One Last Lie (22 page)

“What the hell are you talking about?” As usual he was confused by Angela and her cryptic statements.

“That’s where I need your help, Tommy. I won’t go into the legal details, but when this whole thing started with Philip and Jonathan, we signed an agreement that they’d give me twenty five hundred dollars a month to help take care of things.” She took a deep breath and pushed herself upright. Tommy grabbed the blanket from the arm of the sofa and threw it over her legs. “Well, that was when I could work and I had a salary that would also help pay expenses. But look at me for Christ’s sake. I
can’t
work. And I haven’t been working at the hospital long enough to get any kind of severance.”

“I’ll give you money. Don’t worry. I’ll help take care of you.”

Angela huffed again. “That’s nice of you, Tommy, but I won’t need your money. I’m going to get more from Philip.”

He lifted his head. “More than twenty five hundred a month? How are you going to do that?”

“My lawyer will be doing that. While Philip and Jonathan are lying on the sandy beaches of Florida, drinking pina coladas and dining at fancy restaurants, my attorney will be contacting theirs, asking them to double the monthly payment.”

“What? Five grand a month? No way.”

“Yes way, Tommy. And I’m going to get it. There’s no doubt about it. And you know what else?”

“There’s more?” he asked like a wide-eyed five-year old.

“I’m going to
keep
the baby and they’re going to pay five grand a month for at
least
the next eighteen years. And that doesn’t include college tuition and anything else I can get them for.”

“Holy shit, Angela, how you gonna do that?”

Angela smirked and attempted to cross her arms. “My attorney is Fiona Wilder, the number one fertility law attorney in the country. From what I’ve heard, she can pretty much crush the sperm donor in court every time. You were absolutely right when you said they’re using me as an ‘oven’ and I should be getting something out of the situation. I’m tired of being treated like dirt, and it’s time I flex my muscle.”

“But are you sure you want to keep the kid? That’s a lot of crap to deal with. And if you and I are going to be together, it’s gonna be mine too.”

Angela closed her eyes. Tommy couldn’t tell whether she was getting angry and losing patience with him or happy he’d just offered to act as the father of her child.

“Yes, the baby will be yours too, Tommy. But no one can know that yet. If anyone knows you’re involved, Fiona will never be able to get the amount of money we’re looking for.”

“Got it!” he said, jittery with excitement. “So how can I help? What can I do?”

“First I have a question for you and I don’t want you to get upset when I ask it. Promise?”

A pang in his stomach made him flinch but he hid it well.

“I promise.”

“Do you have a criminal record?”

“What the hell? Of course not!” He was almost yelling. “A few run ins, but nothing on record. I never did anything
that
bad. You should know that. God Angela, why would you ask?” “You promised not to get upset, Tommy!”

He took a deep breath. “Well, why’d you ask if you didn’t want me to get upset? Jesus, Angie, that’s a loaded question.”

“I had to ask. Fiona says if this thing goes to court, I’ll need character witnesses. I have some people from my old job, and June of course, but they’ll probably want to speak with friends who’ve known me for a long time. You have a good job, an apartment, a nice, steady income and we know how professional and hot you look when you put on a suit and tie.”

Tommy smiled and lowered his head, feigning embarrassment. “Yes, we do know. And I’m glad you remember.” He placed his head back down on her lap, waiting for the warmth of her hand to caress his face. When he felt her fingers touch his cheek, he shut his eyes and tried to imagine their future together: Angela, her body once again slender and beautiful; the house clean and tidy, the way she’d kept her old apartment; a child crawling around with a toothless smile, calling him Daddy. Except for the kid, it was a scene he’d imagined for years.

“So you’ll vouch for my character?” Angela‘s voice was high and fluttery.

He’d never heard her sound this weak and vulnerable and it was eating at him, way down deep, as though a wild coyote was chewing on his intestines. No way would he let those fags get away with this; using her like an insignificant vessel; letting her blow up like a whale and leaving her alone to live in squalor just so they could have a child. They were going to pay, one way or another.

“Of course I’ll vouch for you. I wouldn’t want to spend my life with you if I didn’t think you’re the greatest, most wonderful person in the world.”

Angela lifted his head, studied his face, and swept aside the thin strands of hair that fell in front of his eyes.

“We will spend our lives together, Tommy. I promise. But we can’t do it yet. Character witnesses need to be impartial and if we’re seen as a couple or if you’re living with me, then no one will buy it. You do understand that, right?”

Tommy felt his heart drop into his stomach and his body go limp. She was right, but he wanted to start their new life together right away. He looked into her eyes and started to melt, as always.

“I understand, but I don’t like it. By the way, do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

She turned her face away and looked out the bay window to a place he didn’t think he could reach with her. Her attention had suddenly departed, taken an express train to somewhere far away. He hoped it wasn’t in Florida with Philip and Jonathan.

“Doesn’t matter,” Tommy said, trying to interrupt her thoughts, “I’ll be a good father no matter what.” He jumped up and placed his hands on his hips. “Now, we’ve got to get this place in shape. If anyone comes here to judge your character, this mess isn’t going to help you. Let’s start in the kitchen.”

Angela turned back to him, slowly returning from wherever she’d gone. A single tear fell down her cheek and she let it drop onto the lace collar of her oversized housedress.

“A boy,” she whispered. “It’s a boy.”

17

It seemed to Jonathan that an invisible wall two miles from shore held back the clouds, opening up an expanse of sapphire sky from one end of the ocean to the other.

Lying on the chaise lounge, both legs dangling off the sides so he could feel warm sand on the soles of his feet, Jonathan felt at peace with the world around him: the hot sunlight on his skin, a ghostly touch soaking into his pores; crashing waves making a soothing, natural rhythm to match his heartbeat; the mixture of pineapple, coconut milk, and light rum in his pina colada granting him the taste of South Florida ambrosia.

“This is amazing.” Jonathan peeled off his sunglasses and turned to Philip, whose chaise was only inches from his own.

“It’s called relaxation.” Philip chuckled, pushing his sunglasses onto his forehead. “You’ve probably forgotten how it feels.”

“Yeah, it’s been awhile for both of us.” After a few minutes of perfect silence, Jonathan asked, “By the way, have you come up with your number one choice for the baby’s name?”

Picking up his glass from the steel table between them, Philip stirred his drink with the straw and gazed at the endless horizon. He took a sip and stirred some more. “Well, it’s between…”

“Ahem. We decided only one name each. I don’t want to hear any it’s between crap. Gimme a name or I throw you in the water.”

Philip faked a shiver. “Oooo, I’m shaking in my boots.” He took a deep breath and crunched his toes into the hot, white sand. “You might think this is crazy, but… well… it’s your sperm and Angela’s egg. If I’m going to be a real part of this, maybe he should have my name.”

The pang in Jonathan’s chest forced him backward. He had no idea Philip felt so removed from the situation. Something in the way Philip said his own name struck a chord that threw all his own name choices out of his head.

“First of all, why didn’t you tell me you felt like you weren’t a part of things?”

Philip shrugged his shoulders, which raised Jonathan’s guilt level another notch. “That is
so
not true. You’re just as important as I am, or Angela is. It might be our physical stuff that got him here, but your personality and mental soundness, or whatever you want to call it, will keep him happy and well-balanced. I can tell you right now, you’ll be a thousand times better dad than me.”

Jonathan sat up and clinked his glass against Philip’s.

“Philip it is.” he said. “I love the name, I love the sound of it, and I love you.”

“You’re drunk.” Philip slapped Jonathan’s knee and stood up, stretching his arms and groaning from the tautness of his sunburned skin. “No decisions while you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.” Jonathan placed his glass on the table and tried to keep his balance as he stood. “As long as we don’t call him Little Philip, or Philip Junior, or Phil. I just want to call him Philip, okay?”

The ground started to feel shaky under his feet. Before he had a chance to fall Philip gripped both his arms.

“Holy shit,” said Jonathan. “What the hell is this?”

“Sun, plus alcohol.” Philip moved to one side and Jonathan leaned against him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just stood up too fast.” Jonathan let his arms fall to his side and tried to steady himself.

“Yeah, weenee,” Philip said, pretending to talk under his breath. “I mean, Mr. Weenee. Or would you prefer, Ms. Weenee?”

Jonathan feigned laughter and wriggled his arms from Philip’s grasp. “If you don’t stop, Mrs. Weenee, I’m going to drown you.”

Philip dashed toward the water stopping midway to face Jonathan. “C’mon! I’m ready! Drown me Mrs. Weenee!”

Jonathan glanced around to see who might’ve heard Philip’s taunts, but the few people left on the beach were either flat on their stomachs or lounging on their backs, listening to music or the crashing of waves, caring about nothing except the sun on their skin as they enjoyed the sunset.

Jonathan looked toward the ocean where Philip waved for him, his beautiful body glowing in the late afternoon sunlight against the backdrop of cobalt blue water.
Like a postcard
, Jonathan thought,
the perfect picture.
He ambled toward the waterline without taking his eyes off Philip, a sense of overwhelming jubilance coursing through his veins. Maybe he was a little drunk, but this sense of joy and relaxation was something he’d never experienced. He focused only on Philip, wanting to be certain he could remember this perfect picture, this amazing moment, for the rest of his life.

*

The Blue Moon restaurant was about a mile off Brickell Avenue, a few miles north of downtown Miami where Jonathan and Philip had been shopping for baby clothes all day. With a bay front view only reserved for celebrities or regulars who bought no less than three bottles of the restaurant’s highest priced Brunello in one sitting, Jonathan was thrilled Wayne could get them a table on such short notice.

The sun had nearly set, its remaining light disappearing into the hard edge of the ocean. Puffy white clouds with blackened edges hovered above the sea like giant, amorphous starships protecting the earth below.

Ignoring the view, Jonathan dropped the salad fork onto his plate and fell back in his chair.

“She hung up on you? Are you kidding? Why did you wait until now to tell me?”

“She didn’t
exactly
hang up. It was really a mutual hang up.” He laughed, but Jonathan saw the hollowness in his smile.

“Bullshit! She was pissed because of our trip and she hung up on you.” He looked out over the bay, letting himself focus on the warm breeze against his face. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. It didn’t work. “She’s been this way for weeks and it’s only getting worse. We discussed with her from the beginning: that we have our life and she has hers. I swear, Philip, if she keeps up like this after the baby is born, we’re up shit’s creek.”

For a moment, clinking silverware and muffled sound of voices of the other guests was the only sound between them. Philip picked at the lettuce and rolled a cherry tomato around the rim of his plate, picking up as much of the fig balsamic vinaigrette as he could before spearing the tomato with his fork and popping it into his mouth. Jonathan knew Philip’s food playing was procrastination in action.

“I’m sorry.” Jonathan tapped Philip’s foot with the toe of his shoe. “I don’t mean to get so upset, and I don’t want to ruin our evening. It’s perfect.” He turned his head toward the setting sun, the faintest glow of burnt-orange sizzling along the horizon. “Well, it
was
perfect, until her name came up. We won’t talk about it now, but the three of us definitely have to sit down and set this thing straight once and for all.” He now felt a shoe tapping his own. When he turned back, Philip was staring at him. His sober expression and the impenetrable darkness of his eyes said everything he was thinking.

“Okay, I’m done,” Jonathan whispered. “Let’s enjoy the night.”

As they held their glasses up for a silent toast, the smile on Philip’s face disappeared.

“My phone’s buzzing,” he said, reaching into his shirt pocket. “Who would call us while we’re here?” He looked at the phone’s screen then back up to Jonathan. “It’s G. She knows we’re on vacation. She’s either calling to see if we’re having fun or there’s a problem with…”

Shit!
Jonathan felt a pang in his abdomen. “You have to answer it.”

Philip held the phone up to one ear and covered the other with his hand, trying to cut down the restaurant noise. Jonathan watched him carefully, waiting for some kind of expression that would tell him if he should start worrying or if G was checking in to make sure they were relaxing. But once Philip started rubbing his forehead and shaking his head, Jonathan knew this wasn’t a social call.