Undue Influence

by Jenny Holiday

  Before, there hadn’t been any difference, with Freddy and him, between what was on the surface and what was on the inside. That was the amazing thing about Freddy. Adam could show him his true self, and Freddy reciprocated. It was simple, but it was revolutionary.

  “Are you breaking up with me?” He hated how pitiful his voice sounded, but it did a pretty good job communicating the misery in his heart.

  “No.” Any relief Adam felt was short-lived when Freddy added, “I’m asking you to make a choice.” Freddy did sit then, leaning against the wall and taking Adam’s hand as Adam struggled to breathe. He spoke extremely gently. “What I mean is I’m tired of all this sneaking around. Why are we hiding? We’re both out.”

  “It’s complicated. The thing with my family is—”

  “I get that. I really do. But in some ways, it’s not complicated. It’s getting cold. What are we going to do when winter really hits? Build an igloo?”

  Adam couldn’t really argue with that, even if he had been able to breathe.

  “It’s not just that,” Freddy went on. “I want you to make as much noise as you want to when I blow you. I want blow you under the blinding sun of high noon.”

  Despite the cold, Adam’s cheeks heated.

  “Hell, I want to go stomp on some fucking grapes with you under the blinding sun of high noon—that’s how far gone I am over you. Remember that time we got coffee after I brought my car to the garage?”

  He did. That day had marked the beginning of Rusty’s suspicions regarding Freddy.

  “Or that time you delivered my car and we grabbed dinner? I want to do that again. Without an excuse.”

  “I thought about moving out,” Adam said quietly. “About getting an apartment.”

  “You did?” They only had the dim illumination of the flashlight, but Adam could tell that Freddy’s face had lit up. He was surprised, in addition to delighted, which stung a little. But it shouldn’t have, because what Adam was going to say next would be a return to form in Freddy’s eyes. “I decided I can’t afford it.”

  “Financially?” Smart Freddy knew there were so many layers here.

  “Partially,” Adam whispered.

  If he moved out, he’d lose his job and hence his income. But he would also lose his family and, more important, his only real friend in this town. His only, and long-trusted, safety net. And since his big confrontation with Rusty, a little voice inside Adam had been asking What if he’s right? Adam didn’t have any experience with relationships, but everything he’d heard or read suggested that they did cool off over time. Did he really want to risk everything—give up everything—for Freddy so early in their relationship?

  The way Freddy’s face had crumpled told Adam that he understood what Adam had meant when he said, “Partially.”

  “Look.” Freddy heaved a sigh and met Adam’s gaze. “I didn’t think I would ever say this, because you know how much I love you. I always thought I would do anything for you. Walk miles out of my way. Stop smoking. Arrange the world however you like it.” He pulled his hand from Adam’s grasp, and if Adam had felt earlier like he couldn’t breathe, now it was like thousands of tiny needles were piercing his deflated lungs.

  “But I can’t anymore.” Freddy’s voice cracked, and so did Adam’s heart, joining the carnage in his chest. “So you have to choose. Me or them.”

  “Them?” Adam wasn’t sure why he was asking. He knew what Freddy meant.

  “Your family. Rusty.” He shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. Whoever has you so afraid to live your life the way you want to. The people you’re hiding me from.”

  Hiding. Adam gasped, and something sharp and cold sliced through him. The truth had a way of doing that. “Why can’t we just figure out a way through the winter?” he pleaded. If he just had some more time, he could be sure this was real. That it would last. That it was worth risking everything for. “And then next summer, I can—”

  Freddy silenced Adam by holding up a hand. “I don’t have much. I know that. I don’t have money. I don’t have an education. I know what people say about me.” His voice wavered as he spoke. He paused and swallowed, and it sounded stronger when he continued. “The one thing I do have, have always had, is pride.”

  Adam knew what was coming, and he couldn’t stop a tear from falling. Then another.

  Freddy smiled sadly and cradled Adam’s cheeks in his hands, using his thumbs to brush away his tears. “I would give up anything for you—except that.” Then Freddy took his hands off Adam’s cheeks, and Adam wanted to wail. He was being un-claimed. “I won’t keep doing this. If you want me, we’re not hiding anymore. I understand that might cost you, and I’ll help you bear that cost. It’s also possible that it won’t be as bad as you think, that they’ll come around. Regardless, I’m not spending the winter huddling in this barrel room. So, choose.”

  That last sentence was tinged with a harshness he’d never heard from Freddy.

  The thing was, Adam knew his family wouldn’t come around like they had last time, with his sexuality. And Rusty. Rusty didn’t “come around.”

  “I’m sorry,” Adam said, trying to make his voice sound clear, even, to prevent the fear that was behind this decision from coming through. He should at least own his shame. He reached inside his shirt and pulled out Freddy’s ring. He worked the chain over his head.

  Freddy must have known what he intended, because he shook his head. “I don’t want it back.”

  “I can’t just keep it. You made this.”

  “I made it for you.”

  “You didn’t even know me when you made it.”

  Freddy shrugged, like that was a minor detail. Like the reality of time and space didn’t apply to them.

  Hadn’t applied to them—past tense.

  “You can break up with me,” Freddy said, “But you can’t make me take that ring back.”

  And, then, chivalrous to the end, Freddy leaned over and kissed Adam on the cheek, got up, and left.

  Present day

  “It’s not the whole symphony, Mother.” Adam tried not to visibly roll his eyes. “The entire New York Philharmonic isn’t going to come up here.”

  “It’s merely a chamber ensemble,” William said smoothly, pulling his car—he was driving all three Elliots to the concert—up to a gated compound and rolling down the window to speak to a man in the guardhouse.

  “That’s a subset of the whole orchestra,” Adam translated, knowing that chamber ensemble wasn’t something that would have any meaning to his mother and sister despite their aspirations. He twisted around to find her glaring at him. She’d insisted he sit up front with William, doing an embarrassing amount of theatrical wink-winking as the foursome prepared to depart.

  She huffed at him. She hated being called out on lack of rich-people knowledge, but Adam figured it was better—for both of them—than if she embarrassed herself later.

  “This place is certainly grand enough to house the entire New York Philharmonic,” William said placatingly, pulling ahead after having received clearance from the guard.

  “Do you think Gwyneth will be here?” Betsy asked.

  “I’m afraid not,” William said. “I’ve heard from a friend in the catering business that she’s not in town.”

  Betsy pouted.

  How had Adam ended up here? How was this his life?

  They left the car with a valet, the irony of which was not lost on Adam.

  The long path to the main house was lined with lanterns made from paper bags with candles in them, and as they started out on foot, William put his hand on Adam’s lower back. He’d been doing that more and more lately. It was awkward. Adam didn’t want it there, but unlike if William had tried to take his hand, he couldn’t avoid it. The only way to escape was to walk faster than William, and Adam, though he loved walking, wasn’t physically capable of that. So he was stuck.

  He wondered if William had considered that.

  He assumed not, because otherwise he w
ouldn’t be doing it.

  Or maybe he would. After all, the world was not exactly teeming with kind, considerate men who made the comfort of others a priority.

  In other words, there was only one Freddy.

  “Freddy! You came!”

  Bronwen Worthington-Ware air-kissed Freddy as he made his way into an enormous ballroom-type space in her house.

  Bronwen and her husband were regulars at the restaurant back in the city, and when she’d heard Freddy was in the Hamptons, she’d been generous with invitations and introductions.

  He’d been using her, in truth. He’d told her this was a research trip, that he was thinking of opening a place here. He figured that by saying that, it might become true. That he could somehow make his trip here about that and not about Adam. As long as he did stuff—other stuff—he could justify his continued presence in the Hamptons.

  So he was careful to ask Bronwen lots of questions about things like which restaurants in the area had been most enduringly successful. Did she think there was room for another seafood-heavy place, or should they branch out into something else?

  She had embraced his phantom project with enthusiasm, meeting him to dine at various spots, introducing him to friends, and inviting him to her house.

  “I have to run off to make sure the musicians have everything they need,” she said, “but after the performance, I want to introduce you to a few people. There’s a winemaker here from the island—William Ellison.” She wrinkled her nose a little. “Probably you’d only be interested in his stuff for the lower end of your list, or if you want to do a cutesy, down-market, all-local list, but it can’t hurt to meet him.” She grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing server and handed it to him. “Enjoy the music!”

  He made his way deeper into the space, deflecting a seemingly endless parade of appetizers from passing waiters. Caviar and crème fraîche on toasted rye, lobster salad on endive, bacon-wrapped filet mignon bites. It was probably all delicious. Locally sourced and impeccably pedigreed.

  It just made him tired.

  The room was full of shiny people. They were sleek and polished and rich. They gathered in small clusters, mindlessly tossing back booze and those perfect canapés. Sometimes one of them threw a head back and laughed uproariously. It was like watching a nature documentary.

  He didn’t belong here.

  And it wasn’t because of his modest background. It wasn’t the same feeling he’d always had as a kid in Bishop’s Glen that his poverty or his lack of a father or his rough edges made him an outsider.

  No, it was more that he didn’t like these people. Which probably wasn’t fair. Individually, many of them were no doubt fine. Bronwen, for instance, was friendly and insightful, and he enjoyed her company. And even collectively, these were the kind of people who ate at Captain’s. If he’d been serious about opening a second place here, these exact people would be his customers. And because chefs—especially celebrity chefs—commanded a certain amount of respect, they would welcome him into their lives.

  He just suddenly…wasn’t interested in them. In feeding them or being one of them.

  Or talking to them. So he took a seat near the back and on an aisle that ran along a side wall. Maybe some high culture would chill him out a little. Though this kind of music was more something Adam would enjoy. Freddy would take the Rolling Stones over chamber music any day. But as with Adam’s costume dramas, Freddy suspected that if he kept an open mind, he’d probably enjoy the concert more than he might expect.

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  The voice had come from behind him. He whirled.

  As he did so, Adam, who’d sunk into the row behind him did a weird sort of ducking move. “I’m trying to hide.” He twisted a little more. It was like he was trying to keep Freddy’s body between him and the crowd.

  Freddy allowed himself to be used thusly as he scanned the room. He caught sight of Wilhelmina and Betsy standing near the edge of a clump of people, one of whom he recognized as a minor Hollywood starlet.

  He wasn’t sure how he felt about Adam right at the moment. He was mad at him, he supposed, but that wasn’t really fair. Adam didn’t owe him anything—anymore. But as he watched Wilhelmina throw her head back and laugh, he did find himself sort of sympathetic to Adam’s plight. His mother was mimicking the people around her, but if this had been a nature documentary, the narrator would be talking about how she was on the outskirts of the pack, lodged at the bottom of the pecking order but doggedly trying to make her way up.

  Like Freddy, she didn’t fit. Unlike him, though, she was trying to. It was painful to watch.

  He sighed. Turned back to Adam but kept his torso angled so as to shield him as much as possible. He tried not to stare at Adam’s lips. Not to think about the kiss they’d shared last time they were together—the kiss that had almost caused him to throw himself at Adam’s feet and beg for another chance. “I was just thinking that this was more your scene than mine.”

  Adam’s face lit up, and fuck if it wasn’t like a lance directly to Freddy’s heart. “You were?”

  “If you rewound a couple centuries, this would look like a scene from that miniseries you used to watch.”

  “Pride and Prejudice?”

  “That’s the one with the hot guy in the old-fashioned shirt coming out of the lake?”

  Adam grinned. “That’s the one.”

  “Yep.”

  A waiter came by. Damn these servers. While on paper, Freddy could appreciate that they were actually doing a very good job—making sure that the food circulated widely, even as far as the people hiding in a corner in the back—he just wanted to be left alone. But maybe Adam wanted something to eat.

  “Blue cheese and pear tartlets,” the server murmured, and Freddy shifted so Adam could reach the plate.

  “No thank you.” Adam shook his head and smiled politely. When the server left, he said, “You know what I would really like instead of blue cheese and pears?”

  “What?”

  “Cheddar and apple. In grilled-cheese format. With that mayo thing. That was the best.”

  Yes. That’s what Freddy wanted, too. Well, it was one thing Freddy wanted. Simple, good, unfussy food. His stomach rumbled at the thought.

  “This fancy stuff is fine.” Adam echoed Freddy’s very thoughts. “But it gets tiresome.” He flashed a self-deprecating grin. “Though I probably shouldn’t say that to a chef.”

  “No. I know what you mean. Sometimes you want to just pare things down to the basics. What’s good. What works.”

  Adam didn’t answer right away. Just stared at Freddy in a way that made him want to squirm. “Yes,” he finally said. Then he looked at the floor and did his signature blushing thing.

  Goddamn it.

  Freddy didn’t even know what was going on, but he was pretty sure it deserved a goddamn it.

  He cleared his throat. “I came up here because I’m thinking of opening a second place.”

  Which was a lie. It always had been, and his time here had confirmed that it always would be. He didn’t want to open an outpost in the Hamptons.

  “That’s great!” There was genuine excitement in Adam’s tone.

  Freddy felt bad for lying, but he needed to explain his presence beyond I came here to brood over you in person. His pride demanded it.

  “I’m sure it will be amazing.” Adam smiled warmly. “I wish I could come back when it’s open.”

  Aww fuck. That kind of unwavering confidence, bordering on hero worship? He didn’t have any defenses against that, not when it came from Adam. “So you’re not…staying here?”

  Adam’s good cheer disappeared. He sighed. “No. I’m just here checking up on my mom and sister.”

  Freddy followed Adam’s gaze—back to the nature documentary. Wilhelmina and Betsy were still standing near the edge of the same clump of people, smiling with artificial brightness. “And how are they?”

  “They are…” Adam huffed a laugh. Fre
ddy couldn’t tell if it was incredulous or bitter. “They are exactly the same, actually.” Incredulous. Adam’s voice had risen as he’d spoken, as if he were just coming to his conclusion and it surprised him. “They’re probably oohing and aahing over those blue-cheese–pear things.”

  “There’s actually a really fantastic fish-and-chips spot on the water,” Freddy said. “Just a bit north of here.”

  But wait. What was he doing? Was he asking Adam out? He couldn’t do that.

  No, he was just letting Adam know. If Adam was pining for grilled cheese and turning his nose up at the stuff here, he would love the unassuming little mom-and-pop place that did the best double-fried chips, which, doused in vinegar, were smuttily spectacular. “I’ve only been here four days, but I’ve been up there twice. I dream about those fish and chips, basically.” He grinned and gestured around the room. “They’re the antidote to all this bullshit.”

  “That sounds amazing,” Adam said. “One of the annoying things about my time here is that I’ve barely seen the ocean. Rusty and I are staying at a place with a pool, which is fine, but isn’t the ocean the whole point of the Hamptons?”

  Something unexpectedly light bubbled up in Freddy’s chest, which had of late been so tight, so constricted. Well, fuck it. This was why Freddy had come, right? As ill-advised as it was. He’d come running up here, chasing some vague sense that just being around Adam, even if nothing ever got settled between them, would be better than staying in his half life in the city. And even all these years later—all this pain later—it was hard for him to hear Adam state a wish he had the power to grant and not make it happen. “This is going to sound crazy because it’s a bit of a drive, but do you want to bust out of here and—”

  “There you are.”

  It was the man who’d been with Adam the other night, the older man. He looked like a cross between an aging hippie and a record company mogul. Like he was trying hard to look young—but also trying hard not to look like he was trying.