I'm Your Man (14 page)

“Seven days without working?”

“Consider it a rehearsal for maternity leave,” I said.

“What about you? Your schedule can't be any easier to rearrange than mine. Besides, you don't really have to do all this with me. Your lab is sending the sample to my clinic; your work was done the day you spilled your seed into a cup. Or whatever you used.”

I laughed and said, “We've already been over this. Years from now, I want to be able to tell, er, whoever, that this wasn't as clinical and impersonal as it could have been.”

“Fine. You win,” she said, and I envisioned her looking a little like Violet had when she left my office.

 

On Thursday, while we waited, Gretchen placed a clammy hand over mine, and we exchanged a sympathetic glance. She looked as daunted as I was by the clinical surroundings.

“It's not too late to back out,” she said in a small voice. “If you're having second thoughts.”

“Are you?”

“No.” She paused, then said, “Maybe. I've read so much about this. I know it's going to hurt more than the nurse implied when she described the procedure. If they use benign words like ‘discomfort' for ‘pain,' what else aren't they telling us? And what if it doesn't work? What if we have to keep coming back?”

“Then we'll keep coming back,” I assured her, sounding more matter-of-fact than I felt. “Just remember, we're not one of those desperate couples struggling to balance marriage with infertility issues. This could be the only time we have to go through this part of it.”

“Which takes me back to what I said. This maybe your last chance to back out.”

“I don't want to back out.”

They let me stay with her through the entire procedure, which was done by a dyke who reminded me of one of the Gibb brothers. I wasn't sure if I was thinking of Maurice or Robin, but thankfully it was the one without a beard. As Gretchen was maneuvered into a position that I assumed had been perfected during the Spanish Inquisition, I kept hearing the tune to “How Deep Is Your Love” in my head.

Smiling, the doctor held up the sperm sample and said, “I feel very good about this.”

“So did I, when I . . .” I trailed off when I realized they were both looking at me with revulsion. “That's all you use?”

“Honey, this little cc contains twenty million sperm. You just know one of them is planning to get lucky. And if not, there'll be a scrappier one tomorrow afternoon.”

I liked thinking of my sperm as scrappy, and I began to feel downright giddy. Gretchen, on the other hand, looked very pale and had a death grip on my hand.

“Don't let go, Rose,” I said. She laughed and eased up.

“You've already heard all the statistics and scary facts,” the doctor said. “So I'm only going to give you one warning.”

“Another one?” Gretchen asked from between clenched teeth.

The doctor winked at me and said, “There are no refunds if my aim is off and you get a straight kid. All I can promise you is a male or female who's happy, healthy, and will keep you awake every night for the rest of your lives.”

I totally loved her, even if I knew that for as long as I would remember her, I'd never be able to call her anything but “Dr. Gibb.” Ten minutes later she was gone, and Gretchen spent the next half-hour with her hips elevated as we tried to remember the words to Bee Gees' songs.

“You really don't have to stay,” Gretchen said as I tucked her into bed that night.

“I'll be fine on your sofa.”

“Blaine?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think you could sleep with me? I'm sorry. I'm feeling very vulnerable all of a sudden. It's a new sensation for me.”

I undressed and crawled in next to her. It had been a long time since I'd shared a bed with a woman, but I'd never felt as relaxed with Sydney as I did with Gretchen.

I left her the next morning to pick up our rental car. I'd chosen a Ford Excursion so she could lie down in the backseat when we drove upstate. After our second rendezvous with “Dr. Gibb,” we were on our way, since I'd loaded our luggage before we went to the clinic. I kept the radio low and checked in with Violet on my cell phone while Gretchen dozed behind me. As I'd expected, Violet had everything under control at the office. Lillith had been particularly grateful about dodging the solar flare issue.

As I started up the winding road to the old Victorian hotel that Gretchen and her colleagues had transformed into a cozy resort, I heard Gretchen yawn and sit up.

“We're almost there,” I said.

“There's something I forgot to tell you,” she said. “This past week, a group used Happy Hollow for a retreat. Something about healing through the colors of nature.”

I shuddered and said, “Please don't tell me I'm going to be stuck with a bunch of New Age nuts over the weekend. I thought I'd escaped that by rescheduling my meeting with Lillith.”

“Only one,” she said. “You know him. Ethan Whitecrow. He led the retreat and wanted to stay a few days by himself after the others left.”

I felt a sinking sensation. Though I barely knew Ethan, and he'd always seemed like a nice person, we had one disturbing connection. For a time, he'd dated Martin Blount, and they were still friends. The last thing I wanted was for Gretchen and me to become fodder for Martin's wicked tongue. We might as well call Lola Listeria at the
Manhattan Star-Gazette
and give her the whole story.

“We'll just have to be careful what we say around him,” I commented. “Or you know—”

“It will get back to Martin?” she interrupted. “I don't think so. Ethan's a stand-up guy.”

“Umm,” I said noncommittally.

At the very least, he was an invisible guy. It felt like we were all alone as I unloaded the SUV. Gretchen had directed her housekeeping staff to prepare the room next to hers for me, which was a relief. It meant I didn't have a fireplace, but at least I wouldn't be moping around the room I'd always shared with Daniel.

“Are you hungry?” I asked Gretchen after getting her settled in her room.

“Not really. I'm sleepy. I don't know why I can't hold my eyes open.”

“Because you rarely ever stop,” I said. “That's why I knew I had to get you out of the city. I'll leave you alone so you can rest. If you want anything later, just let me know. I don't want you running up and down the stairs.”

She grinned and said, “I've always wanted to say this. I'm not an invalid, Blaine. I'm just pregnant.”

“Wow, you're psychic, too, huh? You always knew that a man named Blaine would come along and—”

“Get out of my room before I had to throw something at him, yes,” she said.

“Sweet dreams, Mommie dearest.”

“You're evil.”

I laughed and went downstairs. I was starving, and no kitchen was as well stocked as the one at Happy Hollow. Gretchen always made sure her guests could eat anything their appetites demanded. I was just finishing a huge omelet and two slices of ham when Ethan joined me in the kitchen.

“Hi,” he said, brushing back his long black hair with one hand as he looked at me with surprise. “I didn't realize that you and Daniel were spending the weekend here.”

I was astounded that Martin had missed a page in his address book when he spread the news about the big breakup. “Actually, it's just Gretchen and me. It was sort of a last-minute idea to come here. She was tired and went to bed. How was your retreat?”

He cast a sideways look at me from the refrigerator and said, “Please. I know what you think about my
sorcery.
”

“Martin talks too much,” I muttered. After a pause, I added, “Actually, sometimes he doesn't talk enough. Daniel and I broke up.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. And surprised, to tell you the truth. The last time I saw Daniel, on the set of
Secret Splendor,
we talked about you. Was it a sudden thing?”

I'd forgotten that Ethan was a favored spiritual advisor to Bonnie Seaforth-Wilkes. No doubt she'd had him smudge the soap's set with cedar and sage incense because the ratings had dropped, or some such nonsense.

“Somewhat,” I said tersely. “It was a mutual decision. I'm really tired of it being a delicious drama for people like Martin to savor.”

Ethan set down a container of orange juice and said, “Look, I know you don't think highly of what I do. And I realize you're not a big fan of Martin's. But could you lower the volume on your hostility? I've done nothing to you.”

“I'm just hoping to head off any well-intentioned advice about my love life. Or lack thereof,” I said.

“I wouldn't presume,” Ethan said. He poured a glass of orange juice and drank it without dropping his eyes from mine. He walked past me to put his glass in the sink. “If you tell me what room you're in, I'll build your fire while you clean up your mess. It's supposed to drop into the twenties tonight.”

“I don't have a fireplace in my room,” I said.

He stopped a few inches from me and said, “I have one in mine. And the fire's already burning.”

I abandoned the dishes and followed Ethan up the stairs. As soon as he closed the door behind us, I reached for him.

“No,” he said. “I don't do angry sex.”

“I don't need spiritual counseling.”

“What you need is to stop thinking you call all the shots.” He slid a couple of fingers under the waist of my jeans and pulled me toward the fire. “In fact, what you need is to stop thinking and follow your instincts. Isn't that your usual style?”

“What's your usual style?”

“You're about to find out,” he said.

I tried to unbutton Ethan's jeans, but he stepped away from me with a reproachful stare, yet smiled at the same time. Keeping me at arm's length, he slowly undressed in front of me. Even when he pulled his shirt over his head, his eyes never left mine. I stood in place, watching him and drinking in the sight of his body as, bit by bit, it was teasingly revealed to me. He was sinewy and toned, most likely from hours of yoga. The firelight danced over his bronze skin. I was aroused just looking at him.

After he'd undressed, he stepped toward me and lightly ran his hand over my cheek. “Your skin is so soft,” he said.

I brushed his hair over his shoulder and traced a line from his collarbone to his hand. He brought my hand to his mouth and kissed my palm. My breath caught for a moment as I became aware of a charge of energy running down my arm.

Ethan folded his arms around me and pressed his body into mine. He kissed my neck while I ran my hand down his back, enjoying the warmth of his skin and the feeling of his naked body through my clothes. Still kissing my neck, Ethan tugged my shirt free from my jeans and ran his hands over my back.

I let go of his waist and tried to unbutton my shirt, but Ethan took my hands away and began to do it himself. “Let me undress you,” he said. “Relax.”

“I trust you,” I said.

Ethan tossed my shirt aside and looked into my eyes while he lightly ran his fingers over my chest. “Good,” he whispered. “I get off on giving pleasure, Blaine. If you enjoy it, I'll enjoy it. It's as simple as that.”

I couldn't argue with that logic and smiled as Ethan knelt to take off my shoes. When my feet were bare, he kissed them and ran a hand under the leg of my jeans, caressing my calf. Still kneeling in front of me, he unbuttoned my jeans and slowly slid them down my legs, holding them for me as I stepped out of them.

I ran my hands through his hair as he gazed up at me from the floor, taking in the sight of my body. While I watched, he began to slowly stroke himself, running a tongue over his lips and breathing deeply. I bent down and lifted his face to mine, kissing his full lips. Our tongues met and Ethan's breath quickened, a soft moan escaping his lips between kisses.

Without saying a word, he walked over to a duffel bag by his bed and began rummaging around inside it. When he found what he was looking for, he sat on the bed and motioned me over. I stood next to him and watched him roll a condom onto me.

“Lie down, please,” he instructed, and I did as he asked.

For once in my life I let go of everything that kept me grounded and gave in to Ethan's authority. It felt good not to be the one making decisions and maintaining control. Perhaps because of my deviation from the script of my normal behavior, the Daniel voice-over in my head was silent. Instead, I listened to Ethan as he whispered exotic words into my ear.

We lay together afterward, not needing to speak. I stretched out on my stomach while Ethan lightly traced his fingernails across my back, humming a low melody that lulled me to sleep.

W
hen I awoke, the sky outside was gray, and I wondered if it was going to snow. I propped myself on one arm and stared at Ethan. He looked beautiful asleep. His mouth was so tempting that I almost woke him, but I knew if I did, I wouldn't get back to my room anytime soon. I'd never been one to analyze things too much, so what I really wanted was to hold the memory of the night before somewhere inside me without having to talk about it. To Ethan or to Gretchen.

I shivered after I slid out of bed, but that gave me an idea. As quietly as I could, I added logs to his fire, stirring the coals and watching the wood catch. I hoped he would understand that even though I'd left while he was sleeping, I'd been thinking of his comfort and I had no regrets about our night together.

I put on my jeans but carried the rest of my clothes back to my room. After taking a shower and dressing in a pair of jeans and several layers of shirts, I slipped through the adjoining door into Gretchen's room. Her quiet, even breathing reassured me that she was asleep, so I went downstairs to the kitchen. It took a while to clean up my mess from the night before. After that, I made myself breakfast, then prepared a tray for Gretchen.

This time I knocked, and heard her call, “Come in.”

She was awake and sitting up, bathed in the warm glow of a lamp, but staring toward the window. “I think it may snow,” she said. “I hope we don't get snowed in.”

“If it does snow, it'll be light,” I predicted. “Are you hungry? I remembered that you like French toast.”

“I'm starving,” she said. “I can't believe you're bringing me breakfast in bed. It's like a honeymoon. But a honeymoon in some twisted,
Twilight Zone
kind of way.”

“If this was your honeymoon, you got robbed,” I said, grinning at her and trying not to look too satiated. While she drank her juice, I said, “You're planning to take it easy, right?”

“If I had my way, I'd never get out of bed,” she said. “It's been years since I spoiled myself this way. Usually when I come up here, I'm busy hosting.”

“You don't have to do that this time. I've got my laptop if I want to work. I brought a book if I want to read. But what I'd really like to do is spend time outside. Clear out some cobwebs.”

She rolled her eyes with pleasure as she bit into the French toast. “It's perfect,” she said. “Why couldn't you be a dyke?” I laughed, remembering Josh's joke that I was turning into a lesbian. She went on. “I made arrangements for someone to cook dinners for us, so you won't be trapped in the kitchen. We'll be on our own for breakfast and lunch every day.”

“Just tell me what you want,” I said. “I don't want to bug you, but I won't neglect you, either. Whenever you want company, all you have to do is say so.”

She nodded, then finished her breakfast while I rebuilt her fire as I had Ethan's.

It was still overcast when I went outside later. I brought in more logs, then went for a walk, enjoying the sound of the ground crunching under my boots. It didn't bother me to visit some of Daniel's favorite places on the property. There was something dreamlike and safe about the weekend. I didn't know if it was because of Gretchen's uncharacteristic lassitude or the energy Ethan gave off, but I felt better than I had in months.

When I went inside later, Ethan was downstairs doing yoga in front of the fire. Although he had to have heard me come in, he seemed very much inside himself. I went back to the kitchen and heated water for tea. I was leaning against the counter drinking a cup when Ethan joined me.

“Come here,” he said. “I want to show you something.” I followed him, and we stared through the beveled glass of the front door at the lightly falling snow. “Over there,” he said.

I looked where he pointed and saw a fox moving near the trees. Ethan put his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder, and we watched until it disappeared into the woods.

“Last night,” he said, “was exactly what I needed.”

“Me, too,” I said. “In fact—”

“I'll race you there,” Ethan said with a laugh, reading my mind.

The fire was still burning in his room, making it so warm that I quickly began to shed my layers of clothes. Unlike he had the night before, Ethan didn't stop me. He undressed as eagerly as I did, and we tumbled on the bed together with a desire that demanded immediate satisfaction. I discovered that sex with Ethan had the same effect when it was fast and passionate as it did when it was slow and sensual. It left me feeling contented, calm, and comfortable.

Later, lying on blankets and pillows in front of the fireplace, I said, “This is the first time I've really relaxed since December.”

“That's when you broke up?”

“Yeah.” After a pause, I said, “Maybe I'm regressing. I should pay someone to sing lullabies to me until I fall asleep every night.”

“Is that what did it?” Ethan asked. “Damn. I thought it was my sexual prowess.” The expression on my face was all the compliment he needed, and he smiled, then said in a more serious tone, “You've had trouble sleeping? That can definitely take its toll after a while.”

“Tell me about it. Do you have a little voice in your head that's always nagging, questioning, or criticizing you?”

“Not really,” Ethan said. “But I know what you're talking about.”

“Daniel has one. He calls it his inner voice and treats it like it has its own personality separate from him. I think he inflicted one on me by the power of suggestion. I use an advertising term for mine. It's the Daniel voice-over, because it sounds like him. I mean it sounds like his voice. He never said the things to me the voice-over says; he's not a mean person.”

“The voice-over is mean?”

“It's a bastard, and it kicks in when things get quiet, especially when I'm trying to sleep.”

“But not last night?” When I shook my head, he said, “Does your voice-over usually involve your relationship with Daniel?”

“It sounds off about everything,” I said. “Lately, its favorite topic is Sheila.”

“Sheila Meyers?”

“Yes. We've been friends since we were kids. Now she's Daniel's best friend. After he and I got together, we were always careful not to put her in the middle.”

“Is that where she is since you broke up?”

“Not really. It's more complicated. It all started with a stupid publicity stunt that Sheila and Daniel pulled.” After I told him about the Maddie Awards and everything that happened afterward, I said, “The publicity machine that successfully ran our careers malfunctioned and wreaked havoc in our personal lives. Josh and Sheila appear to have fended it off. But Daniel and I had other problems. He made some decisions that affected me, and our relationship, without telling me. I'm sure Sheila knew about them. But she didn't tell me, either.”

“So you feel betrayed,” Ethan surmised. “It can't help that you and Sheila work together.”

“She's worked hard to shift public focus to her and Josh. Which means they've had to sacrifice the privacy they wanted for their wedding. She and I are able to get along because we don't talk about Daniel. But I miss my friend. If circumstances were different, she'd be the one I'd turn to. I think Daniel probably does.”

“Do you resent that?”

“Of course I do.”

“What sign are you?” Ethan asked.

“Please don't. I hate that shit.”

“I'm guessing Scorpio or Taurus.”

“Taurus,” I admitted. “I already know what you're going to say. We're placid creatures, but very territorial. When provoked, we paw the ground and charge. But I don't believe in astrology. I get enough of that at work.” I thought over my last words. “That sort of sums up a lot of things. I make women think a twenty-five-dollar tube of lipstick is going to give them the life of Supermodel Sheila. In fact, it's not much different from a three-dollar lipstick at any drugstore. That's work. At home, what I want is a real person, without artifice. Somewhere along the way, that got lost.”

“It's a good thing I don't wear lipstick,” Ethan said. I laughed and leaned over to kiss him. We stared at the fire awhile, then he said, “I think it's good that you and Sheila have to spend time together because of your work. In the long run, that will help you iron out your differences. Avoiding someone is rarely a good way to work things out.”

I nodded, recognizing the wisdom of his words, particularly since they could also be applied to Daniel and me and our past three months apart.

If Gretchen realized that my weekend was punctuated by sexual interludes with Ethan, she didn't say anything. Nor did Ethan and I feel the need to analyze it. We seemed to share an understanding that this wasn't the beginning of anything more than a new, somewhat unusual, but definitely fulfilling friendship. He'd been right to tell me to follow my instincts, because I knew that we were meeting each other's needs without looking for any complications.

I wasn't sure if Ethan changed his plans because of what was happening between us, but I found that by the time Monday afternoon rolled around and he'd shown no sign of leaving, I was hoping he would stay as long as Gretchen and I did. Especially when I came in from a long walk to find the two of them relaxing downstairs next to a roaring fire.

“Since most of my clients are big Democrats,” Gretchen was saying, “I just hinted that I was spending a few days planning strategy with a new and important New Yorker who had the potential to be a very powerful influence in my life. Can I help it if they assumed I was talking about Hillary and her Senate campaign?”

Ethan burst out laughing and said, “Very clever.”

“I thought so.” Gretchen saw me and said, “Did you have a nice walk? I was just regaling Ethan with our adventures in artificial insemination.”

“Ah,” I said, trying to read his expression.

“You know, it might not be the conventional method, but I don't think of it as artificial,” Ethan said. “I like the other term for it. Alternative fertilization. We're already comfortable with the idea of being alternative, and fertilization sounds more life-affirming.”

I sat next to Gretchen on the sofa to take off my hiking boots. While Ethan was talking, he reached over to test my socks for dampness. Apparently satisfied, he kept his hands on my feet and began lightly massaging them. I saw Gretchen take it all in and draw the obvious conclusions, but she merely gave me a Mona Lisa smile and moved her gaze back to Ethan.

“When will you know if it worked?” Ethan asked.

“They do a test after two weeks. If I don't start my period in the meantime. I'm not even allowing myself to think about it until after the test. I don't want to be disappointed.”

She shifted and put her feet on my lap, and I absently rubbed them in imitation of the way Ethan was rubbing mine. I was glad she'd told someone what we'd done. I'd felt guilty for telling Adam and Josh that we were thinking about it.

Our conversation flowed into more intimate disclosures about our respective pasts. I gained a new respect for Ethan, who had overcome drug addiction and made a name for himself as one of the country's preeminent voices on the New Age lecture and workshop circuit. He'd also spearheaded programs working with at-risk teens, including the one that Jeremy was associated with in Eau Claire. I shared what Jeremy had told me about my nephew Nicky being part of Jeremy's group, and Ethan and I exchanged a smile at that coincidental connection between us.

“If I am pregnant, Blaine and I agreed to wait awhile before telling people,” Gretchen said, returning the conversation to what was uppermost on her mind.

“I won't say anything to anyone,” Ethan said. “Especially Martin, if that's what you're worried about.”

“Telling Martin would be like—”

“I brought videos,” I rudely interrupted Gretchen. “Who's up for a Rock Hudson–Doris Day film fest?”

“Blaine, I'm so proud,” Gretchen said. “It's almost like you've graduated and been accepted to Queer College.”

Ethan and I kept Gretchen entertained with imitations of Rock's Rex Stetson character from
Pillow Talk
over the following days. By the time Wednesday arrived, with a bright blue sky and a calming warmth that hinted of spring's arrival, I was ready to fall back into the caffeine-fueled, work-dominated buoyancy of New York City. My mind felt clearer and better able to undertake the hectic schedule that Violet warned me about in an e-mail that I read while I drank my morning coffee. The cozy sounds of Gretchen and Ethan cooking breakfast and laughing in the kitchen were a strange accompaniment to the busy world asserting itself through Violet's words.

Violet also gave me an update about Gavin. At first, she'd thought that Gavin might not accept the offer to become my personal assistant, the salary being somewhat low by New York City standards. But when he was assured that he would have enough free time to supplement his income with out-call massage clients, and that his weekends would usually be free, he accepted. I agreed to pick him up at the airport on Sunday, amazed that he was able to orchestrate his move from Baltimore so quickly. I decided that in terms of efficiency, he could be the male version of Violet.

Ethan had to leave earlier than us, since he wasn't driving back to Manhattan. He was speaking at a weekend retreat somewhere in rural Vermont. I helped him load numerous boxes of whatever New Age materials his various activities demanded.

“You folks should just use your psychic powers to communicate with each other and save trees,” I commented, grunting as I loaded the last of the boxes into his rented minivan.