Page 73 of French Martini

We head downstairs, joined by a few other people in the elevator, but there’s still an hour before it starts. All the presenters and award winners have to come first to walk through everything one more damn time, as if this is the hardest thing we’ve ever done. Please. I could do this in my sleep.

I am pleased with the category I get to present—up-and-coming designer. I love being able to acknowledge and recognize a new-to-the-scene designer, and this time the winner is queer, gender-fluid, and absolutely fearless.

Oakley and I enter the ballroom, navigating to the front where our seats are and where the committee is gathered. He sticks close to me, his hand firmly planted on my lower back, and I feel calm. Unusually serene. Hmm.

I’m given my instructions one more time, the cue for when I should go backstage to present my award, and then I’m released back to my seat.

I spot Gerard standing awkwardly by himself near a water station and survey the room for Alain, but I don’t see him. Something about Gerard tugs at my chest, almost as if I’m seeing a younger version of myself, but I turn away. He’s an adult. Mostly. He can figure out his own life.

A few minutes pass, and when I glance in that direction again, Gerard is gone. Maybe he found his man. The room is warm and I could use a moment to check my makeup again.

Squeezing Oakley’s arm, I whisper, “I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick.”

He nods. “I’ll hold down the fort.”

Chuckling, I walk back through the room and out the door, glancing both directions for where the bathroom is, but then Ispot a shadow down a dimly lit hallway that isn’t being used. My body tenses. I would know that shape anywhere.

Alain.

And he’s not alone, but he’s definitely not talking to Gerard. I head in his direction to get a closer look since Alain’s back is turned to me. He’s got a pretty little thing pressed against a column, dragging his finger down the man’s chest in obvious flirtation. The sight makes my blood boil. His fiancé is in the room right next door and he’s still a piece of shit, chasing anything that moves.

“Excuse me, do you know where the restrooms are?”

Alain swings around, going pale as soon as he sees me. I tilt my head, making a point to look between him and the man he has cornered.

“How interesting. Some things never change. Guess the restroom isn’t this way.”

I turn on my heel and walk off, but Alain is quickly behind me, grabbing my arm. I pull my arm away, looking at him in disgust for even touching me.

“Save it, Alain.”

“It’s not what?—”

“Not what it looked like? Yeah, that sounds familiar. Funny thing is, I don’t care. I wonder if Gerard would though.” I make a yikes face. “Should we ask him?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I? Maybe I should get down in the gutter where you like to play and turn the tables on you. Maybe I’ll whisper to a journalist or two what I witnessed and they can find out if it’s what it looked like. How about that, Alain?”

“What do you want? Money? Want me to say something nice about you to the press?”

“What I want, Alain…” I poke my finger in his chest. “Is for you to stop talking to me. I want you to forget I even exist, and I want you to sit in the mess of your own making.”

I stomp off, no longer interested in the bathroom break, and return to Oakley, who’s sipping water and chatting with another designer whose name I don’t know. Oakley’s whole face lights up when he sees me, but then it fades and a deep crease wrinkles his forehead.

“You okay?”

“Perfect.”

Oakley introduces me to the woman he’s talking to, Rebecca Stanmore, before she excuses herself and we take our seats, waiting for the ceremony to start. People file in, and I scan the room for Alain, finding him next to his man again, but looking very nervous.

“I caught Alain,” I whisper to Oakley. “Chatting up a pretty twink.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Saw it with my own eyes. He’s still at it. It’s like there’s something broken inside him. Poor kid has no idea what he’s signing up for.”

“His fiancé?”

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