The summer between, p.20
The Summer Between, page 20
“What the fuck?”
“Think of it, Andy. I met you because you stole Damon Douchebag’s tickets.”
“I’ll buy him a gift certificate—no, a pound of cocaine,” I grumbled—and then started to laugh in spite of myself.
“No—let’s take the fucker out on the town. And once he’s strung out, I’ll push him in front of traffic,” Ben said, laughing so much that he got me laughing even more.
Ben stopped laughing suddenly and looked at me, his chin set grimly.
“Fuck. Does Elena know?”
“Hell no. Ben, it’s history. I’m tired. I should head back to Jersey.”
“Don’t be stupid. You’re staying here. Drink the chamomile tea. Then let’s go to sleep. Or you want a shot? That’s it. We’re both having a Dewar’s. It will help us sleep,” Ben said.
“Ben, I want to avoid fucking this up. I like you so much.”
“Mess what up? Us? You won’t do that.”
“Okay,” I said, sniffling again—this time with relief.
“People at MSP love-hate Damon, but this proves he’s a prick, once and for all. I wish I could tell everyone in the office. He’s freelance, and this would get him bounced out on his ass. But then, I’d have to tell them about you—and—”
“And you’re not out at work. Right?”
Ben looked down. His silence explained it all.
____
The smell of coffee brewing in Ben’s kitchen jerked me awake. I could hear him banging pots. Facing him after last night’s confession scared me, but I needed to pee. Tiptoeing to the bathroom, I tripped over the four-legged tub and felt it wrench a toe.
“Fuck!”
“Are you okay?” Ben called from the stove.
“Yes,” I said with false certainty, disgusted with the face I saw in the mirror. Creaking open the door, I braced for a confrontation.
“Morning. Coffee is ready. Should we have breakfast here or go out for pancakes?”
“Here is good. Just coffee,” I said, reaching for the clean T-shirt Ben had laid over the chair. “Can I wear your gym shorts?”
“Yes, anything.”
“Ben. I’m really … sad. This sucks.”
“Can you believe after we scrubbed the counter, I’m still finding rice?”
“Rice? We’re discussing rice?” I asked, ticked off.
“Hey, I’m sorry I wasn’t more sympathetic last night. I forget you’re eighteen. That asshole took advantage of you. Anyway …,” he said, handing me coffee in a white PBS mug.
“Thanks. Fill ’er up. I already know I’ll want thirds.”
“You were a wreck last night, sport.”
“Yeah, because I was reliving the rape all over again.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t blaming you—”
“Yeah, you were—a little.”
“Yeah, I was. But then I remembered what a shit Damon is.”
“I had a rotten night of sleep.”
“We’ll get through this. You’re still a kid. I made mistakes too. I still am.”
“I’m not a kid. I’m eighteen.”
“Anyway, how does toast sound? I have peasant bread from the Ukrainian bakeshop. And my mom’s canned peach jam.”
“Toast, but then I’d better head home. Lia’s calling tonight from Peru.”
“I thought we’d go to the flea market today—but another time.”
“Yeah, I should get home,” I said, inwardly thrilled that Ben had plans for us today. “Next weekend, I’m free.”
I cornered Ben and delivered a wet one to his lips. As he returned the kiss, little shivers made a comeback, and I knew for sure that I was in love with him.
Chapter 23
“Peru is fabulous,” Lia crackled through the static. “Andy, we need to travel, see the world!”
The sound of my mom’s voice was comforting. I shrugged off last night’s drama and gave it my all to mirror her joy. She told me they were leaving Lima, the capital of Peru, in an hour for the Andes mountains and Machu Picchu.
“Can you believe I ate raw fish and liked it!” she giggled. “The teachers on the tour are hilarious. Ruth says hola!”
We spoke for two minutes before the operator’s voice warned the long-distance call was timing out.
I assured Lia all was clear on the home front and that I relished the alone time to paint. We shared a kiss sound, and the connection broke.
On my own, I further indulged my melancholy over selling our home. No more mowing the grass. No Saturday housecleaning sing-alongs. No catching up over late dinners at the kitchen table.
The stillness in the house became suffocating. As the oven preheated, for noise I turned on The Wonderful World of Disney. Then I dialed Ben and left a message telling him I was feeling a little blue still. And I thanked Neal for the gumbo, just to be polite.
Minutes later, Ben returned the call.
“Hey, sport, I have an idea that will boost your spirits. Hear me out. We’re looking for students for a Columbia University ad campaign. Why don’t you let me test you? You get a hundred and fifty bucks for the day. If they use you, you’ll get up to fifteen hundred. Easy money for school.”
“Seriously?”
“The campaign will be used on buses, enrollment materials, posters—that kind of thing.”
“Count me in. This money would take the heat off my mom a little.”
“Here’s the squeeze. Damon the prick is art director on the project. I want to see him squirm when he sees your face in the photos. I’m betting he’ll choose you out of guilt. Yeah, I know it’s twisted.”
“Ummm, I guess so—as long as I don’t have to see fuckface again.”
“You won’t. Maybe if he knows we’re on to him, he won’t go around fucking up other kids.”
“I’m not a kid. Are you sure about this?”
“There’s nothing to lose. At least you’d get something beneficial from this prick. Something besides the Stones tickets, something besides me,” Ben added.
“Okay, I’m in. Lia will be thrilled.”
“Andy, I just realized I’m going out with a guy who lives with his mother!”
“Hey, not for long. I’m gonna be a college boy soon.”
“And a hunky college boy at that. Let’s take the test shots this week, okay?”
“Absolutely,” I replied.
Luba answered the phone. Before I could make small talk and act like nothing was out of the ordinary, she lowered her voice to ask me if anything was bothering Elena. She insisted that her little girl seemed depressed. When I told her that everybody gets into moods, she mildly agreed with me but still sounded uncertain. Then she called Elena to the phone.
“Hey, you. I was going to call you tonight.”
“Hey there.”
“Mom, can you please hang up? Andy, guess what? Rumor is, Bruce is in Jersey on a short break from the tour and playing a late set at the Stone Pony Friday night. Maya found out from her music prof, the one with a crush on her. We gotta go.”
“Springsteen? Wild. I’ll ask Ben. He could sleep over. If he’s in, I’m in.”
“Wait, you’ll only go if Ben goes? Whoa, this is getting serious.”
“E, weekends are the only chance we get to hang.”
“Sounds like there’s a lot of hanging out, honcho.”
“Dirty mind. Guess what? Ben recommended me as a model for an ad campaign.”
“Incredible! Does it pay?”
“It pays a lot if I get picked.”
“By the way, I’m feeling better, thanks for asking,” Elena jabbed.
“You didn’t give me a chance. You do sound better. But Luba noticed.”
“I’m so transparent,” she said.
“We have to pick ourselves up, shake it off, then make new mistakes.”
“Jeez. Thanks, Dad.”
On midday Thursday, I sped through the Lincoln Tunnel. Ben taught me that parking was at the ready on the unmetered, desolate side streets of the spice district in TriBeCa. The cardamom, pepper, and nutmeg combination was so intense I pinched my nose so I wouldn’t sneeze while walking from the car to the subway.
As instructed, I took the 1 Train uptown to Twenty-Third Street and then walked east to Park Avenue to Meyer, Simon and Polk. The gold numbers on the neoclassical building were hard to miss. Inside the lobby, I marveled at the veined granite on the floor and walls, and the gilded staircase. A stylish man in cream-colored linen slid the elevator’s accordion gate open.
“Can I help you find something?”
“I’m looking for MSP, but I’m not sure which floor?”
“Sixth floor. Delivery?”
“No, no, I’m meeting with someone. Ben Hoppe.”
“Ben is on eight. If you know him, go to eight, but if not, reception is on six.”
“Yes, I do know him. Thank you,” I said, seeing the dandy press eight.
“Presley Polk. And you are?”
“Andrew Pollock,” I replied, matching his formality.
Accepting his vigorous handshake, I recognized Polk as the final name in the agency.
“Any relation to Jackson Pollock? My father is friends with his widow, Lee Krasner.”
“Just the same surname.”
“Well, Ben’s a good man. I’ll take you up. You’re a model?”
“I’m a student. Ben’s taking test photos for a campaign.”
“Where are you a student?”
“NYU Fine Arts. Well, in September.”
“Here we are. The eighth floor. Andrew—I hope you make the cut. Ben’s down this corridor.”
“Andy,” Ben called, popping out of a doorway then getting formal when he saw his boss. “You found me.”
“Ben, I met Andrew in the lobby,” Presley said playfully. “He’s ready for his close-up.”
“Thanks, Presley. We’re on schedule. I’m gathering finalists for Columbia.”
“Good luck, Andrew,” Presley called out from down the corridor.
“Nice strategy,” Ben marveled, “meeting the top brass right off the bat.”
“Presley was super nice.”
“He’s a good egg,” Ben said, guiding me toward the backdrop.
“Was he at Mardi Gras?”
“Of course. I said hello to him early in the party.”
“I brought a button-down and khakis. What do you think? Collegiate?”
“I forgot to tell you we have a rack of clothes. Put on the yellow Oxford.”
“Oxford? What’s that?”
“A button-down, it’s the type of cloth—these shirts are from Brooks Brothers. Wear it untucked over the jeans. The white Adidas are good. Put this blue backpack over the shirt, and carry these two red textbooks under your arm,” he directed me, placing the manuals on a stool.
My head was spinning but I tried to follow the many orders Ben was throwing at me.
“By the way, Uncle Jack asked if we wanted to join him for dinner tonight. There’s a new Tex-Mex place he’d like us to try. Iguana something. He’d like to see you. I told you he liked you special.”
“Stop that!” I said, blushing. “What’s Tex-Mex?”
“Yeah—where you from, Jersey?” Ben teased and laughed. “It’s a Texas version of Mexican food, very trendy.”
“I’m game. I have an iron stomach.”
“By the bye, Damon’s in today to review the frames for final approval. Wait until he sees your face among the galleys. I’d give anything to see him shit his fancy pants.”
“Uh, I—”
“The real shoot is next week. Can you make that? Wednesday, maybe Thursday?”
“Yes. I’ll resign from PGE if I have to. After all, this pays more. Next Friday night is Patti Smith in Central Park, so it would be great if the shoot was the same day.”
“We will try to meet your schedule, Mr. Model Man,” Ben giggled. “First, Damon has to approve. That Oxford looks great on you. You look sexy all prepped out.”
He directed me to stand in front of a screen and relax my shoulders, as Ben flattened my hair with the palm of his hand.
“The actual shoot will have a hair, makeup, and wardrobe person. It’s a full day, for individual plus group shots.”
Standing behind the tripod, Ben advised, “Drop your chin, back up a couple of inches. Right shoulder toward me. Fewer teeth. Slow turn toward me. Smile, but less broadly. Great. Now squat down on one knee. Good. Don’t fall over,” he said, laughing.
I followed him to the letter even though I had a headache. I heard the numerous clicks and whirs.
“Lean against the wall like you’re talking to someone. Andy, these look solid. Okay, set the books on your noggin. Let’s get goofy here. That’s it. We got it.”
“Wow, that was fast. How many did you take?”
“Hmm … close to sixty. We only need three to five strong ones. You’ve got a real shot at this, sport.”
“Are there other candidates for my part?”
“Yeah, eight others. But I chose boys who are too model-y on purpose, so you would stand out as authentic.”
“Is that legal?” I asked, prompting Ben to laugh at my naïveté.
“I have another ninety minutes of work. Why don’t you hang out in the library next to reception? There are hundreds of art books. Then we can go to my place. Let’s fool around before we meet Uncle Jack at eight.”
“Wait. I have to change back into my clothes.”
“Nah, wear the yellow Oxford—it looks adorable on you. Sixth-floor receptionist is Nora. Tell her you’re waiting for me.”
____
As Ben unlocked the deadbolt to his apartment, I felt silly and horny and licked his neck. Suddenly, I heard opera music blare. Neal was home.
“La bohème welcomes you home,” he announced grandly.
Ben and I exchanged quick looks of disappointment. Instead of monkeying about naked, I settled for sitting on the patio sipping German beer. Neal was in a spirited mood.
“Well, lovebirds, what are y’all up to tonight? My man is casting off to San Francisco to visit his gays. He didn’t ask me to join him, so I’m a bachelor all weekend.”
“That’s tough,” Ben said, with a wink in his eye.
“I mean, after dating for two months, shouldn’t he have asked me? And San Francisco, God knows what he’ll be up to. His friends are pretty boys with shit for brains. I know I sound bitter. Well, I am! Another brewski, boys?”
“I’m good,” Ben answered. “I’m going to New Jersey tomorrow with Andy. Rumor has it Bruce Springsteen is performing in a bar in Asbury Park.”
“You better be back Saturday, Mister Man. You’re going with me to that gala. Remember, it’s for SAGE. This new charity helps out old queens—pardon me, gay and lesbian senior citizens.”
“No sweat,” I shrugged.
“Andy, can I borrow your cornfed lover boy for one night? I’m sorry but I only have two invitations.“
“I forgive you,” I said, trying to sound as dramatic as Neal.
“Isn’t Springsteen that bearded hunk on the cover of Newsweek?” Neal asked. “I prefer classical music and opera. Unless it’s N’awlins blues.”
“I thought you were living for disco these days,” Ben teased.
“Yes, disco. I’m enslaved. Donna Summer is my royal queen.”
“Neal, what time did you start drinking?”
“Honey, I stopped at Uncle Charlie’s at five and had two tequila sunrises.”
“Who’s Uncle Charlie?” I asked.
“Darling, who’s Uncle Charlie? You are fresh from the garden, aren’t you? Uncle Charlie’s is the bar of the moment. It’s on Greenwich Avenue in the West Village. It’s for people like us: divas, preppy professionals, and hunky fresh-faced students straight off the bus. It’s packed every night.”
“Ben, it’s seven thirty. Shouldn’t we be heading out to meet Uncle Jack?”
Neal chuckled.
“You call him Uncle Jack already. Isn’t that the cutest thing. Precious. If you two move in together, I need two months’ notice, puh-lease!”
“Neal, we’ll be back in a few hours,” Ben said.
“Can’t promise I’ll be here. In fact, I promise I will not. While my baby doll does San Francisco, I’m doing the Village.”
“Be careful,” Ben cautioned, wagging a finger playfully.
“Why not take Uncle Jack to Uncle Charlie’s after dinner?” Neal bubbled. “The boys will flock to that sugar daddy. Andy, see you soon.”
The Checker reeked of cigar, demanding we roll down the windows.
“It’s called the something Iguana,” Ben said. “Tomorrow, I’ll leave the office by one so we can head to Jersey.”
“Is Lula coming to see Bruce?”
“Nope, zero interest. I love her, but she can be impossible.”
“Neal was wound up tonight.”
“That he was.”
“I was hoping to come back to the city with you on Saturday. I hate you going to that gay party without me.”
“Andy. We’re together tonight and going to your house tomorrow. This is great, but we have our lives. Let’s take it slow, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, feeling like he had slapped my face.
“I love being with you, sport, but shit—driver, far corner, please.”
Uncle Jack, handsome as ever, was standing outside the restaurant looking at his watch with a scowl.
“Boys. I did say eight o’clock. It’s now 8:15. I made a reservation. Andy, I’ll forgive you. Ben should know better.”
“Hi, is Perry joining us?” I asked, marveling at Jack’s purple plaid shirt.
“Perry is in Newfoundland on a shoot for a coat company. Let’s go in. I prefer not to lose our reservation.”
The hostess sat us alongside a dinosaur-sized multicolored iguana. Jack announced grandly that dinner was, once again, his treat. We all ordered a round of margaritas and ceviche and poblano dip.
Uncle Jack specified top-shelf tequila for the drinks, with salt, giving his order to an indifferent waiter.
“I’ve never been to a Mexican restaurant,” I confessed.
“Tex-Mex,” Uncle Jack corrected. “You’ll enjoy it. Andy, ask if you’re unfamiliar with anything. So, what’s new, boys?”
“Well,” said Ben, “I recruited Andy to do test shots today for a campaign I’m helping art direct for Columbia University. We’ll know tomorrow if he signs.”
