“The Bard in Brooklyn,” Noah says, musing on the words. Then he snaps his fingers. “Hey! That sounds like the name of a musical.”
“You should produce The Bard in Brooklyn. That could be your next career move. Backing musicals. You know that’s what you really want to do.”
“I’m going to be a revival man all the way though,” he says. He holds out an arm grandly, like a character in a musical about to launch into a show-stopping number. “I can see it now.”
“You should work with Davis Milo. Wasn’t he going to direct that revival of Chess?”
He nods. “Supposedly it’s being workshopped. But those things take forever.”
“I’ll wait for it. I’ll be there opening night.”
He stops walking and faces me. “I’m taking you.”
“Or I’m taking you,” I toss back. “You know what you need to do? Once you start producing musicals, you need to have this kick-ass one-line bio in Playbill, like the one Cameron Mackintosh has. You know what his Playbill bio says?”
“Of course. And I would do the same.” So, we say the next line in unison: “Noah Hayes produces musicals.”
“See? How much better does it get than that?”
“It doesn’t.”
“It’s as if it says, ‘This is my mark on the world, and it’s so powerful all I need is one verb and one noun.’”
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted too: name, verb, noun. Done.”
Out of nowhere, I spot a flash of gray hair. A familiar lopsided grin. A pair of narrow brown eyes. The hair on my neck stands on end. Jay Fierstein. My mom’s former lover, my dad’s former business partner. I spin around, my heart racing, my skin crawling. But I don’t see him anywhere.
Noah keys in on me. “Hey. You okay there?” he asks, concerned. “Did you see someone you know?”
“Jay Fierstein,” I say as I scan for the bastard.
“Your dad’s not in business with him anymore, right?”
I stop searching for Jay’s beady brown eyes. He’s gone. I look at my boyfriend. “How did you know?”
“K, it’s been a few months. I hear things.”
“Did my mom tell you that?”
“Probably,” he says, flustered a bit at my questions.
“What do you know about him?” I park my hands on my hips. For some reason, it bothers me that this family secret has leaked out.
“Not much, counselor. Why are you quizzing me?”
“I don’t know,” I say, sighing and jamming my hand in my hair. Now I’m pissed at myself for being pissy with Noah. “It’s just …”
“Hey,” he says softly. “You can tell me.”
A thought flashes through my mind. Can I tell him that I threw Jay under the bus? If Jay is following me, does that mean Jay’s back together with my mom? Why is Noah even asking me these questions?
A horrible thought attacks my brain. Would Noah use me to stay close to his biggest client? To ferret out information about my mom that would help him keep her? My mind races rapid-fire over our relationship, hunting out moments that would reveal his intentions were less than pure.
I don’t find any, but just like that, I’m doubting him. Try as I might to swat the thoughts away, they’re in my head, implanted, like a listening device.
I remind myself that he has so much to lose by being with me. He’s only with me for me. But as we leave the Gardens, I want to punch both my parents.
This is what happens when you know too many secrets and you’ve grown up with too many lies.
Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad. You both suck.
*
That evening I join my dad at the dining room table. He has an intense look on his face as he flips through several crisp white legal-size pages. My mom, I bet. She’s probably bugging him for something. I bet she wants to stop paying him alimony. Part of me was shocked when I learned he was taking alimony. The guy was steel and never let on he knew she cheated, but he deigned to take money?
“What’s going on?” I ask as I plop down onto the chair.
He doesn’t answer. I watch him as he shifts his jaw, nearly grinding his teeth.
“What’s wrong, dad?”
He sighs, his shoulders rising briefly, then shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “Jay,” he hisses in a low voice.
I stop breathing. Air whooshes out of my lungs. “What do you mean?”
“This,” he says, and stabs the papers with his index finger. “He’s suing me.”
My jaw drops. “What? Why?”
“Breach of this. Breach of that. Trying to put me on the line for the business split.”
My blood turns cold. He banged my mom, he follows me, he sues my dad. My father gives me a pointed look. “Kennedy, I don’t know what you ever saw in him. I truly do not understand how you even wanted to kiss him. Even if it was only three seconds.”
My father looks sickened. I cast my eyes downward, ashamed that I have to keep up the lie.
“Dad,” I say, but I don’t know what comes next or what else I’m supposed to say. All I know is I don’t want him to know the truth. He thinks I was in love with Jay.
“I’m going to call him and let him know exactly what I think.”
“No,” I say as my heart speeds up. I don’t want my dad to know I lied to him all these months about Jay. I don’t want him to think I’m just as bad as my mom in the honesty department. “I mean, it’s not worth it. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m over him,” I say, proffering up a lie, another layer to the big lie. “Just leave that part alone, Dad. Please. Please, just don’t talk to him about me. I don’t feel a thing for him anymore. I promise.”