Heteroflexibility Read online

  I walked away, winding through tables. Girls who had watched me sing clapped me on the back and smiled. I wanted to yell at them, tell them what a whore I was. A faker who faked faking.

  I stalked through the Hoebags and grabbed my purse.

  Mary tried to stop me. “Zest, wait. Are you okay?”

  Nikki had followed. “Let her go. She’s had a rough night.”

  “Is she all right to go home by herself?” Mary asked.

  I slung my purse over my shoulder. “I’m right here, you know.”

  Bradford stepped out from behind the others. My heart clenched all over again in such awe of his perfect presentation. He wore a thin sweater with a sharp-collared shirt. “I can take her home,” he said.

  No, no no no. Not him. Please don’t let me be humiliated in front of him.

  “Bradford, I’m glad you’re here,” Mary said. “I think she’s mad at us.”

  Of course I am!

  And myself.

  Bradford’s blue eyes gazed at me steadily. “Will you come with me? Is that okay?”

  “I--I don’t know.”

  “Try me.” He steered me forward with only the lightest pressure on my elbow.

  I moved forward haltingly, clutching my purse. I was furious, humiliated, and certain I’d just lost the wedding gig.

  “Let’s keep going,” Bradford said, again administering that gentle firmness to my arm.

  As we passed the bar, I caught a glimpse of blond hair slicked back in a chignon. Fern? I tried to stop and turn, but Bradford kept me moving until we were out the door.

  The air hit me in a cool blast. “It got cold again,” I said lamely.

  “Yep.”

  “Last night it was so warm.”

  “That’s Texas for you.” He moved me past open bar doors until we reached a block of regular businesses, dark and closed up for the night.

  My eyes began burning in the wind and I stopped, leaning against a cold concrete wall. “I can’t go on.” I never cried and I wasn’t going to now. Still, my nose began to run, and I swiped it with the back of my hand.

  He sat us down on a bench. I tried to stare at my shoes, but I was irresistibly drawn to his face, that perfect jaw and crystal eyes. “I’m a mess.”

  “Those girls shouldn’t have put you in such a position.”

  How much had he seen? “I think they’ll fire me.”

  “The Hoebags? Not likely.”

  “Oh, they will. I was awful. You didn’t see—”

  “The thing with Samantha?”

  I groaned. He did see.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  He shook his head. “I can guess. She’s a pretty fast mover.”

  “I did everything wrong.”

  “Nope. Not by a long shot.”

  “They won’t want me to do the wedding.”

  “I doubt that. Those girls have had their share of one-night stands.”

  “Is that what it was? I had a one-night stand?” I shivered.

  He squeezed my hand. I didn’t want him to let go, but he stood us both up. “A front’s blowing in.” We walked along the street until the noise of the bar district faded. He pointed to a dark blue sports car parked on the curb. “This is mine.”

  I caught my reflection in the window, my ironed hair kinking up again, dark sockets for eyes. Mom spoke to me. “It’ll take more than makeup to fix that face. Make sure you marry someone who can afford plastic surgery.”

  “Can’t they move belly fat to your lips or something?” I realized I’d said it aloud.

  “Not the best idea,” he said. “Here we go.” He opened the door and eased me inside.

  I sank into the low bucket seat. The vivid blue hood stretched out before me, sleek and sexy. “What is this car?” I asked as he slid into the driver’s seat.

  “BMW M3.” He started the engine. “Where should I take you?”

  I swiped my nose again. “Home.”

  “With me?” His teeth gleamed in the darkness.

  “Would you?”

  “Of course.”

  My throat closed up, eyes burning again. “Actually, I don’t have a home.”

  He flipped open the center console and pulled out a Kleenex. “Divorce going badly?”

  I tried to clear out my nose without a horrid honking blow. “She’s pregnant.”

  “Who?”

  “The other girl. The reason my husband ditched me.”

  He sucked in a breath. “That’s harsh.”

  “And I got kicked out of speed dating.”

  He pulled onto the street and stopped at a red light. The car rumbled, low and powerful. Was everything about this man beautiful and perfect? I waited for his negative reaction, but he remained silent. “I know it was too soon. You don’t have to say it.”

  “I’m not saying anything.”

  “Fern dragged me there. But you have to be divorced.” I covered my nose with the soggy tissue. “They told me to leave.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “There was a really nice man there too.”

  “I’m sure there was.”

  “You would have liked him.”

  Passing headlights flashed into his eyes. “I’m sure I would have. How are you feeling? Sick? Sleepy?”

  “Stupid.”

  At his silence I suddenly realized what a horrid mess I was. Sniffling, like a freaking imbecile, over what—a dumb rule at a stupid dating game for losers. And for French kissing a strange girl. Among other things. I tugged at my shirt.

  “Fern’s. Take me to Fern’s. Fifth Street. Eight hundred block. Big condo building. It’s only a few blocks from here.”

  “Got it.”

  “I don’t want to go there, but I have nowhere else to go.”

  “The offer is open. I have a spare bedroom.”

  The passing lights lit up his face. “You have been nicer to me than anyone I’ve ever known, and I just met you yesterday.”

  “I like you.”

  I clutched the disintegrating Kleenex. “I have no idea why.”

  “You’re funny. You’re original. You’re cute. I like your singing.”

  Cute? He meant my singing. “HOW did I get roped into that?”

  “It’s Texas. I’ve discovered that people get roped into things.”

  “You’re not from here?”

  He shook his head. “I moved here in 2004.”

  “From where?”

  “California.”

  This new information shocked me right out of my pity party. Why would a gay man leave California for Texas? “Was there a reason?”

  “The scene got bad for me.”

  “The gay scene?”

  He cocked his head. “Not so much that. Just my scene.”

  “Did you have a salon there too?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you closed it?”

  “I did. Started over.”

  “Because of the scene?”

  He grinned. “Because of the scene.”

  So he didn’t want to tell me the real reason. Fine. We pulled up in front of Fern’s condo building. I fumbled with the door handle and finally managed to wrench it open.

  “I should walk you up,” he said.

  “You can’t park here.” I gestured in the direction of the tow warning sign. “And the garage is a hassle. I’ll be fine.”

  “I feel like I should walk you up.”

  “That’s okay. I’m having a fling with the elevator man. You might cramp my style.”

  He smiled, good God, that stupidly devastating smile.

  “Is your car parked somewhere? You want me to get it?”

  “It isn’t far enough to worry about. I’d have walked to the bar, but Fern wore four-inch heels. I’ll get it tomorrow.”

  He moved his hand back to the gear shift. “See you Friday at the airport then?”

  “Maybe. If I’m not fired.”

  “I’ll talk to them.”

  “You would d
o that?” I really couldn’t afford to lose the wedding.

  “Of course.” He touched my arm, the lightest graze. Everything inside me zinged. Why, WHY did he have to be gay?

  “Thank you.” I wanted to kiss his cheek, or something, but I just didn’t do things like that. “Here’s my number, if you need me.” I tugged a business card out of my purse, Photography with Zest, what a crock, and laid it on the console.

  “Good. And Zest?”

  He’d never said my name before. It hung between us for a moment. “Yes?”

  “It IS going to be fine. I know these girls. Okay?”

  I nodded and clumsily hauled myself from the low seat. As soon as I closed the door, the BMW pulled away in a gleam of dark blue.

  What a freaking day. Before yesterday, my sole exposure to lesbians was a talk show host. Now I’d danced with one and made out with another.

  I punched in the code to enter the outside door. I hadn’t even done anything. It was just touching.

  “Excuse me?” Elevator Boy was just inside the door, leaning on the front counter by an oversized security guard, and staring at me quizzically. “Did you say you needed touching?”

  “I said that out loud?”

  “You did. And I got the moves.”

  Both men’s laughs rang in the marble foyer as I ran for the stairwell.

  Chapter 15: Elevator Trolls

  I flung myself on Fern’s red sofa. I didn’t even feel up to inflating my bed. Fern would be home eventually. We’d separated during outings before, so this was no big thing. Besides, I wasn’t really mad at her. It wasn’t her fault that I’d been kicked out of speed dating. She probably didn’t know the rule.

  I grabbed the remote to the television. It wouldn’t power on. I shook it, punched more buttons. Still nothing. Jeez. Wouldn’t anything go right?

  I stumbled into the kitchen to look for batteries. I opened the first drawer. Perfect cutlery, neatly arranged. She probably never used it.

  A second drawer held designer towels and a few pot holders, some still with tags. Life with a trust fund and a power job. She bought things she’d never even use on her smoothie and liquor diet.

  The third drawer looked more promising. A few owner’s manuals. Spare keys. Pens, markers, matchbooks. Two loose batteries, the wrong size.

  I pushed a few things around, looking for more. A red matchbook with a cartoon drawing of a hillbilly opening a beer bottle with his teeth stopped me cold. I picked it up, instantly recognizing it. Billy Bob’s Booze Bar. This was the same matchbook Cade had in his pocket. With the lipstick.

  Oh my God. I dropped the matchbook and ran to Fern’s bathroom. It couldn’t be. It wouldn’t be. Of course not. Pictures of Aud flashed by as I turned on the light. And Manny in the sling. Wasn’t he married too? Hadn’t she mentioned his “possessive hag?” How could I not know this about her?

  Her makeup was all stored in a custom cabinet. I slammed through the drawers, knocking bottles and jars aside. Finally I found the one I wanted.

  A dozen or so light-green lipstick tubes rolled together as I yanked it open. All the same brand. I picked one up, recognizing the case.

  Cade’s mystery woman was Fern.

  I slammed the drawer closed again, torn between leaving some vicious message scrawled in red on her mirror and leaving without letting her know I knew.

  I stumbled backwards out of the bathroom, ramming the back of my knees against her bed and sitting abruptly. This was completely and utterly fucked up.

  I had to get out of there.

  ***

  The boxes were heavy and awkward, stacked against my face. I waddled down the hall, determined to take the steps and avoid the elevator troll. I tried to reach for the doorknob to the stairwell, but I couldn’t grasp it. Damn, damn, damn.

  I wanted to make it in one trip. I couldn’t bear to come back up and run into Fern. God, she’d been having an affair with my husband. My clutzy, balding, unromantic husband. Of all the men in the world—and she had so many of them—she wanted mine too.

  The boxes heaved perilously as I tried to open the door. No way would I make it. I stumbled back down the hallway and pushed the button for the elevator. Elevator Boy would just be one more awful thing in a horrid night.

  The light on the floor numbers immediately began zipping upward. I glanced at my watch. Almost midnight.

  The doors opened, revealing the same Elevator Boy, who leaned against the mirrored walls, arms crossed. “You rang?”

  I ignored him, bending down to lift the stack again. Bloody heavy things.

  “Here, it’s my job to help.” He took the top two. “I can get you a dolly or a cart if you have more.”

  “This is it. I came light. Leaving light.”

  “Didn’t work out?”

  I shook my head.

  He set the boxes in the corner and pressed the button to close the door. “You got somewhere else to go?”

  He had to ask that. “Of course. Loads of friends. This was always temporary.”

  He nodded. We began the descent. “Your car in the garage?”

  Oh, crap. “Actually, it’s several blocks down.”

  “You want me to watch these while you get it?”

  The elevator opened. I glanced at the boxes. My livelihood was in them—cameras, sample albums, as well as a few clothes and the mattress. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”

  He smiled, looking far more friendly than he had a half hour before. “You know what, it’s time for my break anyway. Let’s drive these down. That way you don’t have to worry.”

  The elevator began closing, but he stepped forward to block it. “What do you say?”

  “Okay. Great. Thank you.” So Elevator Boy wasn’t a complete jerk.

  He waved at the security guard as we passed. “I’ll be back in a few.”

  “You only got fifteen minutes, boy.” The voice was gruff but his face was smirking. “Not that you’ll need it.”

  I glared at the man. “You’d think they’d hire someone a bit more professional.”

  Elevator Boy pushed open the front doors and waited as I passed. “You don’t get the pick of the litter for the night shift. But Bud’s all right. He entertains me.”

  He led us to a beat-up truck parked on the street. “They don’t let you in the garage?” I asked.

  “Nah. That costs money. And most of what I make goes to child support.”

  What? He couldn’t be much older than twenty. And a father? Elevator Boy? Who wanted the hottie-hookup? “You have a kid?”

  “Yeah. The ex, though, she didn’t want anything to do with me. I get to see Madison every other weekend.”

  He shoved his boxes in the back and lifted mine over the side. “Your chariot, oh roommate of the harlot.”

  “Ex-roommate.”

  We climbed into the cab. “I didn’t think you’d last long. Too many houseguests.”

  “You were right. I’m done. The garage is off Second Street, in the Warehouse District.”

  “I know the one.”

  We pulled up to a red light. The roads were quiet and dark, the street lamps leaving dim pools of light at measured intervals. I could see the photograph, the leading lines taking you out into the distance. All it needed to complete its despondency was a lone figure, head down, walking away.

  Elevator Boy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You okay? You really got somewhere you can go at midnight on a Wednesday?”

  The truck chugged through the intersection. I glanced at him and noticed a picture clipped to his sun visor. A curly haired girl, about two. This wasn’t a guy I had to bullshit. “No. I don’t have anywhere to go.”

  “I got a place, you know. I don’t get off until two-thirty, but you seem kinda lost. We could hang out. Bud wouldn’t say nothin’.”

  Two men inside an hour offering me a place to stay. This day could not get any stranger. “That’s real kind of you. But I do have some money. I’ll get a hotel.” Actually, I
didn’t have much money. Harry Histrionic’s check had mostly gone to gas.

  “You got some family?”

  Of course. Dad. “I do.”

  “They’ll take you for a spell?”

  A neon sign lit him from behind, his nose sharp in silhouette, hair flopping on his forehead beneath a ridiculous flat-top, bell-boy style cap. “Actually, they will, yes.” I had enough gas to get to Fort Worth.

  I realized suddenly that if Elevator Boy was so observant, he might have seen Cade going in and out of Fern’s place.

  “Hey.”

  He didn’t turn. “Yeah?”

  “You seen a guy coming around to Fern’s a lot, tallish, pug-faced, without a lot of hair?”

  He shrugged. “Nobody came around a whole lot. Not on my shift anyway. Always somebody different.” He stole a quick glance at me. “Did she go for yours?”

  “Oh no, no. Just someone we both knew.” I could only handle so much humiliation in a day.

  The truck lurched forward. “Well, I’m glad you got family. I’m going to leave Ol’ Faithful here illegally for a sec, and we’ll get these boxes to your car.” He drove half up on the sidewalk and shoved the gearshift into park.

  He started to get out, but I put my hand on his arm to stop him. “Thank you. Really. I’m sorry I don’t even know your name. In my head you were just…asshat.”

  He chuckled. “It’s Carlos. And most people aren’t asshats, once you get to know them. Except for a few, who become even bigger asshats.” He opened his door. “We’ll don’t sit here wasting my break time. I could be banging somebody. Let’s hit it.”

  Chapter 16: Thirsty Birds and Nodding Donkeys

  I arrived in my old neighborhood outside Fort Worth at four a.m.

  Dad had waited up despite the hour, sitting in his bathrobe on the swing at the end of the porch. He looked more grizzled than last time I’d seen him, on Father’s Day, tall and gaunt, with a little lean to his posture. He’d had a rough life, decades of off-shore drill work, and it showed.

  I climbed the weathered concrete steps, the corners broken off. He stood and pulled me into his embrace, his hand on the back of my head, and cleared his throat. I had to bite hard on my lips to keep from losing the control I’d held all the way from Austin. I would not cry. Not over those hideous people I thought I knew, my husband, my friend.