A Sticky Situation (Awkward Love 7)

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” Doctor Luke frowns at me. “Brix, you were found with three male prostitutes in the trunk of your car, along with a pound of cocaine.” His frown deepens. “You were in the back, performing a sexual act on another man.”

“What?” I laugh because it’s ridiculous. “I had women in the trunk,” I say, more to myself than him. “Hookers and coke.”

“No. That’s what your management fed to the media.”

“This is bullshit,” I mutter, getting to my feet. “I’m done here.”

He follows me over to the door but doesn’t try and stop me.

“This doesn’t have to be scary, Brix. Coming out isn’t going to be a big deal to those who really care about you. I think you’ll find that even your career won’t suffer as much as you fear it will. You think you’re the first rock star to ever reveal that he’s gay?”

I walk off without answering, still trying to get my head around all of this.

Brix can’t be gay. He has to be playing a joke on me.

But in the back of my mind, I can’t help but wonder what if it’s not?

Could I really have gone my entire life and not realized that my own twin was gay?

It doesn’t make any sense.

Does it?I wander outside to clear my head and sit down under a shady tree. I’m so deep in thought I don’t notice that someone has joined me until they speak. I glance over to see an old lady smiling at me.

“Well, fuck me blind, aren’t you a looker?”

I laugh because I was not expecting that to come out of this ninety something little old white-haired lady.

“Hello,” I say with a grin. “Brix.”

“Your parents’ named you after a building material?” she snaps. “What’s your brother’s name? Cement?”

“No, it’s Stone, actually. I’m joking,” I add with a laugh when her frown deepens.

“Thank Christ for that,” she says, clutching her heart. “You nearly killed an old woman. I’ve never understood these new age names, you know. People these days don’t think about how ridiculous their child is going to feel when they get to my age and have to introduce themselves as Rainbow, or Banana. Or Assfart.”

I choke back a laugh.

“Trust me,” she warns, narrowing her eyes. “There’s nothing sexy about a ninety-five-year-old geezer who calls himself Brick.”

“Brix,” I correct her with a chuckle.

“Whatever.” She waves her hand. “If I were you, I’d be changing my name to something more sensible. Like Norman, or Neville.” She nods. “Maybe if your parents had gone with something like that, you wouldn’t be in here in the first place. You can tell them that from me,” she adds.

“I will,” I say. I don’t have the heart to tell her they’re dead. “Since you know my name, it’s only fair I know yours,” I point out.

“Clarice,” she says, lifting her chin a notch. “I used to be an actress, you know. Until cocaine addiction kicked in and ruined my career.”

“So, your nice, normal name didn’t help you very much, did it?” I point out.

“I was a child star hooked on coke. What hope did I have?” she growls.

“You’re an actress?” I say. “Would I have seen you in anything?”

“What are you, eighteen?” she snaps. “My guess is if it doesn’t have shooting or titties in it, then it wouldn’t interest you.”

“Twenty-eight,” I correct her. “And my tastes are pretty varied, actually.”

“Really.” She doesn’t look convinced. “What’s your favorite movie?”

“Casablanca,” I say automatically.

She looks surprised. “I met Humphrey once, you know. He tried to seduce me.” She frowns at me when I grin at her. “What? I used to be quite the looker in my day.”

“So why didn’t anything happen?” I ask.

“Because I had a little something called self-respect,” she retorts. “I had more self-respect in my little finger than the girls these days have in their whole bodies.”

She gives me another sideways glance.

“So, are you real, or did my imagination dream you up? If it’s the latter, it’s a vast improvement from the little pink monsters I got yesterday,” she informs me. “It’s a side effect of the meds they insist on plying me with,” she adds in an exaggerated whisper.

“I’m real,” I assure her.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” she muses. “And I know everyone. I’ve been here for three years and counting,” she adds proudly.

“Wouldn’t that work out kind of expensive?” I ask.

I have no idea how much this place costs, but it would have to be a lot. Besides that, who the hell would stay here for three years?

“They won’t let me leave,” she sighs. “Sometimes at night they tie me to the bed and do all sorts of horrible things to me. Then last night they took me away and—” She stops and smiles. “Oh, look. A butterfly. Pretty isn’t it?”