He was quiet.
“Can’t think of anything?”
“Gimme a second.”
I shook my head at him, my mind instantly drifting back to Cel. Because if he was with me for the night of dance, or honestly at any time for that matter, it was better.
Cel came to poker nights with me, and I went to all the benefits he had to appear at so he wouldn’t lapse into a coma from boredom. He had a limited tolerance for small talk, and his capacity to be civil lasted maybe an hour, and only if there were appetizers. I had more patience in my pinky finger than he had in his entire body—at least about certain things. He excelled at his craft, but he was sick to death of the whole scene, other than the actual performance. That was the only part he still loved, though lately, even that was waning.
He needed to do something else; he just hadn’t figured out what yet. And it made sense. Lots of superstars, people who excelled in certain areas—sports came readily to mind—didn’t do it that long. The wear and tear on Cel’s body was no joke, and that, coupled with his many, many professional accomplishments, made the desire to do more gain appeal with each passing year. He’d been at it since he was a kid, and he’d done everything he set out to do in his career—danced all over the world, with all the companies he’d dreamed of and all the dancers he admired. I had to wonder, when you climbed all the mountains, what was left?
But it wasn’t for me to figure out his life. That was one of the reasons we got along so well. I didn’t give him advice, and he didn’t give me any. We both left that to my mother.
It was one of the many reasons I counted him as one of my closest friends. He understood, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that my mother was the greatest woman on the planet. He put his money where his mouth was by filling in for me and attending synagogue with her on Saturday mornings when I was working. I tried to join her every Friday night because she preferred dinner to brunch, but weekdays were never set in stone for me. They could be easy, and I got off at five, but more often than not, I was still at work on Friday until after eight. Sometimes my whole weekend got eaten up by work, and there was nothing I could do about that. An interagency task force was not something you took a break from to attend services at the synagogue with your mother. When I was completely indisposed, Cel took my place, and if he wasn’t busy on Saturday morning, he showed up too. It meant a lot to me. Whenever I missed spending time with her, when she caught me up later, she always had a story to regale me with about how the two of them were the prettiest ones there for services.
“Really?”I scolded her often.“You’re supposed to be there for God.”
“We’re there for God, but that doesn’t mean we dress like bums.”
“I’m sure you and Cel look lovely together.”
“Of course we do. I’m gorgeous, he’s gorgeous. It’s lucky we don’t blind people.”
I never said anything. I knew better.
Another of his amazing qualities was that I didn’t have to explain things to him. Cel knew when it was best to be quiet. He knew when a pizza and a movie at my place was better than a club. He understood that sometimes being a marshal gutted me. There were nights when I didn’t want to be alone, but unburdening myself wasn’t going to happen either. If I hadn’t talked to the guys I worked with about something, friends who could easily grasp why I was grieving, I certainly wasn’t going to spill my soul to anyone else. But on those nights, Cel would say let’s go for a walk or a run, and afterward some kind of comfort food would be consumed, and we’d watch movies with no plots, just car chases and explosions. The best part was that, on the walk or run, he never made me feel like I had to say a word.
He was good one-on-one, and he was a fantastic wingman at a club. I always went home with someone when he was with me. It helped that everyone always wanted to talk to him. When you were a celebrity in the city, that opened all the doors, and people were drawn like moths to a flame. The fact that he was handsome—anyone could see that—didn’t hurt either. He was striking with his white-blond hair, ice-blue eyes, and sharp, chiseled features. I thought often that he was a study in ivory and burnished gold, and I wasn’t the only one who noticed him.
I, of course, didn’t care what he looked like. To me, the most appealing thing about him was his capacity not to second-guess me. Other people, even other friends, sometimes assumed, due to a tone I’d used or a comment I hadn’t thought through, that I was mad or indifferent or annoyed, and over the years I’d received a lot of apologies and check-ins. I heard“Are you mad at me?”a lot. My thinking was, if I was pissed off, I’d tell you. But because I had lapses in conversation, because of my capacity for silence above all else, people tended to worry. It was hard for me to fill in every lull in a conversation with chatter, and I didn’t try anymore. With my closest friends—Jer, Miro, Ian, and Cel—it was never needed.
I had followed his career since he arrived in Chicago from New York. Why he’d left the larger dance company or, more importantly, why they allowed him to leave, was beyond me. The press had wondered the same, but when the artistic director and the ballet master arrived from Manhattan to woo him back, it was understood that they wanted him to return. The fact that he turned them down and stayed in Chicago was huge. He was a principal four months later.
What was surprising was that even when he was busy, he always made time for me. When I was promoted, even though everything was new and insane, I made certain I checked in and never canceled on him if humanly possible. My time was valuable, but so was his, so us both making an effort was important.
And it went on like that, him calling me to ask if I wanted a ticket to see him inDon Quixote, and then theNutcracker, and a deconstruction ofLe Jeune Homme et la Mortthat I didn’t really get but that he was amazing in. The Variations and Themes ballets were always over my head. He had to explain what was happening over dinner later.
I called him to go to the movies with me, to play cards, to go with me to Halloween parties, and to get me into all the hottest clubs. Since he’d walked the runway and starred in editorials for a lot of designers, from Versace to Hugo Boss, more people knew him than just the ballet crowd. His face opened doors, and being seen in his company helped me meet some of the most beautiful women in the city. Lately, though, things had changed, and we were in each other’s company more than anyone else’s.
The change in me had probably happened during the front end of 2020 when no one saw anyone. During that time, I saw my mother, the guys at work, and Cel. I became accustomed to not doing the things I used to do, and certain parts stuck afterward, the biggest being that Cel was the person I wanted to be with most. He used to travel in May, June, and July since it was the company’s off-season, but with the pandemic, that had ceased as well. He had traded all the exciting cities all over the world for me because he was forced to, but even when he could travel again, he kept his time away short. I had been so pleased. I missed him when he was gone.
“What’re you guys doing out here?” Ian stage-whispered from down the hall, bringing me back to the present.
We both darted over to where he was leaning out of his door. There was another contrast to be made to my office. Ian’s was not as much like a room in a house as Miro’s—you could still tell it was a work space—but between the furniture, the heavy rugs, and the artwork, it was an oasis compared to mine.
“I need to do something about my office,” I muttered.
“Yeah, ya do,” Ian agreed. “It reminds me of the one my first CO had, and that guy was a real prick.”
Kage’s principal and Ian’s CO, both had offices that reminded them of mine. That wasn’t good.
“Are you loving that institutional gray you’ve got going on in there?” Ian snickered.
Miro couldn’t stifle his laugh, and Ian smiled at him fondly.
Ian was better when Miro was around. He got loud, boisterous, and was a lot of fun. He let himself out from under the layers of self-containment. If Ian had never fallen in love with Miro, he wouldn’t have half the people who loved him in his life, of that I was certain. Miro made Ian feel safe to be himself, and for that, I was thankful. I would have missed having someone as loyal as Ian in my life. He was a blessing, even if it wasn’t always easy. If asked, though, he probably would have said the same of me.
Miro said, “Did Eli tell you he’s in charge of a night of dance?”