into a heavy downpour just before I had to leave for work. It was appropriate.
Fortunately, I had enough work to do at PMC to keep me busy for most of the day, which kept my mind more or less off Frank. In fact, for two full hours in the late morning, while I tried to deal with a particularly difficult writer with some real raw talent but a reluctance to have her rough edges smoothed out by someone as low down the food chain as me, I don’t think I thought about Frank at all. And that was good.
In the late afternoon, the lack of sleep caught up with me. While it made me groggy and cranky, it also further minimized my feelings about Frank. And that was good, too.
“Leaving so soon?” asked David, who was uncharacteristically wandering through the offices as I prepared to make my early getaway.
“Yeah. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
He leered. “Do tell.”
“You don’t want to know,” I said truthfully. “Anyway, I think I’m over it.”
A flicker of recognition crossed his face, and he said disapprovingly, “You didn’t!”
“Didn’t what?” I asked innocently, but it didn’t work. He just stood there, arms folded, waiting for my answer, and I wondered how he was able to read my mind.
Finally, he asked, “Did you go back to Benedick’s?”
“Yeah. But I’m over it.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
“No.”
“Don’t. Take my word for it. Don’t.” And with that, he left.
I slept on the couch until eleven o’clock; to the point, that is, where it was almost time to wake up so I could go to bed again. The ringing telephone woke me up.
It was Frank.
I let him leave a message, and held a pillow over my head so I wouldn’t listen.
And then it was one o’clock, and I was still on the couch, and I couldn’t fall asleep again, and so I decided to listen to the message.
“It’s Frank. It’s around eleven o’clock on Tuesday night. Just wanted to tell you that I read Allentown Blues. It’s really good. Anyway, I’m at the club, if you want to call me.”
“Don’t,” said David, who was suddenly sitting next to me on the couch.
“But—”
“Don’t,” said Denise, on the other side of me.
And then, just as suddenly, they were gone.
“Don’t,” I repeated to myself.
I did.
“Benedick’s.”
“Can I speak to Frank DiBenedetto?”
“I’m not sure if he’s here. Let me check. Who’s calling?”
“Andrew Westlake. He’s expecting my call.”
A few moments later, Frank was on the line.
“I didn’t think you were going to call,” he said. “If you called two minutes later, you would’ve missed me. What’s up?”
“Sorry I missed your call, but I was sleeping,” I lied. “I was awake most of last night.”
“I didn’t get much sleep, either. But I did manage to find your book.”
“How? It’s been out of the stores for a long time.”
“You know that new bookstore on Fifth? Hanover’s?”
Know it? He was only talking about the newest and second-largest bookstore in Manhattan. But Hanover’s didn’t even carry The Brewster Mall, so I knew that it wouldn’t stock old copies of the already-discounted and discontinued Allentown Blues.
“I’ve got connections there,” he explained. “They can get things for me.”
“Tell them to put The Brewster Mall in the window, then.”
“Actually, I want to talk to you about that,” he said. “Can I come over?”
Huh?
No, I told myself. Say no. Because all he’s doing is satisfying his own curiosity at the expense of my own mental well-being. Besides, David and Denise are my friends, and they look out for my best interests, and they don’t approve of this. So that means that this isn’t healthy. Frank should sort out his own problems without destroying me. Just because he spent twenty-three dollars and maybe seven hours of his life reading Allentown Blues doesn’t mean that I owe him anything.
But…he had connections with Hanover’s! And they had a huge display window!
And it was Frank!
And maybe David and Denise didn’t always know what was best for me, anyway.
“Don’t,” said David and Denise in unison, bracketing me on the couch.
I gave him my address, ignoring my friends until they disappeared again.
“I’m leaving right now. Give me twenty minutes.”
That gave me just enough time to shower, shave, and throw on some fresh clothes.
And then he was there.
He entered the apartment warily, taking tentative steps as he scanned the living room. It occurred to me that this was probably the first time Frank had ever knowingly walked into the apartment of a homosexual. I imagined that he felt much more secure in a relatively public place like Benedick’s, especially since he seemed to spend all his time holed up in the private office off the back hallway.
But now it was just the two of us. And we were on my home turf.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“What do you have?” His voice was soft and hesitant.
“Anything you want. As long as it’s Miller Lite or scotch.”
“Beer is fine.”
I grabbed two bottles from the refrigerator as he sat, tellingly, not on the couch but in a chair, where he could be assured that I wouldn’t violate his personal space. I handed him his beer and picked a spot on the couch that respected his distance.
“Nice place,” he said, as he now surveyed the room with less wariness. He spotted a print on the wall. “Hockney?”
“Yup,” I said, nodding. “Hockney prints are de rigueur for Upper West Side apartments. Hadn’t you heard?”
He fell into silence, staring vacantly at the David Hockney print as he absently scratched at the label on the beer bottle. Part of me wanted to break the mood and plunge us into conversation; the other part of me wanted to just sit and watch him.
And so I let him stare for a few moments, until he finally turned his gaze on me. “I really liked Allentown Blues. It was—I dunno…It was kind of…uh…God, I can’t think of the word I want. But…It really felt personal. Like I was getting this intimate glimpse into your life.”
“I guess you were. I mean, I changed some things, of course. But basically it was all about me.”
“Poignant!” he said suddenly, snapping his fingers. “That’s the word I was looking for.”
Oh, dear…I tried to conjure up the images of Denise and David, but they were nowhere to be found. Frank was sitting six feet away from me, using just the right words, and I was defenseless.
“Poignant?” I asked him, not sure if I could trust what I heard.
He looked uncomfortable. “Isn’t that the right word?”
“Yes!” I said, surprised to hear