All About Yves (10 page)
Then Yves walked back into the center hall and Marco's fists clenched.
"Yves,” Harris said. “It's so nice to see you again.” His voice became animated and his eyes lit up. He looked Yves up and down and took a deep breath. “You look wonderful tonight. But then you look wonderful whenever I see you.” The lisp grew so strong it was hard to tell an s from a th.
Yves looked into Harris's eyes and shook his hand. “It's good to see you again, Mr. Wolfe."
"I didn't know you'd met my assistant,” Marco said, raising his right eyebrow, wondering how and when Harris had met Yves.
Without taking his eyes off Yves, Harris said, “We met at a little gentleman's bar on the Upper West Side."
"We met in a bar, too,” Avi said. “I was stripping and pole dancing.” He smiled and pressed two fingers to his lips.
"Yves,” Marco said, “this is a friend of Harris's dear sainted mother. His name is Avi, and he's an actor and singer. I'm sure you two have a great deal in common."
"Do you pole dance?” Avi asked Yves.
Yves pressed his palm to his chest and smiled. His eyes widened. He seemed to be at a loss for words, so Harris pulled Avi to the side and pointed to where Edgar Dupree was standing in the living room. “That man in there, Edgar Dupree, is a huge talent agent. He books models, Broadway actors, and all kinds of talent. Why don't you go in and make him remember you, Avi?"
Avi furrowed his eyebrows and made a face. “Why do they always have to look like Ben Stein?” he said.
"Because that's life,” Harris said. “Now go in there and amuse him with your Facebook events, and your little tweets, and your New Age gay greeting cards. I'm sure he'll be thrilled."
While Avi walked into the living room, Harris placed his palm on the small of Yves's back and said, “Don't worry about your talented little assistant, Marco. I'll take very good care of him for you.” Then he led Yves into the living room, guiding him as if Yves were lost and couldn't find his way home.
Marco pressed his lips together and watched them walk away, wondering what Harris Wolfe had planned for Yves. Harris didn't befriend people unless there was a reason. While he watched them, Jane Francis walked by carrying a tray of canapes. She looked up at Marco and tilted her head, and then she nodded as if she could read his mind.
A few hours later, while his guests were still quietly mingling and the party was beginning to wind down, Marco sat on the piano bench next to a young man playing the piano and requested a song. It was a dark, depressing song and he wasn't even sure of the title. Marco was on his sixth martini by then. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes were glossy, and his lips felt numb. He didn't drink this much very often. When he did, it was usually because something was bothering him.
After the pianist played the same dreary song six times, Jane Francis carried a cup of black coffee into the living room and forced it in Marco's face. Marco was still sitting on the piano bench, staring into his seventh martini. He lifted his head, stared at the coffee cup, and waved his hand. Jane Francis waited a moment, then frowned and took the coffee back into the kitchen.
A few minutes later, Frazier walked up to the piano and leaned over so he could speak quietly to Marco. “A few of the guests are starting to fall asleep,” he said. “Maybe we could listen to something with a little more life.” He didn't sound angry, but he wasn't joking either.
"What's wrong?” Marco asked, with a slurred voice. “Is
our boy
getting tired? I'm sure it's way past his bedtime. Maybe you should take him up to the nursery and tuck him into his crib. You could even sing him a lullaby and give him something to suck on.” He was still mad Frazier had referred to Yves as their boy.
Before Frazier could reply, Edgar walked up to the piano and asked, “Marco, do you have any Alka Seltzer?” His palm was pressed to his large round stomach and his complexion looked a little green.
Marco stood up, balancing his martini, and put his arm around Edgar's shoulder. “You poor old boy,” Marco said. “You have acid reflux, don't you? I'll bet it was that Avi guy who gave it to you, the one who came with Harris tonight. I'm surprised old Harris can even walk after being with a young guy like that."
"Yes,” Edgar said. “I have acid reflux.” He ignored the comment about Avi. The old ones like Edgar, with dirty minds and less-than-honorable intentions, never admitted they were chicken hawks.
"Come on,” Marco said. “I have plenty of Alka Seltzer in the kitchen. I'll take good care of my sweet Edgar. Because I love my Edgar so much.” Marco knew how much Edgar liked to be flattered and babied.
Edgar smiled. He patted Frazier on the arm and said, “I know he loves me. And that's all that really matters. Good friends who love each other."
When they were in the kitchen, Marco poured a glass of water and dropped two little white tablets into the glass. Though he'd had too many martinis already, Marco knew exactly what he was doing and he was far from drunk. He knew he had to get rid of Yves. He had to get the slithering viper out of his house and out of his life before it was too late. So While Edgar drank the glass of fizzling water, Marco put his arm around Edgar's shoulders and asked for a small favor. “Would you find a new position for my assistant, Yves?"
"I thought he liked working for you,” Edgar said.
"He does, but I'm afraid there's just not enough for him to do around here,” Marco said. “And his true love is really the theater, not modeling. You know so many theater people. I'm sure there's some kind of a position you can find for him in your office, something that would keep him busier than he is here. He's such a dear sweet boy. I hate to lose him, but I also hate see his talents go to waist.” He knew Yves had no interest in the theater at all.
Edgar smiled and hugged him. “I'm sure there is something I can do for him,” he said. “And I'd like to ask a little favor of you."
Marco smiled; there was always a catch. He knew he'd have to pay back Edgar for this favor, but he didn't know it would be this soon. He stroked Edgar's neck. “What can I do for you? Just tell me and I'll do it.” He didn't really care. He'd do anything to get rid of Yves.
"I'm helping Jasper out next week,” Edgar said. “We're auditioning a new back-up model for you. It's for Frazier's next show, and it would be a great help to have you there to model first so we can compare him to you."
"Why are they auditioning for a new back-up model?” Marco asked. This was the sort of thing he didn't usually get involved with. He'd always been the star model in all the shows, magazine ads, and everything else that had to do with Frazier's designs. Frazier and Jasper always took care of choosing the other models. He knew the business well, from the designers to the showroom staff, but there was never a need for him to know any of the other models, because he didn't see them until there was a shoot or a show.
"Your back-up model is leaving the company,” Edgar said. “He's getting married and moving to the West Coast to go back to school. He's tired of the business and he wants a life change...whatever that means."
Marco looked down at the kitchen floor and smiled. He knew what this meant better than anyone. Evidently, this model was tired of the competitive world that had always been Marco's life. “I'll be more than happy to be there,” Marco said. “I'll even look forward to it. I've never actually been asked to help with this sort of thing before. What time?"
"Next Wednesday at one in the afternoon."
"And you'll see what you can do about getting my wonderful assistant a new job at your agency?” Marco asked.
"Of course,” Edgar said. Then he pressed his palm to his stomach and let out a loud belch that almost rocked a line of martini glasses on the edge of the kitchen sink.
When the party was almost over, Marco found Frazier, Jasper, Edgar, and young Avi standing in the center hall discussing the impact male models had on the fashion industry and pop culture in general. Marco leaned into the wall and stood there listening, trying not to yawn out loud. He was too drunk to care about anything serious. They were talking about the dedication it took to be a famous model, and how most people didn't have what it took to compete. Marco rolled his eyes. Harris was speaking with a pretentious academic tone. Blah, blah, blah. All he needed was a pipe and a pair of thick eyeglasses. Frazier and Jasper were disagreeing with him about something, but Marco wasn't sure what it was. And Avi, the poor simple soul, just stood there leaning against a table tweeting or twitting something into his cell phone. Marco laughed; it was probably past the poor young boy's bedtime.
"Would you like another drink?” Edgar asked Avi. Edgar couldn't take his eyes off Avi's crotch.
Avi smiled and tilted his head. “I'd just love another drink, Mr. Dupree."
"Then come with me,” Edgar said. “I'll take good care of you."
Marco smiled, because he knew how much old Edgar loved taking care of good-looking young men who ran short in the brains department.
Harris turned and stared at his young date. “You sure do know how to work them,” he said.
"He's a very nice man,” Avi said, “and I'm thirsty.” Then he stood up and followed Edgar to the bar.
When they were gone, Molly and Yves came walking down the hall. Molly was wearing her jacket and she was ready to go home. She was laughing and joking with Yves as if he was her new best friend. It made Marco's stomach turn to see her treating Yves so well. He wanted to grab Yves by the back of the neck and toss him right out the front door.
When Yves saw Marco, he left Molly's side and raced into the hall. “There you are, Marco. Can I get you another drink? Would you like anything?” His voice was soft. He leaned forward and pressed his palms together and smiled.
"Would you
please
stop treating me like I'm royal Prince Albert?” Marco said, pointing at Yves. “Give me a fucking break already."
Everyone stopped talking and stared.
Frazier squared his shoulders and said, “Unless you're referring to tobacco in a tin can, Marco, there's nothing royal or dignified about the way you've been acting all night.” His voice was deep and stern and he wasn't smiling.
Marco raised his eyebrows and put his hands on his hips. Frazier protecting Yves twisted his stomach. “I'm sorry, Frazier,” he said. “I didn't mean to frighten our poor boy, Yves, with the F word. I know how delicate he is.” He knew he sounded like a jealous lover, but he felt so disconnected from everyone he didn't care.
"Oh Marco,” Molly said. “This is getting ugly now. Yves has done nothing wrong for you to insult him in public this way."
Harris blinked. “You're absolutely divine when you're like this, Marco. It's just a shame all your fans can't witness the real you."
"I'm sorry, Molly, if my manners aren't up to par,” Marco said, ignoring Harris. “I wasn't fortunate enough to be born into old money, and I didn't go to Smith or Harvard or Princeton. While you were riding around in a little foreign convertible, I was modeling jock straps and thongs to earn a living with my bare ass.” Modeling underwear had made him famous.
Jasper reached for Molly's hand. “It's getting late. I think it's time to go now."
"But the fun is just beginning,” Marco said. “Why would you want to leave now?” Jasper had always been such a milquetoast. Whenever there was the slightest hint of confrontation, Jasper was out the door and down the street. Marco felt like taking Jasper's silky hand and slapping it right across Yves's face.
He would have done just that if Molly hadn't said, “I agree, Jasper. It's past my bedtime. Let's go."
"That's right,” Marco said. “I wouldn't want to disrupt your happy home life.” He wanted to be cruel. He knew Molly and Jasper didn't have sex often. They were the perfect married couple in all other areas, but Jasper had never been an overly sexual man. They had sex about once or twice a month, but Molly would have had it twice a day if she'd had her way.
"Enough, Marco,” Molly said. “I'm tired and you're drunk. You're not bowing to your fans, now you're insulting your friends."
"It's my house and I'll do whatever the fuck I want,” Marco said. He'd been good so far. He hadn't cursed much at all that night. But he was ready to roll up his sleeves and sink right into the gutter now that they were all ganging up on him.
Molly looked into his eyes and pursed her lips, then crossed to where Yves was standing and purposely hugged him right in front of Marco. Yves was frowning and avoiding all eye contact. Molly told him he had done nothing wrong and he shouldn't be upset at all. “I love Marco,” she said, “but sometimes I'd like to kick him right in the ass.” When she was finished hugging Yves, she turned her back on Marco and reached for Jasper's hand.
"I'm going to bed,” Marco said as he started staggering toward the other end of the penthouse. Drunk as he was, he knew if he remained there it would only get worse. And he was the one who would come off looking like the bad guy, not Yves.
"It's about time,” Frazier said, looking the other way.
Marco stopped walking. “Aren't you going to follow me, Frazier?” he asked. “This is when you're supposed to pull down my zipper, take off my pants, and tuck me into bed like a good husband.” He looked at Yves with a nasty grin. “I'll bet Yves would do it. He'd pull down my pants and tuck me into bed. Wouldn't you, Yves?"
"Honestly, Marco,” Molly said.
Yves gave Marco a devoted look and he smiled. “I'll help you to bed, Marco. You know I'd do anything to make you comfortable."
Marco gave him a dead stare. He felt like gagging. His eyes narrowed and his brows pointed down. “Don't. Bother. You've already done enough for me.” He turned to face Frazier. “Happy anniversary, my love."
Frazier looked up at the ceiling and sighed. Then he nodded to the others and followed Marco to bed.
On the way to his bedroom, Marco overheard Molly say good night to Yves. Then he heard Yves say, “You won't forget about what we talked about when we were alone.” There was a desperate sound in Yves's voice Marco hadn't heard before. Usually, Yves just sounded subservient and weak.