As he heard me approach, he produced a beer from seemingly out of nowhere and held it out to me.
“It’s not exactly cold, but it is wet,” he said as I accepted it. “Siddown, Harv.”
My stomach dropped.
On the one hand, Reggie was offering me a beer. On the other hand, he was calling a meeting with just the two of us. On a rooftop. At a quarter to midnight.
“Sit down,” Reggie enunciated, patting the spot beside him. “I’ll put the cig out if it’s bothering you.”
“It’s fine,” I said, sitting down beside him and crossing my ankles in front of me.
The beer was warm, but as Reggie promised, it was wet. Kind of a low bar for beer to vault over, but I wasn’t in the mood to complain.
I knew what this was about.
“What’s on your mind, Harv?”
I swallowed. Did I really want to talk to Reggie about this?
“Because there’s sure as hellsomethingrattling around under those luxurious curls you’ve got going on.”
“Luxurious curls?” I raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve still got all your hair, Harvey. Appreciate it while that’s true.”
I snorted, sipping the warm beer again. “You don’t wanna hear about my problems.”
“Yeah I do,” Reggie said, turning to me and blowing smoke out of the other side of his mouth, which was probably harder than it looked. “I like to think we’re friends. Kinda think of you as the son I never had.”
“You’re only twelve years older than me, Reg,” I pointed out.
Reggie shrugged. “And I’ve been divorced three times,” he said. “You’ve got catching up to do.”
“I’m not sure I should be aiming at three divorces,” I said.
“Why? You’d be good at it, judging by the number of fights you’ve started over the last two days.”
Ah.
I’d been wondering when we’d get to this.
“Listen, Harv, I gotta say I talked to you about this. The guys—and girls, and non-binary folks—can see you’re under stress. They’re not mad, they’re worried. Now, you and me? We go way back, and if this conversation just ends in you telling me it won’t happen again, we’re cool, and I’ll trust you. But I’m thinkin’ there’s somethin’ on your mind, and I get it if I’m not the person you wanna talk to about it, but…”
“It’s not that I don’t wanna talk about it,” I said. “It’s that there’s nothing to talk about. I… it’s… you don’t wanna hear this.”
“Is it about gay lady company?” Reggie asked.
Of course he knew. Reggie always did have a knack for seeing right through people.
He and Dante would’ve gotten along.
“His name’s Iggy,” I said.
“Why?” Reggie asked, wrinkling his nose.
“I dunno, because his mom called him that,” I said. I’d never asked her why Ignatius, but I assumed there had to be a reason.
Reggie hummed. “Like Iggy Pop,” he said after a moment. “I guess I can live with that.”
