neiman & marcus

Below is an excerpt from my upcoming memoir DEMON TWINK …

Sundays are a day for relaxing and reflecting. A day where you can reward yourself with breakfast in bed. An all day movie marathon. Maybe a nice brunch at Blu Jam followed by an afternoon browsing Melrose Trading Post. My last three Sundays have been consistently booked by my current boyfriend Marcus and what he likes to call ‘Rich White Lady Days.’

Marcus is a producer for Marvel movies, a special effects producer, so let’s not get super excited, it's not like he’s Aaron Spelling or Jerry Brukheimer or something.  That being said, the first time I hung out with him he had an esthetician come to the house to give him botox and chin filler and he told me I could get whatever I wanted. No Aaron Spelling, but a baller nonetheless. 

On paper he’s ideal. He’s kind, generous, has a great job, great friends…. But in reality, he’s so boring. He’s totally not my type. Literally the sound of him breathing gives me the ick. And for some reason he hasn’t caught on to the fact that I don’t really like him that much.

It’s really weird. We’ve been seeing each other for just over a month and he’s taken me to amazing dinners, I’ve met his friends, we’ve celebrated holidays together, but he’s really unbearable to talk to and I don’t hide that. It’s impossible for me to hide it. I have a really big problem pretending to like things that I genuinely don’t like and somehow he keeps coming back for more. And I have no idea how he’s dated me for this long and is totally okay with the fact that we have not had sex. 

I mean, he’s tried to have sex with me. He’s tried numerous times but it’s always after we’ve had a big meal, or he’s taken me on a really long date, or he’s been talking for way too long and I’ll say something like: ‘baby, wouldn’t it be fun to take a xanax and watch a movie?’ Then we’re both sleeping by 10. 

Today I got a phone call that I get most Sunday mornings. Marcus and his friend Gavin have made reservations at Cecconi’s for brunch then we’re getting our nails done, I’m expected to join. 

Normally there are a few other guys at these events, I never remember their names and I don’t really think that’s my fault. I am literally there as decoration. I am an ornament on a Christmas tree. I am looked at, I am admired, but I am not talked to. No one really cares to get to know me or what I have to say. And that’s okay. I don’t really care to get to know them either. We all know I’ll be gone in six to eight months. 

I decide to wear some oversized light wash Levi’s 511s and a vintage Metallica baby tee I cropped myself so that it shows just enough of my hip bone. I make sure my distressed platinum blond hair looks just the right level of messy and put together. I slip on a pair of black leather chelsea boots and take a look in the mirror. I look like I’m trying just hard enough to make fun of those who are trying harder. Perfect. 

The thing about going to see these boys is that I have to look my best or what’s the point? My purpose is to look cute. And I’m gonna look cute.

Marcus’s house is just above Melrose on Spaulding. My apartment is just below Melrose on Spaulding. He doesn’t know this, of course, because I would never make the mistake of telling a man where I live. That said, it makes for a quick and easy walk when I need to go see him. 

The house is a beautiful, Spanish style two story home, nestled on a quiet side street featuring a large lush yard with lemon trees, privacy hedges, a tree swing, and a hot tub. 

I hit the call button at the gate on the sidewalk.

“Hello?” I hear Gavin’s voice on the other side. 

“Hey Uggo Fuggo, I’m here for my anal bleaching.”

“Sean!” Gavin meets me at the door, he towers over me at a whopping six foot fifty, he’s the tallest well raised Jewish boy I’ve ever met in my life. He gives me a hug as soon as he sees me. 

“How are you honey! Marcus is upstairs, he’s just getting out of the shower and getting ready! Are you ready for Cecconi’s? You know I just love it there, I went last night too. I’ve never had their paillard, have you had their paillard? It is fantastic, it’s light and flavorful without being too oily, I just hate when they make the chicken too oily, it just ruins the rest of my day because my stomach can’t take all that oil!” Gavin leads me into the kitchen, and I’m half listening to him half wondering when I can excuse myself to do a line in the bathroom. “Oh my god. I am going on and on and on about nothing and I never offered to make you a drink! Can I make you a drink? I bet you want a drink.”

“Fuck yeah I want a drink.” I’m looking around the house, and I see Gavin’s Boyfriend in the TV room just off the kitchen, looks like he’s scribbling in a notebook.

“What can I get you, honey? I have vodka, tequila, rum, gin, white wine, red wine. Though I think the red wine is a cabernet that we opened a few days ago and I’m not sure if it’s still good, but it might be. I may have a pinot noir somewhere in here, but I’d have to –”

“Vodka. Rocks.” 

“Ugh! You’re so easy to please, I love it!” Gavin winks at me and turns to make me a drink. I wander over to the TV room and stand at the door frame, studying Gavin’s Boyfriend. I’m unsure of his name, and I’ve spent too much time with him to ask what it is again. He’s a little older than I am, maybe twenty-five. I’m confused by him though, he’s quiet, deeply intelligent. He’s been dating Gavin for years, they seem really in love.

“Hi.” I say, softly as to not disturb him. 

“Oh hey,” he says back to me, softly, genuinely. He’s definitely a Pisces. Or like an air sign with a Pisces moon.

“What are you sketching?” I ask, sitting down on the couch next to him. 

“It’s a – um – baby bird in its nest.” I look over his shoulder and see that it’s pretty fantastic, the detail of the nest, the shading of the bird. I’m impressed. “I saw it outside this morning when Gavin and I were having breakfast. It was waiting for its mom to come back with a worm. I think it’s still waiting.” 

“Here you go!” Gavin has appeared in the doorway with a drink for me. Which I gladly take. “Now I know you wanted a vodka rocks, but I added a little fresh squeezed lemon from the tree in the yard, I hope that’s okay!”

“That’s great, thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it! I’m going to go upstairs and see what’s taking Marcus so long, we should be out of here in fifteen minutes, okay?” Gavin basically skips away. I make a mental note to ask what antidepressants he’s on. I take a sip of my drink and feel my brain chemistry start to shift in the right direction. I turn to Gavin’s Boyfriend and ask a question that’s been burning into my brain since I walked in the door.

“You wouldn’t want to do a line, would you?”

***

I cut out four lines on Gavin’s Boyfriend's sketch of a baby bird. There are only so many smooth surfaces. I look up and roll my eyes as I watch Gavin’s Boyfriend queue up yet another Lorde song, this time Supercut. I mean Lorde is excellent, but there’s a time and place, she’s like two steps away from Lana Del Rey. This is not the mood I need for railing lines. Give me Nicki, give me Ariana, give me fucking Kygo for fuck sake. But it’s whatever, I’m with a moody boy and that’s cool. I’m vibing.

“How long have you and Gavin been together?”

“Two years,” he says as he sucks up a line with a rolled up fifty.

“Wow. That is a long time.” Gavin’s Boyfriend nods in agreement. He hands me the fifty.

“Yeah I’m having a lot of fun with him, I think we really balance each other out.” I see the excitement in Gavin’s Boyfriend’s eyes. He really does love Gavin. I wonder how often he opens up to people who aren’t Gavin.

“I was going to say the same thing. You’re very internal, and he is very much the opposite.” 

“Yeah he does a lot of the talking for us.”

“But you like that?”

“Sometimes.” Gavin’s Boyfriend responds with a hint of sadness in his voice. He pauses for a moment before asking, “what was your longest relationship?”

“Hmm!” I’m not shocked by the question, I mean we’re talking about relationships here it only makes sense that he would ask me that. I just haven’t thought about my last real relationship in a while. Or do I think about it everyday? Maybe I’m thinking about it all the time? “It was a little over two years.”

“Oh okay,” Gavin’s Boyfriend nods, waiting to hear more.

“We met when I had just barely turned nineteen. He ended up moving for work and he would come back on weekends and we’d get an airbnb and we’d spend time together, but… you know. After a while it just didn’t feel the same. We had that distant feeling between us and we kinda both knew that it was over. We didn’t have to talk about it.” I stumble through my explanation. I don’t think I ever talked about how Josh and I ended with anyone up until now. Probably so I could save myself from feeling that little stabbing pain in my chest that tends to show up every time he’s mentioned.

“I’m sorry.” Gavin’s Boyfriend touches my hand, offering comfort. I’m clearly not hiding the pain on my face very well.

“It’s cool.” I do another line.

***

Cecconi’s is one of those restaurants in West Hollywood that will always be there not because it’s excellent, but because it’s consistent. Because it’s one of those places where you walk in and it’s light and airy and beautiful and they know how to make a good martini. Plus the bathroom stalls go all the way to the floor and the toilet seats are completely flat so they’re perfect if you have a mild cocaine addiction.

I sit next to Marcus, across from Gavin’s Boyfriend, Gavin next to him. Most of the experiences I have brunching with these two consist of me listening to them talk, and if I try to get a word in they talk over me so I’m practicing my ‘better seen, not heard’ act. I pick at my kale salad and pretend to listen to them.

“If they want more original content it’s genius that they’d bring on more Hallmark-like movies,” Marcus says, blowing smoke up Gavin’s ass. If I remember right, Gavin has a job that has to do with original content at Netflix. 

“Exactly! Old women watch those movies on a loop. You know, those ones that are basically dead already and they’re just sitting on their recliners for the rest of their lives? They don’t care if it’s one they’ve seen before or a new one. Each one has the same story. Low budget, nobody actors. It’s great!” Gavin toots his own horn while he suckles down his aperol spritz and snaps his fingers at the waiter for another. 

“My grandma loves those movies,” I chime in, respectfully. I’m probably good to be quiet for another twenty minutes now.

Marcus puts his arm around me and rubs the small of my back. He goes on for a little too long and I try not to look completely repulsed. Marcus reminds me of the guy who played Peter Petegrew in the Harry Potter movies, but younger and cleaner. He has this rat-like face, and this little belly, but these very fit legs. It’s jarring. It also reminds me of any cartoon of a king in early Disney movies, where they’re super short and plump but have tiny legs. He smiles at me, I smile back and throw him a peck on the cheek, he’s paying, he’s earned it. 

I study Gavin’s Boyfriend. His gaze fixed on his bolognese. His mind a million miles away. I wonder what it would be like to do this for as long as he has. To be put in a room with men that don’t really want to talk to you, they just want each other’s company but they want to fuck you later so they keep you around all day. They don’t want to know your opinions or your thoughts, they just want other people to see you with them. You must start to think of yourself as nothing more than a coffee table book. No substance. No real purpose. You’re just there.

“You finished, Sean?” I almost jump hearing Marcus say my name. I look down at the kale salad I’ve barely touched then I look at Marcus with raised eyebrows.

“If you’re ready I’m ready babe.”

***

After we finish mani pedis we’re on our way to Neiman’s for some more drinks and light shopping. Gavin drives us in his Range Rover, with his boyfriend in the front seat. Marcus and I cuddle in the back. 

At this point I’m pretty sloshed. I haven’t eaten anything but three dirty martinis at lunch, four glasses of champagne at the nail salon, and let’s not forget my sexy vodka rocks with fresh lemon juice back at the house. I’m buzzing pretty hard. I have my legs swung over Marcus’s and I’m letting him kiss my neck and make out with me a little. This is and I cannot stress this enough: this is as far as we’ll go. 

I’m a little drunk, and this is the perfect opportunity to put in the much needed work of giving the man attention. It’s these moments that will continue to gaslight Marcus into thinking that I am here for more than just cheap thrills and free botox.

We valet the Rover, and float on a cloud into heaven on earth. Neiman Marcus is one of those special places where you feel like anything is possible. It’s a special land where you bump shoulders with Lisa Vanderpump, Law Roach, or Leonardo Di Caprio’s most recent teenage girlfriend. It seems like they do that thing that they do in Vegas casinos where they pump extra oxygen into the room so that you’re overwhelmed with a sense of euphoria. 

Something probably less known than the designer brands is the magical watering hole hidden on the fourth floor of the men’s department called Bar on 4. It’s exactly what it sounds like. It is a bar on the fourth floor. It’s this wonderful airy, bright wrap-around bar in the center of the mens designer shoe section. It’s also one of the only places Marcus will let me go when we’re at Neiman’s because I have been known to find his personal shopper and charge several things in my size to his card on file. 

Nowadays he’s gotten a little bit smarter. Now he plops me down at Bar on 4, starts me a tab, gives me a vial of cocaine and goes on his merry way to shop with Gavin.

I sit at the bar, alone, buzzed, feeling hot and a little horny. I order a slightly dirty Ketel One martini with absolutely zero vermouth and the biggest glass of room temperature water in the world. I start to get comfortable in my surroundings, I sip my martini and swivel back and forth in my chair. I begin to feel someone’s gaze burning into the side of my face, when I turn I notice an older woman sitting at a high top table to my right. When I look, she doesn’t look away, but instead smiles at me and raises a glass in my direction. I raise mine toward her, as though to toast to the pure indulgence we’re experiencing. I turn back around toward the bar and I hear a little ‘ah hem’ from behind me, I turn back around and the woman is waving me over. What choice do I have?

I grab my martini and I hobble over to this little old lady’s table. “Yes, dear?” I ask. She reminds me of Elaine Strtich. She has big thick rimmed oval shaped glasses, short silver perfectly permed hair. She’s sitting so I can’t tell if she’s wearing pants but she’s wearing an oversized white button up that I can’t only assume she’s wearing as a dress, under her black and white tweed Karl Lagerfeld for Chanel looking coat. 

“Now what time are your parents supposed to be picking you up, young man?” She looks at me with one eyebrow raised and a sly smile on her face.

“I’m not so sure, they’ve abandoned me,” I take another sip of my martini then look at her with big eyes, “are you my new mommy?” 

“Hell no!” She burst out laughing, “Nice try, bucko!” She clinks her martini against mine and gestures for me to take a seat. “What’s your name sweetheart?”

“My name is Sean, what’s yours?”

“Bianca, but you can call me Aunt B.”

“Very nice to meet you.”

“What’s a hot little dish like you doing here on Sunday afternoon all by yourself?”

“I’m with a boy who’s shopping around with his friends,” I say. Aunt B almost spits out her water when I say this.

“And he left you up here all by yourself? That’s a little rude don’t you think?”

“You know, I think he’d say it’s smart for him to leave me up here. Cheap too.” Aunt B smiles at that in a knowing way.

“Oh so you can cause some damage, huh?” 

“When I come around his credit cards start to look very tired.”

Aunt B leans back and looks me over for a moment. You can almost see the gears turning behind her eyes. “Why are you spending time with a man that you don’t particularly like?”

“What makes you think I don’t like him?” 

“No, no. How about you tell me I’m wrong. You tell me right now that you love this man who’s shopping with his friends while you drink up here with a strange old lady at three o’clock in the afternoon.” 

“Well let’s not compare the company, because I think that you are exceptional. A little nosey, but exceptional.” Aunt B has a skeptical look on her face. 

“Don’t settle for something less than your worth.” Her voice is serious now. “Don’t let yourself fall into something that you’re only doing right now because it feels like the right thing.”

“I’m not–”

“You will find yourself sitting at a bar. Alone. Wondering if your life would have looked a little different if only you spoke up a little more. If only you would have known how much more valuable you were.” We hold eye contact for a moment while I let Aunt B’s words sink in. 

“Will you excuse me? I just have to powder my nose.” 

I slam the family restroom bathroom door shut and lock it. I look at myself in the very well lit mirror. I look fantastic. My eyes, a little cloudier than normal, but that’s to be expected. I find the vial of coke that Marcus slipped me when we got here and I knock out a hefty amount onto the bathroom counter. I use a Beverly Hills Hotel room key to crush and cut the powder into a thick line and snort it without thinking twice. I make eye contact with myself in the mirror and ask “What are you doing?” I’m totally unsure. I’m young. I’m having fun. This is what this time is for. 

No. I don’t even remotely like Marcus. But If I don’t then I won’t get hurt, right? What the fuck does Aunt B know anyway? Nothing. Bitch knows literally nothing. Fuck her. 

***

I sit in Marcus’s bedroom and I watch as he shows me his purchases of the day. He even got me a YSL logo graphic T as a gift, which I thanked him for exponentially. As he showed me each item I gave him the appropriate ‘ooo’s and ‘ahhh’s. I put them in all the right places, I smiled, I did everything right. 

He’s so sweet. He’s like a child holding up his three thousand dollar shoes and wanting me to be just as excited as he is. Why am I incapable of caring about him? I am a totally heartless person. I’m just stringing him along so that I feel less alone. I can hear Aunt B in my head lecturing me in that ridiculous Chanel coat. Her voice screaming that I’m selfish, that I’m wrong, that I’m going to end up sad and alone.

Marcus plops down on the bed next to me and kisses my neck and my cheek. He puts one hand on my thigh and keeps kissing me.

“You wanna have some naughty time tonight?” He asks, and I can tell he’s really trying to be sexy. He’s trying so hard. But who the fuck says ‘Naughty Time’? I’m not a toddler. 

I do my best to yawn and look a little too drunk and tired. 

“Baby, I’m sorry. Do you care if we just take a xanax and watch a movie?” He looks at me with the same disappointed face I’ve seen before. He sighs, gets up and hands me a little pill. I smile and give him a big hug and a kiss. 

Works every time.