Is He Or Isn't He? (9 page)

But when Anthony picked up the slip of paper and saw what was written on it, he stared at it with disbelieving eyes.

No! It couldn't be. It just couldn't be!

But it was.

Undeniable proof that Max was straight.

“H
ow bad should we be?” Paige asked Anthony.

They were at the Frosted Cupcake, their favorite hangout in Greenwich Village. The Frosted Cupcake was a coffee bar/bakery well known for its homemade cupcakes and desserts. The interior of the shop was warm and cozy, the walls painted a creamy caramel and decorated like a family room with plush couches and oversized armchairs. There was a fireplace in one corner that was often roaring in the fall and winter, framed movie posters on the walls and end tables covered with newspapers and magazines for customers who wanted to read them.

Paige loved the Frosted Cupcake because of their yummy banana bread while Anthony loved their red velvet cupcakes. But Paige knew the real reason Anthony liked coming there was because it was so close to Chelsea, the neighborhood
where most of Manhattan's gay community lived. Besides the yummy treats
behind
the counter, there was plenty of free eye candy
in front
of the counter for Anthony to drool over.

On the weekends it was often impossible to get a seat inside the Frosted Cupcake and there was always a line out the door and around the block for their cupcakes. But during the week the bakery was much quieter and there was never a problem getting a seat.

“Let's be bad. Very bad,” Anthony said, staring at a menu as they settled into two armchairs covered with colorful suede patches. “Hmmm. Decisions, decisions. Am I in a chocolate or vanilla mood?”

“Do you guys know what you want?”

Paige looked up and gave a smile to Roger, their waiter, who had been working at the Frosted Cupcake for the last year. He was about the same age as them, with dirty-blond hair that he wore in a shaggy cut and piercing blue eyes. She'd never once seen him clean-shaven, but always with a five o'clock shadow. Paige liked the way his darker beard contrasted with his light hair color and how his wardrobe usually consisted of T-shirts, plaid shirts with the sleeves rolled up and jeans. He always wore a chunky silver bracelet on one wrist and a watch with a wide black leather band on the other. Roger's overall style was laid-back, but it suited him.

“I'll have a latte and two chocolate cupcakes,” Anthony said. “And I want the ones with sprinkles on top.”

Roger looked up from his order pad. “Tough day?”

Anthony returned his menu to Roger. “It started out good, but quickly went downhill. You don't want to know the details.”

“Gotcha.” Roger turned to Paige. “And what would your sweet tooth like?”

“I'll have a slice of banana bread,” Paige said.

Roger tucked the menus under his arm and slid his pen behind one ear, which was pierced with a small silver hoop earring. “Be right back.”

“So let's recap the Max situation,” Paige said once they were alone. “Don't you think you're overreacting a bit?”

“Am I?”

“He wants to do the movie.”

“But when I suggested we rehearse, he found a reason to leave.”

“Maybe he really did have to leave.”

“Maybe. But then I found this.” Anthony placed the slip of paper he had found on the table. It had a name and a phone number on it.

Paige glanced at it. “Sheena Wolverton's phone number?”

“What's Max doing with the She-Wolf's phone number?!” Anthony wailed. “If we were looking for an answer to ‘Is he or isn't he?' well, guess what, we found it!”

“Calm down and I'll fill you in.”

“You knew about this?” Anthony gasped.

Paige squirmed in her seat. “Kind of. Max is buying new uniforms for the cheerleading squad. A lot of the girls were hugging and kissing him, including Sheena, as a way of saying thanks. I guess Sheena must have slipped him her number.”

“Only a straight boy would buy new uniforms for the cheerleading squad,” Anthony moaned.

“Not necessarily. I mean, Max is new. Maybe this is his
way of trying to fit in and make friends. Get everyone to like him. As for the She-Wolf's phone number, just because he had it doesn't mean he was going to call her.”

“You're right. He's not.” Anthony ripped the slip of paper into tiny shreds.

“Anthony!”

“What? She's the competition and with the way things are shaping up,
your
competition.”

Paige studied Anthony closely. He was down in the dumps and that was rare. And when he did get down, it usually took a couple of days to happen. Something else was going on. “This isn't about Max. Something else is bothering you.”

Anthony sighed. “I'm just tired of…I don't know…being different, Paige.”

“What do you mean?”

Anthony looked around the bakery. “Sometimes I wish I wasn't gay. Sometimes I wish I was just like everyone else.”

“Oh, sweetie.” At that moment, all Paige wanted to do was give Anthony a huge hug. Which she immediately did, jumping out of her seat and wrapping her arms around him, squeezing as tightly as she could.

“Being gay is a part of who you are. It's what makes you special.”

Anthony hugged Paige back. “Thank you.”

“I didn't know you'd switched teams,” Roger said, placing their order on the coffee table in front of them.

“Ha ha,” Anthony said, reaching for a cupcake and taking a huge bite. “I'm just getting a little TLC from my best friend.”

“Where's the boyfriend?”

Paige knew that Anthony and Ian had often come to the Frosted Cupcake when they were dating and had been served by Roger. The fact that he didn't have a problem with Anthony being gay made him very cool in Paige's book.

“You mean ex-boyfriend,” Anthony said. “Probably off breaking someone else's heart.”

“His loss.”

“Thanks,” Anthony said, perking up. “Hey, nice jeans. I love how faded out they are.”

“You do? Thanks.”

“Where'd you get them?”

“The 23rd Street flea market. Only twenty-five bucks, which was a steal for a pair of Levis.”

Anthony tried not to look horrified. “You bought a
used
pair of jeans?”

“They're not used, they're vintage.”

Anthony held up a hand. “You might like digging through piles of dirty clothes, but I want my clothes to be fresh off the rack and never before worn.”

“Fashion past influences fashion future,” Roger said. “Didn't you know that?”

“No. How do you?”

“I'm taking a design class. I'd love to chat some more, but I've gotta get back to work. If you need anything else, I'll be behind the counter with Candy.”

“Wasn't last week's girlfriend named Nina?” Paige whispered as Roger walked away.

Anthony shrugged, finishing off his first cupcake and already removing the paper wrapper of his second. “Who
knows? I've lost track of Roger's glamazons.”

The glamazons was the nickname Paige and Anthony had given to Roger's girlfriends. It seemed like every other week, Roger had a different girl draped over his arm. They were always tall and leggy, with the type of gorgeous hair you'd see in a shampoo commercial. When Roger wasn't busy serving customers, he and his latest glamazon were usually huddled together at the counter doing homework. Roger was always the one doing the talking and pointing at their textbooks while his study partner listened, but Paige didn't think Roger's glamazons had much in the brains department. They usually had a blank expression on their faces, as if they didn't understand a word he was saying, although their makeup was
always
flawless.

Today's glamazon—Candy—was a redhead with a short pixie cut that Paige wished she had the courage to try.

“Why can't I be like Roger?” Anthony asked.

“Roger likes girls,” Paige pointed out.

“That's not what I mean. Roger always has a girlfriend. Why can't I always have a boyfriend?”

“I don't know. But trust me, once we're in college you're going to have so many guys interested in you, I'm never going to see you.”

“Let's hope so,” Anthony grumbled.

Paige took a bite of her banana bread as a blond guy in his early twenties walked into the bakery. “He's cute.”

“Don't get your hopes up,” Anthony said, sipping his latte.

“Huh?”

“He's gay.”

Paige took another look at the guy and shook her head.

“He is not. Look at how conservatively dressed he is.”

Anthony sighed. “Must you doubt me?”

“He's not gay,” Paige insisted.

“Observe the clues, Miss Paige. Even though he's wearing a navy blue suit, he's wearing loafers without socks. Second, note the color of his tie. It's pink. Sherbert pink! Third, his clothes are immaculately pressed; there's not a wrinkle on him.”

“Maybe he's a metrosexual. Did you stop to think of that?”

“Yes, he
could
be a metrosexual, but he's not.” Anthony sat back in his arm chair, a smug smile on his face. “And I have proof.”

“What kind of proof?”

“There's the backpack tossed over his shoulder. Note the key chain attached to the zipper.”

Paige took a closer look at the guy, noticing all the things Anthony had pointed out. Then she zeroed in on the key chain and knew she was wrong and Anthony was right.

It was a Hello Kitty key chain.

“And if you need any further proof,” Anthony continued, “let's listen to his voice when he orders. That should be the icing on the cake. Or considering where we are, the icing on the cupcake.”

Paige listened; the blond man had a slightly effeminate lisp.

“Okay, okay,” she sighed. “I admit defeat. You're right. He's gay.”

“Yes! Victory!” Anthony exclaimed. “That's another round of ‘gay or straight' to me!”

“Gay or straight” was a game that Paige and Anthony sometimes played. Basically, it was just people watching, but trying to figure out if someone was gay or straight. Paige was amazed at how Anthony was always able to win the game. He could usually tell from a guy's haircut, backpack, type of eyeglasses he was wearing, shoes—the list went on and on—if he was gay or straight.

Paige's cell phone rang. When she looked at the incoming number, she groaned. “It's my mother.”

“Are you going to talk to her?”

“I guess I should. Who knows when I'll get another chance?”

“When was the last time you spoke to her?”

“This summer. Out in California.”

“Ouch.”

Paige pressed the phone to her ear, trying to sound cheerful. Something was up. The only time she heard from Camille was when she wanted something. Or when there was a crisis in her life. “Hello, Mother.”

“Paige!” Camille wailed over the line. “Have you seen the latest issue of
Soap Opera Insider
?”

“No, I haven't. Why?”

“You're not going to believe what's happening.”

Paige sighed. She'd been right. Something was going on in her mother's life. Something not good. “What's happening?”

“They're going to age my daughter on the show!”

“But didn't you give birth to Ivory two years ago?”

“Yes! It's a plot, I tell you. A plot!”

“A plot?”

“The new producer hates me! She's trying to push me off the show. She feels we need a younger audience so they're going to age Ivory so she can start wreaking havoc in Harmony Hills. She's going to go off to nursery school on Friday and come back home as a sixteen-year-old on Monday!
I'm
the one who's supposed to be wreaking havoc in Harmony Hills, not my daughter!”

“Maybe—”

Camille cut her off. “Don't you see what's happening? They're going to backburner me! I'm not going to get any story line! And then when my contract comes up for renewal, they're going to drop me from the show.”

Where was her mother's agent? Isn't this what he got paid his fifteen percent commission for? Better yet, where was her therapist?!

“Mother, calm down. You're overreacting.”

But Camille wasn't listening. Her voice was becoming more and more hysterical.
Not
a good sign. Anthony leaned closer to Paige, trying to listen in, but she shooed him away.

“What happens if they fire me? What will I do then? No other show will want to hire me. I'll be out of work. Penniless! You know how I live, darling. I spend like crazy—and I don't have anything in the bank.”

But you do have ex-husband number five who pays you monthly alimony
, Paige thought.
I doubt you'll be hungry or homeless. Or you can always find hubby number six
.

“My career is over. Over!” Camille wailed.

“Mother, listen to me,” Paige ordered. “Listen to me!”

Anthony stopped in mid-bite of his cupcake, eyes wide open at Paige's firm tone of voice.

“Are you listening?” Paige asked.

There was silence at the other end of the line.

“You're the star of
The Yields of Passion.
The show's not going to fire you. They can't. The fans would revolt and the ratings would tumble. You're the reason everyone watches. Just like Susan Lucci on
All My Children
.”

“You think so?” Camille asked in a tiny voice.

Paige gave a sigh of relief. Apparently her words had calmed Camille down.

“Yes. The fans love to hate you.”

Just like I sometimes do in real life.

“I suppose you're right. The fans
do
love me and
Soap Dish
magazine named me outstanding villainess for the fourth year in a row.”

“Have you seen any scripts yet with a teenage Ivory in them?”

“No.”

“Then maybe it's not going to happen. You know how those magazines are. They hear a rumor and they print it. Maybe Ivory won't be turning sixteen for another five years.”