Service with a Smirk

by Ariel Tachna

  Service with a Smirk

  By Ariel Tachna

  An At Your Service Novel

  Pascal Larocque, a waiter at a high-end Montréal restaurant, knows what it means to love—and he knows what it means to lose. He buried the man he expected to spend his life with years ago. He’s perfectly happy with his solitude, or so he tells his friends. But a chance encounter in a neighborhood bar followed by a run-in at his apartment building turns his world upside down.

  Mathias Perras is twenty-four, newly arrived in Montréal, and works two jobs so he can live on rue Sainte-Catherine in the heart of the gay district. During the day, he’s on a fast track to management at the Banque de Montréal. At night, he waits tables at a gay bar down the street. He’s burning the candle at both ends, but it will be worth it when his career takes off and he has the life he’s always dreamed of. When he meets Pascal, one more piece of that dream slots into place. Pascal is everything he wants in a lover: older, self-assured, established in his life and his career. But Pascal doesn’t look at him twice. What’s a boy have to do to get a little action?

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  More from Ariel Tachna

  Readers love At Your Service by Ariel Tachna

  About the Author

  By Ariel Tachna

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  To Anne, Elizabeth, and Connie, who never stopped believing I’d finish this, and to Janelle, for giving me permission to put it on hold until I was actually ready to write it.

  Chapter 1

  PASCAL LAROCQUE sighed as he tossed his gym bag full of sweaty clothes into the tiny laundry room in his apartment (one of the reasons he was willing to pay the exorbitant rent on this particular unit) and debated his options for the evening.

  It had been a little over three weeks since his “ladies” had last come into la Colombe d’Or, the upscale restaurant in downtown Montréal where Pascal spent six days a week as one of three senior waiters, and he hadn’t even opened the latest installment in the Pascal St-Laurent, International Man of Mystery series they’d given him on their last visit to the restaurant in June. He needed to get most of the way through it before they came back for their monthly dinner, or he’d never hear the end of it. A quiet evening at home held a certain appeal after the busy week he’d had, but Benjamin and René had cornered him at the gym, insisting he come out with them for drinks at Le Salon rather than spend a rare Saturday night off at home.

  Grumbling under his breath at the inconvenience of having pushy friends, he went into the bathroom to clean up so he could go out.

  An hour later he sat at a corner table, sipping his martini and waiting for his friends. If they didn’t show, he was never going out with them again.

  The eye candy at Le Salon was always worth the trip, but as Pascal looked around, he saw several new faces among the bartenders and servers bringing drinks to the patrons.

  One of these days he’d have to stop looking at them the way he did. He was getting close to an age where he was old enough to be their father. He liked to think he didn’t look it, except for the hint of gray at his temples. He certainly didn’t feel it, but that didn’t change the numbers. He was forty-eight, and he’d bet not one of the guys he was currently staring at was over twenty-five. Adrien, the lounge owner, wouldn’t hire them unless they were twenty—he gave them two years after they were of legal age to get a little maturity before he hired them—but he knew his crowd. The young ones drew more patrons than the ones over thirty.

  “You need a refill on that?” The server was one of the new ones, a cute twink sporting short spiky brown hair with bleached-blond tips, a flirty smile, and the tightest T-shirt known to man.

  “Sure,” Pascal said. He drained what was left in his glass so he could send the empty away. “I started a tab.”

  “Adrien told me,” the server said, leaning in to get the glass and wipe the table. “He said to take good care of you.”

  Pascal frowned. Adrien might have said any number of things, but Pascal knew better than to think that was one of them. Either the kid was aiming for a higher tip (bending over provocatively so Pascal could ogle his ass was one thing. Blatantly lying was another), or he was tricking. Pascal wasn’t above ogling a tight ass in even tighter jeans, but he came to Le Salon specifically because Adrien’s servers weren’t hustling on the side.

  “What’s that look for?” René asked as he joined Pascal at the table. “You don’t usually frown at having an ass in your face.”

  “New server,” Pascal said. “He’s still a little… rough around the edges.”

  “And you’re still as picky as ever,” René deduced.

  “Just because it’s a bar on rue Sainte-Catherine instead of a restaurant downtown is no excuse for bad service,” Pascal insisted.

  The young man came back with Pascal’s drink, setting it on the table with a flirtatious smile before turning to René. “What can I get for you?”

  Pascal frowned again. That tone of voice, the one that seemed to offer more than just drinks, grated on Pascal’s nerves.

  René had to go and make it worse. Typical, really. “What’s… new on the menu?”

  The kid leaned in closer, close enough his hip nearly bumped René’s shoulder. “I’m sure I could come up with something to surprise you. What do you like? Sweet, sour, dry, bitter?”

  “Spicy,” René said. “Something with a kick.”

  Pascal had to look away as René leered at the kid openly. The rate things were going, René would soon be groping him right there at the table. God, he was glad those days were behind him. Twenty years ago he’d done what he needed to do to get enough experience to land a job at a place like la Colombe d’Or. He wouldn’t go back for all the tea in China!

  “I know just the thing,” the server said, and his hip did bump René’s shoulder this time. “A chipotle margarita. If you don’t like it, it’s on me.”

  Pascal had to give the kid credit for thinking on his feet. That wasn’t a drink Pascal would have come up with to suggest, but few of his guests asked for help with cocktails. Wine, all the time, but not cocktails.

  He glanced down at the vodka martini, the same thing he always ordered anywhere he went unless he ordered wine, and wondered when he’d ended up in such a rut.

  “If this is what I like, what would you suggest for me?” he asked before the kid could leave the table.

  “Drinking hard tonight?” René asked.

  “Just curious,” Pascal retorted, keeping his eyes on the server, not on his friend.

  “It depends,” the server said. “Are you feeling adventurous, or do you want to play it safe?”

  Pascal considered himself a play-it-safe kind of guy, but he read the challenge in the kid’s smile. “I could be adventurous.”

  He kicked René under the table when his friend muttered, “And pigs will fly.”

  “Well,” the server said, “you could go with a flavored martini—pear, pomegranate, raspberry, something like that. Or there’s always a cosmo. They’d be similar to what you’re alread
y drinking, but with a little something extra. If you’re really feeling adventurous, you could go with an Adios Motherfucker.”

  Pascal quirked an eyebrow at that. “Sounds… intriguing, but I think I’ll stick with this for now. Maybe when I finish it, I’ll think about your suggestions.”

  The server shrugged and nodded before leaving the table.

  “When pigs fly,” René repeated.

  “Fuck off,” Pascal said with no real heat in his voice. “There’s nothing wrong with having a favorite drink.”

  “Nothing wrong at all,” René agreed, “but there’s also nothing wrong with trying something new from time to time. You’re stuck in a rut, and that’s not healthy.”

  “Are we still talking about my choice of drinks, or was there something else you wanted to say?”

  “We’re not talking about anything,” René said, “because you’re old before you’re even fifty, set in your ways and not even open to the possibility that life might have something good in store for you still. It’s been fifteen years since Robert died. He wouldn’t want you to grieve forever.”

  “It’s not about Robert,” Pascal insisted. “I’m comfortable with my life the way it is.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you are,” René said, “but you aren’t happy.”

  “And you think screwing around with some twink in a bar restroom will make me happy?” Pascal asked. “How many friends have we lost to exactly that mistake?”

  “That was a different time and a different mindset,” René reminded him. “We’re all a little smarter now.”

  “Or a lot more cautious,” Pascal replied. “Look, I know you mean well, but that isn’t what I want. Just… just let me go to hell in my own way, okay?”

  René looked like he was about to argue, but whatever he might have said was forestalled by Benjamin’s arrival. “Bonsoir, les gars.”

  “Bonsoir,” René and Pascal replied, switching to French now that Benjamin had joined them. While all three of them were bilingual, Benjamin’s English was much weaker than his French, so Pascal and René both automatically spoke French when Benjamin was with them.

  “Anything interesting happening tonight?” Benjamin asked as he took a seat at their table.

  “Adrien has a new waiter,” René said. “Cute, blondish, all tousled. Looks like he’d bend over for the first guy to show a little interest.”

  “Are you interested?” Benjamin asked, waggling his eyebrows teasingly at René. Pascal had long since given up trying to understand their relationship.

  “No, Pascal saw him first.”

  “Oh, Pascal’s interested? Now there’s a nice switch!”

  “I’m not interested,” Pascal said with a long-suffering sigh. “I told René that. He’s not listening, as usual.”

  “Maybe if you said something new, I’d be more inclined to pay attention,” René retorted. “As it is, it’s the same old martyr Pascal as always.” He fixed Pascal with a piercing stare. “It’s getting old, buddy. Really old.”

  Pascal frowned. He’d come out despite wanting to stay home purely because his friends had asked him to, and now they were insulting him. He pulled enough cash from his wallet to cover his bill and tossed it on the table. “If you’re going to be like that, I’ll go home and read the book that’s waiting for me. It’ll be better company.”

  “Pascal, don’t be like that,” Benjamin cajoled. “You know René doesn’t mean anything by it.”

  Pascal looked back and forth between his two friends. Benjamin’s expression was pleading, but René’s had taken on the mulish look it got when he had a bug up his ass. “I’m sure he doesn’t, but I’m not fit company tonight. Maybe later this week.”

  “You’ll be at work the rest of the week,” René muttered.

  “Then I’ll see you at the gym,” Pascal replied. It would be easy to sit back down, but if he did that, René would take it as tacit approval to continue their previous line of conversation, something Pascal was determined to avoid.

  Benjamin started to say something else, but René shook his head. “Let him go. If he wants to be like that, we can’t stop him.”

  Pascal almost gave in at that. These were his best friends, the men who had supported him through Robert’s illness and death, who had stood with him at a rainy cemetery as he had said his last good-byes to the man he’d thought he would spend his life with. He hated to have discord between them, but he wasn’t ready for what René was suggesting. He didn’t know if he’d ever be ready for it, and hearing his friend harp on it only made it worse.

  “I’m sorry,” he said before turning toward the door.

  He passed the server on his way out. “Leaving already? It’s early, and I still haven’t convinced you to try a new drink!”

  “Another time,” Pascal said. “I’m not in the mood for company tonight.”

  “Too bad. I’ll have to wait for another time to draw you out.”

  That was almost enough to make Pascal consider changing bars, but even he had limits on how much he would let his past control his present. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  Not wanting any more conversation, he brushed past the waiter and headed home.

  TWO HOURS later Pascal closed the book with a grin on his face. Martine had outdone herself this time. He had grinned and gasped through the first hundred and fifty pages of the book, and if it weren’t well after midnight, he’d keep going. He couldn’t stop himself from flipping it back open to the dedication page.

  P,

  These books wouldn’t exist without you and all our wonderful dinners.

  M

  It might be Martine’s name on the cover of the books, but he’d listened to them discussing books over dinner more than once. They all contributed ideas, regardless of whose book it ended up being. It had taken time for him to get used to the idea that his ladies who came in once a month and always asked to sit as his table were authors. It had taken even more time to get used to the idea that they wrote gay romance, but all of that had been easy compared to the shock of realizing Martine had modeled the hero of a series after him. He was no James Bond, however much fun she had writing stories that cast him as an international superspy and playboy, but he’d very quickly realized she drew more from his suave appearance in the restaurant than anything else. Sure, he shared a first name and some physical characteristics with Pascal St-Laurent, but the resemblance ended there. He considered his ladies friends now, not just customers in the restaurant, but they never included anything personal about him in their books, the Pascal St-Laurent ones or any others they wrote. The character’s history or current lifestyle didn’t have anything in common with Pascal’s own.

  Once he’d realized that, he’d embraced the idea of them and their stories with élan, rooting for the fictional Pascal to find the bad guy, thwart the plot, rescue the guy (or occasionally the girl) in distress, sweep said guy or girl off their feet, and then make his way home to the man he really wanted but couldn’t have. He’d asked Martine once if Pascal would ever get his happy ending. She hadn’t answered, exactly, but the other three promised she’d never leave a hero alone permanently.

  Pascal thought that happy ending might be getting a little closer. Jack had finally divorced his shrew of a wife at the beginning of the current book, taking away the biggest impediment to a relationship with the fictional Pascal. Of course that didn’t make Jack gay or interested, but Pascal held to the promise Hélène, Camille, and Nicole had made and chose to believe it was the first step. He could wait for it to come to fruition as long as he knew it would happen eventually. At least one of them would be happy.

  He glanced at the clock again and opened the book back to where he’d left off reading. The bad guy had just kidnapped his namesake’s flirtation and was threatening to do cruel and unspeakable things to him if Pascal didn’t give himself up. It was a new twist, one Martine hadn’t used before, and Pascal didn’t know how the hero would react. The mission always came first, but he usual
ly did his best to minimize collateral damage, and if the bad guy wasn’t thwarted now, the collateral damage would be rather significant.

  He’d go to the gym between the lunch and dinner shifts instead of going in the morning.

  “SO WHO’D you bang in the book this time?” Benjamin asked as he spotted Pascal doing free weights at the gym four days later. “That is the book you were talking about the other night, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Pascal said when he finished his set. “And how many times do I have to tell you it isn’t me? He looks a little like me, and he has the same name, but that’s where the similarity ends.”

  “Okay, fine,” Benjamin said. “Who did he bang in the book this time? Girl or guy?”

  “Guy,” Pascal said. “I told you before Martine only puts a girl in every three or four books, just enough to make it clear he can swing both ways, even if he prefers guys.”

  “A good setup? Shower sex or maybe on the beach?” Benjamin asked as he and Pascal switched places on the bench.

  “You could just buy the book and read it yourself,” Pascal said. “I could even get Martine to sign it for you.”

  “Just answer the question,” Benjamin grunted between reps.

  “Fine,” Pascal muttered. “It was in the sauna at the hotel where the bad guy was supposed to be staying.”

  “Did this one survive the encounter?”

  “Yes, and they parted amicably enough. Pascal never makes any promises.”

  “Oh, are you talking about the new book?” René asked, joining them. “Are you any closer to getting the guy of your dreams?”

  Pascal sighed. “I told you, it isn’t me.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” René said. “So are you?”

  “Maybe a little,” Pascal said. “Jack finally divorced Charlotte, so that’s out of the way, at least. Now Pascal can think about approaching him instead of having to stay silent about it all the time. He hasn’t said anything to Jack yet, but the ink is barely dry on the divorce papers. It’ll probably be another two or three books before enough time has passed for him to say anything.”