by Rick R. Reed
He was only a little nervous as he found a parking space in LLA’s lot and went in its front doors for the first time since his volunteer orientation meeting.
The warehouse was tight, with a couple of long tables for assembling the bags of food that included a week’s worth of staples. It had high ceilings and rows of shelving, upon which sat stacked boxes and boxes of almost every sort of packaged food imaginable. Two huge industrial-sized refrigerators held stuff like dairy, produce, and meat. The kitchen was busy too, with the voices of the cooks carrying over into the warehouse workspace, and the smell of onions, peppers, and garlic made Thad’s mouth water. This week Thad would be helping two other volunteers fill bags with red beans, rice, lettuce, milk, juice, two different kinds of canned vegetables, ground turkey, and for fun, bags of M&M’s. A local bakery had also donated loaves of fresh sourdough bread.
The guy who ran the warehouse, a fellow ’mo in cool glasses and a fondness for horror movies and professional wrestlers, kept the energy level high by blasting out eighties disco music. Thad’s coworkers, alas, were not the handsome gay men he had hoped for, but a University of Washington coed, who was doing volunteer service for class credit in one of her social work classes, and a young man, very quiet, who was volunteering as part of court-ordered community service. The guy barely looked up from his work, and if he weren’t crafted from flesh, muscle, and bone, would have most likely been invisible.
The work quickly became assembly line, in spite of the efforts of Madonna, Donna Summer, Prince, Morris Day and the Time, and Anita Ward to create a party-like atmosphere. And even though Thad mentally patted himself on the back for doing this charitable work, he found himself glancing down surreptitiously at his watch to see how much longer until the end of his shift. The passage of time had slowed to a crawl, because every time he looked down at the analog face, he expected to see a half hour or forty-five minutes, but the watch only mocked him with a movement of five minutes.
Perhaps he radiated his boredom, because eventually a very cute guy came back into the warehouse from the front and appeared to be looking for someone. Thad took him in: blond hair, blue eyes, a few wisps of hair on his chin, baggy jeans, and a black T-shirt with the word “Buzzkill” emblazoned in white block letters across the front. A tattooed tribal ring poked out from the bottom of one of his sleeves.
He was anything but a buzzkill. Perhaps the T-shirt should read “Welcome Distraction.” The guy wasn’t Thad’s usual type. He normally liked beefy, bearded men, but Thad wouldn’t travel that road. Actually, it was a relief to be drawn to someone nothing like Sam, someone whose looks were Nordic rather than Mediterranean, with a lanky build instead of burly. It also helped that the man was a decade or two younger than Sam, and thus closer to Thad’s own age.
So Thad caught the guy’s gaze and gave him a smile. He had no idea what the blond was doing in the warehouse or if he would even smile back. But he not only rewarded Thad with a brilliant—and sexy—lopsided grin in return, the guy marched right up to him, extending his hand.
“Hi, I’m Jared.”
Thad took his hand and probably shook it for longer than he should have, staring into Jared’s eyes and grinning stupidly. Fortunately his flirtatious handshake seemed welcome.
“Thad. Are you here to volunteer?” There was more than a little hope in how Thad phrased his question.
“Nah. I already volunteer at the front desk. But they sent me back here to see if we could grab one of you guys to come up front and help out making some calls to local stores and restaurants for donations.” Jared stepped back and made a little twirling motion with his finger. “Turn around.”
Puzzled, Thad did as he was told.
Jared smiled. “You’ll do. You wanna come up and give us a hand for an hour or two? I already cleared it with Steve.” Steve was the warehouse manager.
“Sure. I could use a break from this.” As they were heading toward the front office area of the charity, Thad had to ask, “Why did you need me to turn around for you? How does that have anything to do with making phone calls?”
“It doesn’t. That was for my personal benefit.” Jared laughed, and Thad smiled because the laugh was so warm.
For the first time in a month, Thad’s thoughts drifted far from Sam.
Jared took Thad to an empty cubicle and told him to sit down. He leaned over Thad as he arranged a ream of papers for him. Thad couldn’t help but notice how this maneuver placed Jared’s crotch in close proximity to his face. Behave! I’m doing charity work here! But Jared’s nearness made it very hard to concentrate on what the guy said. If he wanted to do this job right, though—and really help—he needed to listen. He forced himself to stare at a poster on the opposite wall about free HIV testing at a local bathhouse.
“So this is our list of restaurants, grocery stores, and produce markets. We get a lot of donations, but with requests coming in all the time, we always need more. I went through and highlighted the ones we haven’t dealt with before for you to call.”
Thad looked up into Jared’s blue eyes and tried to smile but already could feel a little animal gnawing inside his stomach. “So it’s sort of like telemarketing?” Thad was not the most outgoing person in the world, which was probably why he had been drawn to a career like writing, which gave him a measure of solitude in his working life.
Jared laughed. “I suppose you could say that. But here’s the thing. Most of these people won’t mind hearing from you, unlike they would if someone was calling about their Discover Card or whatever. You know, it’s a good thing you’re doing. Even if they don’t deep down want to be bothered, they’ll at least be nice to you.”
“That’s reassuring.” Thad looked down at the list. “What do I say?”
“Easy.” Jared pulled a sheet from a drawer. “You have a script. Now, I am not saying repeat it word for word. In fact, I advise against it—you don’t want to sound canned. But just kind of stick to the general idea: who you are, who LLA is, what you’re calling about, and how they can help. It’s not too tough. After you get someone to volunteer goods, just jot it down in the log here.” Jared flipped open a red notebook already partially filled with donors. “Okay? You ready?”
Thad nodded, looking over the script.
“I’ll be right over at the front desk if you need anything.”
“How about if I need a martini?”
Jared snorted. “That could be arranged. But after the shift.” He winked at Thad and walked away.
Thad felt, suddenly, a renewed sense of confidence and very little of the trepidation he’d experienced as Jared laid out his task for him. He placed his finger on the first highlighted number on the list and began dialing.
Jared was right. Most of the people were very receptive to his call. And after Thad made a few calls, several of them successful, he no longer felt nervous about what he was doing.
Until he got to the third page of numbers.
The notation and number stopped him cold. His heart began to thud uncomfortably in his chest. His palms slicked with sweat. Oh no. I can’t call this one. Thad looked and saw there were only a few highlighted numbers remaining. Maybe he could just skip over this one and come back to it. Maybe he would run out of time before he got to it.
That’s no way to think. That’s not what I came here to do. I came to help. Now just put my fingers on the phone buttons and call. I may not even have to talk to him.
Thad sighed and looked at the name on the list again. The Blue Moon Café. What if Sam answered?
So what if he does? I spent one night with him a month ago. Do I really think he’ll remember my voice? I could use any name. Like, I don’t know, Jared Holmes. Thad chuckled at the thought. Besides, Sam may not even answer the phone. Just get it over with.
Thad picked up the receiver and cradled it between his ear and shoulder as he punched in the numbers. Be busy. Give me a machine. Ring endlessly. Prayers ran through his mind even as he knew, with a certainty as sure as h
e knew his hair was red and he grew up in Chicago, that Sam would pick up the phone.
“Blue Moon Café. Sam speaking. What can I do for you today?”
You can take back that stupid message you left taped to my computer. You can call me again. You can say you’re sorry. You can fuck me again within an inch of my life. Thad clamped a hand to his mouth to stifle a completely inappropriate giggle. He sucked in some air and thought he’d better start talking before Sam hung up.
The words that issued forth weren’t drawn from the script in front of him. They were a complete surprise… even to Thad. His heart ached too much, and this sudden, surprise encounter with Sam caught him completely off guard.
“Sam? It’s Thad. You remember me? We met about a month ago at your restaurant.” Thad lowered his voice and hunched into the phone so his voice would not carry over the cubicle wall. “You came back to my place and spent the night.”
The words poured out without thought, guided by hunger and the pent-up pain of rejection. Thad knew he had no business having this conversation—at least not right now—but he couldn’t help himself. He realized he should have had the courage to make this call long ago.
Sam didn’t say anything for a while, long enough for Thad to fear he would hang up. But finally he spoke, and his voice came out even, deep, and mellow. “Of course I remember you.” He paused again, and Thad imagined he was considering what he would say next. “There has not been a day when I haven’t thought about you… and about our night together.”
“Really?” Thad assumed all along that Sam had simply used him and brushed him off. To ease the hurt, he had worked this past month to convince himself that Sam had simply wanted a piece of ass and Thad had been convenient that September night.
“Yes, really.” Sam sighed, and in the exhalation, Thad could hear—really hear—the man’s regret. And it made Thad smile, but not in a vicious way. A little flame of hope brightened in his belly. “I have picked up the phone a dozen times to call you, to say I was sorry. But then things happened….” Sam paused for a long time, long enough for Thad to wonder what kinds of things; there was such dark import attached to Sam’s simple phrase. “And I never got around to it. Or I thought better of dragging you into my crazy life.”
“I wish you’d let me decide if I want to be dragged or not.”
Sam blew out some air. “You’re right.”
“I am?”
Sam laughed. “Yes. You are a grown man… and a very fine one too. I should have let you make up your own mind about me. Is it too late? Can we try once more?”
“Are you playing with me?”
“No, but I’d like to be.”
Thad closed his eyes, leaned back, and laughed out loud. He had gone from fear to joy in five minutes or less. But there was still a small voice in him that remained cautious, the voice of self-protection, maybe. Thad scratched his head and debated whether he should ask the question on his mind, but in the end decided this was one of those now or never moments. If he didn’t ask, he would always wonder, and that would cloud any hope he had for a future with Sam. “Um, this all sounds great. And the answer to ‘can we try again’ is, of course, yes. But Sam, I have to wonder, why the change of heart? You were pretty emphatic in your little note that you didn’t think this was the right time.”
“I know, I know. And to be honest with you, it’s still not the right time. But sometimes, in matters of the heart, it doesn’t always make sense to be so practical. Maybe if I hadn’t heard your voice again, I could have, how do you say it over here, stuck to my guns? But when I heard you, I knew I had to see you again.”
“But why?”
“Because you are a gorgeous and caring man. Because we fit together. What do you mean, why?” Sam sniffed as if outraged.
Thad laughed. He felt a bit light-headed. This was the last thing he’d expected as a result of volunteering today. He leaned back, drinking in the warm, deep timbre of Sam’s voice as he spoke.
“I don’t know, Thad. My life… it is complicated. There are dark sides and light sides. You don’t know. You just don’t know.”
Thad paused for a minute, trying to figure out what the man was talking about. In the end, his hope and eagerness to see Sam again made him gloss over his last statement, attributing it, quite reasonably, to the demands and problems everyone experienced, like not finding enough hours in the day to do everything one wanted. That’s what Sam meant, wasn’t it? “Oh, I think I know.”
Sam chuckled, but there was little mirth in it. “I doubt that you do.” He took a breath, and Thad could feel Sam’s mood changing through the phone. His tone was suddenly lighter. “But, to use another American expression, we cross those bridges when we come to them, yes?”
“Sounds like a good plan.”
They stopped talking for a few seconds, and then Sam said, “I want you to meet mia famiglia. They all come here with me from Sicily. If we are going to make a good start, especially with Italians, you have to start with the family. We are closed tomorrow night, but I want you to come for dinner. Can you?”
Thad thought, for approximately three seconds, about being coy and saying something like “Let me check my calendar” but knew he would be kidding no one but himself. “Yes! Of course! What time?”
“Eight o’clock… at the restaurant.”
“Can I bring anything?”
“Like what? Food? You’re asking me if you can bring food?” Sam laughed so heartily and so loud, Thad held the receiver away from his ear.
“Right.”
“See you tomorrow, then?”
“I can’t wait.”
Thad hung up. It wasn’t until several minutes later that he realized he had never asked Sam for a donation from the café. Oh well, he would be seeing him the next night. The next night! He could ask him then.
Thad drifted off, imagining the evening, painting himself in a favorable and irresistible light, seeing Sam’s Italian family’s face glowing with approval and instant acceptance. He would charm them, make them laugh, make them see how he could easily be one of them. Slow down there, skipper. I’m getting a tad ahead of myself here. He also let his mind wander to a time after the plates had been cleared and thought that, even if he didn’t bring anything, he could certainly provide a tasty dessert for Sam.
“You look like you’re about a thousand miles away. What are you thinking about?”
Thad nearly lurched out of his seat at the sound of the voice behind him. He turned to see Jared looking down at him and grinning. Thad felt his face redden, almost as if he had been caught with his hand down his pants, which would have been the next step if his thoughts about dessert and Sam had continued in the same vein. “Nothing!”
Jared laughed. “If you say so. Anyway, we’re finishing up here. I just wanted to see if you were still up for that drink. There’s a place right around the corner that makes a wicked dirty martini.”
Thad felt at a loss. Here was Jared, looking all hopeful, as he had every reason to be. But now Thad was simply not that interested in the admittedly good-looking blond. Maybe he should have been. But the phone call to Sam erased all thoughts of other men right out of his head.
But he couldn’t just renege on the offer. He had led Jared to think earlier that he was interested. He would have to, you should pardon the expression, set Jared straight. And having a drink with him would give Thad the chance to wax rhapsodic on Sam and to let Jared know there was no hope for them to be anything more than friends. But one could never have too many of those, Thad told himself. So even though he really just wanted to go home and fantasize more about tomorrow night’s prospects, he forced himself to smile and say, “That sounds perfect.”
The bar, a tiny, dark place called Mangroves, was literally right around the corner. It had a few tables—maybe a half-dozen—scattered around the room. A massive old-school oak bar with a line of padded black-and-chrome stools in front of it sat along one wall. A large mirror hung behind the bar, and above
that a row of tiny white lights that seemed to provide the only illumination for the room.
A happy-hour crowd had pretty well filled the place to capacity, and the sounds of dozens of conversations, with a Beyoncé sound track, made the place seem lively. Jared grabbed Thad’s arm as they entered and leaned close to talk in his ear. “See that table over there in the corner? Those guys are just getting ready to leave. Why don’t you grab it before it’s gone? I’ll go get the first round.”
And Jared was off toward the bar, leaving Thad to claim the table. He sat down just before two older heavyset gentlemen were about to take it. “Sorry!” he said brightly.
“Ah… the younger and the prettier,” one of the older men sighed. “They get everything.” The pair wandered away.
Thad settled in and thought about what he was doing. Was he leading Jared on?
No, I am not being a tease or leading anyone on. This is just a drink with a friend. He has no reason to expect anything more.
Thad knew his thinking was all very reasonable until he factored in the electricity that had passed between him and Jared earlier that day.
Ah well, life is never easy or uncomplicated, is it?
Thad didn’t have the chance to ruminate further on things since Jared, with a smile and a flourish, set a paper napkin and a chilled martini glass before him. Thad was pleased to see the liquid inside was cloudy—very dirty—and the bar had added the luxury of bleu-cheese-stuffed olives.
“This looks perfect. Thank you.” Thad took a tiny sip, since the glass was almost filled to overflowing, and set it back down, letting the ice-cold vodka trickle down his throat.
Jared sat across from him with a mug of draft beer. “You can have it, buddy. I’ll stick with my Mac & Jack’s.” He raised his mug to Thad and gave him a smile that had probably broken a thousand hearts, lopsided and undeniably sexy.
The two talked for the better part of an hour, with Thad trying, without much luck, to insert Sam into the conversation. He couldn’t really say he had a boyfriend because that was not technically quite true, at least not yet, and the opportunities for saying something about how excited he was to be getting together with this new, hot guy just seemed rude. However, he did ignore the pressure of Jared’s foot on his calf until Jared gave up and moved it away. Thad was also careful not to let his gaze linger too long.
