Juice with Junior

New York City Boys
Chapter Ten - The Switch

(Revisit earlier chapters by clicking here)

Macks' Kenneth Cole clogs clicked as he ran down the halls of Lenox Hill Hospital stopping only to find a worn-looking Jon standing outside a room, his shoulders slumped low and his head pointed down, ever so forlornly. Macks spoke Jon's name and raced to him with his arms wide open.

The men hugged and Jon let his pain from the past few days release from his system like a turned faucet. Macks never bucked from the vulnerability. The two men went inside the room.

Erik was lying on the bed asleep when Jon and Macks sat on the nearby windowsill to talk. There were a few red cuts and abrasions on Erik's face, without which, he would have looked how he always does when he sleeps.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get here when I first heard. I'm still dealing with Catt Kostas and her nonsense with the fashion… None of this matters," Macks whispered, eyeing Erik with a compassion he never really extended the man in normal life. "How is he?"

Jon sighed, "He's doing better. He has some internal bleeding so the doctors want to observe him for a little while longer. They cracked one of his ribs, busted his lips, gave him a black eye, on and on."

"What happened again?" Macks inquired. "He was leaving rehearsal and some thugs beat him up?"

Jon chuckled. If only it were that simple.

"He had been gambling and losing for a little while now, but he would never tell me about it. He'd be down a thousand, five thousand, whatever. He'd be down. He'd pay it off through the help of your friendly neighborhood loan shark and then he'd pay the loan shark back when he had money," Jon narrated in a disinterested, clinical way. "This went on and on, until he stopped getting jobs to pay off the debt. So he'd gamble more thinking if he won, he could pay off the debt with the winnings. Except he never won. His loan shark, bookie, whatever paid the debts so Erik owed him the money, which Erik was going to pay with the money he made from the play…"

"David in Saigon?" Macks interjected.

"Yes," Jon chuckled again, bitterly. "But his bookie loan shark got antsy and sold his debt to someone and he won't even tell us who that person or persons is. This new gangster sent a bunch of goons to the theater where Erik was rehearsing to beat him up, and they did a good job. What's so ridiculous is that he would have made enough money from the play to pay the money back, except now that they beat him up, he can't do the play anymore."

"Erik's not doing the play?" Macks exclaimed in a slightly louder voice than he intended.

"No. The producers found someone else," Jon responded. "So now not only does he still owe the money, he has no way to pay it back."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Jon answered.

"This is a pretty fancy hospital suite. How's Erik paying for this?"

"He's using my insurance."

Macks looked around at the warmly colored hospital room. Single occupancy. Private bathroom. Television. Small table for eating. He landed back on Jon.

"When I went to rehab many moons ago, it cost me an arm and a leg," Macks remembered. "What kind of insurance pays out this much for someone's gay boyfriend?"

"Andrew Kirshner."

"Excuse me, Jon," said a doctor who had strolled in the room while the two men were conversing. "Could we speak outside?" the doctor said.


In the hallway, Jon introduced Macks to Dr. DeForrest, a young, handsome, eager, African American third-year general resident who was Erik's primary physician. Macks was trying desperately to remember where he was, that his best friend's boyfriend had been severely injured in an attack only a few days ago and that he should act respectfully. The problem was that Dr. DeForrest's twinkling brown eyes and broad, thick shoulders were making his resolve waver. Dr. DeForrest shook Macks' hand and the stiff pressure of his grip excited Macks to his core. He took a mental picture of the young doctor's silky, smooth skin, his contoured chest easily visible through a thin scrub shirt, his narrow V-shaped waist, and the massive medical tool barely contained in his tight scrub pants. His toothy, bright smile didn't hurt either. Macks leaned against the wall for support.

"He's doing better, but he's still got some swelling that we want to watch. I just wanted to let you know that if we did keep Erik another night, you can stay with him," Dr. DeForrest said. "I've worked it out, so you don't have to worry about visiting hours or anything."

Macks took this as an opportunity to speak.

"How nice of you. What a gentleman. A man after my own heart…"

Jon began glancing over at Macks suspiciously.

"Yes, Dr. DeForrest is pretty influential around here and when I told him Erik was in the hospital, he took care of all the arrangements, including letting me stay with him past visiting hours," Jon told Macks. "Thank you, Avery. You have no idea how much being able to stay with him means to me."

"Wait a minute," Macks said thinking out loud. "Dr. Avery DeForrest. Dr. Avery DeForrest. Why does that name sound familiar? Wait, weren't you profiled in some magazine a while ago as like one of the hottest gay doctors in New York City or something?"

"Yes, Macks," Jon said, growing annoyed with Macks. "It was Version. You know, the magazine I work for. I profiled him. That's how I know him."

Macks stared straight at Dr. DeForrest. "Sorry, Jon, you know I don't always have time to look for your byline. But I do remember you, Dr. DeForrest. It's a pleasure to meet you, and I personally want to thank you for taking such good care of my friend. I really appreciate it, deep down."

"Say, Macks, don't you have a fashion line to design from scratch?" Jon asked.

"It can wait."

"So you're a fashion designer? I thought your name sounded familiar too. No wonder you look so stylish," Dr. DeForrest asked Macks, staring back at him. "Do you do men's fashion?"

"I can do whatever you want."

Jon turned to the room door. "Macks, you are the worst. I'm going inside. Avery, thank you again."

"Listen, Dr. DeForrest, I'm being rude. My friend's hurt and I'm talking your ear off about nothing. You're probably very busy with rounds or something," Macks rambled.

Dr. DeForrest glanced at his watch. "Yes, I should probably see about my other patients, but it was wonderful to meet you, Macks. Let me leave you with my phone number in case anything comes up that you would need my help with." Dr. DeForrest wrote it on the back of a prescription form.

"That would be wonderful," Macks said taking the slip. "I can't remember the last time I had a really thorough physical. Now, you wouldn't be able to write on the front of this to give me some Vicodin or oxycodone, would you? Just kidding. Just teasing. I'll see you around, doctor."


Catt Kostas had staked out a spot near the window in Macks' private studio where he sketched and designed, and from this space, she was tearing through receipts and bills Macks' assistant, Claudia, kept in a file folder under his drafting table. The folder was pretty empty. When Macks returned to his studio from the hospital, Claudia warned him to tread lightly.

"She's not convinced that the clothes you showed her cost as much as she spent," Claudia spoke softly as she kept him in the waiting area outside the studio space. "She wanted to see receipts so I tried to find as many as I could, but you don't have that many."

"Is that Macks?" Catt called out from the back room. "Tell him to come see me."

"Yes, Catt, darling, I'm here," Macks called out before turning to Claudia. "Fucking shoot me now."

"Cases of champagne, caviar, oysters, chocolate truffles, you have receipts for a lot of parties, my love, but I thought we were here to sell dresses," Catt admonished.

Macks sat his things down on a stool. "Catt, darling, you know you have to have parties to talk new fashion lines up, and that's what these fashion journalists want, all the best foods and drinks. I can't disappoint them. It's an occupational hazard, but I promise you, we're solely focused on finishing the final details for the fashion show at the end of the year. It's gonna be..."

"In the fall," Catt said under her breath.

"Wait, what?"

Catt placed the file on the ground before she stood, letting her pencil skirt de-crease naturally.

"I'm moved up the fashion show. We have to launch during Fall Fashion Week. It is simply a must."

"But Catt, darling, that doesn't leave me very much time," Macks trembled.

"What do you mean? You've had plenty of time," Catt laughed. "…And plenty of money. Are you trying to tell me you haven't finished? After all this time? What could you have been doing? There have to be dresses, Macks. I've told all my friends. Naomi. Ivanka. Muffie. Anna. There have to be dresses…"

"There are," Macks stopped her.

"Then why can't I see them, my love," Catt complained. "Why must you hide them from me? I have ideas too. I could help you finish them from a woman's point of view."

"I appreciate the offer, Catt, I do," Macks had no idea what to say. "I just want to surprise you. Trust me, you'll be surprised."

"Well, I am not leaving New York until this fashion show," Catt stamped her foot. "I won't."

"Excuse me, Macks?" Claudia opened the door to the studio.

"Yes, Claude, anything," Macks panted.

"I have Dominick Collins from Fiske Brand, Inc. on the phone for you," Claudia announced. "He says you're late for your 6 o'clock with him at Aquavit. Should I get a cab for you?"

"God yes."


Macks didn't bother to remove his pair of oversized sunglasses inside the restaurant. He slinked into the seat opposite Dominick like Ava Gardner through with another day's photoshoot. When the waiter greeted him, Macks placed his hand on the waiter's forearm.

"I want a vodka tonic, and when I'm finished with the one, I want you to bring me another. My side of this table should never be without vodka, understand? You might as well bring the bottle."

Dominick crossed his legs.

"Well, you're in a proper mood," he observed.

Macks eventually removed his Ray Bans. "I want to apologize for being late. I know I invited you, and here I am, showing up late."

"I'm used to it by now," Dominick smiled. "Plus, I'm glad you finally contacted me. I hadn't heard from you in such a long time. Did you get any of my messages? I left you loads..."

"I did. Listen, I could draw this out, but I don't really want to," Macks started. "I invited you here because I wanted to know if you could help me. I'm in a bit of a situation and couldn't think of anyone else I could turn to. I don't even know if you'll be able to do anything, but I thought I'd try."

"What," Dominick leaned forward trying to touch Macks' hand. "What's wrong? I want to help."

"Have you ever heard of Catt Kostas?"

"Isn't she the silent partner of your soon-to-be fashion empire?"

Macks sneered, "Yeah, except she's not so silent anymore."

The waiter placed Macks first vodka tonic on the table, and Macks took a sip.

Afterward, "She's in New York because she insists on seeing the clothes, before the show mind you, that I've made while I've been spending her money on the line."

"Okay."

"The problem is that there are no clothes."

"Oh dear," Dominick exhaled. "But what about the sketches you've shown me?"

"I mean there are some clothes, maybe enough for five or six models in a few different looks, but no where near the amount and diversity needed for a full scale fashion show," Macks explained. "I started, but never really finished. Now, Catt has her heart set on a full show of the Macks Mosby line supported by Stefan and Catt Kostas during Fall Fashion Week, which she has enough friends to get me a spot in and which is in September, which is only…"

"…A few months away," Dominick deduced.

"I don't know what she's gonna do to me if she finds out I've been spending her money this entire time and doing nothing," Macks placed his head in his hands, exasperated. "They're gonna find my body at the bottom of the Aegean Sea. I know it."

"No, Macks, don't worry," Dominick reassured him. "We'll think of something."

"Do you mean that you think you might be able to help me? I don't even know what I'd be asking you to do. Maybe you can get her banned from Fashion Week. Spread a rumor that she's in the mob. Or take her to London with you," Macks wondered aloud. "Tell her your on the search for the next great artist whom she simply has to invest in. She'll love something adventurous like that."

"I'll come up with something," Dominick took hold of Macks' hand. "But first, I would ask you a favor."

Macks guzzled the last of his vodka tonic. "What?"

"If I help you, you have to agree to go out with me again."

Macks snapped back in his chair. "Jesus Christ, Dominick, I'm not a prostitute!"

"I didn't say sleep with me," Dominick clarified. "I just want you to give me another chance. There was no reason for you to break up with me at Gil Granger's party. I keep thinking about it, and it doesn't make any sense. We were going along fine and boom, broken up. Can you at least tell me why? Were you unhappy with me? Did I anger you? Were you seeing someone else?"

Macks paused, biting his lip. "No."

"Then, you're free and clear to give me another chance. I know you can be happy with me."

The waiter approached. "Would you like to order or do you need more time?"

"No," Dominick said while lifting the menu. "We'll order. Macks, what would you like?"

Macks wanted to leave. He showed up only intending to get Dominick to agree to help him, but now if his playing the boyfriend was the only way to get himself out of his sticky situation, he realized that he had no choice but to play along with Dominick and be agreeable.

"I'll try the salmon," Macks said. "And another vodka tonic."


Macks was exhausted when he finally made it back to his apartment.

He rode the elevator up to his floor with his cell phone pressed to his ear, listening to Jon's updates on Erik's condition. He was doing better, and would be released soon, if not that night. Macks turned the key in the lock of his door, and pushed it open. The first thing Macks saw in his apartment was Diego sprawled on his couch, completely naked, his dick rigid and veiny, pointed upward like an arrow. Macks sighed and closed the door behind him silently.

It was just another moment in an already never ending day, he thought.

"Come here, baby," Diego purred. "I got something that'll make you feel better. Sit down right here."

"Diego, I don't even want to know how it is you got in my apartment, but you need to put your clothes on and get the fuck out and never do this again, because if you do, I will call the police on you and tell them to cart you away and give you the 10 night stick salute at the station."

"Baby, why so sad," Diego said getting up from the couch, walking toward Macks. "I bet it's because you miss me. We haven't fucked in such a long time that you're all upset and you don't want to tell me. That's the only reason why you haven't returned any of my messages, isn't it?"

"Or it might be because I didn't want to see you anymore, ever think it was that," Macks said, backing away from the naked man. "Diego, seriously, get dressed and get that thing away from me."

"Why? Afraid it's gonna spit at you."

"Diego…"

There was a knock at the door. It made Macks' stomach leap.

"Macks, I've been trying to phone you, but your cell line was busy. Are you home?" Dominick's unmistakable British accent poured into the apartment. Macks dropped his head. Fuck my life, he whispered to himself. He grabbed Diego's shoulders and turned him around. Hands on Diego's back, Macks pushed him down the hall into his bedroom. He left him at the door.

"You know the drill. No noise, leave the light off, and don't come out until I get you," Macks commanded. "And for the love of God, will you make that thing go soft?"

"I can't," Diego grinned. "I get turned on when you boss me around."

"Ugh," Macks groaned, closing the bedroom door.

Moments later, he opened his front door.

"Hi Dominick. I'd invite you in, but I'm not feeling too great…"

Dominick smiled bigger than he had all night. "I think I've found the solution to your problem."

Macks let go of the door. Dominick stepped inside and sat down on the couch. Macks closed the door and joined him in his apparent sudden anticipation.

"Alright, now there's absolutely nothing wrong with what I'm going to propose. Designers do it all the time, except in your case we have to be a little more sneaky," Dominick began.

"Tell me," Macks said.

From down the hall, Diego opened the bedroom door a crack. The tone of Dominick's voice intrigued him, and although they were sitting several yards away from him, Macks and Dominick's voices were clear enough for Diego to make out what they were saying. The situation seemed strange to him. They weren't sitting on the couch acting like boyfriends, which Diego thought they were. They were hunched over like they were plotting a bank heist, Diego thought. He curled his naked body into a pretzel as he sat by the door with his ear almost poking outside.

Dominick continued, "Have you ever heard of a girl named Emmy McHugh?"

"No."

"Good. I made a few calls and found out that this girl, Emmy, is a designer who makes fancy clothes similar to yours. Or should I say made," Dominick began. "Apparently, she tried to start her own fashion line about 10 years ago in Glasgow and got pretty far, producing enough to have a small but professional-looking show. To pay for it, she borrowed money from family and friends, including from one of her design school professors who owned a small, fledgling label.

"Before she was to debut, Emmy showed some of her designs to a top official at a London fashion conglomerate, and he loved them. The official invested in her and pledged to buy her entire collection and then some when she was done. The deal was about to go through when the professor she borrowed money from demanded that he be included as he alleged that Emmy copied his designs and that he should get credit along with her," Dominick narrated. "As you can imagine, due to the negative attention, Emmy McHugh's deal fell apart shortly afterwards, and she couldn't even have a fashion show because the professor got a court injunction blocking her from selling or showcasing the clothes while he was still angling for her money. He sued her for five years…"

"Okay, what? This girl is going to design for me?" Macks asked.

"No," Dominick answered. "She's going to give you her clothes. For a small fee of course, which we'll pay with the rest of your Catt Kostas money and some of my help. These clothes have been sitting in boxes in a warehouse somewhere in the middle of Scotland for years. Even with the professor eventually losing the lawsuit, which they found was his frivolous attempt to revive his own career, Emmy never bothered to show the rest of her collection. She gave up and put everything in storage and paid her friends and family back out of pocket. No one except her and a few other people have ever even seen the clothes, and Emmy has already agreed to sign anything we send her saying that she won't tell anyone that she's giving the clothes to you. She just wants to be done with it."

"So you want me to pass off these girl's clothes as my own?" Macks whispered.

"Who's going to know? No one would ever tie you, an up-and-coming New York City designer with some fashion drop-out from nowhere in Scotland," Dominick said. "You'll mix in Emmy's clothes with whatever you have of your own and what you can finish in a month and have your fashion show. Catt Kostas will never know the difference, and next season you can create a full line with all original designs. It's a win for everyone. You get your show and Catt off your back. Emmy sells these clothes that she doesn't want to touch with a 10-foot pole. She hasn't even been involved with fashion since her whole fiasco. I think she works in education now. Regardless, no one will ever be the wiser…"

"And what do you get?" Macks asked. "You just want to be my boyfriend again?"

"Only if you'll have me," Dominick replied. "Because I do love you, and now that this mess is over, we can be together with no impediments. What do you say? Shall I set the wheels in motion?"

"Thank you, Dominick," Macks said before Dominick clutched the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Macks was caught off-guard, but stopped fighting and let himself finally rest.

In the bedroom, Diego laid down on the ground with his hands behind his head. He told himself to remember a few things that he overheard. Emmy McHugh. Glasgow. Catt Kostas. He didn't know the details, but he figured these bullet points might come in handy sometime in the future.