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“What?” I cautiously asked. I recognized a gossip’s tone when they had dirt to serve.
“What I was just saying. You know, the part about uncanny,” she reminded. I grunted a noise to indicate I was still there. There, but wary of her pissing on my already rainy day. “So, remember every year when you, me, and Jack went to that outrageous gallery that shows the darkest and sickest art exhibits?”
“How could I forget that shit show?” I stated. “And I do mean shit show, considering one year that was the literal theme.”
“Exactly!” she gasped, snorting one of her famous laughs. “Anyhoo, you and Jack were always the fucking funniest at those types of events, and of course, I’d attempt to follow along and then I’d be the one to get in trouble. Remember?”
“Yep. Sure do.”
“Listening to you lately reminds me of the you back then, Cole. You were so goddamned alive then. Jack brought that shit out of you.”
“He certainly did,” I agreed. “We had the most fun, didn’t we? Thank you for bringing that memory up. I miss him, Marla.”
“You do realize that Chad is having the same effect on you?” she asked. “You see it, right?”
I ran my fingers through my hair, damp from being outside for a moment, tossing the wet paper on the counter. She was right about Chad. Everything seemed better, brighter.
“Of course, I see it,” I stated. “I’d forgotten what happy felt like, but why the gallery analogy, Marla? What made you think of me and Jack’s silliness from five years ago?”
“Do you also remember how Alan would never go with the three of us?”
“Uh-huh,” I reluctantly replied. “And?” She was quiet. “What happened, Marla?”
“Now remember, before I tell you about this, you are in a great place now, Cole.”
“For fuck’s sake. Spill it!”
I sat at the kitchen island and flipped the soaked paper over. It was a total loss. I held my breath for either a story about one of her drunken nights or some bad omen from a person she’d ran into.
“Okay, so, you remember Anja, right? That gorgeous Danish chick, former model, friend of mine? Well, she dragged me to the same studio.” Marla took a deep breath while I tried to follow along on one of her crazy story tangents. “And by the way, this month’s exhibit was called cannibalism,” she added, producing a gagging sound.
“Oh, my God. Seriously? That had to be gross.”
“So, we’re there, Anja and me, and we’re having a few drinks, trying to keep dinner down after seeing a few of the outrageous still photos. That shit was real, by the way. Like, Oh my fucking God.”
“And then?” I asked, urging her to a conclusion as fast as possible. Was I going to like this story? Was it one of her ridiculous, yet wonderful, New York City nights tales?
“You sitting down, kiddo?” she asked.
“Fuck off, Marla! What?”
Her voice lowered, similar to an actor on Broadway before the big reveal. “Alan and Tad were there. And Tad was three sheets to the wind by the time Anja and I arrived.”
I hadn’t heard Alan’s name in months. Marla had mentioned several weeks ago that she’d heard through the grapevine that Alan was miserable in his marriage to his boss, but that was what being gay in New York was like; everyone was miserable in their marriages after six months.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about listening to the story she was about to tell. The depressing feelings that usually accompanied any news about my ex weren’t there today, yet I didn’t wish ill will on Alan, or to rediscover those discouraging emotions.
“How bad?” I asked, immediately questioning the wisdom of asking.
“Tad was stupid drunk. Slurring and hanging all over some other guy while Alan bore witness to the entire debacle,” she said. “I hate to admit this, Cole, but I almost felt bad for Alan, and you know how pissed I am at him.”
“Jesus,” I muttered. “Poor Alan. That couldn’t have been pretty to witness.”
“See?” she pointed out. “Oh my God! Listen to you. Six months ago you would’ve delighted in this gossip, but now you sincerely feel bad for him. You’ve done it, baby. You’re over him.”
“Maybe, but God, Marla. How awful for him,” I stated. “Did Alan see you?”
Her tone became hushed. “We spoke, Cole. That’s the part I wanted to tell you,” she whispered. “I’m reluctant to, but I also feel I should warn you, honey.”
