After a while, it became so busy that he barely had time to say hello to Scott. When there was a lull in the patrons, he walked up to Scott and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Hey,” Vaughan said. “I didn’t get to say hello earlier.”
“We’re cool.” Scott grinned. “I appreciate that it was busy so you couldn’t have said hello to all this fantasticness, but it’s all good, man.”
Vaughan grinned. “Well, I’m saying hello now, Mr. Fantastic.”
“That’s better. Maybe you should take a break now. Patrick is here and wants to talk to you.”
Vaughan moaned. “Where’s he?”
“In back.”
“Aight,” Vaughan said. “If you need me holler.”
“The residents of Timbuktu shall hear my shout for assistance, m’lord.”
“Ass.” Vaughan laughed and left the front area. He danced around servers heading out to the restaurant and made it to Patrick’s office without smashing into anyone. Vaughan didn’t bother knocking. Even if he had, over the din of the busy back space, Patrick wouldn’t have heard him anyway. When he stepped into the room, Patrick was standing at the window, arms folded behind his back, staring out at the city below.
In a different world, Vaughan might have fallen in love with Patrick Henderson. Everything from his kindness, to the life Vaughan always saw in the man’s eyes, to Patrick’s unwavering faith in humanity—and the man wasn’t bad to look at either. All of it confirmed Vaughan could have loved this man. But Patrick wasn’t into the penis, and they weren’t in a different dimension.
“You wanted to see me, Patrick?”
Patrick turned and smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling to show his age and his full lips curled upward at the corners. “Ah, yes, Vaughan. Come in. Have a seat.”
Vaughan closed the door behind him, shutting out the rush of the halls outside, and fell into one of Patrick’s chairs.
His boss and friend walked around his desk to sit on the edge of it and faced Vaughan. “How are you? How are things on the frontlines?”
“Good—it was a little busy earlier, but the girls have been amazing help,” Vaughan explained. “Before I forget, we’re running low on Hendo. People seem to love it.”
Patrick grinned. “Really?”
The pride in Patrick’s eyes wasn’t lost on Vaughan. Hendo was a wine Patrick had designed specifically for the restaurant. Vaughan knew Patrick had bigger plans for the label—he always had a trick up his sleeves.
“That’s brilliant!” Patrick cheered. “Do you know what this means?”
Vaughan arched a brow. “Hendo is delicious? I’m not a wine drinker—you know that.”
“Yes!” Patrick tossed his hands up. “And—and it means I can now sign the paperwork to make it an actual line!”
Yup. There it is!
Vaughan laughed. “Well, that’s good and all, but we’re running out. The faster you can get more in, the better.”
Patrick nodded. “About what I wanted to talk to you about—you know Baptiste is leaving us.”
“He is?” Vaughan asked. “No. I haven’t heard anything. Then again I’m not Baptiste’s favorite person so he wouldn’t have told me anything.”
“You two still don’t like each other?”
“I like him fine.”
“Right. Anyway, he’s moving to Paris, and his position is coming open. I figured it would be great to hire from inside for it rather than bringing in some newbie.”
“That’s a good idea. You wouldn’t have to train the inside person as much as a new face.”
“I’m glad you see it that way.” Patrick crossed his ankles. “The position is yours.”
Vaughan blinked. “Say what now?”
“The manager position is yours. If you want it, that is.”
Vaughan sighed. “Um—does that mean I can’t be behind the bar?”
“Of course not. You’ll have a few extra responsibilities, yes, but your bar duties can remain the same if you’d like.”
“Can I think about it?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks. Let me go back on the floor. Scotty might need me.”
Patrick smiled and stood. “And Vaughan?”
“Yeah?” Vaughan paused with his hand on the doorknob. “You’ve done well here. Don’t ever doubt that.”
“Thanks … thanks a lot.”
Patrick nodded.
Chapter Two
“Frederick, you should come to the Vermont Appreciation ball with me. There might be a couple of young male socialites in attendance to tickle your fancy and take you out on a date. Who knows? You may luck up and find love.” Frederick’s mother, Irma, regarded him.
Frederick looked away, groaning under his breath. Instead of meeting her gaze, he promptly turned his attention to the artwork on the ceiling. He’d always found it comforting to sit in the library and dream about being in the clouds with the angels depicted above his head.
Though Frederick enjoyed his parents’ home, he hated the constant berating about how he chose to live his life. He’d been there for exactly ten minutes and the conversation turned from his upcoming tour to his dating prospects. Frederick wished he had enough stones as it were to put his parents, specifically his mother, in their proper place. His personal life was his business and his alone.
“Mother, please.”
“Frederick, really. Your father will be performing surgery that night, and I’d love the company. Besides, when was the last time you and I had time together as mother and son, hmm?” Irma shrieked, seemingly in excitement over what could be a major coup to get her one and only son married to a rich, young snob.
Thinking of her question, Frederick couldn’t remember. Being a full-time musician never afforded him the normal things a twenty-nine year old should relish in, less alone mother-son play dates. They lived on opposite sides of the country anyway and thank goodness for that. Being any closer to them might’ve driven him to the nearest mental ward.
Too bad he hadn’t thought to ask Deena to tag along so his mom would leave him alone and ask about her search for a man instead. Deena didn’t mind chatting about those trivial things, whereas Frederick had no interest. Besides, there was no room for love in his life, only the occasional flings he’d pick up on tour.
“Frederick? Are you listening to me?”
“I am, Mom.” Frederick loosened the necktie he’d donned specifically for this visit. Only because his mother requested he be dressed properly. Fortunately, she was satisfied with the tie and didn’t ask for a full suit. Wearing monkey outfits would never be Frederick’s style onstage or off.
“I might have plans that night,” Frederick lied. “Besides, I’ll only be here for another few days, and isn’t the ball—”
“Thursday night.” Irma cut him off.
Frederick silently cursed under his breath. He didn’t dare say those words aloud, for his mother would’ve scolded him. Exasperated, Frederick finally met Irma’s stern blue gaze. She looked exactly like Frederick, except for the mustache and beard, of course. He’d never be able to disclaim whose child he was even if he wanted to.
“Frederick, I am waiting for your reply,” Irma said in a commanding tone.
Defeated, Frederick shrugged his shoulders and sighed inwardly. “I suppose it could not hurt, but please, Mother, don’t try fixing me up. I’ll be your date that night and yours alone.”
Irma clapped and her mood turned cheery. “Wonderful, my dear. Are you certain I can’t introduce you to—”
Frederick held up one hand and crossed one leg over the other. “Mother, with all due respect, I beg of you, do not try setting up a date for me. I am perfectly capable of getting one on my own.”
“And this happens when? You tour incessantly and when you don’t, you’re living in a condo in Los Angeles, one I am sure is below our standards.”
“Mother, it suits me fine. It’s just me, Gabriel, and my collection of violins, classic albums, and m
y BMX bikes. I don’t require a lot of space.”
Irma raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes. Yes. And that would be part of the problem. Holding onto an inanimate object as if it were your lover.”
“Gabriel has been there for me more times than I can count. And actually.” Frederick stood up from the horrid floral print sofa and shook out his legs, making the bottoms of his jeans fall over his beloved Doc Martins. “I’d like to excuse myself to take Gabriel out to the garden if you don’t mind. He always loved the greenery and the tulips blooming in the back.” Frederick laughed nervously.
“All right, very well. I shall have Bree go find you when lunch is served, my dear. And, please, when we step out on Thursday, will you wear a proper suit?”
Frederick exhaled, feeling this was a bad idea. Still, he wanted to make his mother happy, even if it meant donning attire he had no appreciation for. “Yes, I will, but only for you.”
“Good. I love you. No matter how strange, how gay you are. You will always be my son,” Irma said with a wide smile.
Frederick nodded in her direction. “And I love you, too, Mom. I’ll see you in a bit. Gabriel and the gardens are calling my name.” Frederick turned on his heel, exiting the large sitting room for the hallway, beholding the grand staircase. Panning upwards to the top, he recalled on Christmas Day sliding down the railing until he reached the bottom. He always fell on his rear end, laughing until he cried and nearly wet himself.
Being a child in this house was what he enjoyed most and at times, wished he could go back to again. Then, his parents didn’t pressure him on growing up, his career, and dating people. Frederick could just be himself, the kid who loved playing violin, appreciating the gifts he’d received.
Taking slow steps, Frederick made his way up to the room he’d spent many hours in as a child. As he ran his fingers up the gold-plated railing, the material tickled the flesh on his tips, making him silently chuckle. Though he hated leaving his Los Angeles condo, he still adored visiting the mansion because of the magic it held there. It inspired him to do so many grand things, and he couldn’t have been more grateful.
Reaching the top, Frederick inhaled, gazing at the wooden doors with shiny brass knobs. Instantly he remembered running through each door, playing tag with his friend Gabriel, the son of the help his parents had hired. Short for his age, Gabriel’s little legs would run faster than Frederick’s could ever carry him. When they played hide-and-seek it was if Gabriel had wheels. He’d be hidden before Frederick could count to five, and Frederick took the longest time to find his friend. Nevertheless, after ten or so minutes, Gabriel gave up hiding and he’d say, “you’re it again, because you didn’t find me”. Frederick never took issue with it, playing up until it was time to for violin practice. Then he would bid Gabriel goodbye, picking up his beloved instrument for hours until Gabriel’s mom, Shania, would call for dinner.
Recalling the memories, a wry smile crossed Frederick’s face. Then, he and Gabriel were nothing but innocent. Young. Pure. And over time, Frederick developed feelings for his friend, ones he had no clue about. He’d tried talking with his mother, saying he loved Gabriel and wished to marry him when they got older. Mom had only laughed, telling him, “you’re a boy, you know nothing of what you’re saying”.
But he did.
Frederick was only six, but he loved Gabriel for more than a friend. When he told him, Gabriel scolded Frederick, saying boys couldn’t love other boys. After a while, Frederick gave up on that and spent more time with his violin, only playing tag when he got enormously bored. That would happen for another year until Gabriel left the house never to return again. Gabriel and his family learned of his terminal cancer when back at home in Boston and he’d only lived another few months before passing away.
Remembering the sad circumstances, Frederick stopped dead in the middle of the floor, and he stared at the room on the right that used to be Gabriel’s. Now, the new help stayed there, but Frederick didn’t have a relationship with any of them because his parents didn’t keep them around long enough to get acquainted. Regardless, Gabriel and his family were the only people he cared for anyway, so relationships with any new maids and or butlers would never happen.
Brushing away the painful memories, Frederick continued down the long hallway, with only the echoes of his footsteps on the rich hardwood following him. Faint smells of furniture varnish and ammonia infiltrated his nostrils, reminding him this was only a fraction of what used to be home. When Gabriel was alive it was the smell of paint because that was his hobby he’d taken up while Frederick played his violin. Frederick hated it, but he’d done it for the kid he adored. Loved. More than a brother.
Frederick held out hope for someone to come along, but traveling distant lands, playing for people replaced the need for an actual lover. It gave him life, love, everything he could want, and for now, that more than sufficed.
Finally, in front of his childhood bedroom, Frederick gripped the brass handle and turned it until the lock gave way. He ambled in, looking at the white walls with no pictures on them. Before, posters of Beethoven, Brahms, and Mozart had covered those same walls, as well as the huge movie one of Amadeus that hung up in his living room. Much like home in Los Angeles, the room was empty with only the king sized, four post bed and a nightstand next to it, then the antique armoire he put his clothes in because he had no need for the walk-in closet. In his mind, he didn’t need anything else because he never stayed long anyway except for Christmas.
Standing at the side of the bed, Frederick reached down for the black case that held inside his best friend other than Deena. He pressed the locks until they clicked, then pushed the lid open, revealing the Stradivarius he’d held dear for the last twenty years. The instrument had been given to him by his beloved teacher, Mr. Arteese, in third grade. He’d always tell Frederick he’d be the best violin player of his time. And he was, as well as one of the best composers. Many musicians from every genre desired to work with him, and he happily obliged. Offering his services to fellow artists was never a big deal. Though a loner, he still enjoyed being part of creating music regardless of what kind.
Gliding his hand over his violin, Frederick smiled and carefully picked up Gabriel as if it were a newborn baby. He placed his chin on the strap and picked up his bow, setting it on one of the strings. In moments, he slid the bow over the E string, then then G. After that small amount of tuning, he began sliding repeatedly, until the notes put together a small tune he’d been practicing for the past couple of months. It was his own miniature concerto, dedicated to his childhood, about innocence and enjoyment as he remembered it with his friend, Gabriel.
Only a few minutes passed and Frederick finished the song. He straightened his body, carrying Gabriel out of his room and down the stairs. He strolled through the opposite hallway, past the library and his father’s office, until he reached the grand dining area.
Walking through the interior sliding doors, Frederick glanced at the room’s rich furnishings, the honey walnut finished table set for twelve, with matching chairs covered with only the finest gold tone fabric.
With Gabriel still in hand, he ambled towards the French door in the center, leading to the patio. He opened it and inhaled deeply, taking in the beauty of his mother’s gorgeous garden, which she never worked in with her own hands. She had people to do it for her, so she had no need to get dirty to plant her own roses and tulips. Mother was a true socialite, thinking any menial labor was beneath her. She was a Tremblay after all.
Sighing, Frederick lifted the violin and placed it back under his chin. He began another tune this time, one of his favorites that he’d practiced for hours until his fingers nearly bled. In his mind, hours of playing the violin were more than acceptable. You couldn’t be the very best unless you’d put in the time to know your notes, the rhythms, and how they fit together.
Continuing his ascent into the garden, Frederick took the beauty of the green grass and colorful blooming flowers into account,
the bursts of red, yellow, even purple in the flower beds sitting on both sides of the house. The smaller plants, lining the walkways, led to the open ground in the center of the yard. It was breathtaking, especially at this time of year when the weather was picture perfect.
Here was where Frederick had been inspired to write about appreciation and loving everything he’d been given. Life was precious. Short. He thought to write classical pieces that gave people pleasure and enjoyment. Though there were hiccups along the way, it didn’t suppress Frederick’s basic joy. The fact remained he was in the prime of life, doing what he loved. Nothing could be more satisfying than that.
****
After lunch with his mother, Frederick made his way back outside to call his best friend back in Los Angeles. Although he hadn’t verbally spoken with Deena since he’d left three days ago, they had texted. Frederick loved Deena’s quick wit and dry humor, as well as her design sense. When she decorated his condo for him exactly to his specifications, they’d become more than just decorator and client. Deena made herself sort of his personal assistant as well as a big sister, even though she was younger by a year. Besides that, he needed tips on what to wear to the ball because he had no clue.
“Freddy!” Deena beamed through the phone, sounding like an overly excited teenager.
Frederick pulled his cellphone away from his ear then put it back when he heard silence on the other end. “Hello, Deena. I am probably deaf now because of that high pitched shriek.”
“No, you’re not. You have the best hearing of anyone I know. Anyway, how are things going with the ‘rents?’
Frederick chuckled low when Deena referred to his mother and father. “They’re fine. Well, Mom is here with me. Dad has been working nonstop at the hospital. Seems everyone needs brain surgeries these days.”
“I’ll say. Do you know how many mental cases are running around right now? Too bad they all can’t have their heads examined.”
Love at the Right Tempo Page 2
