by TL Gehr
What she means is, is she going to read about me punching Chase in the papers tomorrow morning. She’s a religious reader of all the gossip rags. They form one part of the continual equation she always has going on behind her blue eyes that weighs up social status.
Are they likely to mention Brian?
Chase might make sure of it. He plays the game just as well as Mom does. He’ll know I haven’t told her about him. He’ll want to make me miserable by being the one to break the news. I should have thought this through. Then again, it was meant to be a once-off thing, a person I could easily dismiss, that they’d never have to see again. Now it’s not that anymore. I’m not sure what it is, only that I don’t want that to be the last time I go somewhere with him.
“Darling, what’s wrong?” She’s read into my hesitation, she’s already picturing the worst.
“I’ve met someone.” I lift my gaze to hers. I’d rather be having this conversation alone with her and I mean my eyes to convey that. “He was there tonight.”
“You didn’t mention this.”
“I’m mentioning it now.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. He nearly punched Chase because Chase was being a jealous asshole, but he didn’t.”
“So we shouldn’t read about him?”
I shrug. “Depends how vindictive Chase is feeling. Brian isn’t exactly… look, I want you to give him a chance, okay? He’s not…” he’s not one of us. “He’s from New Paltz, a small-town boy. I really like him.”
My parents share a concerned look.
“He works at The Spindle. He’s not a gold-digger. He doesn’t know anything about society. He didn’t even know who Chase was, he doesn’t know who I am. I don’t think he even knows my surname, let alone what it means. He’s sweet.” I look between them, my heart racing. Don’t make me hide him from you. I can’t keep another secret.
“How serious are things with this young man?” Dad breaks his silence. He’s tossing me a lifejacket. Thank you. I try to communicate my gratitude with a look.
“Not serious at all. We only met last week.”
Mom takes my hand. “Oh Philip, it’s about time you moved on and had some fun.” She pats my cheek. “And your small-town boy probably had no idea you were wearing last year’s look.”
When I finally make it up to my floor after listening to Mr. Jones prattle on about their holiday, it’s nearly 1 am and I have a missed call from Brian.
Is something wrong? Did he suddenly start craving the drugs again? Did he need my help while I was downstairs playing nice with the Joneses?
Heedless of the time, I return his call. He answers on the first ring.
“Hey.” He doesn’t sound stressed. My pulse immediately calms.
“Hey.” I sit on my bed. “I saw you tried to call.”
“Yeah. I wanted to hear your voice.”
Warmth fills me. No one’s ever said anything like that to me before. A smile tugs at my lips, but’m not sure how to respond.
Before I can formulate anything, Brian says, “I’ve been wanting to kiss you forever, since the first time we met. Well… second time.”
He sounds a little strange. His voice is… sleepy. I guess he could just be tired. Or he could be drunk. Or he could be high.
“You at home?”
“Yeah, you dropped me here.”
“Well you might have gone out again.”
“No, I’m in bed. Couldn’t sleep. Needed to hear you, just to check what happened tonight was real.”
A stupid grin spreads across my face and I’m glad that I’m alone and no one else can see it. I stretch out on the bed with my arm behind my head. “It was real.”
“You’re incredible, Philip. I’ve never met anyone like you. Everything about you. I mean, when I first saw you I thought, sure, a New York dickhead, but then from that first day in the restaurant, you were so kind.” He yawns. Sleepy, then. Nothing to worry about. “So patient and since then it’s like a whirlwind. Everything I find out about you… like, fuck, you’re really good at sucking cock.”
My face is hot, I know I’m blushing like mad. Smiling and blushing. I laugh into the phone.
“And dancing. Fancy-ass rich people dancing just all casual on the dancefloor.”
“It’s called the Salsa. You know, if you want to try it again. ‘Fancy-ass rich people dancing’ might get some looks.”
“Salsa,” he repeats. “I like salsa. You’re incredible. So crazy about you I don’t even know… never felt like this.” He mumbles something I don’t catch.
My chest feels bubbly with happiness. I’m trying to find a way to say what I think of him, how I feel about him, but I’m too inhibited. Everything I run through in my mind sounds lame. He breathes deeply. I think it’s a sigh, but then he sighs again.
He’s fallen asleep.
Still smiling, I end the call.
21
Brian
I wake up with my phone in my hand. Panic immediately stabs me in my chest. I scroll to the call record and see that I spoke to Philip for exactly seven minutes.
I have no idea what I said.
I couldn’t sleep last night because I was too pumped up. My mind kept going over and over everything that happened, so I gave in and took a sleeping pill. Goddammit. What did I say?
My mind immediately jumps to the worst-case scenario. I called him at fucking 1am the day before class. I probably woke him up. Then what did I say? I was probably a complete creeper. I probably told him I loved him. How did he react? Why was the call only seven minutes? Did he put the phone down on me?
It feels like I swallowed snakes. I press the base of my palms to my eyes and breathe.
Okay, there’s the staff meeting later today. I’ll just catch him afterwards and explain about the sleeping pill. It will be fine.
But what if the phone call wasn’t horrible? What if it was really special? What if he told me he loved me too? What if it was so short because we made plans? Plans that I don’t remember? What if it was some real Romeo and Juliet shit where we promised ourselves to each other and I don’t even remember. Shit.
Admitting that I was high on sleeping pills would hurt him, then. He’d think that I didn’t actually mean it.
I don’t know what to do.
Cynthia knocks on my door a little after nine to offer me pancakes in exchange for a full report on my “date”. So, I go next door and end up with a cat on my lap and another trying to climb around my shoulders while Cynthia stands at the stove and interrogates me.
I tell her about Philip’s friends and then I get to the part where I mention the creepy ex.
“And he introduces himself like James Bond. I shit you not.” I try for his posh accent. “Chase, Chase Shaw.”
Cynthia drops her spatula. “What did you say?”
“Chase Shaw.”
She spins around. Her long earrings bounce against her cheeks and one of the cats dashes across the breakfast bar in fright.
“What?” Dread pools in my stomach, like I’m the punchline of a joke I didn’t even realize someone was telling. I recall the way Philip tried to hide his amusement. Was he trying not to laugh at me?
“Oh dear.” Cynthia tightens the scarf she tied around her head to keep her hair out of her face. “Oh dear, oh dear.”
“What? Tell me.”
“Your Philip was dating Chase Shaw?”
“Yes.” I’m starting to feel annoyed. We’ve established that already.
“Well, that would make him Philip Arrigo, the sole heir to the Arrigo fortune.”
It’s going to be a long time before he comes into all that money, Jones said.
“What fortune?”
“You honestly had no idea?”
“I know he’s rich. I mean, he has a personal driver and he bought The Spindle. That can’t have been cheap. You make it sound like more than that.”
She nods and presses her lips together.
“Cynthia, I’m
dying here. Throw me a bone.”
“I’m sorry, dear. I’m trying to think of the most delicate way to put this. I know how much you like this young man. I don’t want to speak out of turn…”
Speak out of turn, just speak. “Tell me what you know.”
“It will be easier if I show you.”
She takes the pan off the heat and bustles over to the sitting area. She leans over a silver laptop and types Philip’s name into Google. A photograph of the Central Park Dickhead comes up. He’s in a tux, looking at the camera with a cool expression.
The “People also ask” section reads: “What is Philip Arrigo’s net worth?” “Philip Arrigo gay?” “Philip Arrigo Chase Shaw?” “Why is Philip Arrigo rich?”
The top results, under the Wikipedia page and his Twitter account (he has Twitter?) are “The Secrets of the Arrigo Business Empire”, “Philip Arrigo and Chase Shaw everything to know”, “Why Philip Arrigo disappeared”, “Chase Shaw makes relationship with Arrigo heir Facebook official.” (Philip has a Facebook?), “Philip Arrigo on ending his engagement…”
The word “engagement” sloshes ice through my veins. He failed to mention that. I try to figure out if he actually ever said boyfriend or if I just assumed.
No, he said ex, not ex-boyfriend or ex-fiancé. Just ex. He didn’t lie, he omitted. I wrap my arms around myself as I approach the laptop.
“I’m sorry, dear, there is more.” Cynthia scrolls and clicks on the Philip Arrigo Chase Shaw? suggested question, then she steps out of my way and gestures for me to sit. A cat twists around my legs while I stare at the screen.
People also ask pops up with: “What did Philip Arrigo do to Chase Shaw?” “Who is Philip Arrigo?” “What does Philip Arrigo do?”
Chase is a big deal. A bigger deal than Philip. No wonder he was surprised I didn’t know who he was. Philip mentioned he was a supermodel, but the little snippet that comes up on the right of the search results calls him an international celebrity with a “ubiquitous presence on magazine covers, runways, and in fashion campaigns”. One of the pictures of him shows him in an underwear advert I know I’ve seen on the subway. I didn’t make the connection. Now I make a mental note to go find that ad again and deface his smug face.
I finally look at the headlines in the search results.
Chase Shaw and Philip Arrigo’s relationship… what happened?
Philip Arrigo on the crazy way he found out about Chase Shaw’s cheating
Chase Shaw labels ex a “control freak”
Philip Arrigo Allegedly Body-Shamed Chase Shaw, Caused Eating Disorder
Chase Shaw shocking interview with Italian TV station tells the real reason he cheated on Philip Arrigo
Chase Shaw Opens Up About Arrigo Relationship “It Was Like Trying To Love A Stone.”
Barbara Jones spills the tea on Arrigo and Shaw split
New photos show Chase Shaw injuries allegedly caused by Philip Arrigo
Chase Shaw claims Philip Arrigo made him “want to die”
Philip Arrigo’s Pal Claims Chase Shaw Faked Bloody Nose
Philip Arrigo Allowed to Pursue Defamation Suit Against Chase Shaw
Chase Shaw puts Philip Arrigo drama in his rearview mirror
“It’s bullshit!” I slam the laptop closed. Tears prick at my eyes. Never mind punching him, I should have throttled Chase. I hug myself to stop from shaking. How dare he?
Cynthia puts a hand on my shoulder. “Better you find out now than when you’re with him.”
Wait, she thinks… I turn to her and see the look of sympathy. “You actually believe this stuff?”
She shrugs.
“No, you don’t understand. Chase made up all of this.” I wave at the closed laptop. “Philip told me.”
“Philip told you?”
I grit my teeth. The idea of Philip doing any of that is laughable. Anyone who’s actually met him would know that. Still, my brain loves a worst-case scenario and it whispers, “Philip is very good at lying.” I shut my eyes and shake my head.
What if the Central Park Dickhead is the real him? What if everything else is a game? You don’t even know what he and Chase said to each other in Latin, you only have his translation. And why wouldn’t he let you get him off last night?
Shut up.
I won’t let the negative thought spiral win. Not with this. “Chase wants him back,” I grind out, to Cynthia. “I caught him trying to make a move on Philip. No one else was there. He had Philip pressed to a wall and was trying to get him to admit they belonged together.”
You broke my heart.
I reach for the laptop and open it up again. “Here, look.” I point to the stories that mention his friends. “His friends don’t like Chase and Jones was really protective. It makes sense now.” I look up at Cynthia. She still seems skeptical. “He isn’t what Chase said he is. He’s really caring and generous.”
What I can’t tell her is just how giving he was. How he gave me the best blow job of my life and didn’t want anything in return.
“He constantly asks if I’m okay. He knows about my broken brain and he still gave me a job, he still gave me a chance, he still kissed me.”
“He kissed you?” She sits down next to me.
I nod. “Cynthia, it was beautiful. We were alone outside in front of this view of New York.” I drop my gaze. “I don’t have anything to offer him. That was after I’d made Chase jealous. If he didn’t care about me, surely I had already served my purpose?”
Cynthia takes my hand and squeezes it. “You poor, sweet, boy. What would a move to the city be without a thrilling love affair, hmm?”
She still doesn’t believe me. She gets up and goes to put on the kettle. Am I just being naive? I’ve never been a good judge of character.
As if reading my thoughts, Cynthia says, “You have to understand, things are different here in the city. They say one in twenty-five New Yorkers is a millionaire. Did you know that?” I didn’t. “And the Arrigos? They’re top of the bunch. Your man is a prince. And royalty? They don’t see the rest of us the same way.”
22
Brian
The whole way into work, I stare at Chase’s bare chest and I think about Philip’s clammy hand in mine.
The poster takes up the whole back of the crowded train. Chase is smirking and making bedroom eyes at me. I can see his package in the briefs he’s advertising and I can only hope it’s photoshopped.
When I got home last night I was so filled with confidence. Now, I’m a wobbly mess. I’m scared about what I might have said on the phone, I’m worried about what Cynthia said about royalty, I’m angry about Chase’s lies and I’m nervous of Philip’s. I know I’m going to see him and I know I’m going to have to act normal in front of all the other staff. Then I’m going to have to get him alone and we’re going to have to talk.
I smooth out my black shirt and make sure the sleeves are covering my arms. Philip’s sweaty palm clutching mine is what Gene would call “credible evidence”. She said I wasn’t allowed to trust any thoughts unless I had evidence that they were true. “Speculation,” she’d say, “is for stockbrokers.” But Philip reaching out to me in that moment was real.
I’ll feel better when I see him.
I don’t feel better when I see him, because we’re in a full room of people—most of whom I’ve met, some I haven’t. He’s leaning against his desk with his arms folded. My stomach does cartwheel when he looks up at me, but he gives me a tight smile and my heart trips over itself.
What does that mean?
He doesn’t really acknowledge me for the rest of the meeting while they discuss shifts and he talks through some new items they’re adding to the menu to replace unpopular ones. The only time he looks at me is when he lists some new types of coffee he’s getting in, and he looks at all of us who work behind the bar while he gives us the low down. Then says, “Don’t worry, I’ll write this all down,” and looks specifically at me before carrying on.
What did I say last night? What did I say?
I can’t get a read on him at all.
I hang back afterwards, even though I’m so nervous I probably won’t actually be able to speak, but before the office is empty, Mom comes up to me, “Hey kid, can I talk to you for a minute?”
She indicates the door. I can’t really say no.
I follow her to the storeroom. She must be on duty today because she’s wearing her apron. She shoves her hands in her pockets. “So… how do you like working here so far?”
Bonding time. Now. Really? “It’s good, thanks. I haven’t worked many shifts yet.”
“Still, Philip gave you five a week. That’s quite a lot.”
“I told him I didn’t have anything else going on.”
“Generous of him.”
Unease slithers into my gut. Do the other staff not get as many shifts? I thought she worked here every day. I wasn’t keeping track in the meeting.
“Yeah, I guess he trusted your recommendation. You know, when you recommended me for the job.”
She smiles. “Happy to help my boy.”
She keeps looking at me. I’m starting to feel uncomfortable. I shift my weight, unsure what to say.
Mom toes at one of the boxes. “Since you’re so cozy with the boss man… I was wondering if you could maybe help me out?”
The question chills me. We only just reconnected and she’s already calling in favors. “With what?”
I realize belatedly that I probably should have denied being ‘cozy with the boss man’. Who even knows if it’s true.
“I could do with a few more shifts too.”
“Can’t you ask him yourself?”
“It would mean more coming from you, Brian.”
It’s weird hearing her use my name. It makes this feel more intimate than I want it to. “Is it about money?”
