The Gay Man's Matchmaker

Wendell’s apartment was on the second floor of a converted brownstone in the Chelsea area of New York. It was set on a quiet street, which in itself was surprising, as there aren’t many areas of midtown-NY that are quiet. I climbed the front stairs and rang the doorbell solemnly. I didn’t regret helping them out with their pictures, but somehow the whole Tommy-protecting-me-in-high-school thing was hanging over my mood like a cloud. When Genie opened the door for me, however, I managed to pull a neutral smile on my face. He was dressed in a yellow blouse and pink pants, with his hair pulled back into a ponytail.

“You’re here!” he squealed, as if he wasn’t sure I would actually come.

“Yep.”

He helped me carry some of my equipment up the stairs and into an ornately-furnished living room.

“Will this be where we take the shots?” I asked.

“If you think the lighting’s good,” Genie shrugged.

I looked around the room and noted the large windows facing the street. The late afternoon light was actually waning, though, so I was glad I remembered my lamps.

“I brought my lamps, so it should be fine.”

“Great,” he said nervously.

Nervous? HIM? Did I fall into an alternate reality? I studied him for a minute and saw a small blush spread across his cheeks.

“Are you okay, G?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” he laughed. “Just nervous. I’ve never done headshots before, and my clothes,” he paused to look down. “Well, I don’t know how well my style will show up on camera, or if it will at all.”

Style? Please, God, help me keep my composure here. The poor guy doesn’t need to be made fun of … at least not out loud.

“Well, I think your skin and hair color would be best highlighted by something simple and dark,” I said. “Do you have any black clothes?”

“Black?” he asked as if the thought had never occurred to him. “I do, but I never wear them.” He gave me a wary look. “Do you think it’ll work?”

“With your hair, definitely. And let’s take some shots without the purple eye shadow.”

“No make up?” He looked positively scandalized.

“How about a subtler color then?” I suggested. “Like beige, or light pink?”

He studied me for a few moments before he sat down on the end of the couch sadly. “You think I’m a clown, don’t you?”

Emily-Post-manners activated.

“No, not all,” I said softly, walking over to crouch in front of him. “You have your own sense of style and it works very well for you.” I mentally congratulated myself for holding back a snort. “But I know what some of these people are going to look for in these headshots and I want to help you if I can.”

“You do?” he sniffled delicately.

“Yeah. Photography’s my life. I’ve made it my business to know what people look for in a good photo, and when it’s of a person, they look for the person.”

His face drew up in confusion so I knew I had to explain.

“You are the subject of the shoot. They want to see you, and by that, I mean your face … the expressions, the contrasts, the features … you. The eye makeup you normally wear is great for everyday life.” I had to bite my tongue a second after saying that. “But in a headshot, which you’ll be giving to agencies, producers and directors, I assume, they want to see how expressive your eyes can be.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Okay, I guess that makes sense.”

“And with a black outfit, nothing detracts from your face,” I went on. “This way, they see all you have to offer a role.”

His eyes lit up and he bounced out of his seat. “Thank you, Kee!” he exclaimed. “I’ll go change right now!”

I gave him a small smile as he bounded past Wendell, who stood quietly in the corner dressed in a black leotard. I wonder how long he’s been there! Smiling at him, I went about setting up my equipment.

“That was really nice of you to tell him,” he said quietly.

I shrugged and worked on assembling the lamps.

“I know you think our styles are … extreme,” he went on. I looked over at him warily. Had I done something to make him feel uncomfortable? “Most people think that of us,” he smiled.

“Everyone has their own style in one way or the other,” I smiled back. “Genie’s makes him who he is. I don’t want him to give it up. I just want to help make these shots worthwhile for him.”

“That’s what makes you unique, Kee,” Wendell replied. “You didn’t laugh at him.”

I pondered that as I turned back to my work. Is he right? Am I finally maturing? I guess in some ways, but I think I probably still have a long way to go.

-------------------------------------

The wedding cake shoot the next day went very well, but I didn’t expect it to be trouble, this being Jenna and all. She’s always treated me more like a friend than a photographer, and it made the atmosphere more relaxed. I shot twenty-five cakes in all, and each was more elaborate than the last as we went down the line. Jesus, some of these things ran into the tens of thousands of dollars! Who the hell had the cash for it? Still, I made careful note of who made the prettiest cakes, planning to report back to Lauren with them. I’m sure these places could come up with something in a more reasonable price range, and Lord knows Lauren deserves something special.

Most of the bake shops featured in the shoot were boutique-like. They specialized in wedding or special occasion cakes made to order, and that was it. They were all run by one or two people, who did everything from consulting with the clients to designing and baking the cakes. But the cakes were beautiful, and definitely deserving of a special magazine issue. I sighed as I folded my tripod, still moping over the whole Joey Gillson situation as I packed my things.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jenna asked.

I should have known I couldn’t keep my mood from her. She zeroes in on it like a fucking homing pigeon!

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, sure.” Jenna pushed back her dark brown hair and clipped it in place.

“Really.”

“Uh huh,” she took my work order and copied down some information she had from a file. “Tell me now, or suffer my wrath.”

I sighed in resignation, knowing she wasn’t bluffing. Jenna was also the only person on the planet who could intimidate me into telling her shit I wouldn’t normally tell people. So I told her about Joey … about meeting him after all these years and about what Tommy revealed to me. She sat back and listened attentively, and I knew she was already forming a solution for me. Jenna was great at problem solving, that’s for sure.

“Talk to Joey,” she said when I was through.

“But Tommy said …”

“I know what Tommy said,” she cut me off. “I heard that part. But the only way you’re going to find out what Joey’s up to, is to talk to him.”

“Tommy won’t like it.”

“Whose love life is it, anyway?” she asked. “I know he looked out for you back then, but you’re out of the proverbial closet now, and your family knows about it. What could Joey possible have to gain by following through on this bet? Winning it? It doesn’t sound to me like he would get much satisfaction out of that. And if he is after a relationship with you …”

“Yeah …?”

“And you’re both attracted to each other,” she went on. “Who does it benefit to ignore the whole thing? Besides Tommy, that is.”

Her logic made sense but my old high school fears seemed unwilling to die.

“And I’ve never known you to shrink back from something you like because of what someone else thought,” she added with a smirk.

Oh, Jenna knew just what buttons to push!

“I guess.”

“Good,” she nodded firmly then grinned evilly. “Now, tell me how much longer it’ll be before Adriana’s out on her ass!”

-------------------------------------

The subway car wasn’t too crowded and I was able to get myself and my equipment into a seat in the corner for the few stops I had to be on it. Lugging it up the stairs to the street was another matter but I managed it well enough. I was so busy mulling over Jenna’s advice that I didn’t see a crate in my path and I plowed right into it. I cringed as I went down, anticipating my face’s abrupt meeting with the concrete, but it never happened. As the two strong arms that had caught me helped me back up I looked behind me.

“Told you I’d see you soon, Kee,” Joey grinned at me.

I almost fell down again.