“Nice of you to do all that homework on a stranger.”
“Is he? A stranger, I mean. Wasn’t he the guy we saw at that hot-yoga class?” Limber from all his years of yoga, Sunny gracefully folded his legs and sat cross-legged, never breaking eye contact. “Didn’t you grow up around there too?”
Sunny was the only one I’d told that I once lived in New York City. “What is this, Twenty Questions?” I forced myself to concentrate on the papers in front of me, but the words swam before my eyes.
“Nope. Only one that you haven’t answered. Who is Dr. Monroe Friedman?”
That was one question I could answer truthfully. “I have no idea who he is.”
Not anymore, if I ever did.
* * *
At any given time of day or night, New York City was alive with gallery openings, fashion shows, power deals, and charity events. I often had to split my time between all of them. I might start my day with a breakfast at the Regency Bar and Grill on Park Avenue, meet a client for lunch at CUT New York, do cocktails at the Pool Room at the Four Seasons, and end up for dinner somewhere on the Lower East Side. Or, if I was feeling adventurous, I’d head to Bushwick in Brooklyn, looking for undiscovered faces in gritty clubs, where some of the purest raw talent could be found any night of the week. I sometimes didn’t fall into bed until after three in the morning, but the hamster-wheel life kept me from dwelling on what I didn’t have waiting for me.
New York City might hold over eight million people, but the entertainment world was a small insiders club, where night after night I’d see the same faces, hear the same gossip, and feel like I was running on empty, despite how full my life seemed.
That evening, Sunny and I entered Flashpoint, located in the Meatpacking District. The lights blinked and the music swelled when we opened the door, and I waved at Nico Romanov, former football player turned businessman. Nico was well-known in the city for backing exciting and dynamic cutting-edge restaurants. We’d met in LA years earlier, and then at various after-parties and opening-night events, and had reconnected when I moved to New York. He’d funneled clients my way, mainly models he’d come across, and I appreciated his loyalty and friendship. His dark eyes lit up when he saw me, and he ended the conversation with the man next to him by giving him a hug. I winced and felt sorry for the guy, knowing he’d feel the pain in his ribs tomorrow.
“Ezra, how the hell have you been?” A slap on the shoulder from the brawny ex-footballer almost sent me to my knees.
“Ow. Damn, Nico, take pity on us poor mortals.” I rubbed my neck. “I think I need a chiropractor now. And I’m good.” The din of excited voices rose around me, mingled with expensive perfumes, smells of delicious food, and the desperate need to connect. “This place is hopping.”
“Let me introduce you to the reason why. Andre Rodier, meet agent to the stars, Ezra Green. Andre is the chef here, and I have big plans for him.”
The man waiting patiently by Nico’s side extended his hand, and the callouses on his long fingers rubbed against my skin. “Nice to meet you. Anything you need, please let me know. Make sure you try the roasted apricots with balsamic and goat cheese.”
God, that sounded awful. Most of my nights at these events I ate without tasting the food offered. No matter how luxurious, I’d become immune. It was no different if I left with someone. We’d get naked and have sex, but I remained untouched.
“We will. Catch up with you later, Nico.”
“Yes, the bar is in the back.” He bent low to whisper in my ear. “Lots of pretty boys here if you’re interested. You don’t have to go home alone.”
Great. Now everyone was playing matchmaker for me.
“I appreciate it, but I’m here to network and show Sunny the ropes.”
“Good, good, go and make some money.” He winked at me. “But keep your eyes open, is all I’m saying.”
A whiff of delicate flowers filled the air, and soft lips pressed against my cheek. “Is he trying to set you up, love?” Melinda, Nico’s wife, slipped her arm through mine. “I keep telling him, you’ll find someone when you’re ready. Throwing men at you isn’t going to help.”
“You make me sound like a pimp,” Nico said irritably. “I only want him to be as happy with someone as you’ve made me, my love.”
The cooing lovebirds turned my stomach. There was altogether too much talk of love around me. “I’m good, and Sunny and I are going to get a drink, right?” I appealed to him, and I must have looked as pitiful and desperate as I sounded, since Sunny didn’t give me any grief. We shouldered our way through the crowd until we got to the long, shining bar and placed our order, Tito’s for me and a Tanqueray and tonic for Sunny. Drinks in hand, we remained at the bar with our backs to its expanse, surveying the crowd.
It might’ve been any night, any month, any year. It didn’t matter. The food was always finger-sized, sometimes too hot and greasy, often dry and tasteless. Tall, skinny women, hair pulled tight or blown out straight as a knife’s edge, dressed in tight black clothing, with diamonds glittering at their ears, necks, and on their fingers. They draped themselves over men who casually fondled their asses as they discussed the day’s stock-market reports. Their florid complexions spoke of more than one vodka a night, and of days on the golf courses and sailing in the Caribbean.
Since college, I’d persuaded myself that the frantic hustle and deal-making was the way to live. But spending time with Ross and Arden had given me insight into their slower-paced life. They, more than anyone, knew to appreciate each other and the world around them. Time and life were too short and precious to waste. More and more lately I tended to agree with them, but the times I’d broached the subject with my mother that we didn’t need to take on so many new clients, she shut me down. Unwilling to create a rift, I did what I always did. My job. It didn’t matter. What else did I have to do with my life?
“See anyone you know?” Sunny sipped his drink, eyes wide and searching.
“A few.” Several models and a few television actors I represented. We caught each other’s glances and waved or nodded. Nico was correct; the waitstaff was made up of incredibly beautiful men and women, and some of them gave both Sunny and me the interested eye. One young woman in particular turned a high-wattage smile on Sunny, who returned it.
“Angie doesn’t care?”
“I’m not doing anything but smiling at a beautiful woman. I’m in love, not dead.”
“I didn’t know you two were that serious.”
