“That’s just a lousy excuse not to try.”
She came to an abrupt halt in front of a glazed clay pitcher and matching cups. “Why should you care if I paint or not?” she demanded.
“I couldn’t possibly care less,” he assured her. “I just don’t like adults copping out on their true desires. If I were you, I’d quit reading self-help books and follow what’s in my heart, because you can be whoever or whatever you want to be, Rebecca. There is no limit, no rule, no childish fantasy if you really want it. Just be. And furthermore . . .” He glanced around them, leaned down to whisper in her ear. “It’s okay to enjoy sex for the sake of sex now and again. It’s good for you.”
She jerked backward. “Thanks for the tip, Mr. Know-It-All—”
“Congratulate me; I’ve climbed up a notch from moron—”
“But I don’t need any advice. I have a mom, a dad, two sisters, a grandmother and grandfather, plus an ex-husband who are more than happy to give me all the advice I could ever want without even being asked. I certainly don’t need you to—”
“Mr. Parrish!”
Both Matt and Rebecca whirled about at the sound of his name; Matt immediately suppressed a groan. It was good ol’ Harold, looking like a giant Pez dispenser in his festive weekend wear (seersucker shirt, white denim shorts, and sockless leather boat shoes), arm in arm with a man Matt presumed was his lover—a short, buff guy in shorty-shorts and a tank top, boots, and carefully scrunched socks. Judging by the grin on his face, Harold was much happier to see Matt than vice versa. He came galloping forward, pulling Arnold Schwarzenegger with him. “Mr. Parrish! How are you?” He beamed.
“Good, Harold.”
“Have you met Gary?” he asked breathlessly.
Well, as he hadn’t been to any gay bars lately . . . “Ah, no—”
“This is Gary,” he said, letting Mr. Atlas go long enough to shake Matt’s hand, then grabbing him right back as if he feared Gary might float away.
“Good to meet you, Mr. Parrish!” Gary said. “I’ve heard an awful lot about you.”
“That right?” Matt asked, and looked at Harold, who avoided his gaze altogether by looking at Rebecca, at whom he cocked one well-groomed brow. “Oh ah . . . Harold and Gary, I’d like you to meet Rebecca Lear,” Matt said. “She’s working on Tom Masters’s campaign with me.”
“Hel—loh,” Harold said, immediately floating over to offer his hand to her.
“Harold is my secretary,” Matt said, trying not to wince.
“A pleasure to meet you, Harold. And Gary,” Rebecca said with a winsome smile that would have felled lesser—certainly straighter—men.
“You know, you look really familiar,” Gary said, cocking his head to one side, finger tapping against his cheek as he peered at Rebecca.
“Ohmigod, do you know each other?” Harold gasped, ecstatic over the prospect.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” Rebecca said politely, and took, Matt noticed, a small step backward.
“No, no—I’m sure I’ve seen you,” Gary insisted, matching her backward step with a forward one.
“She was Miss Texas one year,” Matt said helpfully.
Harold and Gary gasped at the exact same moment; Rebecca shot him a withering look. “You’re kidding!” Harold exclaimed.
“I knew I knew you!” Gary cried. “This is wonderful! Wait until we tell Jim!” he said, and Matt suddenly feared that Harold and Gary were dangerously close to grabbing hands and dancing around in a circle. But Gary swirled back around to Rebecca, beaming from ear to ear. “Miss Lear, I can’t tell you how thrilling it is to meet you! We have all the Miss Texas pageant tapes from the mid-eighties on!”
“You do?” Rebecca asked skeptically.
For the life of him, Matt couldn’t figure out why anyone, save maybe teenage girls, would be interested in the pageant thing—well, except maybe the thing about hemorrhoid cream, which fascinated him on some morbid level he didn’t want to explore too deeply—but it was painfully clear Rebecca wasn’t too crazy about the recognition. “Listen, guys, we need to get going,” he said, and grasped Rebecca’s hand.
“Oh! Oh, oh, of course!” Harold said, and he and Gary turned twin beams to Rebecca. “It was great to meet you, Miss Lear!” he said, dipping a little at the knee to emphasize just how great. “I just can’t believe we did!”
“Thanks,” Rebecca said, inching closer to Matt. “A pleasure meeting you, too,” she said, lifting her free hand and crowding into Matt with a not-so-subtle elbow to the ribs. Matt didn’t need any encouragement; he pulled her away, into his side, and as they disappeared into the crowd; he had a final glimpse of Harold and Gary standing side by side, watching her with reverence.
“Thanks a lot,” Rebecca said as they stepped into the middle of the throng, and pulled her hand free of his.
“He said he knew you,” Matt reminded her. “What’s wrong with you, anyway? It’s not something to be embarrassed about.”