Asher promised them the pizza was on its way, stood in front of the TV to talk about a community housing fund, slush money for people who couldn’t make rent because they were sick. Someone asked if Asher could guarantee the money would stay in the gay community, and Asher said, “Hell no, are you kidding? We don’t own this disease,” and then there was loud debate. Whenever Asher was exasperated, the parallel creases between his eyes would grow so deep they looked etched.
Yale was free now to lust after Asher, free to fantasize not just a dream scenario but an actual possibility. He could stay late, help clean up, put his hand on Asher’s shoulder . . . But Yale had never been one to make a first move. Not in his life, not even drunk. And he doubted Asher would ever notice he was interested unless he grabbed him by the actual cock.
Besides which, his life didn’t need more drama right now. He needed a nice boring stretch, a few months when someone could ask what was new and he’d be able to say, “Not much, just plugging along.” He couldn’t sacrifice his job and risk rejection on the same night.
But no, everything would be fine at the gallery in the morning. The transfer of property was airtight, Herbert Snow had reassured him. It had to be okay.
Rafael, Charlie’s Editor in Chief, kept scooting closer to Yale on the floor until he was right beside him. He whispered, “Bummer of a party.”
Yale had nervously checked the crowd when he’d come in, even though Asher had guaranteed, when he invited Yale, that Charlie wouldn’t be there. It wasn’t going to be easy to avoid the most ubiquitous gay man in Chicago, but he could manage it till things had cooled, crusted over. Teddy leaned on the windowsill next to his friend Katsu. Yale hadn’t talked to Teddy tonight, probably wouldn’t. Teddy and Katsu were exactly the same size, and Yale squinted till they were identical silhouettes. Katsu raised his hand, and when Asher shouted over the din to call on him, Katsu said, “For those of us living with it—” and Yale only barely heard the question, something about tenant rights. He could have guessed, but he hadn’t known.
Someone asked a question about anonymity, and Rafael whispered, “I heard you’re living large! When you gonna have us plebes down for a party?” Rafael wore a Palestinian scarf around his neck, and he hid his chin in it like a turtle.
“I’m just crashing there,” Yale said, although it felt more and more like that was where he lived, in a little capsule above the city, while down here everyone else’s suffering and drama continued.
A minute later, Rafael whispered again: “Charlie’s totally unhinged. Everyone at the office is like, Oh my God, bring back Yale. Was he always this nuts? And you were just, like, absorbing it all for us?”
Yale said, “He’s going through a lot.”
“I mean, he’s a disaster. Did you used to force-feed him? We started leaving snacks on his desk just so he’ll eat.”
All the heads in the room turned at once toward the door, and when Yale turned he fully expected to see Charlie standing there. A nightmare, a relief, an avenging angel. But it was Gloria from Out Loud, carrying a stack of pizza boxes, telling everyone to calm down and stay put till she’d put out the paper plates, the napkins.
Yale let the sounds around him blend to a dull buzz. He watched Asher talk, gesture, whap his hand against the TV antenna. He watched Katsu and Teddy lean on each other.
Rafael said, “Nobody’s even listening. Everyone’s so tired of listening.”
* * *
—
There were flowers on his desk in the morning, a bunch of yellow dahlias from Cecily. A note that said, I can never repay you.
But before he’d even sat down, Bill was there. He’d brought Yale a coffee, even though Yale already had one. He said, “It seems our friend is on a power trip.” He paused, waiting for Yale to ask what he meant, but Yale didn’t feel like playing along, and eventually Bill cleared his throat and continued. “He’s been to the president, which—I don’t know how everything’s going to play out. I don’t. He’s calling around the board. Not our board, the board. And meanwhile, Frank, Nora’s son, is taking some kind of legal action. I don’t know if he’s fully suing or what, but you have a message from Snow.”
“That’s a major waste of his time,” Yale said.
“Yes. Yes.” Bill looked past Yale and out the window. “But it’s not great for the gallery. You were so noble, giving him your card and everything, and I wish you hadn’t been. You know I was willing to take the blame.”
“I’m the one who messed up,” Yale said.
Actually, he’d lain awake last night wondering why the hell he’d done it. For Cecily, of course. But also maybe it was some kind of self-flagellation, a way to punish himself, for—what? Well, everything. Messing around with Roman. Taking the art from Debra and maybe even Fiona. Walking away from Charlie. Evading this disease. It wouldn’t take a genius shrink. How easily he’d brushed off Dr. Cheng’s offer of counseling, his warnings to be careful out there, and here he was. A different kind of reckless behavior.
Bill said, “I think if there’s anything you want to finish up with Nora—I mean, personally, since you were the one—I think maybe the next few weeks might be the time to do it. I’m just thinking of timing, in a general way.”
“You think I should wrap up my business with Nora.” Yale tried to read his face.
“Well, just that you might want to.”
“In the next few weeks.”
Bill’s thumb worried his chin cleft. “I don’t have a crystal ball. One thought is if I could tell Donovan you’re off the case on this one, so to speak—that I was handling it personally, right? We take you off Nora and see how the rest plays out. And you were done there anyway! But I’d take you off any grant writing related to the show as well. The publicity and so on.”
Yale said, “Bill, if I should be tying up loose ends with other situations, it would be in your best interest to tell me.”
“Oh! That’s not what I meant! Yale, we can’t lose you! I won’t let that happen!”
* * *
—
But by the end of the week Bill was meeting privately with Herbert Snow, and when he emerged from his office, his eyes were more rheumy than usual, his face grayer.
Allen Sharp called up. “There are rumors afloat among the board of advisers,” he said, and Yale had to explain the whole thing. Allen seemed placated, but he was worried about everyone else. “This is the kind of thing people will want to distance themselves from,” he said. “Anything unethical . . . I’ve seen how these stories can blow up.”