Loyalty, Love, & Vermouth, page 13
When I told Freddie about Iris’s plans, he seemed amenable enough. “Sounds fun,” he said, and I put the brunch on both our calendars.
But the night before the big reunion, Freddie wanted to go out with Tucker and Jack for a good old-fashioned gay bar crawl, which usually meant getting home at around three a.m. and not quite knowing how you accomplished it.
“We can do that,” I said, “but we shouldn’t stay out too late or get too wasted. We’re meeting Iris and her kids tomorrow.”
“Who?”
“Iris, my best friend from college. Remember? She wrote to me about a month ago, and we’re meeting her for brunch. She’s taking us to Sequoia.”
“Oh. Yeah, I think I’ll skip brunch.”
I was stunned. “What? No! Freddie, she went to a lot of trouble, and we’ve had this date on our calendar for weeks.”
“But I don’t even know her. You go. I’d rather hang out tonight with Jack.”
“I’m not saying we can’t go out tonight. Just that we should take it easy.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” he said, curtly. And I dropped it.
That night, we did go out with Tucker and Jack, but around eleven thirty, Tucker made his perfunctory exit, and I decided I’d better do the same. Jack, predictably, wasn’t going home anytime soon, and Freddie decided he wasn’t ready to call it a night either.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I said as I hopped into a cab, hoping Freddie would receive it with all the lightness and humor I was desperately trying to convey. But he just rolled his eyes.
When the sun peeked through my window at six the next morning, Freddie still wasn’t home. It was an hour later as Mamie and I returned from our morning walk around the block that I saw him fumbling with his keys, still drunk from last night’s intemperance.
“Morning,” I called out, not able to hide my pique and honestly not caring. Mamie strained at the leash to get closer to him, tail wagging, determined not to help me in my campaign to shame him.
“Hey, girl,” he said, giving her a little scratch behind the ears, ignoring me altogether.
“Did you have fun?” I asked, but he was giving me the silent treatment, once again fumbling with his keys. “Here, let me.” He moved out of my way, proving he could hear me when it suited him. I unlocked the door while he stared at his shoes.
Mamie entered first, followed by Freddie, followed by me, still tethered to Mamie on the other end of her leash.
“Mamie, c’mere.” And she did, nearly tripping Freddie in the process. As I turned our little dog loose, I asked, “Did you have fun?”
“Look,” he said, massaging his temples, “I don’t want to fight.”
“Who’s fighting?” I asked, although it was clear to both of us I was fighting. “I’m just glad you made it home. And it’s not even seven thirty. You have time to take a nap if you want. We don’t need to leave for another three hours.”
“I’m not going,” Freddie said, so quietly it barely registered.
“Freddie, you have to go.”
And suddenly he was so loud it scared even Mamie. “Don’t tell me what I have to do! You’re not Yoda!”
“Lower your voice, please. Look, Iris is one of my closest friends—”
“Who I’ve never even heard of! You’ve never mentioned her once in two years. How important could she be?”
“It was twenty years ago, but I’ve told you those stories. It’s not my fault if you don’t listen.”
“I told you I wasn’t going to your stupid goddamn brunch yesterday. Which one of us doesn’t listen?”
“Look,” I said, adopting a more conciliatory tone, “this is important to me. Back in college, Iris and I used to—”
“Oh, Jesus, that word again!”
“What word? Iris?”
“College. You’re not a better person than I am because you have a fucking theater degree, you know.”
“If you think I’m so ashamed of you, why do you suppose it’s so important to me you show up today?”
“God knows,” he said. “Maybe it’s more fun to relive your glory days with someone who was too stupid to get into—”
“You got into college! You’re taking college courses right now! You’ll have a degree in a year! And I’m very proud of you, Freddie, of us. When you’re not stumbling around drunk after being out for twelve hours doing heaven knows what.”
“Then you’ll be glad to know,” he said, “I won’t be there to embarrass you at your fancy brunch with your fancy friends. I’m going to bed, Charlie. Don’t wake me up when you leave.” And he walked upstairs.
“What am I supposed to tell Iris? That you couldn’t give a shit about meeting one of my oldest friends?”
“Sounds about right,” he answered from the landing, slamming the bedroom door behind him.
I did go to brunch with Iris by myself. I made up some bullshit about Freddie not feeling well, and I think she knew I was lying, but was too polite to say so. We had a nice time, despite my being embarrassed about showing up alone. When I got home four hours later, Freddie was gone. He wouldn’t reappear until after dark. A text he’d sent said he needed to get out, to think. I’m fairly sure I believed him, which makes me an idiot. Also a kind person who gives people the benefit of the doubt, but mostly an idiot.
He returned as the sun was setting. I told him we had to talk. He didn’t want to, but I insisted. As I poured myself a cup of coffee, he told me I was too controlling, too judgmental, and he was feeling constrained. He suggested “opening up the relationship” might give him the space he needed away from my condescension and snobbery. I told him I wasn’t sure about an open relationship, but I apologized for making him feel disrespected. See “idiot,” above.
The next three months were awful. We fought a lot, and I went to bed angry most nights, exactly the way you’re not supposed to. On several occasions, Freddie wouldn’t come home from work until almost midnight, and if I should dare inquire where he’d been, it was merely one more jot of evidence that I was a psychologically abusive mother hen. And then we’d either scream at each other or climb in bed, each facing opposite sides of the room, silently fuming.
We fought so much toward the end, the eventual breakup seemed almost serene by comparison. It happened on a Friday evening. It was a short conversation, as I recall. Freddie announced he was leaving, and nothing I could say would change his mind. I asked him to reconsider, but he was firm in his convictions and, weirdly, not angry. He had simply made up his mind.
That night, Freddie slept in the guest room. He called Mamie into the room with him, but being a creature of routine, she preferred to sleep in her usual spot, under my—formerly our—bed. I counted that as a small win on what I thought was the worst night of my life, but she wasn’t happy in our room, either. She wouldn’t hop up on the bed when it was time to turn out the light. She just sat, stubbornly, by the bedroom door, clearly unhappy with the new sleeping arrangements. I told her I understood and I was sorry, and I turned out the light.
The next day, Freddie composed an email to Lee, Claude, Tucker, and Jack to announce our separation. He asked me to read it before he sent it out, and I hated it. It read as though it was cobbled together by a lawyer or a press agent. I asked if I could rewrite it. He said no. “Fine,” I said, “then take my name off it, and I’ll write my own.”
“Fuck you,” he said, hitting the Send button.
“Very nice,” I replied and immediately called Lee.
“Hey, chica,” Lee said. “What’s happenin’, hot stuff?”
“Freddie’s leaving me,” I said rather nonchalantly, going into the bedroom and closing the door behind me.
After Lee stopped crying, I explained it was probably for the best, although I was yet to be convinced on that point. I wasn’t a willing participant in this breakup, but it was happening despite my objections. And the most important thing was that we didn’t want our friends to have to choose between us.
“You don’t sound very upset about this,” Lee said.
“Just numb. It’ll hit me in a week probably. But I’ll go visit the rhyming lesbians at the beach or something. I promise not to burden you with this.”
“Burden away. I’m your friend.”
“But you’re his friend too. I don’t want to suck you into any drama—”
“Have we met? I live for drama.”
“We’ll talk about it later. I need to call Tucker and Jack before they get Freddie’s godawful email.”
“Too late,” Lee said. “They’re already texting me about it.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Listen. Before you go, where is Freddie staying?”
“He was in the guest room last night.”
“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. He can move in here.”
“What?”
“This is not me taking sides, but I’ve seen this telenovela before. If you don’t want to kill each other, he’s got to get out of there.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ve got a business trip in a week, and I’ll need someone to watch Mamie, and—”
“Stop it. Freddie can move in tonight, and Mamie can come over when you go. You both need to get away from each other right now. Trust me, I speak from experience.”
I relented. I told Freddie he had been invited to stay at Lee and Claude’s place “to give us some breathing room,” I said. Freddie calmly agreed and packed a few bags. Leaving the house an hour later, he told me he’d be back for his other things when he found a place of his own.
The door closed behind him not with a bang, but with the quietest of clicks. My life had changed forever in the past twenty-four hours, and frankly I thought the moment deserved more drama. Some yelling, perhaps some crying, maybe something expensive being thrown against a wall and shattering into a million pieces? That would have been a nice touch. But the entire affair was surprisingly calm and adult. Freddie used to live here, and now he was gone. Simple as that. Mamie scratched at the door, requesting a simple walk, not knowing her other human had crossed the threshold for the very last time.
* * *
When the Sunday of Jack’s party arrived, Freddie had been gone for a month. I got up early and wanted to do what happy, well-adjusted single people did in the morning. I decided I’d go for a run. This was significant, because I had never “gone for a run” a day in my life before and haven’t willingly done so since. I ran two blocks before I was completely out of breath. I walked home, figuring I’d try being a happy, well-adjusted single person the next week.
When I got back, I took a nice long shower, shaved, styled my hair, and delicately misted myself with my favorite cologne, the one I hadn’t worn in years because Freddie said he was allergic. And when I looked at the clock, it was still an hour before I was supposed to leave so I would arrive fashionably tardy.
So, I sat on the couch next to Mamie. If she was having any difficulty adapting to life without Freddie, she wasn’t making a big show of it. She was sleeping at the foot of the bed again and didn’t seem to miss him all that much. Then again, I had stuck pretty close to home since the split, and it’s possible she had more human companionship than she knew what to do with. Either way, it was nice.
I sometimes imagined she had taken my side in the breakup, although I knew in my heart if Freddie appeared at the door, she would greet him up on her hind legs, her fluffy tail happily swinging back and forth. I would hate this, naturally, but wouldn’t blame her. She was wired for loyalty and couldn’t know what a selfish little shit he’d been lately.
I decided to leave Mamie at home on the day of Jack’s party, even though she’d been invited. I told myself seeing Freddie might confuse her, but in truth I was driven by spite. I didn’t want to see a joyous reunion, and I especially did not want to witness Mamie jumping for joy and Freddie weeping and cooing in front of everyone. Being in the room with my ex and his newly minted boyfriend was going to be awkward enough.
“You’ll be okay here while I go to this blasted thing?” I asked.
Mamie’s doleful face gave me the answer I dreaded. Please don’t leave me, she seemed to be saying. Or maybe I just didn’t want to go.
Fuck it, I’d have to be unfashionably on time. I grabbed a liver-flavored cookie from the kitchen and shouted, “Kennel!” Mamie ran upstairs, and I followed. When I caught up with her, she was sitting in her crate, awaiting her reward. I fastened the latch as I fed her through the crate’s bars. While she chewed as though she hadn’t been fed in weeks, I took a deep breath, grabbed an expensive bottle of Rosé of Pinot Noir in lieu of the gift Jack begged us not to bring, collected my keys, and locked the door behind me.
When I got to the party, I was relieved to find I wasn’t the first to arrive. Also, Freddie and his new paramour were nowhere in sight. As I set the wine on his kitchen cabinet, Tucker entered.
“Oh my God,” he said. “You look great.”
“Don’t sound so shocked. It’s bad for my brand.”
“C’mere, sugar,” he said, stepping forward for a warm hug. I obliged. When we separated, he noticed the wine. “You shouldn’t have, but thank you. Should we open it?”
“It needs to be chilled.”
Tucker obliged, grabbing the bottle and putting it the fridge. “He’s not here yet.”
I smiled. “I can’t imagine who you mean.”
“Don’t be such a WASP.”
“We all cope in our own ways. I WASP. And drink.”
“Coming right up,” he said.
As Tucker uncorked a bottle of Pinot Grigio he’d found in the fridge, Lee sailed into the room.
“Hostia puta, you look amazing,” he said, hugging me tight. “You smell good too. But you should have told me you were dressing for revenge. I’d have brought my palettes. Nothing says ‘I Will Survive’ like a good smoky eye.”
Tucker poured me a glass of wine, and I smiled, hoping I could handle whatever the day would bring.
By the time Freddie appeared two hours later, I was halfway through my second bottle of wine. At first, it appeared he had come alone after all. I noticed he was wearing the same seersucker shorts he had worn on the day we met. Sadly, Edwin could be seen just outside. He had stepped in something and was scraping whatever it was all over the uppermost porch step, much to Jack’s chagrin. I’m not sure Edwin appreciated the power of this particular metaphor, but I sure did.
“Sorry we’re late,” Freddie said. “Church ran long.”
I couldn’t help myself. “Church?” I whispered, so only Lee could hear me.
Lee sighed. “Apparently, Edwin has shown him the way and the light.”
“But Freddie’s a bigger atheist than I am.”
“Was. Besides, if anyone needs Jesus…”
When Edwin finally entered the house, he was truly everything I hoped he’d be. And by that, I mean too young for Freddie but already balding, with few if any discernible social skills. What hair he had left was the color of dishwater, and he seemed to have spilled something—ketchup, perhaps?—on his ill-fitting white button-down shirt. To be fair, he seemed nice enough. His smile was wide and bright, and he seemed genuinely happy to be here and meet everyone.
But he was either too kind or too stupid to notice the shocked looks on the faces of the people he was greeting a bit too effusively. Meanwhile, Jack was following him around the room, making sure whatever he’d stepped in wasn’t being tracked all over his hand-knotted Persian rugs.
When he approached Lee, whom he had met two days before, he opted for a hug instead of a handshake. Trapped in Edwin’s clumsy embrace, Lee shot me a look that was one part “I’m sorry” and two parts “Help!”
And then it was my turn. “Hi,” he said, thrusting a clammy, moist hand in my direction. “I’m Edwin Gooch. I’m Freddie’s boyfriend!”
The room fell deadly silent. Nearly everyone in attendance knew more about this explosive circumstance than Edwin did, poor bastard.
“Hello,” I said. “I’m Charlie. I’m Freddie’s ex-boyfriend.” Edwin’s big, dumb face fell, and I felt sorry for him despite myself. “It’s very nice to meet you,” I said, with a smile and what I hoped was an air of sincerity. I will admit to turning my back on him without shaking his hand, leaving him standing there to cringe in silence.
I returned to my familiar post in the kitchen where Tucker was waiting for me with a bottle of now-chilled Rosé of Pinot Noir in his hand.
“Unbelievable,” he said.
“It’s fine.”
But it wasn’t fine. Tucker uncorked the bottle and procured a new glass from the cabinet above the stove. He poured the pink wine into the glass and handed it to me, but before I could take a sip, Freddie stormed into the kitchen without so much as a hello. “What the fuck did you say to him?”
I took a sip anyway and took my time. “Trouble in paradise already?”
“He said he wants to leave.”
“If he wants to leave, you should probably let him. After all, Freddie, you’re not Yoda.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? What did you say to him?”
“I believe my exact words were ‘It’s very nice to meet you.’”
“That’s bullshit.”
“I’d swear on the Bible, but I know how little that means to you.”
“Charlie, you’ve got some fucking nerve—”
Tucker moved to my side. “Could you keep it down?”
“Mind your own business, Tucker.”
“It’s his party, and it’s his business. Lower your goddamn voice or get out of here, Freddie. Nobody wants a scene but you.”
Freddie looked at Tucker, then at me, and then at Lee, who I noticed hovering in the doorway. Freddie wanted an ally but was not finding one. “We’re not leaving,” he said.
