The Muse's Undoing

“Sometimes the bigger the better.”

He smiles. “It’s good that you believe in yourself. Confidence is key.”

“I hope I don’t sound too cocky,” I say.

He takes a longer than average sip of his drink.

Mom pipes up with the familiar names of a few gallery owners, all of whom I’ve met before. They’re all particular about sculptures, but a few have shown interest in some of my sketches. Apparently I have a unique sketching style. Shocking, I know, for a guy whose brain wiring is basically reversed. I bet my sketches do look pretty weird to people.

“It’s like twelve-feet tall, Mom,” I say. “I think it might wind up being a permanent fixture in the loft.”

“Twelve feet? How’d you manage that?”

“A ladder?”

“You’re gonna break your neck in that loft one day, and I’ll be the last to know.”

My mom hates that I live in the Bronx. She’s a borough snob. “He’s the one you should be worried about,” I say, reminding her of the tumble Fischer took a few weeks ago.

“You’re all terrible. Thank goodness for my precious baby boy.” She gives the most dangerous kid in the world a big kiss on the head.

23

FISCHER

Lunch is endless, and I am truly suffering. Maintaining my distance from Matthew is excruciating, but what’s worse is that everyone keeps referring to him as my brother, and it’s starting to feel pointed.

I get it, all right?

I’m also past giving a shit. My body’s response to his nearness is extreme. I can’t seem to let go of his hand for more than two seconds, even though all I’d meant to do when I took it was give it a squeeze and move on with lunch. I’m warm and shaky with the occasional disorienting stomach flip when our eyes happen to meet.

On my left, Vaughn is making as much noise as possible, but I barely care. I let Donna remain on manners duty while I fight the urge to put my hand between Matthew’s legs.

The conversation meanders with equal attention paid to everyone, but my mind keeps wandering. Part of me wants to pretend the other night never happened in order to avoid any more awkwardness, lack of communication, or general pain and suffering, but my body has other ideas. Too many ideas, and it’s not going to be ignored.

At last, the check arrives. Stuart, Donna, and I reach for it at the same time, but Stuart is quickest. I don’t fight for it. I’m okay with whatever gets me and Matty out of here fastest.

As we’re saying our goodbyes, Matthew leans in and says, “Let’s get a drink before we go.”

“Sure.” Maybe both of us need to cool off. If my cock is leaking just from holding his hand off and on for an hour, one more drink is probably a good idea.

He gives Maggie a hug, and then everybody gets hugs. The only people who don’t hug each other are me and Matthew.

I say a long goodbye to Vaughn and tell him to be good for his grandparents. He throws his arm around my neck and gives me twenty kisses in a second. “Love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too. See you Wednesday.”

“See you Wednesday.” Like always, he gives my cheek a pat, and I straighten up, using my cane to keep me steady before I feel Matthew’s hand on my lower back again.

“Wanna check out the Two E?” Matthew asks we watch the others leave.

“Sure.”

“I’ve heard it’s posh like you,” he adds, sliding his arm around my waist once again.

I return the gesture, breathing easier. “Drinks on you?”

“Sure, if you’re buying.”