Page 79 of French Martini

A server who looks very familiar joins the fray, and I realize it’s the man Alain was talking to earlier. Gerard looks at him, and Alain knows he’s sunk. He tries to pull Gerard away, but Gerard shoves his hand off his arm.

“Sorry,” the server says. “I can’t sit back and not say anything.” He hands Gerard a business card. “He told me he has a separate room I can stay in after my shift and to use that number on the card to call him. I wasn’t going to because I figured out quickly he was probably cheating on someone.”

Gerard looks at the card, his cheeks burning red by the time he lifts his gaze. He extends his arm, offering me the card, and I take it out of pure curiosity.

“Gerard, darling,” Alain starts.

Oakley and I read the card. It’s a cell phone number and a handwritten hotel room number. “This is next level,” I whisper. “Same hotel and everything.”

“Pathetic,” Oakley says.

Gerard pushes past Alain, stomping his way toward the exit, but the scene has drawn a crowd and the photographers are hungry. Alain grabs Gerard’s arm, trying to stop him, and Gerard swings around and slaps him right in the face. Alain looks astounded.

“Holy shit,” Oakley exclaims.

“Whoa.”

“I’ve had it with you,” Gerard says, ignoring the crowd around them. “This is the final insult. Right under my nose, Alain? You are unbelievable.”

“We can talk about this in private.” Alain avoids eye contact with everyone. “I love you.”

The words sting just a little bit. He never told me he loved me. Only all the amazing things we could do together and howbrilliant and beautiful I was. I was a trophy for him, a conquest, but maybe he actually loves Gerard. Didn’t stop him from spreading his dick around though. Of course, his manipulation may just have evolved.

Gerard scoffs. “Love? I don’t think you know what that is. It wasn’t Michel or Bernard or Angelo or me, and it definitely wasn’t Lowen. You’ve been chasing what you had with him for years because you fucked it up. You’ve been trying to make me into his image, and I tried. I tried so hard because I admire Lowen. Iwantedto be like him. I wanted to be what you wanted.”

Oakley rubs my back. “This is hard to watch.”

“Painful.”

“I wear my hair like him, I carry myself like him, and I do everything you want in the bedroom, but I still wasn’t enough. None of your so-called amors have been enough. None of the beautiful men all over Europe that you’ve seduced areenough. Because your soul is empty, Alain, and you can’t fill an empty soul with sex.”

“Gerard.” Alain actually sounds wounded.

“I don’t love you,” Gerard says to the sound of shocked gasps from the crowd. “I wanted to, and I think I did at first, but you’ve spent two years wearing me down to nothing. The repeated humiliations, the constant comparisons to Lowen, your obscene arrogance…” Gerard shakes his head. “It’s too much.” He tugs off his engagement ring and hands it to Alain. “I deserve better than you. I never want to talk to you again.”

Gerard turns on his heel, walking out with his head held high, followed by some journalists, while the rest circle a devastated Alain like sharks smelling blood in the water.

Oakley guides me past the mess, and we try to sneak to the elevators without being seen, but we’re unsuccessful. Five reporters rush us, yelling questions at me. Normally, I wouldavoid, offer a “no comment” reply and get away as soon as possible, but there’s something about Oakley’s strong, steady presence beside me that gives me the courage to face them.

“One at a time please,” I say, stunning them into silence for a moment.

“Uh, Lowen.” A woman steps forward, holding a mic as her cameraman films behind her. “Do you have a reaction to what we just witnessed between Alain Durand and his fiancé?”

“Alain’s fiancé has a name. It’s Gerard Stanton. He’s a designer in his own right, not just the arm candy of someone else.”

“Yes, of course,” she says. “Any comment?”

Nearly fifteen years of pent-up frustration bubbles up in me, and I squeeze Oakley’s hand as I make the statement I should have made a long time ago.

“I get that it’s your job to dig into people’s lives. It sells your views and your magazines and your photos. It’s part of a public figure’s life, for better or worse. What we all witnessed tonight was unfortunate and sad, and I hope your reporting won’t allow it to overshadow all the good that happened tonight and this past week. The silent auctions raised quite a bit of money for children’s charities here in the city. Many wonderful and talented designers were recognized for their work. The Parisian satellite office will bring more jobs. Those achievements should have equal space if not more.”

I offer my practiced smile, then exhale and let my authentic one bloom.

“For my part, I feel vindicated. I let you write what you wanted about the demise of my marriage, about my work, about my departure from Paris. I let you speculate, gossip, and spread his lies, and I never defended myself. I felt I was above it because it all boiled down to ‘he said, he said.’ I think after what you just saw Gerard go through, the truth is far more obvious. Theimplosion of my life very much mirrors what happened here tonight.”

I look over to Oakley, whose warm smile gives me the extra boost I need to continue.

“But it’s okay. All of it. Alain devastated my view of love and marriage and commitment. I would’ve rather given up an appendage, even my career, than take a chance on love again.”

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