Page 56 of Single-Minded
Michael is a gay man fresh out of the closet. Maybe the pants are all it took.
Cliff stays to dish for a while; the man is the deepest well of gossip in the city. He knows everyone, and has seen everything, and loves to recount every wicked, Technicolor detail. Occasionally I look up in the middle of one of Cliff’s stories to see Daniel glancing over at me. He smiles and goes back to his conversation, but there’s a palpable energy that seems to tether us together, even though we’re on opposite ends of the boat deck. Maybe I’m the only one who feels it. I have to get a handle on myself. He’s a client. A gorgeous, dimpled, probably gay client. Eventually Daniel makes his way to our table, and takes the seat next to mine. There’s already a wineglass at the place, but Daniel swiftly relocates it to the next seat over. I’m not the only person who notices. Both Carter and Cliff Roles are rapt with interest.
“Lovely party, Daniel,” says Carter. “How are you enjoying working with Alex? She’s incredibly talented, isn’t she?”
“Incredibly talented,” Daniel agrees. I feel myself blush at the compliment, and attempt to change the subject.
“How did you and Carter meet, Daniel?” I ask. Carter laughs out loud at the memory, and it takes him a few seconds to respond.
“I think the first time was at Pridefest in Jackson Square,” says Carter. “I remember you wore that pretty purple T-shirt that showed off all your muscles and made the boys cry. And I recall there was a certain chef trying to scale a statue and ride double on the back end of President Jackson’s horse.”
Pridefest. Purple muscle shirt. Daniel is definitely gay.
Daniel smiles, flashing a dimple. “I’m pleading the fifth on the Andrew Jackson statue. But I will say that we’re still very close friends.” He laughs. He looks at me. “Carter was dating my brother Gabriel right after college. He visited us in New Orleans several times, and we stayed in touch after they broke up. I gave Carter a call when I decided to move to Sarasota. He always raved about the city, and between that and the beach, it was one of the big reasons I considered opening a restaurant here.”
“Oh Gabriel,” says Carter dramatically, “that boy broke my heart.”
“Cher,as I recall, you were the heartbreaker in that relationship. Weren’t you over the moon about some guy you knew from college?” Daniel clutches his heart and sighs dramatically. “The one who got away?”
“Who was that, Carter?” I ask. “I don’t remember you falling for anyone in college.”
“Oh, there’ve been so many, I don’t remember,” says Carter, shaking his head. He looks very much like he wants to change the subject.
“Love at first sight as I remember it.” Daniel laughs. “He broke poor Carter’s heart. The guy says he was straight, and that was that. Carter tried to move on, and he started dating Gabriel, but never quite got over his first love.”
“Daniel, you cad,” exclaims Carter. “You know for a fact that my first love has always been, and will always be, La Mer skin-care products.”
“A true love story. Just look at his pores!” interjects Santiago, and the whole table is laughing. But suddenly Carter won’t meet my eye, and I begin to wonder if the straight guy that Carter’s been in love with since college is Michael. My Michael. Did Carter flat-out lie to me that day when I asked him if he’d ever screwed around with Michael? Has he been lying to me the whole time I’ve known him? Maybe Michael broke Carter’s heart too.
I try to control my breathing as my mind reviews every interaction between Michael and Carter since the day we met him. Nothing stands out—even now, knowing what I know, I can’t think of anything that proves or even hints that Carter and Michael might have had a spark between them. Not only that, but Carter isn’t on the list. When Michael finally came clean about everything on the way to the airport in New York, he didn’t mention anything about Carter. And judging from the hour of far too much excruciating detail as Michael purged himself of guilt, I’m certain he didn’t leave anything out. Not even the stuff he should have left out.
But this is just too much of a coincidence. Carter had a crush on a straight guy in college. Michael is gay but pretended to be straight. The three of us have been inseparable since we met freshman year. What are the odds that Carterisn’ttalking about Michael? Not good, I know that for sure. My brain starts spitting out potential red flags, and I try the best I can to keep it together. Between Santiago and Carter—am I really sitting at a party, at the very same table, with two other people who’ve potentially slept with my husband? Did Michael actually screw three of us? It’s too mortifying to think about, and yet I can’t seem to stop myself. If it turns out my husband and one of my best friends hooked up in college, I’m never going to be able to trust anyone, ever again.
“Who was it?” I ask Carter. He looks up, but avoids looking at me directly.
Daniel looks at me with surprise, and then realization crosses his face. His mouth drops open. “Oh no,” he says, low under his breath.
“It was a long time ago,” says Carter. This is not the answer I want to hear. “I barely remember the guy’s name.”
Was it Michael?I want to ask. But I don’t, because I don’t want Daniel’s elegant little dinner gathering to devolve into a Jerry Springer situation. Cliff Roles and Santiago lean forward with anticipation, as though they’re expecting a bombshell. I need to know, but I don’t want to find out in front of all these people. I need to be somewhere I can have a nervous breakdown in private, if need be. Optimally, somewhere with emergency rum and pieàla mode delivery.
Carter looks at me. I look at him. He shakes his head no and I don’t push it any further. That will have to happen later.
48
“Who’s up for dessert?” asks Daniel quickly, signaling one of the servers. He turns to me. “This is my favorite song,cher,would you take a turn around the floor with me?”
I nod yes, grateful for the chance to escape the table before I say or do something to embarrass myself. Or Daniel. Carter raises an eyebrow and his glass as we depart.
I feel like an exposed nerve. It’s a lovely party, and I don’t want to ruin it. I should go. Maybe Daniel will send me home with a dessert-filled doggy bag. Or several.
Daniel takes my hand and leads me to a spot near the bar where a few people have begun to dance. The music is a bouncy funk song that sounds sort of like the Neville Brothers, but I don’t know for sure. Daniel pulls me gently into a closed position, which I apparently remember vaguely from my pre-wedding ballroom dancing lessons. He has one hand on my back and his other holding my right hand. He starts grinning as we glide around the dance floor, just moving to the music with no particular pattern—occasionally breaking for twirls, and once for a small dip.
“I’m sorry about the Carter thing,” he whispers. “It didn’t even occur to me…”
“It’s fine,” I say, hoping both desperately and proactively that Carter had a crush on some other straight guy he knew from college. “I’m grateful for your kindness, but you have other guests and I think it’s probably time for me to go. I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep whisking me away from the parade of awkward that has become my personal life,” I say. “Besides, that way you don’t need to dance with me, you could dance with Carter instead.”
“His legs aren’t as nice as yours,” he says, laughing. “Oh, I’ve stepped in it now. That was completely inappropriate and unprofessional wasn’t it?”
