A. I thought it was possible, yes.
Q. Why was that?
A. They’d had some kind of chemistry on the trip and then I found out they’d seen each other in New York. It raised…questions.
Before
Frankie
September 8
I was right about Joyface being a place Richard would like. He doesn’t even bat an eye when the bartender says: “Dude, we’ve got one shelf, and it’s low—Jack Daniel’s, that’s it.”
So here we are. The lights are low, and the air seems hazy even though there is no smoking allowed. It charges the air. But all I can seem to think about are Richard’s eyes and the way the color keeps shifting in the shadows. The intense way he looked at me on the sidewalk outside my studio. As if he already knew this was the way the night was going to play out. But there are things I need to say.
“Can we talk about something serious for a second?” Richard asks before I can launch in.
“Okay.” I take a big swallow of my whiskey.
“Why didn’t you call the police?” he asks. “Breaking and entering and destroying property is definitely a crime.”
“I went to the police. They told me to have a lawyer write a strongly worded letter.” This is, strictly speaking, the truth, even if I’m messing with some pretty important chronology.
Richard shakes his head. “Thatwas their response to a break-in?”
He’s obviously not buying it, but I’m just grateful he’s paying enough attention to notice the huge holes in my story. I don’t have very high standards in this regard. The men I usually date only really listen if we are talking about sex or if they hear me say their names.
But I’m not going to lie outright. “Technically, that was before the thing with my studio, but they made it pretty clear that this kind of thing would be low priority.”
“I think you should try again now.”
“Okay,” I say too quickly.
Richard’s brow furrows. “But you’re not going to.”
I shrug. “Not right this second, no.”
“You’re leaving something out, Frankie,” Richard says, his eyes searching mine.
“The thing with this guy isn’t simple. It’s not just him not being able to take a hint,” I say. “I did some things I really regret.”
“Okay, but speaking as someone who’s made his fair share of mistakes, that doesn’t give someone a right to terrorize you.”
“I know and I appreciate the reminder.” And I do, too much. “But I did call Scotty and ask him to help write the letter. I am taking some steps.”
“Scotty?” Richard visibly stiffens. “I just talked to him. He didn’t even tell me you’d spoken.”
“He was probably trying to keep it confidential.”
“Right.” Now Richard stares down into his drink. “Did you tell Scotty that you and I have been in touch?”
I consider lying, but I am going to have to tell him about the photo, and I already feel bad enough about that. “I said that we’d had coffee because you wanted some advice about small gallery shows.”
Richard rattles the ice in his glass. “Okay.”
“Should I not have said that?”
“No, no, it’s fine,” he says, notably also not mentioning that there was no need to lie. Then he smacks the bar playfully and looks around. “Listen, I’m starving. Doesn’t look like they serve food here…”
