One Last Lie (13 page)

She rolled her eyes and grabbed the letter.

“It says if I want a position as a Nurse Manager at Bridgeport Hospital, the job is mine.” Neither Philip nor Jonathan uttered a word. They simply stared at her, waiting for what was coming next. “Well, it seems Jonathan and I are on the same wavelength… again.” She smiled and swept the loose hair from Jonathan’s forehead. “I was going to bring it up to you today, you know, the fact that I
also
don’t think this city is a good place to bring up a child. So over the past month or so, I’ve been looking for jobs in Connecticut.”

She turned her back to both of them, walked to the sofa, and flopped down. “Now don’t get nervous. I know you guys haven’t even made up your mind yet, and I’m not pushing you into anything. But my thought was, if I want to bring my child up in the right environment, why not move by his or her fathers? And even if you decide you
don’t
want to go through with the whole thing, I knew a year ago it was time for me to leave this New York City craziness behind. And Connecticut’s a good place to start anew, right? Especially with you guys living there.”

Jonathan sat on one of the counter stools and hooked his heels on the stainless steel footrest. He felt his insides start to settle, like a warm shroud of calm encompassing his body. Staying silent, he let her continue.

“So I found this opening at Bridgeport Hospital and have actually been looking at homes in the Fairfield area. It’s close to you and near the hospital. I got this letter two days ago and told them I’d need a few days to decide. That’s why I thought today would be a perfect time to bring it up.” She looked at Jonathan and smiled. “And when Jonathan started talking about location and his issues with New York, I figured why wait til later? And so I brought out the letter.” Crossing her legs Indian-style, she leaned her elbows on her thighs. “And that’s that. Now it’s your turn.”

After a few seconds, Jonathan sauntered toward Angela and fell into the opposite side of the sofa so he could look at her. He let out a sigh.

“This is scary, you know.” He looked up at Philip, who had been checking out the view from the window and was now coming toward him. “We have the same taste in music, décor, and food — and now, while I’m freaking out about not wanting to bring up a kid in New York, you’ve already been planning to move to the country,” he said, using his fingers to represent quotation marks. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were psychic.”

“Not psychic,” she responded, “just a logical thinker with good taste. Like you, I guess.”

Philip sat down beside Jonathan and rubbed his leg.

“Wow, the perfect parents. Just like June and Ward Cleaver,” he joked. “Come to think of it, Jonny, you do have a little Ward going on in the eyebrow area.”

Jonathan pushed Philip’s hand away and turned to Angela. “Did you say I have good taste? Well you must have a lot better taste than I do because look who
I
get to spend my life with.”

Angela leaned over, placed a mozzarella wrap between her teeth, and eked out a smile.

“Poor you,” she said, shoving another wrap into her mouth, the smile never leaving her face.

10

If he had a rifle, he would’ve shot everyone on the street.

“Too many fucking people.” Tommy shoved through a crowd of pedestrians waiting to cross Broadway, muttering under his breath. “Just too many fucking people.” He said it over and over, like a mantra, standing on his toes to keep Angela and the two men within his sights.

“God damn faggots. What the hell is she doing with those two faggots?”

A nearby Asian woman shot him a look of contempt before taking another sip of her coffee. He realized his mumbling was no longer under his breath, but scowled at her anyway and pushed through the crowd, hoping to be first across the street when the light changed.

Jumping to see over the heads of the others, he saw the three of them make a left onto 46th Street, Angela in the middle, her arms tucked into the arms of each man. A searing poker pierced his belly, spreading heat throughout his body.

This isn’t fair! This isn’t fucking fair!
It was his only day off this week and she promised to spend it with him. But she’d cancelled late last night when he called to finalize their plans. She said it was an emergency, but she couldn’t discuss the details. That’s when he decided to wait at the end of her street, all day if necessary, and discover the so-called “emergency” for himself.

When the two men walked up the steps of her brownstone at 2:37, he immediately knew who they were. One of them had to be Philip, the ex-boyfriend she brought up every time they had an argument.

“He knew how to treat me,” she’d say, a quiver on the edge of her voice. “He knew how to touch me, how to talk to me when I felt sad.” She’d let out a huff and wrap her arms around herself. “I just can’t explain it, Tommy. It’s something that comes naturally to some men.”

“But he’s a fag, Angela! I don’t care how well he treated you back then. What the hell does that mean now?” He stuck both hands in his pants pockets and straightened his arms, leaning forward so she’d hear him better. “And of course he knew what to say to you. He knew what to say to
all
women because he’s almost a woman himself, for God’s sake!”

The argument would heat up from there, with Angela kicking him out and vowing never to speak to him again. After a dozen phone calls and messages left on her voicemail, she’d finally return his call and let him take her to dinner and woo her all over again.

But the last few arguments had been different, because she no longer talked about Philip in the past tense. He was back in her life, along with his fag boyfriend, and Tommy didn’t understand why. When he asked for an explanation, she’d only say the men were “good friends.” He didn’t buy that for a minute. If he was ever going to find out the truth, he’d have to do it behind Angela’s back.

And now here he was, following them all the way into Midtown Manhattan — his questions still unanswered. Before reaching 9th Avenue, they turned into Pomaire, his and Angela’s favorite Chilean restaurant. The heat from the poker in his belly grew more intense, a fire so blistering he had to cover his mouth to hold back a scream. He walked past the restaurant, keeping his face buried in the lifted collar of his jacket. When he reached 9th Avenue, he leaned against the concrete blocks of the corner bank and waited.

Except for the sound of his breath, he couldn’t hear a thing. It was as though the city’s speakers had been turned off: fire trucks whizzed by him without making a sound; a mass of yellow cabs swarmed up the avenue in silence. All around him people’s lips were moving but he couldn’t hear their voices. He heard only his quivering exhalations, now fueled by the ire and frustration of being cast aside, yet again.

Way down, beneath the rage and fire, he knew this was crazy. Angela was just a woman, one of millions from which he could choose. And yet, from the moment he first saw her, he couldn’t let her go. No one would take her from him. Especially a fag.

The sky grew darker by the minute; the shadow of silvery-gray clouds marching in from the Hudson adding an intensity to the autumn chill, forcing pedestrians to pick up the pace.

Tommy also walked faster, on his way back to Angela’s, silently praying he’d get there before she arrived. He’d waited on the corner of Ninth and Forty Sixth for almost two hours, pacing back and forth, trying to decide what to do.

He thought about going into the restaurant and sitting at the bar, casually glancing around the room until he caught her eye. Then he’d walk over to her table, feigning surprise and delight. But he knew she’d see right through it and would shun him for weeks if he pulled an obvious stunt like that.

He then considered calling her and asking if he could join them. Once she said “yes,” he’d walk around the block five or six times before finally entering the restaurant and pretending to be out of breath, as though he’d run from his uptown apartment to arrive just in time for appetizers. When he reached for his phone, his heart skipped a beat: If
she wanted me at dinner, she would have invited me.

He threw his options back and forth for two hours before deciding the meeting had to take place on the street; pure coincidence, as it sometimes happened to the people he worked with. If it could happen to others, why couldn’t it happen with Angela?

She can’t blame me for that, right?
I’m just walking on the street… it’s a public place. She can’t blame me for that. I’m allowed to walk on the street.

He decided it should take place near Angela’s apartment building, since he knew sooner or later the threesome would end up there. He planned to make the meeting appear even more accidental by walking toward them when they met. But he wasn’t sure how to choreograph that moment. . What if they went to a movie or a museum and returned from a different direction? What if they took a cab and were dropped off right in front of the brownstone?

“Fuck, what-if.” He slid his hands into his jacket pockets and tilted his head away from the invading wind. “I’ll make it happen.”

When he reached 16th Street, he walked past Angela’s building and continued to 5th Avenue before turning around to look behind him. So far, no Angela. He rested against the street lamp, ignoring the grunts of people who had to walk around him. His insides trembled in anticipation, still uncertain what he’d say when their paths converged — and how Angela would react.

He looked at his watch: 9:35.
Jesus Christ! A three hour meal? What the hell are they talking about for three fucking hours. She never sits with me for…

A heavy pounding beat against his ribcage when he saw a taxi turn onto 16th. The headlights of the car behind it beamed through the rear window, revealing three shadows in the back seat. He quickly stood up straight, swiped his hands along the sides of his head to push down any stray hairs, and began his brisk walk for the cab. As he marched toward the brownstone, second thoughts swirled inside his head. He swore to himself if it wasn’t the three of them, he’d call the whole thing off and go to Brodsky’s for a few shots. The potential damage this could cause to his relationship with Angela just wasn’t worth it.

He quickened his pace, hoping to pass them before they exited the cab, but as he approached the brownstone, an older couple appeared out of nowhere and crept down the street in front of him. He could either cross the street, which was bumper to bumper with cars stuck at a red light, or push the old farts out of the way and hope no one would notice. About to make a s decision, his legs froze when he saw Angela jump out of the cab and look directly at him. He tried to think of a way out, but his brain froze. . Other than turning around and running like a madman, he was out of options.

He knew Philip immediately.
So fucking Connecticut. Blonde hair, WASPy face, fancy shmancy coat.

“Hi!” Angela shouted, waving him down.

He looked behind him.
Is she talking to me?

“Tommy!”

His legs were moving, his arm waved as though a puppeteer pulled the strings from somewhere in the blackness of the sky. As he approached them, Philip took a few steps forward and held out his hand. It took less than a second for Tommy to decide Philip’s smile was forced, a mask to hide jealousy and anger that Angela had a male friend. But he was concealing it well. Tommy had to give him that much. He took Philip’s gloved hand, the soft leather against his skin sending a chill up his arm.

“Philip, this is Tommy. He’s a good friend of mine,” Angela glanced at Tommy with a smile as forced as Philip’s.

A good friend? What the hell was she talking about? Tommy continued shaking Philip’s hand, though his eyes remained on Angela. If he was going to set them straight, let them know he was Angela’s boyfriend, he’d have to speak now. But Angela’s eyes forbade him.

“This is Jonathan, Philip’s partner.” He heard Angela’s voice somewhere in the distance. “Jonathan, this is Tommy.”

He took his eyes off Angela and unintentionally looked directly into Jonathan’s piercing blue eyes. It was obvious now: they were mocking him; hiding frowns of disapproval behind false smiles and hand shaking.

“Nice to meet you.” Tommy said. He pulled his stare away from Jonathan and turned back toward Philip. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Don’t believe anything she told you!” Philip gave Angela a fake punch in the arm. “She’s a liar!”

Angela tussled Philip’s hair, then turned to Tommy, her smile wide.

“I’ve only said
nice
things, right Tommy?”

“Absolutely,” he responded. “All good things.”
I sound like a fucking retard. Jesus Christ.

“We have to get to the train or we’ll be waiting another hour before the next one comes.” Jonathan held up his index finger, signaling the cab driver to wait. “Nice meeting you, Tommy.” He tapped the side of Tommy’s arm. “Angela!” He gave her a tight hug. “Wonderful time, as always. We’ll call you during the week.” He kissed her cheek and slid into the cab.

Philip grabbed Angela and held her close, rocking her back and forth. “Love being with you,” he said.

Tommy looked at Angela’s face, her eyes closed, her chin resting on Philip’s shoulder as she hugged him back. It took all his strength not to pull Philip back by his hair and punch him in the face. When Angela’s eyes opened, they were empty.

Jonathan’s voice spilled out of the cab. “C’mon Philip, let’s go!”

Philip gave Angela a peck on the mouth and turned to Tommy. “Hey, nice to meet you.” He jumped in the cab, slammed the door, and waved as the vehicle pulled away.

Tommy stood unmoving, too frightened to spin around and face Angela. He waited for the cab to disappear before curling his hands into fists and swinging his arms by his sides. He took a few steps back and snuck a glimpse.