Tiramisu After Midnight

by Mark David Campbell

  Chapter Forty-One

  “I HOPE you’re not still thinking about that guy you met in Italy,” Becky said. “Wait till you meet Hal. He’s perfect! You’ll love each other at first sight.” She had insisted so much that Owen finally agreed to meet her and her friend Hal for lunch.

  Becky always exaggerated and only spoke in superlatives—that’s what made her a good promoter—but this time her description was pretty accurate. Hal was tall and handsome, in his early forties. He had short blond hair, meticulously styled, with high cheekbones and a strong chin. Even his polo shirt and jeans were pressed, and not just an antiwrinkle cloth out of the dryer. He smelled of expensive cologne, like the stuff they spray at you when you walk past the perfume counter in the shopping mall. Owen couldn’t help but notice his teeth were unnaturally white, but that was a nice change from the tobacco-stained teeth of the guy he’d linked up with last week through Grindr.

  “Let’s all have the sushi platter,” Becky suggested as she threw back a cup of sake, then ordered without waiting for a response.

  The waiter arrived with the large platter of assorted rolls of raw fish, seaweed, and rice. While Owen and Becky picked up their chopsticks, Hal looked up at the waiter and said, “A fork please.”

  “Oh, try the chopsticks, honey,” Becky said. “It’s more authentic that way.”

  Hal shook his head. “No, they’re not sanitary.”

  The waiter came back with a fork.

  “Buon appetito,” Owen said, using a new phrase he’d learned in his Italian class. He picked up a piece of salmon sushi from the platter, dipped it into his little bowl of soya and wasabi, and popped it into his mouth. As he did so, he caught sight of Hal wiping the fork clean with his napkin. Hal then selected one of each of the different pieces of sushi from the platter and carefully placed them on his plate.

  Becky looked over at him. “Oh, don’t worry, it’s all you can eat, so we can order another platter if you’re still hungry.”

  “No, I prefer to eat off my own plate, thank you. My ex-boyfriend always used to eat french fries from my plate. It’s one of the reasons we broke up.” He stabbed a tuna roll with his fork and cautiously bit into it.

  “Ha! My ex used to lick chocolate syrup from my belly button.” Becky laughed. “I think it’s the main reason I kept him for so long.”

  Owen laughed along with her while Hal grimaced. For the rest of the lunch Becky orchestrated the conversation, asking questions and answering them. “Tell Owen about what you do at the law firm.”

  Hal swallowed. “Mostly contract law, but I focus on intellectual property and copyright.”

  “Copyright?” He had caught Owen’s attention. “You mean like books and music?”

  “Yes, sometimes, but most of it’s not so artsy—business designs and industrial processes, that sort of thing.”

  “Oh, tell Hal about the wonderful wedding you put together for Tim Dally and Neil Burman at the Landmark Theater.”

  Owen chewed and swallowed.

  “It was fabulous!” Becky continued. “When Tim and Neil finished their vows, twenty singers broke into that chorus from Cats, or was it that musical about Argentina!”

  “That must have cost a lot,” Hal said.

  Owen nodded.

  “It cost a fortune!” Becky said. “But it was worth every penny, don’t you think?”

  Owen blushed and chuckled. “It was lots of fun.”

  “Fun!” Becky poured herself another sake. “Everybody was talking about it for weeks.”

  Becky popped a piece of salmon sushi into her mouth and chewed. “Oh, tell Hal about your trip to Italy this summer.”

  “Italy?” Hal said.

  “Oh yes.” Owen grinned. “My friend Maggie and I did a two-week tour in July, you know the usual thing, Rome, Venice and Florence.” Owen paused and furrowed his brow. “Funny, the part I liked most was the three days we spent hanging out at the lake,” he said as if he were speaking to himself.

  “Well of course half of Hollywood has a place on Lake Como, and I guess after that car scene in the Bond movie it’s crawling with tourists,” Hal said and stabbed another piece of sushi, sniffed it, then carefully put it in his mouth.

  “No actually, we went to a tiny spot on Lago Maggiore.” Suddenly, hidden behind the smell of sushi, tempura, and Hal’s cologne, Owen thought he detected another scent—the smell of Enrico’s neck as he clung on to him on Angelina. He imagined his arms wrapped around Enrico’s waist and his thighs squeezing him tighter with every sway and swerve. Owen shivered and swallowed.

  “Oh!” Becky said, “Watch out for that wasabi. It’s really spicy. Look, honey, you’re even sweating.” She leaned forward and dabbed Owen’s forehead with her napkin.

  After lunch, as they stood outside the restaurant and said goodbye, at Becky’s suggestion, Hal and Owen exchanged phone numbers.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  ENRICO AND Fabrizio waited at the foot of the terrace steps as Grazia marched down the gravel drive as if she were on a military a mission, her best friend Maria trailing behind.

  “Ciao, Grazia, Maria.” Enrico kissed each of the women on their cheeks.

  “Ciao, Enrico,” Grazia said sweetly.

  “Ciao, Maria. Ciao, Grazia.” Fabrizio kissed Maria’s cheek, then leaned forward and kissed Grazia’s cheek, but she held her head firm.

  “Fabrizio,” she said with a flat tone.

  “You’ll stay for lunch, won’t you?” Fabrizio said. “I’ll tell Tata you’re here. She’s making a big pot of risotto al funghi.”

  “No, we can’t stay,” Grazia snapped.

  Maria, who was normally the talkative one, remained strangely silent.

  “How’s Luigi?” Fabrizio asked Maria.

  “Fine,” Maria mumbled. “He’s home.”

  Enrico could feel the tension in the air. Something was definitely wrong. He thought about the last time he had met Luigi after the bar closed and they had fooled around in the alleyway. Had someone seen them and said something to Maria? A drip of sweat ran down from Enrico’s armpit. But lots of guys fooled around, and nobody ever talked about it. Enrico bit his lip.

  “What’s going on? What’s wrong?” Fabrizio said.

  “Isn’t it obvious!” Grazia’s face was like stone.

  Maria dropped her head and looked to the ground.

  “No, what’s happened?” Fabrizio said.

  “I’m pregnant!” Grazia spit out the words.

  “No!” both boys said with their mouths hanging open as they stared at Grazia.

  “Yes, and guess who the father is?” Grazia glared at Fabrizio.

  Enrico looked at his brother, who turned white and staggered backward, reaching for the cement banister to support himself.

  “I thought you should know before everybody in the area finds out.” Then her voice changed from bitter to sweet. “I would never pressure you into something you didn’t want to do, but….” She brought her hand to her mouth and lightly bit her knuckle. “If you won’t take responsibility,” she sniffled, “I can always raise our baby on my own.”

  “No, no,” Fabrizio mumbled. “I can, I mean we can….”

  Enrico stepped in front of him and took Grazia in his arms. “Please, Grazia, this is a big shock. I know you must be very frightened.”

  “I’m ruined for marriage, you know!” she said as tears came streaming down her face.

  Enrico knew that wasn’t quite true, but now was hardly the time to discuss it. “It will be okay. Just give us a little time to digest all of this.”

  Maria, who had remained tight-lipped, suddenly spoke up. “Let’s go.” She took Grazia’s hand and led her back to her car parked outside the gate, leaving Enrico standing beside his brother.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  “SURE, DINNER at eight sounds great,” Owen said. “Okay, I’ll come by your place at seven for a glass of wine first.”

  Owen hung up the phone. Even if that sushi lunch with Bec
ky had been a little awkward, Hal had actually called him. Finally, he was doing things the proper, mature way. Sure, a hookup on Grindr was fast and easy, like the drive-through window at McDonald’s. But this was a real date with a complete sit-down meal. In fact, this would be his first real date ever.

  All the way up in the shiny glass-and-steel elevator Owen repeated to himself, “I’m not going to talk about Italy. I’m not going to talk about Italy or Enrico.” He felt the cramps in his stomach, and his hands were shaking. Just a little snort would take away all of that nervousness. The elevator stopped and the door slid open.

  Hal was standing in his open doorway waiting. He was wearing a beautifully tailored light blue button-down shirt and deep blue slacks. His blue eyes sparkled, and the front of his blond hair was gelled back in a tiny wave.

  “Good to see you,” Hal said and leaned forward.

  Owen leaned forward, too, thinking Hal was going to kiss him on the cheek but instead he kissed him on the lips. Owen flinched.

  “Oh, you’re a shy one,” Hal said with a smile as white as the steps to the courthouse. “I like that.”

  Owen felt his groin twinge. He hadn’t had sex for a couple of days, and he was horny. Maybe they would fool around before dinner?

  “Oh, you can leave your shoes here at the door,” Hal said as he gestured for Owen to come in.

  Owen slipped off his loafers and held out the bottle of Valpolicella he was carrying. “I bought this in Italy this summer. It’s from a small vineyard near Lake Garda in the north. Not too heavy with a fruity aftertaste.” Owen made a nervous laugh.

  “Ah, yes it’s quite common,” Hal said.

  “The truth is I don’t know anything about wine. I’m just repeating what Enrico told me.” Oh no, he thought as the words left his mouth, he was hardly in the apartment and was talking about Italy again.

  “Enrico?” Hal took the bottle and held it like one might hold a bottle of Coca-Cola or a Big Gulp.

  “Oh, he’s the owner of the B&B we stayed at in Italy.”

  “That’s good to know. For a moment I thought I might have some competition.” Hal had a smug look on his face.

  “No, no, he’s nobody, really.” Owen felt his face go flushed. “I’m totally unattached.” He held up both hands.

  “Well don’t just stand there.” Hal placed the bottle of Valpolicella on the edge of the bookshelf near the door. “Come in.” He turned and walked into the living room.

  Owen followed and surveyed the room. It was carpeted with wall-to-wall white pile. The walls were papered cream with a delicate gold paisley design, or was it off-white? Owen could never really tell the difference. The coffee table and side tables were smoked beige glass with gold metal legs. The sofa and easy chair were also cream, and the dining room table was covered with a matching tablecloth. A large portrait of a pickle-faced woman hung in a gold Baroque frame over the sofa. Against the picture window was an artificial white Christmas tree with gold decorations.

  “Wow, you’re certainly ready early,” Owen said.

  “What do you mean?” Hal said.

  “For Christmas, I mean.” Owen pointed to the tree.

  “Oh that,” Hal said as if he’d forgotten about the tinseled tree in front of his window. “My mother and I have a competition every year for who has the best Christmas decorations.” Hal touched his chest. “I always win, of course. And you? What do you do for Christmas?”

  “I don’t.” Owen frowned.

  “C’mon, everybody celebrates Christmas. Even the Jewish guy at the office gets dressed up as Santa every year.” Hal paused and furrowed his brow. “You’re not Jewish, are you?”

  “No, I’m what you might call a recovering Christian.” As Owen spoke he could almost smell the musty basement of his mother’s church where he had spent every Sunday of his childhood.

  “Surely a party organizer does Christmas,” Hal said.

  Owen looked at Hal. He couldn’t understand if Hal’s expression reflected disgust or bewilderment. “For my clients, but not for myself.”

  “We’ll just have to change all that, won’t we?” Hal turned toward a side table and poured two glasses of wine.

  Owen braced himself. He needed to be forthright and tell Hal about his problem with coke and his support group. But not right now. Maybe during dinner, after they had gotten to know each other a little better.

  Hal turned back and handed Owen a glass. “This is a chardonnay I purchased directly from the famous Larkmead Winery when I did a wine tour of the Napa Valley in September.” He held up the glass and looked at it as if he were reading a message floating inside. “I’m really into California and French wines, you know.” Hal looked back at Owen. “Have you been to California?” he said brightly.

  Owen shook his head. “Actually, other than a school trip to Niagara Falls and that trip to Italy in July, I’ve never been outside New York State.” Owen shrugged.

  “Well then, it should be fun educating you in some of the finer things of life,” Hal said.

  Owen glanced down at his feet. His sock had a hole in it.

  “Here.” Hal raised his glass. “To new horizons.” He clanked his glass against Owen’s.

  Owen smiled but felt his lip quiver. “To new horizons.” He lifted his glass to take a drink.

  “No, no, no.” Hal said. “First you must swirl the wine and observe its color in the light and the way it runs down the sides of the glass. Then you sniff it like this.”

  Owen attempted to mimic what Hal had just done. “Like this?”

  “More or less.” Hal took a sip of his wine and Owen followed.

  “I’m sure this is a much finer quality of wine than you were used to drinking in Italy.”

  Owen felt the muscles in the back of his neck tighten.

  “After all, they squish the grapes with their feet, don’t they?” Hal laughed.

  Owen stared into his wineglass.

  “Relax, I’m just joking,” Hal said.

  “Excuse me, I need to use your bathroom.”

  “My bathroom?” Hal looked uneasy.

  “Yes, whenever I get nervous, I have to pee,” Owen said.

  Hal furrowed his brow. “Can’t you wait until we get to the restaurant?”

  “No. I really have to go.” Owen tensed his butt and groin muscles.

  “Oh, yes, of course. It’s just down the corridor, first door to the left.”

  “Thanks,” Owen said through clamped teeth as he darted down the hall.

  “Use the blue guest towels, not the white ones,” Hal called after him. “And I would appreciate it if you sat to pee and be sure to flush and leave the seat down, please.”

  “What? Does he think I was born in a barn?” Owen mumbled to himself as he stood in front of the bowl, peed, and flushed. He went over to the sink. There on the wall was a gold-framed photo of that same ratty-faced old woman. Owen looked in the mirror. The vein on his temple was bulging out, and the corner of his eye was twitching. He washed his hands carefully so as not to splash any water around, wiped the sink dry with a piece of toilet paper, and tossed it into the bowl. Then he moved to lower the seat but stopped. With a sudden flick of his wet hands he sent a splatter of water flying onto the seat and floor. He grabbed the end of the white towel hanging on the rack, wiped his hands, and left. Owen walked down the hall directly to the door, where he bent over and slipped on his shoes.

  Hal was still in the living room pouring himself another glass of wine. When he heard Owen at the door he looked over and said, “What’s wrong? Where are you going?”

  Owen forced a smile. “I’m afraid your wine doesn’t agree with me.” Owen grabbed his bottle off the bookshelf and walked out the door, leaving Hal standing in the center of his living room holding a glass of fine California chardonnay.

  Owen was trembling as he stood in the elevator. The doors opened, and he darted out onto the street and pulled out his cell phone. Maggie had invited a guy from her cooking course over for di
nner that evening. It was her first real date and he couldn’t disturb her. He scrolled down the list. There was Big Eddy’s name and number.

  “You call me, you little motherfucker, the minute you have a craving, and I’ll be there day or night,” the mountain of a man had repeated to him last evening at group. Apart from the fact that he scared the living daylights out of him, Owen knew, despite his menacing appearance, Big Eddy was someone who cared and who he could count on. Owen pressed Dial.

  “Wha’chu want, motherfucker?” said a harsh voice on the other end of the line.

  “You said I could call anytime,” Owen stuttered.

  “Where are you now?”

  “Armory Square.”

  “Hang on! I’m in my car. I’ll be there in ten,” Big Eddy barked.

  Big Eddy came walking up and chest-bumped Owen, causing him to stagger backward, almost dropping his bottle of wine.

  “Well, if you brought that bottle for me you’ve just wasted your money. I’m an abstainer. Nothing stronger that coffee and tea.”

  “No, I brought it for my date, but it seems my taste in wine wasn’t up to his standards.”

  Big Eddy laughed. “C’mon, there’s a coffee shop just around the corner.”

  Owen hurried to keep step as Big Eddy marched off down West Fayette Street like he was on maneuvers in Iraq.

  “Hey, can we get a couple of coffees?” Big Eddy called to the tired-looking woman behind the bar as they walked over to a small table by the dingy window, pulled out the chairs, and sat down.

  “So, your date must have been a big flop, otherwise you wouldn’t have called me,” Eddy barked.

  “I wasn’t there for more than twenty minutes before he tried to train me like I was his French poodle. So I left.” Owen tried to control the jitter in his voice.

  Big Eddy bellowed out a laugh.

  “Hey, what’s that you got in your pocket?” Every muscle in Big Eddy’s face tensed as he pointed to the small bulge in Owen’s breast pocket. “That ain’t a chunk of rock, is it?”