by Marie Sexton
“I know. You’ve told me four times now.”
I debated briefly whether there was any point in asking him outright to stop calling me “darling.” I had a feeling he would only laugh. “And you’re a friend of Jared and Matt? Do you know Zach and Angelo too?” I asked.
“I’m sure Matt would object to being classified as such. The only one of them I really know is Jared. I’ve known him for nearly twelve years now. We’ve been friends since college. The others I’ve only met once or twice.”
The waiter arrived then. “Hello, Mr. Fenton. It’s good to see you again. I assume you don’t need to see the wine list?”
“It’s wonderful to be back, Henry. You’re correct, of course, I don’t need the list. I’m not sure quite yet what we’ll be drinking though.” He looked over at me. “Do you know what you’re ordering, darling?”
I swallowed the urge to tell him my name again and said, “I was thinking the lamb chops.”
He smiled. “Excellent.” Then to the waiter, “I’ll have the same.
And a bottle of the Tempranillo Reserva, please.”
“Of course.”
A Spanish red—Zach’s favorite. What were the chances Cole would pick that? Not many restaurants even carried Spanish wines.
Zach was always bemoaning the fact when we ate out.
“Did I say something wrong?” Cole asked suddenly, interrupting my thoughts. I realized I had been staring absently at the tablecloth, and shook myself out of it.
“No. Just the wine you chose—it reminded me of Zach.”
“Then you shouldn’t have ordered the lamb, darling.”
I had no idea how to respond to that.
The waiter brought the wine. As he was pouring it, my phone rang. It seemed impossibly loud in the hushed dining room, and everybody around us turned to look at me. I felt myself blush. I pulled my phone out and hit the button to turn off the audible ring. I looked over at Cole and found him looking slightly amused.
“I’m sorry,” I said, pointing to it. “I really have to—”
“Be my guest,” he said, and I answered.
“This is Jonathan.”
“Jonathan, it’s Sarah!”
“Sarah, can I call you back?”
“Jon, we put in all of the charges for the spa products we sell, but when we try to enter the state tax—”
“You don’t do that until checkout.” I was certain I had already told her that, but it was a common mistake.
She sighed in frustration. “I’ll never figure this out!”
“Sarah, you’ll be fine. It’s Friday night. Go home and get some rest. You’ll do better if you wait until morning and look at it with fresh eyes.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she said, but I knew she wouldn’t take my advice.
“I’m a little busy right now, Sarah. Can I call you first thing in the morning?”
She sighed again. “Sure. All right. Good night.”
I hung up and said to Cole, “I’m really sorry about that.”
He smiled. “Duty calls?”
“Always. I’m sure you know how it is.”
His smile got bigger. “Not really.”
“What do you do?”
His haircut was perfect. If he cocked his head to the right, his bangs fell to the side, allowing him to make eye contact. But if he looked down, or cocked his head the other way, as he did now, his hair fell in front of his eyes, making it harder to read his expression. “Such a predictable question, darling. What do you do?”
“I’m the Senior Liaison Account Director for GuestLine Software, Incorporated.”
His mouth twitched into a smile. “That’s quite the title. What exactly is GuestLine Software, Incorporated?”
“We write software for large hotels and resorts. Reservations, spa services and room charges, payroll and staffing. We put it all in one place so that—”
“I don’t own a hotel, darling. You don’t have to sell it to me. Is that why you were in Vegas when you ran into Jared?”
“Yes. We have three new clients there.”
“And what exactly does a Senior Liaison Account Director do?”
There was a mocking tone to his voice, and I tried not to be annoyed. It had taken a great deal of time and hard work to achieve that position in such a short time. “I help our new clients transfer the bookkeeping portion of their records into the GuestLine software.”
“I see,” he said. “How long have you worked for them?”
“Eight years.”
“Eight years. Tell me, darling”—and now he tipped his head again so I could see his eyes— “are you happy being the Senior Liaison Account Director?”
“Well, ultimately I would like to travel less. Another year or two, and I should be able to move up and start doing more of the in-house accounting. Another few years after that, and—”
“Is there a position you’re aiming for, or do you just climb and climb until you can’t climb anymore?”
The question seemed odd to me. Of course promotion was always the goal. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, will there ever be a point where you’re happy with what you have and you can sit back and relax?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer him, but it ended up not mattering because my phone rang. Again. And once again, everybody at the surrounding tables looked my way. I answered as quickly as possible.
“This is Jonathan.”
“Jonathan!” It was Marcus Barry again. “I’ve arranged for Lyle to cover Franklin Suites. I want you on a plane to LA Sunday evening.”
“Of course.”
“Let’s get this one wrapped up before they drive us both to drink.”
I couldn’t have agreed more. “I’m sorry,” I said to Cole as I hung up. “It’s a new client, and—” He waved his hand at me dismissively, although it was obvious he found it less amusing the second time. “I don’t think he’ll call again,” I said as our food arrived. I turned my phone to vibrate and put it on the table next to me. We ate in silence for a while. The wine really did complement the lamb chops perfectly. I broke the silence by asking again, “What do you do?”
He looked up from his plate, tilting his head so that his hair fell into his eyes again. I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or amused by my question. “Is it so important?”
“No,” I said, although I found it odd that he seemed unwilling to answer. “I was just curious.”
“You’re curious, because somehow your image of who I am is all tied up with my profession?”
“Well…” Wasn’t it? “Yes.”
“What if I told you that I was a hustler?”
“I—umm—” I realized I was stammering and stopped short. Was he serious? Had Jared given my number to a hustler? I had no idea how I was supposed to react. “I would tell you that I’m not paying you for anything tonight,” I finally said. On the other hand, it would mean that I could quit trying to make conversation with him. “Are you?” I asked.
“Of course not,” he said, grinning at me, and I figured it was a good sign that I was relieved to hear it. “But the thought that I might be changed everything, didn’t it?” I had no idea what I was supposed to say. I felt like I was caught in some strange game of twenty questions.
He laughed at me, and I tried not to be irritated by it. “You’re still dying to know, aren’t you?” he asked as he flipped his hair out of his eyes.
Of course I was. His reluctance to answer only made me more curious. “Yes. It’s a simple question: what do you do?”
He seemed to consider for a moment, drinking his wine, and then he said, “I travel.”
“You travel?” I asked. I was racking my brain in an effort to figure out what in the world he meant. “I don’t understand.”
“Is it a word you’re not familiar with?” he asked, and I could see in his eyes how amusing he found it all. I felt like he had been quietly laughing at me ever since we had introduced ourselves, and for better or worse, i
t was starting to annoy me.
“Of course I’m familiar with it,” I said, “but don’t see how you can make a career out of it.”
“I never said that I did, darling.”
“But you just said—”
“I like to cook, too.”
“So, you’re a chef?”
“I guess you could say that. But I don’t do that for a living either, if that’s what you mean.”
“Of course that’s what I mean!” I said, and even I was surprised by how angry I sounded. Several of the people at nearby tables had turned to look at me, and I felt myself blushing again. I closed my eyes and made myself count to five.
“Have I upset you somehow, darling?”
“No!” I said, calmer now, although I was still irritated at him.
“So quick to apologize about the little things,” he said lightly. I finally opened my eyes again and found that he was still smiling at me, although his expression was far less mocking than it had been earlier.
“How long were you and Zach together?”
The sudden change of subject completely caught me off-guard. I was still confused and annoyed over the last conversation. But the look he was giving me now was open and honest, rather than condescending, and I answered, “Three years.”
“How long ago was that?”
“It ended ten years ago. Why do you ask?”
He smiled at me apologetically. “I was only making conversation, actually. But it was a terrible topic to choose, wasn’t it? I guess what I really wanted to know is, are you seeing anybody?”
“Obviously not, if I’m here with you.”
“Does that make it obvious? I have to admit, I’ve met plenty of men who felt it was acceptable to be vague about their relationship status.”
He had a point. “No, I’m not seeing anyone, in any capacity.”
Occasionally I would go to clubs to pick somebody up, or go to the bathhouse, but I hadn’t actually dated anyone in months. “Are you?”
“I have many friends, but no commitment of any kind.”
I couldn’t help but laugh a little. “It seems that you’re one of those men who chooses to be vague.”
He smiled back, just barely. “Suffice it to say, I haven’t had dinner with anybody in a very long time.”
We were interrupted then by a familiar voice saying, “Jonathan!”
I looked up to find Julia beaming down at me. Julia was my next-door neighbor. She was a few years older than me. Her husband Bill was in real estate, and Julia spent most of her days shuttling their three kids around town.
“Hey, Julia.”
She turned to Cole meaningfully. I was about to introduce them, but my phone rang again. At least with the ringer off, the only people who noticed were Cole and Julia.
It turned out Cole didn’t need me to introduce him anyway. He had already stood up from the table and was shaking her hand. I actually thought for a moment he was going to kiss it. I was on the phone with Sarah again, talking her through another software glitch, so I didn’t hear their conversation, but I watched them. Something about Cole’s manner was respectful yet still flirtatious, and Julia was eating it up.
I was just ending the call when Julia’s husband appeared. “Looks like our table is ready,” she said. “It was nice meeting you, Cole.” She looked pointedly at me. “I’ll talk to you later, Jonathan.”
She left and Cole sat back down, watching me with a sly smile on his face.
“What?” I asked, although I couldn’t help but smile back.
“I get the feeling my ears will be burning later.”
I had to laugh. “I have a feeling you’re right.”
“How do you know her?”
“She’s my neighbor. She takes care of my house whenever I’m away on business. She feeds my fish and brings in my mail. And I dated her brother Tony for a couple of years before he moved to California.”
“Are you and she close?”
“I guess so. I don’t know. We have been known to drink a bottle of wine together. Or two.” He looked even more amused now, and I asked again, “What?”
“Nothing really, darling—”
“It’s Jonathan.”
“—I was just thinking: it’s terribly cliché, isn’t it? For a gay man to be friends with a straight woman?”
“Would it be less of a cliché if all of my friends were gay men?”
He smiled at me, and it was a genuine smile. For only the second time all night, I didn’t feel like he was mocking me. “I suppose you have a point.”
Next to me, my phone started buzzing again on the table.
“Shit!”
“Is it always like this, darling?” he asked, and this time, the irritation in his voice was obvious.
“Not always. Just—” Buzz, buzz, buzz. “I’m sorry. I really have to get this.” He looked away but flicked his hand at me in a way that seemed to indicate I should answer. “This is Jonathan.”
“Jonathan!” Marcus again. “That Clifton woman will be the death of me. Forget about Sunday. I want you on a plane tonight.”
“Tonight? Marcus, I’ve been home for less than four hours.”
“I know that. But if she’s not taking the weekend off, neither are you. You may as well work there, where you can actually do some good.”
I counted to five, then said, “I can leave at six tomorrow morning.
Will that be good enough?” Please God, just let me sleep in my own bed tonight!
He sighed. “It will have to be.”
“Thank you, sir.” I was already apologizing to Cole again as I hung up. “I’m really sorry—” I started to say, but then I looked over to find him pulling his wallet out of his pocket. “Are you leaving?” I asked in surprise. He didn’t answer, but took four one-hundred dollar bills out of it and tucked them under the candle holder on the table between us. “You don’t have to—” I was going to say he didn’t have to pay for my dinner, and he certainly didn’t have to leave such a giant tip, but he interrupted me.
“Listen, darling, you’re completely adorable, really. But the truth is I rather like being the center of attention. Especially when I’m on a date.”
“You don’t have to go—”
“I’d like to try this again sometime though.” He handed me a business card. It was completely blank except for his name and a phone number. He let his hair fall in his eyes and batted his eyelashes at me.
“Call me. Preferably some night when you can leave the phone at home.”
He walked away, and I was left to finish my dinner alone.
My phone didn’t ring once the rest of the night. It didn’t ring again until five-thirteen the next morning. I was already back at the airport.
Date: April 17
From: Cole
To: Jared
Oh Sweets, I have such a bone to pick with you! I called Jonathan like you suggested, and he obviously had no clue who I was. If you’re going to set me up, at least give the poor fool my name first, won’t you love? I suppose I’ll have to forgive you. I would say that you owe me, but I know your big bad boyfriend will never allow you to make it up to me properly. Such a shame, too….
So Jonathan and I met for dinner, and honey, it was a disaster. I’m quite sure that I’m not his type. And although he is terribly cute, he’s also uptight, has no sense of humor, and is completely obsessed with his career. Just for the record Sweets, those are things that should be mentioned when you’re setting up the blind date. I’m afraid I didn’t handle it well, and suffice it to say, things in Phoenix are still depressingly dry. I gave him my number, but I suspect it will be a rather cold day in hell before he calls. Good thing I’m loaded, because the way things look at the moment, I may have to fly all the way back to Paris just to get laid.
THE next weekend, my father took me to a Diamondbacks game. I wasn’t much of a baseball fan, but he insisted that we go together a few times a year. We would buy overpriced hotdogs and cheap-ass, mass-pro
duced beer that still cost eight dollars a cup. My father would talk about RBIs and the batting lineup, and I would pretend to care, even though we both knew I didn’t. Likewise, I would spend half of the game fielding phone calls from my office, and he would pretend he didn’t care, even though we both knew he did. It was a ridiculous arrangement, but it kept the peace.
It was early in the second inning, and I had just finished a call with my boss when my dad asked suddenly, “How was your date?”
My mind was still on the phone call—Marcus had informed me I would be leaving for LA again on Monday—and my response was to ask stupidly, “My what?”
My dad gave me the father look—it was the same look I used to get from him when I failed to do my chores. “You know,” he said sarcastically. “A date: dinner, drinks, small talk. With another person.”
I hated it when I gave him an opportunity to throw my own attitude back in my face, and I knew my cheeks were turning red. “It didn’t go well.”
“Why not?”
I didn’t want to tell him what had happened. He was always scolding me for letting my work run my life. I wished I could lie. But I’d never been able to come up with untruths in a timely manner, and he would have been able to see it on my face anyway, so I braced myself and admitted the truth, although I couldn’t look him in the eyes while I did it. I looked out at the field instead. “I was getting a lot of phone calls that night, and it annoyed him. So he left.”
I expected him to start haranguing me right away, but he didn’t.
He was silent, and when I looked over, I found him watching me with a sad look on his face. “I’m sorry, Jon.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, with feigned nonchalance, because it did still bother me a little that he had walked out on me. “He wasn’t my type anyway.”
“Are you seeing anyone else?”
“No, not at the moment.” Not for a depressingly long time, in fact.
He was quiet for a minute, and when I looked over at him, I saw that his ghosts were with him. Not literal ghosts. Not like in the movies.
