chat about Nick. For the first few minutes, she was vague and hostile, answering questions with nods or muttered one-word replies. But when I mentioned that Liam was leaving for rehab in California, her tone softened a bit. Apparently, Dede’s sister struggles with addiction, so the subject was more than a little familiar. After we went back and forth with a few stories about how drugs and alcohol have impacted our friends and family members, Dede told me that Nick was working for her that night.

  “I can tell him that you stopped by,” she’d added. “Although he can be a stubborn man. Once he makes up his mind about something, it’s usually a done deal.”

  “Maybe so,” I’d replied. “But I’m not walking away with at least making an attempt to talk.”

  She’d smiled and wished me good luck. After that, I went out and wandered around the Village, gazing blankly into shop windows and strolling along the crowded sidewalks until returning to the coffee shop across from the pizzeria.

  And say what?

  I don’t owe Nick and apology. I did nothing wrong. Based on what I learned from Dede, he’s so gun-shy about dating and romance and relationships that seeing me with Liam was enough to send him scrambling in the opposite direction.

  And say what?

  I’m still trying to answer the question when I see Nick drift around the corner and head for the pizza place. He’s walking slowly enough that I make it out the door of the coffee shop and across the street before he gets to work. When I call his name, his stride slows, but he doesn’t stop.

  “I can’t talk now,” he says.

  I smile. “I can see that you’re in a hurry. Maybe just two minutes?”

  He bites the inside of one cheek as he glares at me. “How’d you find me?”

  “From when we talked yesterday,” I answer. “I didn’t have your cell number, but I looked at the incoming call logs on my phone.”

  A short-lived smile comes and goes. “Smart,” Nick says. “I didn’t think of that.”

  “So you’re going to work?” I motion toward the awning above Dede’s storefront. “Vegan pizzas, huh?”

  He leers at me angrily. “Did you want something?”

  I jam both hands into my pockets, feeling apprehensive and exposed as I realize that Nick isn’t exactly greeting me with open arms.

  “I thought you said that you’re an artist,” I say.

  Nick’s eyes taper into a cold glare. “And I thought you told me that you’re not dating anybody.”

  “That’s true,” I say. “There’s no one in my life at the moment. I’ve been single for the past six months.”

  He smiles. “More like the past six hours maybe.”

  I understand his anger better than he knows. Although we skimmed over the subject of betrayal and heartbreak the other night, I’ve been hurt more than once. And although people look at me and think that I’m somehow impervious to pain because I’m tall and brawny, invisible scar tissue twines around my heart just as I know it envelopes Nick’s.

  “That wasn’t my boyfriend,” I say, cutting to the chase instead of easing into the explanation. “It was my nephew.”

  He gradually slows to a stop. “Sure, that sounds reasonable,” he says, turning to face me. “And I’ll bet that some guys would totally believe you. But I’ve been burned before and—”

  “Hold on,” I say, grabbing his hand. “I’m telling you the truth. His name is Liam. He’s my sister’s son. After a long run of bad luck and bad choices, he’s decided to try rehab. He came by unannounced last night to tell me the news.”

  My heart is thudding in my chest when I finish. I suddenly feel like I’ve been dropped into a surreal dream; as if I can see Nick and me from overhead while still standing right next to him on the sidewalk. There are a few seconds of silence when I hope that one of his dazzling, infectious smiles will appear, but the hope is flattened by reality.

  “Yeah,” Nick grumbles. “Well, good luck to your nephew. I’m already late for work, so I gotta run.”

  Before he starts to walk away, I tighten my grip on his hand. “Just one more thing,” I say. “I’ll respect whatever you decide. But what I just told you is the truth. I can’t do or say anything more than that. I just wanted a chance to tell you in person so there wouldn’t be any question about what happened or who you saw me with last night.”

  “Thanks,” he says, looking at my hand. “But I really need to clock in for work.”

  “Sure, I get it.” I loosen my grip and his hand falls away. “But if you change your mind later, I’ll be home. Maybe we can finally go out to dinner and just talk.”

  31

  ▬ ☼ ▬

  NICK

  After finishing my shift at Dede’s, I head back to the apartment. But when I walk by Julius’ on Tenth, someone taps on the window. It’s another Colorado native, a guy named Lionel who’s in rehearsals for his first Off-Broadway play. He waves me inside, so I retrace my steps and go inside the crowded bar.

  “You looked so glum,” he says after a long hug. “I had to say hello and see what’s wrong.” He pauses, offering another cheery grin. “So? What’s wrong?”

  Instead of answering the question, I ask about his boyfriend. Lionel and Harrison both arrived in Manhattan on the same day. They met at JFK while waiting for a taxi into the city. One shared cab ride led to a drink the next night which led to a romance that’s so sweet it makes most people either gloriously happy for the two men or deliriously jealous.

  “Harrison’s fine,” says Lionel. “But you’re not, Nicky. What’s up?”

  “Nothing.”

  He clucks his tongue. “You are the world’s worst liar. It’s like that thing when someone always loses at poker. Where they have like a facial tic or particular eye movement that gives them away.”

  I blink and roll my eyes above an exaggerate
d lopsided grin. “I’m one big facial tic, as you can see. But everything’s fine.”

  He puts down his beer, circles my neck loosely with both hands and pantomimes the act of strangulation.

  “You are one of the most frustrating people that I know,” he says derisively. “I’m going to ask one more time, okay? And when I finish the question, I expect an honest answer.”

  I lean against the bar, wait for him to repeat the same two-word inquiry and then plaster a goofy grin on my face.

  “What’s up?” I say rhetorically. “It’s the same old song and dance. I met someone. I liked him. And he turned out to be a fraud.”

  Lionel’s forehead creases with concern. “I’m sorry to hear that, buddy. Where’d you meet this schmuck?”

  I glance away. “Doesn’t matter. He’s not who I thought he was.”

  “No, seriously,” Lionel says, leaning closer. “Where was it?”

  “A private club on the Upper East Side.”

  His mouth squirms. “Ooh la la! The Dirty Secrets one?” He pauses to wait for a nod. “Wow, Nick! I’ve heard some pretty hot stories about that place. Did you spend any time in the dungeon?”

  I shake my head.

  “What about the fancy suites upstairs?”

  I smile. “Maybe a couple of minutes.”

  “Holy fuck! My friend Joseph told me about a threesome that he did there with these two daddy bears. They’re married and everything, but want a cub to move into their place at Saranac Lake.”

  “How nice for your friend Joseph,” I say with a meager laugh. “I hope he’s very happy up in the country.”

  Lionel smirks. “Oh, Joseph’s not moving anywhere. He loves the city too much. But he did enjoy being sandwiched between the two burly balls of fur all night.”

  “That’s cool. It’s actually a pretty great place; very chic and spacious with a killer art collection and some very hunky bartenders.”

  “No doubt.” Lionel arched one brow. “And some very hot daddies, I imagine.”