My Best Man by Andy Schell (top 10 novels TXT) 📕

fun of me, no one more demonstrably than Winston. From then on, we’d separate, staying on opposite sides of the room, sniveling at each other while digging the cherries out of our drinks.

I walk over to the immense glass windows and look to the street nine stories below. It’s nothing now. Barely a view. Concrete and parked cars. An ugly brick office building across the street. But when I was a child, it was like being on top of the Empire State Building.

“Harry Ford,” a voice says.

I look up, see a guy roughly my age. He’ shand some good bones,

slightly thinning hair. His suit almost matches mine. “Hello,” I say.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asks, a grin on his face. “Not really.”

He puts out his hand. “Bob Valentine. We played together here as kids.”

I shake his hand. Bob Valentine. I vaguely remember his child hood face. “Thanks for coming.”

“Wouldn’t miss it. I wanted a chance to see you,” he tells me warmly. “I was really surprised to hear that you were getting married. I… had heard from friends that you weren’t the marrying type.”

Rich white people’s code for homosexual. “I’m not the marrying type,” I tell him, chuckling, “and Amity knows it.”

“Interesting,” he says, picking up the toothpick from his martini and using the olive to stir. He looks me straight in the eye. “My wife has no idea.”

“Are you telling me you’re gay?”

He smiles awkwardly and shrugs.

“But you married a woman anyway? Why?”

He takes a sip of his drink, gives a wry smile. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? I mean, you’re doing it.”

“Not really,” I tell him, plopping down in one of the leather chairs. “Not like you. It’s not like I’m really getting married.”

“Oh, you wait,” he laughs, sitting down beside me. “It will be very real. Once you start down that aisle, you’ll know what I mean.” “You’re making me nervous.”

He comes closer, speaks lower. “You were a cute kid, Harry. You still are.” I have to admit, he’s sexy in that well-bred, rakish way. “I liked you when we were boys.”

It’s an erotic statement, and it has its effect. I’ve had no sex with Nicolo and none with Amity in a good while. I’m tempted.

“I don’t really remember you. If you liked me, why didn’t you tell me?”

He raises his eyebrow the way Amity does. “Is that something a boy tells another boy?”

Physically, I’d have no problem sleeping with this guy. Mentally, that last statement tells me he’s all wrong. “Yes,” I answer emphatically, “it is something a boy tells another boy. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

He looks at his shoes, chuckles uncomfortably. “I wasn’t that kind of a boy.”

My voice is honest, not harsh. “No offense, Bob, but you aren’t that kind of a man either. I am. I don’t want to sneak around with you or anybody. I have no secrets about my love. His name is Nicolo.”

He turns slightly colder. “Funny. Nicolo looks an awful lot like a girl tonight in that black dress and pearls.”

“I told you, Amity knows all about him. My family too.”

“So why the party?” he asks, biting the olive off the toothpick. “And why the girl?”

I sigh. “For my mother, the family name and all. And … personal reasons.”

“Financial personal reasons?”

I nod affirmatively.

He chews the olive, swallows. “Then I guess you’re not that different from me,” he says bitingly. He sets his glass down and walks to the door. As he leaves, Winston appears, and the two of them bristle with recognition. “Hello, Winnie,” Bob spits. “Honoring your brother with a visit from his big sister?”

Winston shows his fangs, mutters, “Nice to see you too, Valentino.”

‘

I have no doubt they’ve slept together—it’s written all over their faces. I’m so glad I didn’t jump into the broom closet with Bob, because I would be grossed out to think I could mess around

z with anyone who’d slept with my brother: male, female, or inflatable doll. And I realize now that it was probably Winston who told Bob about me. “When did the children’s room become the snake pit?” I ask Winston as he plunks down into a chair.

“What’s the matter, Happy. Aren’t you having a good time?” “Who wouldn’t be? All these waxy people walking around. Music from someone else’s generation. Food that gives you the shits. What more could a guy want?”

He raises his feet to the ottoman in front of him. “Nicolo perhaps

I want to punch him in his pretty face. “How do you know about Nicolo?”

“Mother and I are closer than you think. And of course Acidity and I have our little chats.”

Oh, God, I can hardly handle the two of them separately. What are they chatting about?

“I’m sure Nicolo is wonderful, Happy. Far better than this silly girl running around shaking everyone’s hand like she’s running for governor. I really can’t believe you’re going through with this.” He crosses his legs.

I stand over him. “Gee, it’s so hard to figure out. If I do it, I’m fifty million richer. If I don’t, you’re fifty million richer.”

“So shallow. Since when did you start caring about money? What is money?” he asks, picking up a paperweight from the end table beside him. It’s glass with an Indian penny inside. He holds it to the light. “I hear things aren’t going so well with your Romeo from South America. Why don’t you drop this charade and reunite with your true love? I’d be willing to help you out, you know. Buy the two of you a house, another car, throw in some junk bonds, maybe even a horse.”

He still knows where Cinnamon is. Somehow he knows. Cinna mon would be sixteen years old now. With good care, he still has

half a life ahead of him. I can’t believe Winston would do this to me. “What happened to make you so fucking mean?”

He stands, speaks very soberly. “Do you understand what I’m offering you? Nicolo. And the horse. And enough money to