Midtown Masters Read online

  He made a thoughtful face. “Ridiculous things. Like replaying some awkward social interaction from two weeks ago and beating myself up for saying something weird or wondering if I was supposed to have recognized someone.”

  “I hear that. I’m terrible with faces.”

  “I’m not just terrible with faces,” John said, “I’m terrible at even looking people in the eyes.” Even as he said it, his gaze swiveled elsewhere in the room. “It makes me so nervous.”

  “Aw.”

  “When I get introduced to people at parties or events I have to repeat their name a dozen times in my head and find some unusual thing to pair it with. Like an interesting necklace or tie. Then the next time I see them they’re invariably not wearing their necklace or tie and I’m back at square one.”

  She laughed softly, the sound designed to tell him that he was both sad and adorable. “I’ve yet to see any proof of this social awkwardness you keep professing to suffer from.”

  “I’m different with you. I was thinking about that, actually, since we spoke on Tuesday.”

  “Oh? Any revelations?”

  “I was wondering if maybe it’s different because of how we met . . .” He glanced away as he formed his thoughts, and Suzy stole the opportunity to study that face anew. “We met in the deep end, as it were, and now we’ve made our way back to the shallow end. The hard work’s done, the high dive. Or something like that. Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah, sure. Or maybe the fact that I’m the sort of woman who does what my partner and I do . . . There was some trust already built in. Trust and intimacy, even with the illusions folded into it—your gender, my so-called marriage. We sort of met naked, you know? Your requests might have been for a book, but they were genuine, as well. You came into this with your heart bared, in a way. And I came into it literally naked. I think it would’ve been impossible for it ever to have felt like two strangers talking, once we did. Don’t you?”

  “That’s . . . That rings very true. I hadn’t thought about it quite like that, but you’re exactly right.”

  Just having gently broached the topic of sex, Suzy felt a warm and familiar fever settle over her. It was another hot day, the heat still lingering in her apartment, making her hair stick to her neck. And a man she’d never even shaken hands with was bringing that sultry, early-summer feeling to her entire body. Crazy. Crazy, but undeniable.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t ask this . . .” John trailed off, eyes dropping to his desk or hands.

  “You can ask me anything.”

  “It’s not about you, entirely.”

  “Try me.”

  He frowned, met her gaze, looked down again.

  “Is it personal?”

  “Um, yes. Quite.”

  “Would it be easier on the phone?” Suzy asked. “I know it’s easier to get personal when you’re not staring somebody in the face.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ll give you my number, if you think that’d make this . . . less intense?”

  He smiled, holding her stare, finally. “I doubt anything could make this less intense for me. But that’s okay. I probably don’t have enough intensity in my life.”

  She smiled back.

  “But yes, perhaps the phone would be easier.”

  “I’ll message you my number, okay?”

  “Thanks.”

  She ended their feed and sent him her digits, then waited a minute until her phone chimed.

  “Hello again,” she said, rising from the desk, moving to sit cross-legged on the bed.

  “Hi.”

  “Where were we?”

  He cleared his throat. “I wanted to ask about Mr. Parks. Or whatever his name may be.”

  “I haven’t asked him how he feels about my sharing his real name, so let’s stick with Mr. Parks for now.”

  “Of course. What I wanted to ask is . . . You said he’s attracted to both men and women.”

  “Yeah. Pretty much equally.”

  “Has he ever said . . . Is he attracted to them in the same sort of way?” He sounded so close, voice so soft and so much more real than it did through the tinny video feed. What would it sound like in person? Up close? Close enough for her to feel his breath at her temple?

  “What I mean to say is, does he date both, or is it more about the sex, with one or the other?” John asked. “Obviously that’s none of my business, but—”

  “It’s okay, he wouldn’t mind me saying. And no, it’s not the same, with men and women. He’s dated both, but he’s dated way more women. And he’s slept with way more men.” Like, way more. Part of that was opportunity, and part was simplicity. Men were way more open to anonymous, fly-by-night encounters, on balance.

  “I think he’s had crushes on men on occasion,” she added, “but mostly it’s physical. With women there’s more to it. More feelings.” Not a ton of feelings, as she knew all too well. Meyer was a good friend, loyal and accessible and caring in his snarky, deflecting way, but dating him didn’t get you any deeper into his emotional life. As a woman who could turn hard-core earnest after a drink or an orgasm, Suzy had found that infuriating at times. Like trying to pour your heart out to a damp hand towel.

  “That’s interesting,” John said.

  And she found his interest intriguing. “Can I be nosy, and ask why you’re so curious? I somehow doubt Jacob Russo’s about to come out as bi.”

  A soft laugh. “No, probably not. I, um . . . I’ve sometimes wondered if I might be that way.”

  “Bisexual.”

  “Yes. But I wasn’t sure, because I don’t think I’ve ever had any . . . any romantic fantasies, I suppose. About men.”

  “But you do about women?”

  “Not often, but yes.”

  “What do you feel for men?”

  “I suppose ‘curiosity’ would be the best word. Curiosity as I feel it for women, but not as . . . Not with as much depth. When I have a crush on a woman, I imagine so much more than just sex. I imagine asking her out, her saying yes; I imagine the date, and the softer things that might lead to sex.”

  “But with men?”

  “With men, it’s odd . . . There’s no dating, but it’s not quite sex, either. The sex intimidates me. It’s the things in the middle that I sometimes fixate on. Kissing, and . . . and other things, just not as far as actual sex. Touching, being touched.”

  “Well, congratulations, John Lindsay—you’re officially bisexual.”

  A soft laugh answered her. “I guess I am.”

  “Technically it sounds like you’re bisexual but hetero-amorous. It’s not unusual at all.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Any idea what you’ll do with that revelation?”

  “None whatsoever. I’m terrified of approaching either gender, so I imagine life will go on as scheduled.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “I think so.”

  But you don’t know so. A dangerous bit of Suzy wondered if this blossoming chemistry she felt for him—their intimate rapport, her attraction to his face and voice and mannerisms—would translate, face-to-face. If she’d like his smell, the taste of his mouth, the way he felt, and the way he touched. His inexperience didn’t put her off, but whether a person was a virgin or a Lothario, there could be something in the way they touched or kissed that could either light you on fire or leave you cold and limp as a dead fish. If she ever met him, if they shared a bottle of wine, managed to replace his fears with that so-called curiosity, what would they find, there?

  But Suzy knew better than to dwell on the notion. Her initial ham-fisted proposition had nearly wrecked this odd new friendship, and she didn’t relish endangering it a second time. If this bond continued, and grew, and if John felt the same and grew bold enough to ask her out, she’d be quite happy to see if there j
ust might be something to this.

  “This feels so lopsided to me,” he said with a guilty sort of smirk. “That I’ve watched you two, seen such intimate parts of your life, and all this time you didn’t even know my gender.”

  “I don’t feel that way at all. What you watched . . . that was a performance. He and I care about each other, but nothing like the characters we play for you. Whereas your requests and the things you wanted to see, your desires seem a hundred percent genuine.”

  “They were for research, though.”

  She smiled to herself and lay back across the bed. “But those things were still to your taste, weren’t they?”

  “I suppose they were.”

  “Again, I say we split the difference, call it even. I like us on equal footing, John.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever feel like your equal,” he said quietly. “You seem like you live and love in dimensions and colors I’ve never even conceived of.”

  She went warm all over. “Oh, well. That’s sweet, and poetic, frankly. But don’t overestimate how amazing I am, please. I’m a free spirit, sexually, but there’s loads of stuff I’m totally hopeless at. You’re a zillion years ahead of me in the professional and success spheres. Everybody shines at some stuff, and struggles at others. Our struggles and shiny areas just happen to be flipped, it would seem.”

  “That’s an interesting way to look at it.”

  “I guess we have a lot to learn from each other.” She paused, feeling they were on the precipice of some new level. Friends. True friends. “I know we’re even and all that, but can I just apologize one last time, for the whole indecent-proposal thing?”

  He laughed. “Would that make you happy?”

  “I think it would. Not to be presumptuous, but . . . we’re friends, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I’d like to,” he said carefully.

  “Me too.”

  “At the risk of sounding pathetic,” John said, “I only have a few friends. And they’re all men, and I know them all in very specific contexts, and see them in those same specific contexts—my friend I go to movies with, my friend I play chess with, my friend who critiques my first drafts for me.”

  “Sure.”

  “I don’t have any friends I just call on the phone, and talk about . . . well, whatever. And certainly none I’ve ever talked to, the way I’ve talked with you. I haven’t had a friend like that since college.”

  “That’s a shame. It’s good to talk about whatever.”

  “And about personal things. Even my college friends, I don’t remember telling them anything half as intimate as what I’ve told you.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “I hope you don’t feel like a therapist. I know it’s what you’ve studied to be, but I don’t mean to treat you like one.”

  “All the best friends have a little therapist in them. So do bartenders, for that matter. As long as it goes both ways,” she said, “there’s no problem. Would you listen if I needed to work through something, by talking about it?”

  “Sure. I don’t know that I’d be much help, but I’d try.”

  “Okay, then, let’s try right now.”

  A soft chuckle. “Okay.”

  “Let’s see. You’re my friend John, the most successful person I know.”

  “Only at—”

  “Shut up, friend. Quit qualifying your awesomeness.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “So I show up at your house all mopey in my sweatpants,” she told him, “and what do you say?”

  “Um . . . I’d say, ‘Hello, Suzy, you don’t look very well. But those pants look very comfortable.’”

  “They are. But I’m super depressed, John. Do you have any wine?”

  “I don’t, but come inside and make yourself at home. I’ll go buy some wine and whatever junk food you’d like.”

  “You’re very good at friending already, John. I’d like Cool Ranch Doritos. And pinot grigio.”

  “I’ll be right back.” A brief pause. “Okay, here you go. Please, take your shoes off, and let’s go sit on the couch.”

  “We go sit on your couch and you let me turn on the TV and watch the Food Network on mute because I find it meditative.”

  “Naturally. So, what’s wrong?”

  “I’m going to fill my glass back up to full even though I’m only halfway through the one you poured me because it feels good having a lot of wine to look forward to.”

  “I don’t judge you or suggest you might need to examine your drinking.”

  “You’re my best friend, John.”

  He laughed. “And so what’s wrong?”

  “I just had lunch with my college roommate, and she’s been promoted to the head of her department and got a huge raise. I feel like such a loser.”

  “We all feel like our careers are passing us by, from time to time.”

  “But I don’t even have a career to get passed by by.”

  “But it’s not as if you’re sitting around on your couch in your pajamas all day.”

  “Only because I’m sitting on yours . . . But no, I guess you’re right. I’m still involved in my field, as a research assistant. But I should have got my license by now. I should have clients and my own office with potted plants and inspirational posters.”

  “Says who?” John asked.

  “Society?”

  “Do you enjoy what you do, the things that aren’t psychology-related? Your evening gigs?”

  “Yeah, they’re great. But I can’t exactly brag about that.”

  “Maybe not, but that doesn’t really matter, does it? If it makes you happy?”

  “I guess not.”

  “You go to bed knowing you’ve offered someone something they value, and look forward to, and think back on fondly.”

  “But I still charge for it. It’s not exactly a public service.”

  “No, it’s not charity, but it’s still an important job. I’ll bet it means more to people than you realize.”

  “Maybe . . .”

  “Here, have some more wine.”

  She smiled, wishing he were here so he could see it. “That’s more than enough role-playing—I can tell you now, you give good couch.”

  Another little laugh. “Nice to know.”

  “And that was actually something I could stand to hear. I have no idea what my college roommate is up to, but I do feel like my education’s growing moss, every month that goes by that I’m not using it.”

  “As I said, it’s not as though you’re sitting around doing nothing.”

  “No, I know. To be honest, this has been one of the most exciting episodes of my life. And in a way, I think it’s taught me a lot about psychology. About people, anyhow. And how to be a different person myself, for an hour at a time, so they can express their sexuality.”

  “See? That’s the way to look at it.”

  “I’m going to think back on this year for the rest of my life, and I bet the memories are always going to be positive ones. I am actually sort of proud. Not just for the sexual side of it, for helping people in my weird way, but also for the business side of it. We had to teach ourselves a lot, real fast, about things we knew nothing about. Web stuff, I mean. And diplomacy. Organization. All sorts of things.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “I don’t know how I might ever apply it to a psych practice, but it was an education in itself.”

  “You must know all about Web security and privacy. Is there such a thing as a virtual psychologist?”

  “Sure. They’re seen as kind of low-rent within the field, but they certainly exist.”

  “I’m sure plenty of people see web-camming as not especially upstanding, but you two have built something very professional. Something worth paying for, if that’s not too crass.”

&nb
sp; “Of course not.” She paused, struck by a thought. Her eyes had been shut but she opened them now, staring up at the ceiling. “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been lying here on the bed with my eyes shut for the past ten minutes. Since we started pretending I’d showed up at your house, I think. And I just opened them now, and it felt kind of surprising to find you weren’t actually here, in the same room as me.”

  “Oh.”

  “I really could have been on your couch with a bottomless glass of wine, for how easy it is, talking to you.”

  “No one’s ever said anything like that to me before. Thank you.”

  “Maybe you ought to start your own Web site. Virtual Couching with John Lindsay. Dot com.”

  “Perhaps not. The virtual Dorito stains would be a nightmare.”

  She laughed. “You’re funny. I never would have expected that. Based on the nights we cammed for you, I mean.”

  “Sex and humor don’t really mix.”

  “Oh my God, are you kidding? Sex is hilarious.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. I mean, not with every person, but I think there’s plenty of room in good sex for joking around.”

  A pause. “This is probably rude, but you make me bold, so I’ll ask it anyway.”

  “Please do.”

  “When you’re not working, not camming, that is . . . What are you like in bed? Christ, that sounds so rude.”

  “No, not at all. We’re definitely the kind of friends who can ask each other rude sex questions, anyhow.”

  “Oh. Okay, good.”

  “And you know, it’s hard to say. It depends on who I’m with, and what the mood is like. I mean, being with Meyer— Shit, I didn’t mean to use his real name. But there you go—it’s Meyer.”

  “I’ll endeavor to forget it.”

  “It’s fine. Anyhow, with Meyer, when we were together before the camming, I was kind of like a chameleon. He’s basically got sexual ADD, so you never know if you’re going to bed with somebody bossy or submissive, or if it’ll be super slow and sensual or a hundred miles a minute and all loud and barbaric. It was fun. It kept me on my toes, like this theater improv class I took in college. And it was great practice for what we do now. Minus a few things that I’m just never going to be into, I feel like I can be anybody, in bed.”