“Alonzo,” Bitzy said in her most soothing female tone, the one that always softened my dad right up. “You’ve always been so good to me. You gave me my first shot at the agency, trusted me with your own son’s work. Haven’t I done right by you?”
“Very well,” my father said. “A little wet behind the ears but a fast learner.”
“I think we can make sure Michael has some say-so and still keep the TV people happy. They might even welcome Michael’s input. They’re counting on readers to be at least part of their viewership, aren’t they? People will trust it more if they know the author’s involved.”
If it were me making this appeal, my father would be arguing until he was blue in the face, but this was Bitzy, one of his protégés.
“Maybe you’re right,” my dad said reluctantly.
“Of course, I’m right,” Bitzy said, showing off a bit of that Boston brass while laying a hand on my dad’s reassuringly. “Now, why don’t you tell me what I need to know for when I meet with them?”
Bitzy, genius that she was, managed to get my father talking about the upcoming meeting with the expectation that he wouldn’t be there. Masterful. Our food was delivered, and conversation was amicable enough throughout the meal. The waiter was in the middle of replenishing our drinks, when my father bellowed across the table, “Michael, isn’t that your boyfriend?”
I swiveled in my seat to find my lover chatting up another man at the bar. I studied the two of them, too close to be merely platonic. Arden’s posture and body language told me this wasn’t a friend or an acquaintance. This was a john.
“What’s his name? Andrew?”
“Arden,” I corrected.
“I thought you said he was sick?” My dad pursed his lips as though he’d caught us in a lie.
“So, I did.” I wiped my mouth and dropped my napkin on the table, rising to go confront Arden while wondering how the hell I was going to talk my way out of this one. I couldn’t believe he’d lied to me.
I recalled Arden’s fear about his clients’ identities being discovered. Security at Matteo’s party had been tight, so I knew the man was serious about his privacy. There was also Arden’s warning that I not interfere with his livelihood. For all of those reasons and the fact that Bitzy and my father were likely watching me, I figured it best not to make a scene.
“Arden.” I touched his shoulder lightly. His eyes, when they met with mine, were wide. “I thought that was you. I was just having dinner when I saw you and figured I should come over and say, hello.”
My smile was plastered on my face, but Arden must know that I was livid. The other man assessed me with a cold, predatory glare. I didn’t like the look of him.
“Michael, what a surprise,” Arden said amiably, always the showman. There was a tightness in his expression, but other than that, nothing. Arden turned to the john. “Excuse me for just a moment. I need to buy this man a drink.”
Arden led me farther down the bar, where he signaled the bartender and ordered me some type of whiskey I’d never heard of before, a double. He must think I needed a stiff drink.
“Have you fully recovered?” I asked, hating the snideness in my voice.
“It came up last minute,” he said with no hint at apology.
“Are we lying to each other now?”
Arden gave me a wounded look, as if I was the one who’d manufactured this situation. “You’re here with your father,” he said.
“And I told him you were sick.”
The bartender laid the drink on a napkin. Arden paid in cash, leaving a substantial tip. He always over-tipped, and he refused to let me pay for him, both of which bothered me, because he couldn’t afford such extravagances.
“Have a drink,” Arden said. “Then, take me over there.”
I swallowed a deep draught of the peaty liquor, then led Arden to our table where he greeted both Bitzy and my father. He confessed right off the bat that he’d lied about being sick and apologized for it.
“The truth is that I thought this meeting would go better without me here.” He glanced over at me. “Michael is a wonderful writer, and I’m afraid I can’t give him much in the way of good advice. Not like the two of you can.” He smiled affably, always so charming. “I wish I could stay longer, but I’m having a drink with an old friend. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Arden said to me, an effective dismissal.
I nodded tersely and Arden returned to the bar. I sat down again, sick to my stomach. The drink wasn’t strong enough. My lover was a liar, sneaking around behind my back just like Franco. And perhaps even more painful, he’d just chosen a john over me.
“They appear to be very close.” My father eyed the two of them still at the bar. The older man rested his hand on the curve of Arden’s ass. I knew exactly what that particular stretch of muscle felt like underneath my palm.
“Arden’s an escort,” I said. If Arden wasn’t going to disguise it, then neither would I.
“Come again,” my father said, not trusting his own hearing.
