by Damon Suede
Security guards joined the socialite tug of war now and herded the angry couple out the side door. The Balenciaga woman cursed Andy over her shoulder all the way out, not bothering to cooperate or cover herself.
What did I just see? He couldn’t ask.
Instead of joining his slicko boss, Ruben stood to one side, watching the meandering guests with the dead-eyed concentration of a snake. He put crazy bids on a few more crappy prizes that guests had wisely avoided. He kinda loved the idea of getting Andy stuck with that fuck-ugly snowboard or a romantic safari to a miniature emu ranch. Ha-ha, twenty five grand.
Eventually Andy spotted him and drifted over, joining him under a sign for the “African Mammals Room.” Some kind of temporary disco throbbed inside.
Ruben peered through the arch and started to investigate, but stopped when he saw Andy’s grimace.
“White prep schoolers dancing. Abort, abort.” He shook his head and took Ruben’s bicep. His warm breath smelled like whiskey. His fingers didn’t let go of Ruben’s arm.
“Yes, sir.” Ruben chuckled. “You done all your hustling?” And who in hell was that dame? Ruben was dying for some kind of explanation, but obviously they were going to ignore the Balenciaga chick and her champagne freak-out.
“Mostly. I pledged a sum of money to them, but Stanley insists that donors come to these receptions. Publicity and all. Those balls aren’t gonna lick themselves.”
Ruben nodded. “Most these people look like they’d pay money to not come.”
“Yes and no.” Andy stepped closer to whisper, his chest brushing Ruben’s shoulder blade through the jackets. “Donors show up looking for other things: favors, husbands, dodgy attorneys. All the crap that requires face-to-face.”
“People.” Ruben smiled. Somehow he’d expected the upper crusties to live on a rarefied plane. Noble and strong. Cheaper clothes and sketchier locale and this could have been a tailgate party. “Everything’s the same all over. Everybody wants shit that isn’t theirs.”
Andy grunted and didn’t move back. His torso felt warm against Ruben’s back. “Monkeys with manners.”
“Bauer—” Ruben opened his mouth to say, You took the words—and stopped himself. The tickle of air at his ear made the hairs on his neck stand on end. Without thinking he asked his real question. “—you ever had a job-job? Like, working for someone else who’s not related.”
Andy looked startled and pleased. “My stepfather made me get a summer job after sophomore year in college. To keep me away from the house.” He peered up at his own eyebrows. “Mmmm. I worked in a bank for two months. Ugh.”
“Poor kid.”
“Yeah I know. But hey, I escaped the stepfucker. Short days and all the free pens I wanted.”
Ruben laughed, although it didn’t seem really funny. He knew Andy was joking for his benefit.
“Having serious money made everything tricky. You can’t talk to people. Everyone wants stuff.” Andy leaned even closer, his mouth an inch or two from Ruben’s ear. “Wealthy people think of themselves as a different species, though a lot have forgotten they do it.”
Ruben tried not to feel insulted. “And poor people are chimps.”
Andy frowned. “Other way round.”
“Howzat?”
“The rich are the damn monkeys. Only, we burned the jungle down, so we live in a glass box so homo sapiens can watch us dying out. We’re so slow and inbred, we’re practically extinct.” Andy scratched his scalp hard, setting his cowlick free.
Ruben refused to smooth it. He thrust his hands in his pockets. “You’re a nut.”
“Helped me survive fourteen years of prep school. And Columbia.” He didn’t sound happy about it.
“Everyone’s got their own shit sandwich to eat.” Ruben’s schooling had been public and sloppy. He’d scraped by with a C average, coasting on athletic ability and the piss-poor Florida standards. When he was growing up, the superintendents got indicted and replaced almost annually due to corruption. Education was something they’d survived.
“That’s the key thing.” Andy swung his arm toward the main doors and the street beyond. “The sweaty masses are way more clever and evolved. Opposable thumbs and hyoid bones. They adapt. They aren’t as inbred and stubborn. Like Clan of the Cave Bear. The Neanderthals all know they’re on the verge of extinction. So they set up these little enclaves and lure Daryl Hannah inside to nanny the brats and fix the air conditioning.”
“Bauer, just for the record: you’re one of them.” The shrieking champagne woman flashed before his eyes, bare breast and Balenciaga.
Andy blinked his big felt eyes. “You only assume that ’cause of my camouflage.”
“Okay. Yeah.” Ruben’s brow felt stern but he nodded. “A tribe. I get it.”
“That’s dying out. With all these rules. A hundred bucks says the lunatics harassing and attacking me were classmates, because they know the system from the inside. There’s nothing random here. They could be in this room.”
That seemed like a leap, but Ruben could see the logic. He eyed a pair of blonde debutantes drifting by with several thousand dollars’ worth of hand-tailored silk draped over bony magazine bodies.
“Which is why I wanted you here. Well, partly.” Andy shook his head firmly. “All I’m saying is, the Upper East Died thinks of the rest of the world as outsiders and tradition is everything. S’why they form clubs and committees and co-op boards. S’why they marry each other and buy the government. They huddle together and communicate in grunts and clicks while the Ice Age settles in around them and Daryl Hannah dates John-John then puts on her eyepatch to go Kill Bill.”
Ruben chuckled. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite.”
“Why? I didn’t say that I’m one of them; you did.” Andy’s blush caused two high, hard points of pink on his cheeks, like rouge spots on a marionette. “My father is sterile.”
That stopped Ruben cold.
“Radiation in college for testicular cancer. I found out by accident. I didn’t look anything like him anyways, so it wasn’t a complete shocker. He’s French and German, pretty dark.” He looked at Ruben’s skin, hair, eyes, but didn’t elaborate.
Noted.
“Then who was your real dad?”
“One of his partners? Chauffeur? Bodyguard? Who knows? Turns out Mom was a bit of a swinger back in the day. Coulda been the plumber. Or her plastic surgeon.”
“She told you this?”
“Not like… no. One of her nasty ‘friends’ said something to me in high school because I was dating her daughter at Exeter. Turned out everyone in Scarsdale knew I was the cuckoo’s egg. Worse, my stepfucker sold insurance. Kids acted like I was a convict.”
Ruben frowned. “Sucks.”
“Hardly! I’m grateful. All those inbred dickheads. I have a real chin, thick dick, and both my nuts still. I’m way smarter than Dad is. Besides, his name was on the certificate and all the checks, so… I got all kinds of shortcuts.”
“Lucky you.”
“I watched these inbred idiots my whole life. The guys squat in dark rooms looking for a tribe who speaks the same language. The wives barter for status, venture out to hunt, and gather shiny shit. But when they get robbed or conned, it’s terrifying to them because the earth isn’t flat and the sun doesn’t live in a cave.” Andy snorted. “Hell, that’s how Bernie Madoff happened.”
“Well, some of them think you’re one of them.”
“A few. I learned how to blend in. My parents taught me. Dorky cuckoo grows up to be an apex predator.”
Hence the company name. Ruben nodded. “Did you ever ask your mom?”
“Cilla?” Andy gave him a funny look and then busted out laughing. “Oh man. Oh Rube.” He snickered loudly. “You’re awesome. I love that.”
Other partygoers turned to look at them with gormless expressions. Ruben smiled uncomfortably, waiting for Andy to straighten up and pipe down.
Andy calmed down mostly, though a few stifled snorts slip
ped out. “My mother doesn’t like to refer to my birth in any way if she can help it. Cilla’s never put her hands in cold water. She hired caterers for dinner parties so the cook could go home.”
Ruben left for another soda water and pointedly did not refill Andy’s glass.
Gradually Andy grew more incautious. The drunker he got, the warmer and more expansive he became: loosening his tie, laughing too loud, and greeting the other party guests with a hug instead of shaking hands. He kept an arm draped over Ruben’s shoulder like they were brothers.
Ruben couldn’t tell what Andy was thinking, but caught himself staring at the handsome face as if it was a code that could be cracked.
“We should make an appearance at dinner.” Then Andy caught sight of a pretty, animated redhead wearing a dress with so many patterns she seemed to be drifting toward them. “Other way.”
Maybe another champagne assassin. “Ex-girlfriend?”
Andy grimaced. “Eesh. No. Her husband is on the board of Princeton. They want me to endow a chair.”
Ruben shrugged.
“Math Department, except Princeton and Columbia are rivals so fuck ’em.” Andy made his embarrassed face. “Colleges, not countries.”
Ruben said, “Yeah. Thanks.” Andy didn’t know he was being condescending, so taking offense seemed pointless.
The dinner was a sit-down snore under a life-size blue whale suspended from the ceiling. Taxidermy? No one looked up at the gigantic model but him.
Each table had place cards, but Ruben ignored that and took the seat against the wall. Dinner looked to be some type of creamy chicken with about three green beans angled across it. It looked fancy. It tasted like socks.
“I shoulda warned you. The food is usually Natural History too.” Andy considered his own plate of artful glop skeptically. “We’ll eat properly once we leave. Sushi. Steak. Tapas. Whatever you want.”
The other diners ate like it was delicious, chatting and clinking in the echoing hall. In a nearby wing, nineties dance music pumped dully.
Ruben caught a couple young bucks eying Andy like poison, but maybe that was payback for the shrieking champagne woman or even snobbery about his parentage. Everyone knew everyone in this room.
A murmur in his ear and the scent of fresh bread. “You spend your twenty-five?” Andy smelled better than the food.
He stiffened. “You mean your twenty-five. Yeah. I think so. Near enough.”
“Good man.” Andy patted his back then rubbed it in slow circles through the jacket. Petting me again.
To make space, Ruben stood and dropped his napkin, scanning the crowd. “I think maybe we ought to make an exit.”
Andy stood slowly. “Why?”
“We spent your fifty K, right? You saw your tribe and they saw you.”
“Boring, huh.”
“Not how I’d spend a Thursday night, no.”
Coming back into the gallery he put his face right at the nape of Ruben’s neck to whisper, “Le’s go, niño.”
Ruben rolled his shoulders as goosebumps crawled across him. The warm boozy exhale and the butterfly scrape of Andy’s dragged knuckles stood Ruben’s hair on end. He told himself it was just the sweet tang of alcohol calling to the drunk in him, but it was something more insidious; the intrusive chumminess didn’t make him feel lonely, but more as if Andy had noticed him out in the cold and wanted to help. Ruben’s grinding loneliness had gained a rich, handsome, drunken witness.
What did the other guests see in the corner? Two members of the same asshole club? Two unclaimed bachelors with fuck-you money? Two tame wolves circling a garden of sheep?
Ruben didn’t move away or tip closer. His face burned and his heartbeat seemed slow. And yes, that was wood in his fancy new trousers.
Jesus. What was wrong with him?
“S’matter?” Bauer squinted unsteadily at him, drunker than he’d seemed a few minutes ago. He stroked the side of Ruben’s neck with his fist.
Ruben frowned. To his credit, he didn’t step back. “’Cause I’m starving and you’re loaded. We stick around, you’re gonna end up married to one of these bony dames.”
“You wish.”
No, I don’t. That’s not what I wish at all.
OUTSIDE THE museum, Andy tried to send the car away. “Night’s too nice.” He thumped on the hood. The Israeli driver wavered, gripping the door’s handle with loose fingers.
Ruben caught up. “You’re sloshed.”
As soon as he said it, he heard Peach’s menthol drawl in his head. It’s a mug’s game, kiddo. He’ll get high before you’ll get him sober.
Arguing with a happy drunk made Ruben feel like apologizing to all of South Florida for forcing them to put up with him for four decades. How was he supposed to force his drunken boss into the car without making a scene? He liked Andy a lot, respected him and trusted him. They weren’t friends but they were friend-ly, right? Too friendly, then. Ruben could no longer control the situation adequately. Time to quit this shit.
Ruben nodded to the driver, who popped open the sedan door with a polite, “Mr. Bauer.” One advantage of their cover story: a public bodyguard couldn’t give orders, but if they were “friends” then Ruben didn’t have to get mugged in the park if he didn’t feel like it.
Andy rubbed at his nose with numb roughness. “S’right across the park. We can walk.”
Peach was right, he did know this song. By heart. “I can’t.”
“Trees.” Whatever that meant. Andy obviously disagreed.
“Yeah.”
“Shhh’p.” The sound didn’t seem like a word, and Andy didn’t clarify.
“Wallet’s at home, bub. What’ll I give the muggers?” Ruben shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the seat. If he had to lift his boss into the car he would.
Exiting couples waved at them, but Andy, shifting unsteadily in the gutter, paid no attention to them. He stared at Ruben, asking a silent, inscrutable question with his thick eyebrows. The chauffeur pretended to be deaf.
If Andy was one of his friends in Miami, Ruben would have smacked his head and left him there on the corner to find his own way across the park. If Andy had been some insulting drunk tourist, Ruben could’ve decked him and slung him across the seat, ladling “Aww, man” apologies over him. If Andy was family, he’d have machoed his way through, crossed his arms and growled till he got his way. If Andy had been a chick, Ruben could’ve flirted and wheedled him into the vehicle, charm-bullying him into submission and manhandling him to keep the peace.
None of the above.
Andy laughed at something and teetered on the curb. His tousled hair gleamed like brandy under the sodium street lamps.
Makes no sense.
Ruben regarded his boss carefully, from a yard away. “Tell you what, buddy. You still feel like walking once you’re home, we can stroll down Park Avenue.” Never happen, but whatever treacherous hope lived in him wished they could stretch their legs under the shadowy trees where no one would see.
Andy screwed up his face like a teenager, about to bitch and groan no doubt, but something stopped him before he could. He straightened. “Right.” He unleashed a lottery-winner smile.
“What? It’s a date.”
“It’s a deal. You sold me, Oso.”
Ruben caught the driver looking at him and flicked his eyes skyward as if to commiserate: rich assholes. Then he stopped himself. This Israeli kid didn’t know Ruben was in on the joke because he saw Ruben as another rich asshole.
Without further protest, Andy slid smoothly into the town car and dropped his head back on the leather seat. “Well?”
“Well.” Ruben walked around the car, not waiting for Eli to trot over and open the door, and climbed inside.
The driver started the engine and pulled into traffic, headed for Eighty-First. “The club?”
“No, Eli.” Andy raised his voice to speak through the partition. “The Seventy-Ninth transverse. Early night, I guess.” He pressed something and the
privacy glass slid up, hiding them from the front seat. The shark-Andy had swum away, again leaving the ragdoll.
The traffic sliced into the trees, black and pewter through the tinted glass.
When Ruben rolled his head on the seat, he caught Andy grinning crookedly at him.
“Thanks for all the song and dance in there, my man. You were great tonight.”
“Yeah. I dunno.” He stared through the windows at nothing, anything.
“Hunnerd percent. They all loved you.” Andy grunted. “Good job, Oso.”
Ruben wished for a cigarette. He wished he didn’t want one. “You’re hammered.”
“Not even close. Just relaxed.” His eyes drooped happily.
What Ruben needed was a shower and about thirty feet and steel beams between him and Andy Bauer.
“But—”
“Relax.” Andy flicked his arm with a finger. “You’ve got it covered.”
“I do. Says you.” Instead of retaliating or reacting, Ruben laced his fingers together in his lap, conscious of Andy’s splayed legs bumping against his as the car curved through the dark trees.
How could it only have been a week? Joking and bickering like this, smiling and snapping at each other, they sounded like… something else.
I like this guy way too much.
Central Park watched them through the tinted glass.
“Suit looks great, Señor Oso.” Andy coughed. “Me parece increíblemente guapo.”
Whatever that meant, it sounded positive. Ruben blinked and turned, drunk on the attention. Greedy for it. “Yeah, okay. I don’t habla español.”
Andy checked out Ruben’s shoulder, the legs, the glossy loosened tie. “Means handsome.” It came out a whisper and Andy looked away out the windows.
Uh. “Thanks.” His heart thumped blindly in his chest. Any second it would stumble and knock something breakable over and smash it to pieces. “You got good taste, Bauer.” Too fast, too fast.
