With Oliver following close behind, Bick padded his way down the hall the next morning to Nestor’s room. He quietly cracked open the door. Steve was asleep, spread-eagled on the bed. Jerard was nestled at the top of Steve’s head, while Gracie had draped herself over Steve’s feet. All three were in a state of blissful slumber.
Bick quietly, carefully noted the scene. A deformed pillow was squished against the headboard; the duvet was dangerously close to sliding onto the floor. The rumpled pants and shirt on the loveseat belonged to Steve. An empty wine bottle and two glasses rested on the floor next to the bed.
Nestor was nowhere to be seen.
Bick cleared his throat loudly, causing Oliver to bark at the papillons. Gracie and Jerard jerked awake. They skittered to the floor to stand their ground.
Steve squinted one eye open. Then the other. “Oh. Hi.” He yawned and stretched.
“Yeah,” Bick said in a tone of utter disgust. Seeing Steve’s eyes so red and puffy, he fought a powerful urge to go full-scale meltdown. No, this was a moment to claim the moral high ground.
“Looks like you and Nestor enjoyed each other’s company last night.”
Steve sat up. “We stayed up talking into the wee hours. Then I fell asleep.”
“Yeah. I bet you did. And I bet you were game for more than talking or sleeping.”
Bick crossed his arms and stared at the empty bottle and overturned glasses on the floor. “And while talking and doing whatever else you were doing, you polished off a bottle of wine.”
“The pain meds wore off and my tooth was hurting,” Steve said. “I’ll buy us more wine.”
“Right now, there’s one thing I need to know,” Bick said, raising his voice. “Right now, under the sheet, what do you have on?”
Steve looked offended. “You know how I sleep,” he said defensively.
Bick, shaking his head in disgust, turned to go. “You really did it this time, Steve.
“I’m taking myself out for Sunday breakfast!” he bellowed from the hallway. “We’ll talk about our future when I get back!”
The apartment was quiet. Steve could hear the muffled sounds of Sunday morning traffic rising from West 63rd street. With Bick and Nestor gone, he felt safe to linger a few minutes in the bedroom. He straightened the duvet and pillows and walked over to the closet. Nestor’s immaculate wardrobe hung there. Steve imagined standing before a shrine.
He lifted a crisp cotton shirt on its wooden hanger and pressed the fabric to his face. He closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet scent of sandalwood.
Steve quickly dressed, fed the dogs, and grabbed his camera to go out. His emotions were churning and he did not want to have a “talk” with Bick about their future just then. He felt trapped, but also strangely secure. Bick was his financial anchor, his reliable mainstay. If not for Bick, they wouldn’t have a food truck business. But Bick also had a firm psychological hold on him. And Bick belittled his aspirations.
And then there was Nestor to think about.
With Gracie and Jerard in tow, Steve wandered through Central Park for hours taking random photographs, mostly of people with food. That day, every park-goer seemed to be eating either waffles or hot dogs.
Steve’s earworm that day was burrowed in deep, a Beatles tune that he had always liked. I wanna be your lover baby, I wanna be your man. He heard the melody over and over in his head as he wandered through the park.
He decided to call Jessica.
“Bick and I will be having a tectonic fight later,” Steve predicted. “It’s going to be one for the record books.”
Jessica was at the gym, panting on the Arc Trainer. “Well, I won’t ask you because I know you’ll tell me.”
“Last night, I fell under Nestor’s spell,” Steve said. “Some pain meds and a bottle of wine helped. I was willing and he was willing. We were both willing.”
Jessica hit the pause button on the control panel. “Oh! You mean …”
“Yup. The whole night together.”
“Does Bick know?”
“Oh, yeah! He knows. This morning, he came into Nestor’s room. I was still asleep. In Nestor’s bed,” Steve said. “Bick, of course, assumed the worst and I lied by omission.”
“And where is your partner in crime? What did Nestor say?” Jessica resumed her previous speed on the machine along with heavy breathing.
“He was gone this morning before I woke up,” Steve said. “I haven’t seen or heard from him.”
Steve hurried to keep pace with a man who was walking past him with a determined stride. The tall man was dressed like Abraham Lincoln.
“I’ll call you back, Jess. I have to get a picture of this guy wearing a stovepipe hat.”
Jessica was cooling down and stretching when Steve called her back.
“I got some good pictures of Honest Abe. He wanted to tell me about his hand-written poster. It said ‘Fake is the new real.’”
“I’ve thought that for a while,” Jessica laughed. “Anyway, wow. Stevie. I know Bick isn’t prone to violence, but I hope you didn’t end up with a black eye.”
“Not yet,” Steve said. “I’ve never cheated on Bick before.”
“Are you in love?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Last night with Nestor felt dangerous. And exciting. Today I feel off-kilter. Maybe I’m looking for a way out.”
“I’m in the dressing room now. Bad cell reception,” Jessica said. “I might lose you. Of course, you know as well as I do that your little fling is a sign of a bigger problem.”
“How so?” Steve asked.
“It’s obvious that you’re not committed to Bick. Or to the truck. And you’re not being honest about it.”
“I do seem determined to blow up my life right now,” Steve said after a long pause. “By the way, I’ll be late for work tomorrow. It’s my tooth. I have to go in for a root canal.”
“Oh, you’re going to be in super-great form,” she said sarcastically.
“I should get home so Bick and I can have our big fight and get it over with. Besides my infidelity, I predict he’ll bring up all my other deficiencies … my spelling, my personal hygiene, my posture, dressing like a slob, blah, blah, blah.”
Jessica sighed. “Yeah. The cosmic reality of Bick can be ugly.”
“This fight might even be bigger than the time he went nuclear about Cal.”
“Remind me?” Jessica said.
“My friend Cal—who has a great body, by the way. He’s very touchy-feely. In public, or wherever. It doesn’t matter. That’s how he rolls.”
“Yeah. Now I remember Cal,” Jessica said. “Wasn’t he your barber?”
“Used to be, yeah. Bick walked in one time when Cal had his hands all over me,” Steve said. “Bick accused me of being the instigator.”
“Were you?” Jessica asked.
“Not really,” Steve said. “But I don’t deny that I enjoyed it. Bick didn’t speak to me for three days.”
Steve kept his eyes peeled for photo ops.
Jessica sighed again. “So, what happens next with Bick and your new bed-buddy?”
“I don’t know, Jess. I’ll let you know when I figure out my life.”
“Well, I’m not holding my breath. Good luck at the dentist tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” Steve ignored Bick’s texts and headed west on 70th Street. He let Gracie and Jerard stop to sniff and pee. Suddenly up ahead, he saw Nestor going into Café Luxembourg with a companion. He could hear them laughing.
Steve bolted down the sidewalk toward the restaurant. Gracie and Jerard loved excitement and were off to the races in half a second.
No dogs were allowed in the café so Steve, his chest throbbing, planted himself in front of the restaurant window and texted frantically to Nestor.
HI! SAW U JUST NOW CAN WE TALK? I’M OUTSIDE.
When Nestor came outside, Steve saw that his smile was strained.
“Hey, Steve. What’s up?”
“Hey, Nestor. I’m not stalking you, just so you know. You left so early this morning. Did you get my texts?”
Nestor’s manner was pleasant, but efficient. “I had some house calls to make. And then a personal issue to take care of.”
“Oh,” Steve said.
“But, hey, I got lucky. A friend is letting me sublet his place in SoHo. He’s going off to teach in India or something.”
“Oh.” Steve tried to sound nonchalant.
“It’s for a year,” Nestor said.
Steve searched for words. “Oh, this is sudden …”
“I’ll come by tonight to get my stuff.”
“Oh?” Steve’s face froze. “So soon?”
“I’m sorry. I should have mentioned it last night.”
“I thought we were friends,” Steve said quietly. Shit. I sound sad and pathetic. “And after last night …”
“Of course, we’re friends,” Nestor interrupted. “It’s just … this sublet is perfect timing for me.”
Steve swallowed hard. No! It’s terrible timing! “No problem. I get it.” The words croaked out from the back of his dry throat.
Nestor reached down to pet Gracie and Jerard. “Well, I should get back to my lunch date. He’s probably feeling abandoned in there.”
Steve forced a smile. I’m the abandoned one! “See you later, then,” he said quietly. He watched the back of Nestor disappear into the restaurant.
Steve dropped to his knees on a patch of grass next to the sidewalk and blinked away tears. What’s wrong with me. I’m a sniveling fool. Grasping onto his papillons, he stared at a hand-lettered sign staked in a bed of coneflowers that implored Dear Dogs, Please Don’t Water Our Plants, Thank You.
As Steve lifted the front of his t-shirt to wipe his eyes, he heard a familiar voice.
“Steve, is that you?”
A stout woman wearing bright red pants was approaching. Apart from Bick, she was the absolute last person Steve wanted to see at that moment.
“Hello Eunice.” He yanked a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away the watery mucous streaming from his nose.
“Are you all right, Steve? Can I help you get up?” With the tiniest of sneers, Eunice Armstrong offered an exquisitely manicured hand to the man kneeling beneath her—a helpless person who had never been truly worthy of her son’s affection.
“No thank you. Really, Eunice, I’m fine.” Steve blew his nose loudly for effect. “Allergies get the better of me sometimes.”
She always acts superior. Now she’s literally looking down on me.
Steve straightened and launched himself upright.
“Well, Steve, if you’re sure you’re okay … I have to be going … Did you know you have grass stains on your pants?”
Eunice—like her son—had a habit of inspecting people’s attire, especially Steve’s.
She continued. “By the way, I’m having trouble getting ahold of Bick today. We had planned to go clothes shopping, but now I can’t go. Could you let him know?”
Before Steve could tell her that he had gotten half a dozen text messages from Bick that morning without any trouble, Eunice nattered on.
“Oh, look at the time. I’m running late. Well, you take care, Steve.”
“Thanks, Eunice.”
There was no time to fake a “Nice seeing you.” Eunice’s tomato-red pant legs were already flying down the block.
* * *
Steve returned home with red eyes and a bag of Chinese takeout. Bick was sitting at the kitchen table reading a cookbook.
“We need to talk,” Bick said, looking up. “Eunice just called me. What the hell have you been up to?”
Steve unleashed Gracie and Jerard. What a crock! She said she couldn’t get ahold of you.
“I happened to run into her on West 70th. She’s not going clothes shopping with you. She said to tell you.”
Bick slammed the cookbook closed with force, causing Oliver to bark.
“Eunice said you were lying in the grass sobbing in front of Café Luxembourg.”
“I was not lying on the grass. I was kneeling. Anyway, what difference does it make?”
“Well, you have grass stains on your pants,” Bick said, pointing. “It’s embarrassing to think you were down on your knees bawling, for what reason god only knows. We have friends in that neighborhood. I hope nobody saw you.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Steve called over his shoulder on his way to the spare room. “I have new photos to post and my kung pao chicken is getting cold.”
Bick marched down the hall after him. “Going to your lover’s den,” he mocked loudly. “Whether you want to or not, we are going to have it out about your frolic in the hay last night!”
“Nestor is moving out,” Steve shouted. “So, what does it matter?”
“Really?” For the briefest of seconds, Bick sounded positively jaunty. “So, Nestor was just a one-night fling? Or, are you planning to move out, too?”
“No!” Steve yelled. “I’m not going with him! I’m stuck here with you!”
“And I am stuck here with you, you piece of shit!” Bick bellowed and turned to leave. “You could care less about me. Or about us, for that matter!”
Oliver barely scurried through the door as Bick slammed it shut.
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