PART I Marley’s Ghost
DUE DILIGENCE
1
:the care that a reasonable person exercises to avoid harm to other persons or their property
2 :research and analysis of a company or organization done in preparation for a business transaction (such as a corporate merger or in preparation for sub-contracting out work)
~1~
Seattle,June2014
DANIEL PARKED HIS Lexus at the hospital and surveyed the entrance with fear and loathing. Going inside was the last thing he wanted to do—well, maybe with the exception of getting his testicles waxed. By a three-hundred-pound woman named Helga. But Daniel’s father was in there, in room 605, and no excuse in the world would get him out of a visit this time.
He pushed down the soft leather visor to look in the mirror. As always, his short, trimmed beard was as neat as an obsessive hand with a Zafiro Iridium razor could get it, his skin was clear and moisturized, and his dark eyes were sharp. They were also the color of a cheap bottle of rosé. Sleep was one luxury Daniel couldn’t buy. He nudged at his short dark hair with his fingers, neatened his Dolce & Gabbana tie, and got out of the car. He opened the back passenger door and took out his suit jacket—it was hung on a felttopped wooden hanger as always—and put it on.
Inside, the tide of nurses and visitors in the hallways parted before his willful stride like the Red Sea for Abraham. Usually having that effect on people was a good thing, but now it only meant he was in front of the door marked 605 in an unfortunately short amount of time. He took a deep breath, telling himself he had faced hostile boards of directors and raving lawyers—he could face this. He opened the door.
Daniel’s father was sitting up in bed when Daniel walked in. Frank Derenzo had been a striking and imposing man as little as six months ago, with his iron-stung black hair, piercing dark eyes, and impeccable tailoring. But the illness had taken him and wrung him out like a dishcloth. He looked half what he once was—his body wasted and his face pale.
Damn. Daniel abhorred seeing the Iron Man like this. It was just… wrong. And disturbing.
He forced a smile despite the fact his stomach had dropped down to the vicinity of his knees. “Hello, Father.” He went to the bed and reached out for a manly handshake. His father took his hand and held on to it, looking Daniel up and down and shaking his head in that disappointed way of his. Zap. Daniel felt a sting in his healthy ego. He hated that he could still feel bothered by his father’s disregard. He pulled his hand away.
“So you decided to finally appear,” Frank said. “Glad to know there’s a filial streak left in you somewhere.”
“Of course I came, Father. How are you?”
Frank grimaced. “How do you think I am? I’ve got a couple of months of breathing left in me. Or so they say. The pain isn’t so bad yet. I’m putting my affairs in order. That doesn’t mean I’m not pissed as hell. I never did like it when someone told me to get off the pony ride, and this is the biggest pony ride of them all.”
“I’m truly sorry, Father,” Daniel said. And he was. His father was only sixty years old. He’d always been so strong. He didn’t deserve to have his legs cut out from under him like this. Life was a fickle bitch.
Frank made a “what can you do?” face. “I know you’re watching the clock, so let’s get to it. You. You’re one of the things I need to get in order, Daniel.”
Daniel blinked in surprise. “I’m in excellent shape, Father. There’s nothing I need.”
“Yeah, Dan, there is. Sit down.”
Daniel hated it when anyone called him “Dan.” It was so… TV sitcom. But there was no point arguing with his father. The man gave orders; he didn’t take requests.
Daniel moved the bedside chair back a foot, then a tad more, and debated removing his suit jacket. He didn’t usually sit in it; didn’t want to get it wrinkled. But that might make it seem like he planned on staying awhile. Wrinkles were the lesser evil. Weren’t they? Then again, he had an important meeting in two hours. Didn’t want to look—
“Jesus, you’re wound tighter than a hummingbird on speed! Just fucking sit already,” Frank complained.
“That’s what you called me here to say? That I’m uptight?” Daniel asked tersely. He left his jacket on and placed his ass in the chair.
“Of course not. I could have said that much over the phone.” Frank’s eyes twinkled a little.
Was he trying to crack a joke? Now? Daniel cleared his throat and compulsively checked his watch, not even registering the time. “So what is it, Father?”
Frank took a deep breath. His face softened. “Right. No point in beating around the bush. This is what I have to say to you, Daniel, and I want you to really hear it: You need to get off this track you’re on, son. Don’t live the life I led.”
“Pardon?”
“I’m telling you, Daniel. I look at you and it’s like looking in a goddamn mirror. And from where I’m standing—or rather, lying—that is not a place you want to be.”
Daniel huffed a laugh. “What are you talking about? Do they have you hopped up on meds?”
“Listen to me, goddamn it!” Frank raised his voice. Daniel was a grown man, thirty-four years old, but his father using that tone could still make the five-year-old inside him whimper like a little girl. “I’m not high and I’m not crazy. Do you know who I am right now, Daniel Meyer Derenzo?”
Daniel looked at him.
“I’m fucking Marley’s ghost, that’s who I am to you.”
“I don’t—”
“I’m you in twenty-five years and, I’m telling you Daniel, you don’t want to be me at the end of your life.”
Daniel opened his mouth to say something about the state of medicine, how careful he was with what he ate, his routine at the gym. But all of that felt like a rather rude boast to a man dying of cancer. And anyway, possibly not the point his father was getting at.
“Okay,” he said instead, as if soothing an angry dog. “Just take it easy.”
“Lisa walked out on you what, three years ago? And why?”
Zap. Another small sting to Daniel’s ego. His spine stiffened. “We grew apart.”
Frank shook his head impatiently. “That’s bull pizzle. She walked out on you for the same reason your mother walked out on me—I paid zero fucking attention to her and she decided she wanted a husband who was more than a signature on the bills. I did that, Daniel. I put her on a shelf and lived for my work, and then I was fool enough to blame her when she left me. And before I could get my head out of my ass, she was dead and gone.”
Daniel didn’t like to be reminded of it, not of any of it. He was a teen when they divorced, and Frank had always been so absent, Daniel never blamed his mother for leaving. But he didn’t want to go there, because he’d never gotten over the guilt that if he had only been better, more perfect, his father would have spent more time with them. He would have, right?
Still, Daniel didn’t see how that had anything to do with his own divorce. “I’m sorry you never got to reconcile with Mother. That’s the difference between you and me, Father. I don’t blame Lisa. She’s a good person. The divorce was a mutual decision. I’m just, you know, not the relationship type.”
“And that, Dan, is the problem,” Frank sighed. “Believe me, I’m not saying this because it’s my idea of a fun time to poke and prod at my grown son. I’m saying it because I wish to hell someone had sat me down and told me this when I was your age.”
Daniel wiped his upper lip, relieved to find that he wasn’t sweating yet. But he could feel the storm clouds of stress rolling in, and his heart rate was speeding up. “I’m sorry you’re so disappointed in me. But I’m fine. Better than fine. I’m doing extremely well.”
“Uh-huh. Are you seeing anyone? Have you even been on a date since Lisa left you?”
“Yes. I… that’s… it’s none of your business.” And now Daniel felt a giant “L” flashing on his forehead.
“Right. You’re too busy working to date. When was the last time you took a vacation? Walked on the beach? Played poker with
friends? Sat in a goddamn hammock?”
“A hammock? Really? What is this, Gilligan’sIsland?”
“Shut up, Daniel! I’m trying to impart some goddamn pearls of wisdom!”
“The tone” was back. Daniel, breathing hard, made himself calm down. He started his breathing exercises, silently, and willed his face to relax into don’t-give-a-fuckdom. If he let his dad get to him, he’d be down with a five-alarm headache for the rest of the day and he couldn’t. He had to review the paperwork on Mojambo, then he had three important calls related to Liptec and—
“Just look at what I did to us.” Frank’s brow was creased in frustration, his voice rough. “You’re my only son. Yet we’ve seen each other, what, once a year for the past ten years? I wasn’t even part of your childhood. Did I ever go to a single one of your ball games?”
A laugh burst from Daniel’s lips. “Yeah, well, that would have been a trick since I never played sports.”
Frank waved a hand. “See what I mean? I was a terrible father. I should have taken you camping or over to the islands. We should have spent more time together.”
Daniel was at a loss for a reply. As a boy, he’d wanted that more than anything. But he’d stopped craving his father’s attention long ago. Now he really wanted to get out of this room and forget—forget that his father was dying of cancer, forget this entire conversation. He struggled for something positive to say. “I, uh, always looked up to you. You were a success. You were a big shot. You were an inspiration to me.”
“A success!” Frank shook his head. “I have a lot of money. So what? It didn’t stop me from getting cancer. And even if I can buy the best room at the hospital, it’s empty. It’sempty, Daniel.”
“I’m sorry, Father. I tried to get here sooner but—”
“It’s not your fault. You don’t ignore people all your life and then expect them to give a shit at the end. I know this. No, you listen to me. Here I am at the final curtain call of my one and only lifetime, and what do I have? I have a huge bank account I can’t take with
me. You’re my only legacy, Daniel, my legacy in genetic material. And you’re miserable. So tell me: What was it all for?”
“God… you…. I am notmiserable!” Daniel was getting pissed off by his father’s refusal to recognize how successful he was. Would it kill him to be proud justfuckingonce?
Frank eyed him up and down for a long moment. His face softened. “No, I get it. You look good.”
It’sabouttime. “Thank you.”
“Nice tie,” Frank pointed at Daniel’s neckwear. “And those shoes! What are those, John Lobb’s?”
Daniel looked down and felt a wave of pleasure at the sight of his shoes. “Yeah, the new line. I got them at—”
“They’re beautiful. Let me see one.”
“What?”
“Come on.” His father held out an impatient hand.
Frowning a little, Daniel slipped off one of his side buckle Oxfords and handed it to his father. Frank studied it. “Nice.” Then he threw it out the open window.
“Hey!”
Daniel ran over to the window. His shoe was lodged elegantly on the first-floor rooftop down below. “Are you insane?” he sputtered. “What did you do that for?”
“Because it’s ridiculous! You’re working your ass off, day and night—I know you, Daniel—and what do you get out of it? A fifteenhundred-dollar pair of shoes? Daniel, that’snotliving.”
Daniel glared at him.
His father gave a deep sigh. “Look. I know you think you have all the time in the world, but that’s a false assumption. You blink your eyes and you’re forty, blink again and you’re fifty, and then—then you’re lying on your death bed realizing that the business deals you once thought were so important—shipping this and buying that— they’re vaporware, Dan. No one remembers, no one cares, any more than they care about your fancy shoes. They don’t mean shit. I just —I want so much more for you than that.”
Frank sounded so sincere. For a moment, the curtains of resistance in Daniel’s mind parted and he got a glimpse of what his
father was saying. He felt a sharp burning in his gut, an emotion he couldn’t define but one bad enough to steal his breath away. But he stubbornly pushed it aside and shook his head. “There is nothing wrong with my life. I’m fulfilled. I’m… happy.” Daniel’s voice broke. He pressed his lips together, angry at the betrayal of his vocal cords. His father smiled sadly. “It’s enough, Daniel. The money you already have, it’s enough. Love someone. Have great sex. Travel. Sit on a porch in the fucking woods and read a book. But don’t let time slip away from you. Because time, Daniel, time beats to hell anything they sell on the stock exchange. Take it from a man who’s nearly out. Liveyourlife,Daniel.”
Daniel stood at the window, an impeccably dressed man in one shoe, and stared at his father. Daniel could see that the old man meant it, that he was dealing with some end-of-life crisis of faith in the Church of the Almighty Dollar. And who could blame him? As weird as it was to see one of the most ruthless businessmen Daniel had ever known talking about marriage and children and time, Daniel could concede his father had a point. He had been thinking that he should slow down a bit. He’d been thinking that for a few years now, in fact, even if he hadn’t acted on it. Wasn’t Nick always telling him that?
But it wasn’t in Daniel’s nature to appreciate being told to get off the pony ride either.
He took a deep, calming breath and forced a fake smile. “I’ll, uh, I’ll think about it. Will that do, Father? Now I have to find a maintenance man to get my goddamn shoe.”
~2~
HongKong,twoweekslater
“TWO SAKES, PLEASE. ” Daniel removed his suit jacket and draped it over a bar stool, sliding onto the stool next to it.
Nick took the seat on the other side, doing Daniel one better by tossing his jacket over a stool, loosening up his tie, and unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt. This was their standard operating procedure. Daniel wasn’t comfortable unwinding until he was back in his room. You never knew when someone you happened to know might walk into the bar and, well, while he admired the fact Nick didn’t care about looking perfect, Daniel did.
They’d been in Hong Kong for two weeks working round-theclock to close the Mojambo acquisition. And now, at nearly midnight on a Friday, it was finished and Daniel was exhausted. All he wanted was an hour or so to relax with his best friend before he took a run through email and voicemail to answer the urgent ones—he really ought to call his secretary Gwen back in Seattle—brushed off his shoes for the morning, did his evening sit-ups and pushups, and thenhad a hot meal and bed.
God. He suppressed what would have been a very undignified yawn.
“It won’t take long to turn this one,” Nick said. “We can move Nakamura over from TechMod. The new policies we implemented over there should work great on Mojambo. That’ll save a lot of time and….”
Nick continued talking, but Daniel got distracted. A beautiful Chinese woman sank onto a barstool on the other side of Nick’s coat. She saw Daniel watching her and smiled a sultry come-hither.
Shit.Prostitute. Daniel looked away, playing it cool. Even though he wasn’t looking at her anymore, that single glance had burned into his retinas like an approaching car wreck. She was wearing a slinky
black dress and her interest in them flashed on her face like a neon sign. Two well-dressed American businessmen, a swanky hotel bar…. Daniel glanced around. The place was reasonably occupied but no one was paying any attention to them. He knew he was being paranoid, but he didn’t want to be seen by any of their business associates. You could always claimit was nothing, but the sharks he swam with ate scandal with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. Any little edge in a deal.
“…. What do you think about approaching Jameson early?” Nick was saying. “Just to hedge our bets in case—oh.”
Daniel turned to look at Nick. The prostitute had her arm around his shoulders. One pert breast pressed against his arm, and she was leaning in so her lips almost touched his ear. “Would you like to buy me a drink?” she purred coquettishly.
Daniel almost laughed aloud. He hadn’t seen that look on Nick’s face since the time they went to a Mexican dive in college and Nick dumped a lot of what looked like ketchup on his burrito only to realize it was hot sauce. He was bright red with a glazed look of panic in his eyes.
“Uh… n-no. No thank you,” Nick stammered.
Pouting with disappointment, the lady moved away.
Daniel chuckled. “Hey, Nick. If you’re into that, don’t say no on my account.”
He was teasing, but Nick didn’t laugh. His eyes were studying his cup of sake as if the meaning of life had suddenly appeared on the liquid’s surface, Nostradamus-style. Nick licked his lips nervously and slid his jacket off the stool next to him and onto his lap. But just before he did, Daniel glanced down and saw it—Nick had an erection. No, Nick had the Mount Everest of erections poking up in his impeccable gray suit slacks.
Daniel was hit by a wave of some emotion he couldn’t identify— embarrassment? His mouth went dry as all the moisture in his body mysteriously evaporated.
Nick’s eyes met his. Daniel lifted an eyebrow. Nick’s blush deepened.
“God, I… I’m way overdue,” Nick said, with a self-deprecating little laugh. He took a sip of his sake.
Daniel took a drink, trying to get his tongue working again. “How overdue, Nick?” he asked quietly.
Nick wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Marcia hasn’t let me touch her for three years.”
Daniel felt his jaw drop open. “You haven’t had sex in three years?” He overspoke, and it sounded ridiculously loud in the bar. He glanced around, but no one was giving a shit, so he leaned forward to repeat the question in a whisper. “You haven’t had sex in three years? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Sex? I seem to vaguely recall something like that,” Nick said in a shaky voice. “No, Daniel. I mean not even a hug, not holding my hand, not a peck on the cheek. That’s what I mean.”
“Why haven’t you ever said anything to me before?”
“Why would I? It’s humiliating. And pointless.”
“Goddamn, Nick. You need to leave Marcia. That’s not right.” There were a dozen reasons why Daniel thought Nick needed to leave Marcia, and there had been for years. But this…. Suddenly, Daniel was incredibly angry.
Nick was such a good guy. He was the best person Daniel had ever known. He was smart and loyal and big-hearted. That’s why they’d always worked so well as business partners in DRE—Derenzo & Ross Enterprises. Nick was the “nice” to Daniel’s “mercenary.” He was the one who went into the companies after Daniel took them over. He made friends, set up worker-friendly policies, soothed jagged nerves and made people happy, made the company healthy enough to sell. They even fought over it sometimes, when Daniel thought Nick went too far on benefits or when Nick pressed to keep jobs Daniel didn’t agree with. But Daniel had to admit Nick was usually right. And besides all that, he was still a young man and damn fine-looking with his rusty brown hair and his matching eyes. Those eyes had always sort of fascinated Daniel. They were the exact same “fall leaves” shade as Nick’s hair, as if genetics had been stingy with paint. No, it was one thing for Daniel to decide not to
bother with dating. It was another for Nick to have a wife at home— a beautiful wife—who deliberately froze him out. Fucking Marcia.
“What the hell is her problem?” Daniel demanded.
Nick shook his head and sighed. “I dunno. She’s never really been into sex. She likes to be admired from afar but she doesn’t like to be touched. I tried to get her to go to counseling or talk to her doctor. But, you know, she always has some excuse. At this point, I’m over it.”
“Christ, Nick.”
Nick was usually good at noticing when Daniel was getting overwrought, and finding a way of distracting him. But now he only looked more embarrassed at Daniel’s anger. “Come on, Daniel. Jenny just started eighth grade and Sylvan’s only eight. I just… I can’t. I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Nick downed his sake in a gulp and then sat there, face shuttered.
Daniel glanced at him, then glanced away again. He wanted to say something supportive or, better yet, something funny and topicdiverting, but his mind was a vast blank. It was so blank, it was like an apocryphal blackboard that stretched across the breadth and width of the sky, ominously empty.
Then he thought about what his father had said. Live your life, Daniel. He’d been obsessing about that conversation lately, more than was healthy. There was something inside him, a kind of black hole, which had been growing ever since that conversation with his father, even if Daniel hadn’t yet put a name on it. Now here was proof he wasn’t the only one notliving. Nick was in no better shape. Then too, how fucking oblivious had Daniel been all these years not to see that his best friend was miserable? Maybe Daniel didn’t care that much about his own lack of a balanced life, but Nick—Nick deserved to be happy.
He thought about encouraging Nick, more seriously this time, to take up the opportunity sitting across the bar in a black silk dress. For real. He could say something witty like Whathappens inHong Kong stays inHong Kong. Or something actually witty instead of a hackneyed cliché.
But Daniel didn’t say anything about the prostitute because that was when it happened. There was a strong wave of heat and nausea in his stomach and for a moment he wondered if he’d accidently gotten some shrimp in something—shrimp always made him hurl. And then he recognized the feeling was emotional. It was… jealousy. He didn’t wantthat woman on Nick, touching him, kissing him.
He looked at Nick sharply. Time seemed to slow down and Daniel was hyperaware of the feeling of the smooth bar under his hand, the exact quality of the dim light in the room. He stared at his best friend, trying to get a handle on what was going on in his body. Nick looked so… appealing, so… sexy? And then it slammed into him like a high-speed train: he wanted Nick. He didn’t want the prostitute touching Nick because he wanted to do it. He wanted to take Nick by the hand, rightnow. He wanted to lead him up to his room, push him gently back on the bed, undo his belt, and… and take that erection into his mouth, and suckhimoff. He wanted to be close to Nick, as close as possible. Make him feel good. Make them both feel good.
OhmyfuckingGod.
An involuntary muscle spasm of Daniel’s hand sent his sake cup flying through the air. It shattered on the back of the bar.
“Daniel?” Nick placed a concerned hand on his arm.
“I….” Daniel was frozen with shock. He realized he was hard himself, hard as a Boccieri iron-shafted putter. He popped off the bar stool, grabbed his suit jacket, and put it on, his back to Nick. “I forgot I, um, have to make this thing… a call… I have to call someone,” he said in a strangled voice. “I’ll see you later.”
UPSTAIRS IN HIS hotel room, Daniel locked the door, adding the safety chain for good measure, and he paced, his fingers rummaging through his hair as if he could massage his brain into sanity.
Whatthefuck?Whatthehellwasthat?
He had never, never felt that way about Nick or any other man. In fact, he hadn’t felt true lust like that since well before his divorce. Hell, if he was honest, not since the very early days with Lisa, if
then. But that back there in the bar had been… that had been crazy strong. And he still wanted it. He itched to pick up the phone and buzz Nick, maybe casually invite him over to the room, make some excuse about work and—
No.
Still achingly hard, Daniel dragged his laptop out of his bag and booted it up. He googled around for a while and found some posts on forums, but it was all junk. A bunch of uninformed people talking about their “feelings” or pulling advice out of their asses. That was for losers. No, when Daniel Derenzo wanted to know something he consulted experts. He hired thebest. He changed his search strategy —and found it.
Expanded Horizons. It was the most highly rated sex clinic in the Northwest, and it was in Seattle, not all that far from their office. Digging a little further into the issues they treated on their website and into the bio pages for their therapists, he grunted with satisfaction. There. That was what he needed. He checked his watch. It was Friday morning in Seattle. He used his phone to dial internationally.
“Expanded Horizons. This is Loretta. How may I help you?”
“Hi, Loretta, my name is Daniel Derenzo. I’m flying in on Sunday and I need the first appointment you have available Monday morning. No, I want to see Halloran. Dr. Jack Halloran.”
~3~
“SO TELL ME, Dr. Halloran. Is it possible for a man to get to the age of thirty-four without having a single fucking clue that he’s gay?”
Daniel watched Dr. Jack Halloran closely for his reaction. He adjusted his iPad video recorder, which was on Halloran’s desk and pointed at his face to make sure it caught the session for later scrutiny. Halloran’s blue eyes were sharp, not unlike the blades of Daniel’s Vitamix. Those eyes belied his pleasant, blond, boy-nextdoor appearance and rather average stature.
Yeah, Halloran was all right, Daniel decided. He’d sat across the table from dozens of CEOs and he trusted his gut instinct. The doctor knew what he was doing. Thank God. Maybe Daniel could stop panicking for five minutes.
“It’s definitely possible,” Halloran said. “But tell me what triggered this new… understanding of your sexuality.”
Daniel struggled to think of how to explain it. It was so important to get it right. Good data in, good data out. He wanted the best diagnosis he could get.
“You know how sometimes things grow on you slowly—say, for example, hunger. Let’s say you’re busy all day, maybe you’re working on an important deal, right? And you keep starting the next contract and the next, and you don’t realize how late it’s getting. You notice you’re hungry, but you keep going, and then you notice you’re hungrier, but you keep doing that one more thing, until finally, it’s four in the afternoon and you’re ready to eat the stapler?”
“Okay,” Halloran said with an agreeable nod.
“Well, this was nothing like that.”
Halloran quirked a brow.
“No, this was like: I’m on a familiar trail in the forest and I’m walking, I’m walking, maybe I have my earphones in, right? Then
wham! The next thing I know a meteor has crashed in front of me and the forest is engulfed in flame.”
Halloran pursed his lips. “I get the sudden part, but I’m not sure I’m following the blazing inferno and mass destruction analogy.”
“Okay, just… forget the mass destruction part.” Daniel put his fingers to his brow. He could feel himself tensing up. He wondered if Halloran could prescribe Xanax.
“Sudden. The first time it happened, it was sudden. It came out of nowhere and crash-landed into my extremely ordered existence. So yeah, maybe the mass destruction part does apply.”
“Why don’t you tell me about that first time?” Halloran leaned back in his chair as if prepared for a long story. Well, good. Because Daniel was ready to talk. He was ready to talk until Dooms-fuckingday if he could get this sorted.
So he told Halloran about that afternoon in a Hong Kong bar and how much he’d wanted his business partner—his malepartner.
“I wanted to latch onto his, you know, member, like a damn leech. That makes me gay, right?”
“Or vampiric,” Halloran muttered to himself. “Well. It’s possible you were feeling sorry for your friend, after hearing about his cold marriage. Or you may have been triggered by the sight of his erection or talk of sex. It’s not that unusual for a straight man to have stray thoughts here and there. Sexuality is not as cut-and-dried as people assume. What makes a man gay or straight is more who you find attractive on an ongoing, day-to-day basis.”
“See, that’s the thing though. It’s like that meteor analogy. Since that happened, it’s changed the entire landscape of my psyche. This thing I feel for Nick—lust, crush, obsession, whatever you want to call it—it hasn’t gone away. In fact, it’s getting worse. He stayed behind in Hong Kong to work with our new company, and I almost kissed him good-bye without even thinking about it. On the lips. In thehotellobby! And now… now I can’t walk down the street without seeing some decent-looking male and being all like, ‘Whoa! Hey! Check it.’ It’s like I’ve been possessed by the spirit of a gay version of Dan Ackroyd’s wild and crazy guy. What the hell is up with that? Is this some kind of sexual psychotic break? Is that possible?”
Halloran tapped a pen against his chin. He looked intrigued. Great. Daniel had managed to intrigue a sex therapist. He was the MysteryDiagnosisfreak of the penis-sporting world.
“Have you ever done anything with a man? Either before this new awareness or since?”
Daniel shook his head. “No, never. I never even thought about it when I was younger and now… I wanted to talk to a professional first. I don’t want to, you know, do something to make things worse.”
Halloran smiled slightly. “You mean, if you try it once you might stick like that?”
Daniel grunted at Halloran’s attempt at humor. “I thought it was best to get some professional advice before I find myself on my knees in a restroom with some leather daddy telling me to bray like a donkey, yeah. So… is it possible to turn like that? Overnight?”
Halloran took a deep, pensive breath. “It’s certainly possible to have an experience or epiphany that changes your mind about who you think you are sexually. I’ve had clients as old as seventy who were only beginning to explore the possibility that they were gay. So don’t worry. This isn’t unheard of and we’ll get it sorted.”
“How can I know for sure though?” Daniel asked anxiously. “I mean, can I push it one way or the other? Is that dangerous? If I go ‘gay’ will I decide down the road that I’m not really? If I repress it, will I one day find myself outside Pike Place Market naked and masturbating and screaming about Justin Beiber? How do you know?”
Halloran’s eyes glittered with what looked suspiciously like amusement. “This change is very recent. It may take a while for things to settle down, but you’ll know. A lot of men would simply try it and see how they feel about it. But you don’t seem the type to leave a lot to chance.”
Daniel gave him a look. “Dr. Halloran, if Type A had a Kinsey scale, I’d be at the far right. If it were a rainbow spectrum, I’d be black.”
“Right,” Halloran agreed placidly. “Well that in itself can be a factor. You’re probably the kind of person who expects a lot out of
himself.”
“That is an understatement.”
Halloran nodded as if that made sense. “And you’ve always been that way?”
“Always.”
“Would you classify your parents as homophobic? Strict? Judgmental? Did they have certain expectations that you felt pressured to meet?”
Daniel frowned, thinking about it. “They divorced when I was in high school. I don’t know if they were homophobic. Honestly, it never came up. Sex wasn’t a big topic in our family. Growing up, it was always about my grades, my performance, and having the right friends.”
“So they put pressure on you to be perfect?”
“You could say that.”
Daniel’s parents, Margaret and Frank, pediatrician and business tycoon, Stoic #1 and Stoic #2, were also both Type As. Daniel remembered presenting a report card in grade school that had two Bs on it. It was one of the few times his father actually paid attention to him, and not in a good way. He remembered the chill that permeated the air, like someone had left the door open on Alaska. There were words like Iknowyoucandobetter , Daniel. And Can you explain why you got a B? Average people get Bs. Those words made him feel worthless and twisted up inside. He’d worked his ass off so he never had to hear them again.
“You could say overachievement runs in the family,” Daniel said. “I have a hard time… handling criticism. So I overcompensate by making sure I never deserve it.”
Halloran nodded, looking at him thoughtfully. “That’s typical of highly sensitive people.”
Daniel huffed a laugh. “You have no idea how many people I’ve done business with who would be rolling on the floor laughing at the idea of me being sensitive.”
Halloran smiled a little. “Just because you’re good at masking something doesn’t mean it’s not there. Did you get good grades?”
“Four-point-oh throughout high school and college,” Daniel said firmly. “Nothing less was ever an option. I was always ambitious.”
“Yes, I see.”
But Halloran couldn’t, not fully. Daniel was too embarrassed to admit that he joined debate and the chess team because it would look good on his resume. He chose his girlfriends, and his prom date, the same way he’d chosen the Lexus—based on their social status and how he’d look with them. In college he was determined to be Gordon Gekko, Donald Trump, and Mark Zuckerberg all rolled into one devastatingly handsome package. He’d been so hungry then.
Now he couldn’t stop seeing his dying father’s face. Liveyourlife, Daniel.
Halloran spoke slowly. “Maybe what your body is telling you is that it’s time for you to stop being what you think you shouldbe and figure out what it is you actually are.”
“Yeah,” Daniel said, his voice thick. “That’s occurred to me. But it’s just so bizarre. I mean, I was married for seven years. How can a person lie to themselves like that?”
“Was intimacy with your wife satisfying? How often did you have sex?”
“It was good. I’ve never had any, er, you know, physical problems. I worked a lot though. So those last few years we weren’t exactly burning up the sheets. Five. The last five years maybe. Before that it was good. Or okay. Maybe it was just okay. God, I don’t know!”
Daniel felt so confused, as if his very memories were suspect. He doubted everything. For a man used to being in control, it was a terrifying feeling.
“I think at some point you may want to try being with a man,” Halloran suggested. “See how that feels for you. Maybe you’ll decide it’s not for you after all. Or you may decide you’re bi-sexual. Or you may decide that labels suck.”
Daniel nodded and licked his lips. “So, uh, if I wanted to do that —experiment with a man—that’s a service you provide, correct? Your website mentions sexual surrogacy. I’d rather be with someone who
really knows what they’re doing, someone who knows what I’m doing there, and is clean and… you know, notsome random hook-up in a club.”
Daniel eyed Halloran. How did surrogacy work anyway? Would Halloran do it? He wasn’t exactly Daniel’s type. (Wait, did he have a type? What was his type? Besides Nick?) But Halloran was attractive. It felt a little strange to meet the guy’s eyes and think about that. The Dan Ackroyd in him started to rear its head and he squashed it down and tried to look like he wasn’t thinking about having sex with his doctor right then. His dick roused itself to vote on the idea.
Stop.
Halloran glanced down at his notes, looking a little bemused, as if he knew exactly what was running through Daniel’s mind. “Right. Uh, if you want surrogacy you’d work with our gay surrogate, Michael Lamont. He’s very good.”
“Ah,” Daniel said.
“Have you said anything to your business partner, Nick, about these new feelings?”
“No, I—No. What do I say? Hey, Nick, you were best man at my wedding, and I was best man at yours, but now I really want to lick your tonsils? No. I can’t say that.”
“Would you say your feelings for him go beyond the sexual?”
Daniel hesitated, even though an immediate answer sprung into his mind. Yes. He really tried to make himself mull it over. “Nick has been… probably the person I’ve been closest to, ever, in my entire life, including my parents and Lisa, my ex. We were roommates our last three years of college, both business majors. We started planning our company then and we started DRE as soon as we graduated. Had a few hungry years. So, you know, that in itself is a problem.”
“Because your relationship is already well-defined?”
“Yes, and because I can’t—I’d prefer not to lose him.”
“He’s also married,” Halloran pointed out gently, as if Daniel had forgotten that part. “And he’s married to a woman. Do you have any reason to think he’d be open to a relationship with a man?”
Daniel nodded. He’d been thinking about that a lot too. In fact, he often found himself staring out the window in his office, his email open and abandoned in front of him, dredging up memories of their college days. “When we first started rooming together, he told me he was bi. I never saw him act on it though—never actually saw him with a man. But one time….” Daniel paused, unsure. “It’s possible I misread it.”
“Go on.”
Daniel rubbed his forehead. “When we were roommates I had the idea that he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. I assumed he was crushing on me, because he’d said he was bi and because, well, I’m a conceited ass. One night we were watching a movie and sitting on the couch and he… he came back from the bathroom and sat really close to me, put his arm on the back of the sofa. I thought he was going to try to kiss me. It made me uncomfortable so I said I was tired and I went to bed.” He sighed. “Talk about vaporware. I could have imagined the whole thing. There’s been nothing like that since. Maybe he was attracted to me then and isn’t now. Or maybe he never was. Maybe he just said he was bi because it seemed cool at the time.”
“Interesting. Well, for now, let’s see if we can’t get you to a place where you’re more confident about what you really want. I think it’s best if you focus on yourself before you embark on any relationship, particularly one where there’s so much potential for things to get… uncomfortable.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more. That’s why I’m here, Dr. Halloran. In business it’s called due diligence. You do your homework first before you make a move.”
Halloran smiled and looked at his watch. “It sounds like we’re on the same page. So next week, same time?”
Daniel cleared his throat. “Actually, if you look at your schedule you’ll see that I booked two hours today.”
Frowning slightly, Halloran woke up his computer and looked at the screen. “I see that. Huh. I usually have another client at ten.”
“Mrs. Shoreman. I had your office manager, Loretta, call her and ask if she’d mind moving to 3:00 p.m. today. Mrs. Shoreman was
very accommodating.”
Halloran blinked at him in surprise. “You’re very serious about this, aren’t you, Daniel?”
Daniel quirked a sarcastic brow. “Dr. Halloran, I don’t even walk down the hall without an agenda and this? This is my life. I booked two hours with you on Thursday as well. And I want to do that surrogacy thing. Soon.”
Halloran leaned back in his chair and regarded Daniel with a glint of admiration in his steely eyes. “Well then, Daniel. I say let’s kick some therapy ass. Why don’t we start with you telling me more about your marriage.”
Another random document with no related content on Scribd:
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Behind the bronze door
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: Behind the bronze door
Author: William Le Queux
Illustrator: George W. Gage
Release date: March 26, 2024 [eBook #73266]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: The Macaulay Company, 1923
Credits: Carol Brown, Tim Lindell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEHIND THE BRONZE DOOR ***
BEHIND THE BRONZE DOOR
CHAPTER I.
THE EPIDEMIC OF MYSTERY.
“Isn’t this terrible, Henry? Where is it going to end?”
“Isn’t what terrible?—and where is what going end?”
“Why! Haven’t you read to-night’s paper?”
“No.”
“Here it is; read that!” and handing her husband the Evening Herald Mrs. Hartsilver indicated with her finger a paragraph in the “stoppress” headed: “Another Society Tragedy,” and stated that a well-known baronet had been found shot in his bedroom in circumstances of great mystery.
Certainly the series of tragedies which had taken place during the past eight months in what is called “Society,” had been most puzzling.
First, Lord Hope-Cooper, the fifth peer, held in high esteem by all his friends and acquaintances, owner of Cowrie Park in Perthshire, Leveden Hall in Warwickshire, and one of the finest houses in Grosvenor Square, had drowned himself in the beautiful lake at Cowrie, apparently for no reason and without leaving even a note of farewell for Lady Hope-Cooper, with whom he was known to be on the best of terms—they had been married eight years.
Then Viscount Molesley, a rich bachelor of three-and-twenty, an owner of thoroughbreds and well-known about town and in sporting circles, had been found shot in his bedroom one morning, an automatic pistol on the floor beside him, and in the grate the ashes
of some burnt papers; apparently he had shot himself after receiving his morning letters.
Following close upon these tragedies had come the sudden death of the Honorable Vera Froissart, Lord Froissart’s younger daughter, in mysterious circumstances. She had been found dead in the drawing-room in her father’s house in Queen Anne’s Gate, and at the inquest the jury had returned a verdict of “death due apparently to shock.” Then the death of a rather notorious ex-Society woman, Madame Leonora Vandervelt, who had been divorced by three husbands—she had thrown herself out of a fourth-floor window at a fashionable West End hotel. Then the death by poisoning of an extremely prosperous stockbroker of middle-age, owner of two financial journals. And after that four or five more tragedies of the same nature, the victim in nearly every case being a man or woman of high social standing and large income.
“Exactly the way Molesley made away with himself,” Henry Hartsilver observed dryly as he laid down the paper after reading the report of the discovery of Sir Stephen Lethbridge’s body in his bedroom at Abbey Hall in Cumberland.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“You may think me hard and unsympathetic, my dear,” he went on, addressing his wife, “but these people who make away with themselves leave me cold. Such tragedies don’t excite my pity—they arouse in me only a feeling of contempt.”
He paused, then continued:
“Now, look at me. You know how I began life, though I sometimes try to forget it, as I hope others do. My parents were poor, and I received only a moderate education; but I had grit and determination and I won through. And look at me to-day. All who know me look up to and respect me. I’m a self-made man and not ashamed to own it, though I don’t crow about it on the housetops as some of these plebeians do. Though I come of the people, I pride myself on being one of Nature’s gentlemen, and what can you want more than that— eh? We can’t choose our parents, or I might have chosen parents
like yours, my dear—blue blood through and through. And that was one reason why I married you. I think I have told you this before. I made up my mind when I was still a lad that the woman I made my wife should be a lady in the true acceptation of that often misapplied word, and the first time I met you—you remember that day, eh, my dear?—I recognized the type, and then and there I decided that you were the lady for me!”
He lay back in the big arm-chair, slipped his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, and looked at his young wife with an expression of extreme self-satisfaction.
“But, Henry,” she said, wincing, “what has all that to do with this calamity? You forget that I knew poor Stephen Lethbridge. Abbey Hall is close to my old home, and Stephen and I were children together. I can’t help feeling upset.”
“I understand that quite well, but the feeling is one you ought to fight against, my dear Cora. A man who deliberately commits suicide, no matter what his social status may be, and no matter what the reason or reasons may be which prompt him to commit the rash act, is guilty of a grave wrong, not to himself alone, but to the whole of the community. Heaven knows I have had difficulties, almost unsurmountable difficulties, to contend with in my time, yet the bare thought of self-destruction never entered my imagination.”
Henry Hartsilver had been married three years. A common, selfcentered person, endowed with exceptional shrewdness and with considerable commercial acumen, he had begun life as a jerrybuilder in a small country town. Then war with Germany had been declared, and realizing at once what so many failed to realize, namely that such a war must last for years at least, Hartsilver had seized the opportunity he saw spread out before him of amassing money quickly and in large lump sums by securing by divers means building contracts for our Government.
Thus, long before the war ended, he found himself a rich man. Then, anxious to gratify his second ambition, he set to work to look about for a woman of good social standing to become his wife; the
thought that any woman to whom he might propose might decline the honor of marrying him did not occur to him.
Consequently he was not surprised, nor did he appreciate the honor conferred upon him, when the only surviving daughter of a well-connected country gentleman accepted his offer of marriage. True, the war had reduced her already impoverished father almost to penury, and in addition both her brothers had been killed in action early in the war, so that when she accepted him she felt that she did not now much care what became of her. Her mother had been dead many years, and her father she literally worshipped. What she never admitted, even to herself, though in her heart she knew it to be the truth, was that by marrying Henry Hartsilver she would be able to provide her father with a comfortable income in his declining years. And since his sons’ death he had aged very rapidly.
Hartsilver was now in his forty-sixth year, his wife just seven-andtwenty. They had no children, but that did not prevent Hartsilver’s everlasting complaint to his wife that he considered himself deeply aggrieved at the Government’s neglect in failing to confer a title upon him.
“Just think, my dear,” he had said to her more than once, “what you would feel like if I made you ‘my lady!’ Shouldn’t we be able to crow it over our friends, eh? And to think of the sums I gave to war charities! Well, we must live in hope!”
Fortunately his wife’s tact, possibly also the sense of humor which she possessed, prevented her from becoming annoyed with him when he spoke like that, and making the sarcastic rejoinder which she sometimes longed to utter. Though she could not accuse herself of having married him for his money, that being the last thing she cared about, she yet felt that she had in a way married him under false pretenses, for certainly she knew that, but for her anxiety to add to her father’s happiness and comfort, this common, selfsatisfied, and self-righteous person was one of the last men she would have linked herself to for life.
Presently he spoke again.
“You know, my dear Cora,” he said, linking his fingers across his ample chest, “although of course, it distresses me that you should grieve for this man Lethbridge, yet I don’t quite appreciate your feeling what I can only suppose is a sort of affection for the fellow— you, a married woman. Somehow it seems—it seems not quite the right thing. A woman, when she marries, should have no thought for other men, at least of all thoughts of a—er—friendly nature. Now, consider for a moment, and tell me if your better nature does not tell you so itself.”
Cora Hartsilver winced, but her husband did not notice it. He did notice, however, when a moment later she smiled.
“You seem amused, my dear,” he said dryly. “May I ask what amuses you?”
“Oh nothing, Henry, nothing at all,” she answered quickly, then bit her lip. “It was only something I happened to think of just then.”
“Ah, then it was something. Then why say it was ‘nothing?’ You should always be truthful, Cora, always absolutely truthful, in even the smallest matters. And what did you ‘happen to think of just then?’”
“I can’t remember now. It’s gone. Anyway it was nothing of consequence. May I have that paper again, Henry?”
“Certainly,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders. Then, as he handed it to her, he said:
“Tell me what you know about Sir Stephen Lethbridge. I know him only by name.”
“Well, I have not seen him for a year or two,” she replied carelessly. “Indeed, I think not since our marriage. He came to the wedding, if you remember.”
“I don’t remember. But go on.”
“He was in the Gunners. He went out to France in 1914, and was home on sick leave when we were married. He used to be rather fond of me, I believe.”
Henry’s mouth opened. He stared at his wife in astonishment.
“Really, Cora——” he began, but she went on without heeding him.
“I heard not so long ago that he had got into rather a bad set. Somebody told me that the things he had seen out in France seemed to have unsettled his brain—I know that happened in other cases too. But he was a man who would never, I am quite sure, have done anything dishonorable. Oh, I wish I knew,” she exclaimed, carried away by a sudden emotion. “I do wish I knew what made him kill himself!”
“I wouldn’t worry about him, my dear Cora, if I were you,” her husband remarked coldly. “Probably he was mentally unsound, mad ‘potty’ as the boys say, Those scenes in the trenches must have been extremely trying. And yet—had I been younger and able to join the colors——”
He stopped and stared. Cora, lying back on the settee, was laughing hysterically.
CHAPTER II.
HUSBAND, WIFE—AND ANOTHER.
Cora Hartsilver was preparing to go out next morning, when she was told that “Miss Yootha Hagerston would like to see her.”
“Oh, ask her to come up!” she exclaimed. “And Jackson——”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“If Mr. Hartsilver should come in while I am out, he had better be told that I shall not be in for lunch.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Jackson, the maid, went downstairs with a look of mild amusement in her eyes. She had been in the Hartsilvers’ service two years, and was fond of expressing her opinion to the other servants on the subject of what she called her master and mistress’s “matrimonial mésalliance.”
“I give them another year,” she had observed to the cook only the night before, “and that will see the end of it. However a lady like her came to marry that—that old woman of a husband of hers fair beats me.”
“Not so much of the ‘old woman,’” the cook had answered sharply she showed signs of age herself. “But I do agree with you, Mary, nevertheless. Ah, well, the old feller’s got the money-bags, and that goes a long way when it comes to marryin’, I always says. I never did hold with these love and cottage matches, nor I never shall. I’ve had some of it, I can tell you, and I have told you before now, but seein’ as my poor old man lies in Carlisle churchyard, nil nisi bonus. Isn’t that how they put it? And he had his good points for all he was poor as a rat, that I will admit.”
Yootha Hagerston was one of Cora’s oldest and dearest friends, the one friend, indeed, of whom she had for years made an intimate confidant. Yootha was not married, but that was not due to any lack of suitors, for the proposals she had had were numerous. She was a very pretty girl, about two years younger than Cora: tall, slim, extremely graceful, and with a face full of expression. She was one of those girls who attract through their personality rather than by the beauty of their features. The look in the large intelligent eyes betrayed her temperamental nature. She lived alone in an unpretentious flat near Knightsbridge, which she had taken two years before, after leaving her home near Penrith owing, as she put it, to the “impossible sort of life my people expected me to lead, boxed up in the country and with nothing on earth to do.” The truth was that her stepmother disliked her, and that her father was intemperate. Yootha was the youngest of three children; her two brothers were serving oversea.
When she entered Cora’s bedroom, Cora came forward and kissed her fondly.
“You dear thing,” she exclaimed. “I am so glad you have come. I have not seen you for a week. Where in the world have you been?”
“Oh, my people have been in town. You know what that means.”
“Indeed I don’t! Your people? You mean your father and mother?”
“Stepmother, if you please,” Yootha corrected. “For goodness’ sake don’t insult my mother’s memory. Yes, they both came up unexpectedly, and for what do you think?”
“I give it up.”
“To try to persuade me to go home!” and Yootha laughed merrily. “Can you see me back in the old homestead with its memories of my happy childhood’s days, and by contrast the atmosphere which prevails there now? No, thank you! And why do you think they wanted me back again, Cora?”
“Oh, stop asking conundrums.”
