by Chris Scully
Table of Contents
Blurb
Epigraph
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
About the Author
By Chris Scully
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Copyright
The Mature Man’s Guide to Surviving Change
By Chris Scully
In the sunny playground of Palm Springs, growing up was something confirmed bachelor and bad-boy chef Joel avoided at all costs—until a close friend’s death made him reevaluate his priorities. Ever since, he’s been dedicated to helping his widowed friend Perry get back on his feet by teaching him to cook and providing a shoulder to cry on. But when Perry announces that he’s ready to start dating again and then begins receiving gifts from an anonymous secret Santa, Joel is forced to confront the feelings he’s suppressed for so long.
As Joel struggles with jealousy and guilt amid the holiday season, he must decide if he’s ready to grow up and reach for what he’s always wanted but never thought he could have.
If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading.
—Lao-tzu
One
When change arrives, it may unfortunately come as a shock.
“I THINK I’m ready to start dating again.”
Perry’s bombshell almost made me drop the tray of crispy samosas I was pulling from the oven. I blamed my misstep on the hot baking sheet and pretended I hadn’t heard him. Not a stretch given the music and the laughter that rippled like a warm breeze across Simon’s million-dollar backyard to the outdoor kitchen.
“How would you feel about that, Joel?” Perry probed, raising his voice a little. The mirrored glass of his aviators caught the afternoon sun and blinded me with the reflection.
I blinked. “About what?”
“About me dating again.”
“Looking good, Perry,” someone called from the pool. “Come on in—the water’s warm.” My heart sunk as Perry waved his hand in acknowledgment. He was looking good, and I wasn’t the only one noticing how the turquoise polo shirt set off his thick silver-threaded hair and the camel-colored chinos hugged his ass. He’d regained most of the weight he’d lost while Dale was sick, and since he’d started jogging again, he glowed with good health.
“So,” he said, returning to our conversation.
Head down, I arranged the golden triangles onto the serving platter next to the potato croquetas and dusted them with a pinch of finely chopped coriander. “Why ask me? You don’t need my permission.”
Silence. “Well, because you were Dale’s friend first. It might be weird for you.”
What I wouldn’t have given to strip off my clothes, hop in the crowded spa with a drink in my hand, and avoid this conversation. But it was my first time working one of Simon’s parties in a professional capacity, and I wanted to make a good impression. After a year of struggling, my personal chef business was finally taking off, and Simon’s recommendation would take it even further. I just wished he hadn’t elected to go with the menu of hors d’oeuvres and small plates. It was far more complicated than a sit-down dinner, and I was already tired and stressed.
“Here.” I thrust the plate of appetizers into the hands of a tanned waiter who materialized at my side, barely glancing at the Santa hat and matching red bikini he wore.
“Do you think they’re cold, dressed like that?” Perry murmured in my ear. “Or should I say undressed? It’s barely seventy degrees today.”
“Who? The waitstaff? Judging by the size of that guy’s package, he’s not cold in the least.”
Perry chuckled, and the sound warmed my insides. That laugh had been all too infrequent these last few years, and it was a relief to hear it again.
“Only the best for Simon,” he quipped. I couldn’t help noticing how Perry’s head swiveled after the waiter’s attractive form, although the aviator glasses hid his exact thoughts from my view.
I scowled. “I’ve got to check on my tuna.” Without waiting for a response, I strode into the house. Except Simon’s sleek minimalist kitchen provided no escape from prying eyes. The entire back wall of the home retracted to take advantage of the glorious Palm Springs weather, and there was nowhere I could hide. So I shoved my head in the Sub-Zero on the pretense of checking my marinade and welcomed the cool air on my face.
Perry wanted to date again. Of course he would. Dale had been gone for almost two years now. The fact that a man as perfect as Perry hadn’t already moved on or been snapped up was a miracle. And a testament to the depth of their relationship. I’d known this day would come, that eventually I’d have to see him with someone who wasn’t Dale. Who wasn’t me. Still….
“Joel!”
I jumped and spun around at the heavy hand on my ass. “Hey.”
Josh’s sun-kissed face broke into a lecherous grin as he groped my buttcheek. “Yep, still got it, babe.”
“Uh, thanks. I think. But haven’t you got better things to do than manhandle the help?”
“Can’t help it, I’ve missed this big ass. It’s so squeezable. And I see you haven’t lost your fashion sense either.” He flipped a horrified gaze to my brilliant yellow Bermuda shorts and Hawaiian shirt covered in surfing Santas.
Josh was a server at the Parker Palm Springs, and he and I had had a brief fling over a year ago before I quit to go into business for myself. In hindsight I don’t know what I’d been thinking. I liked them younger, but he was half my age. And had a thing for leather daddies, although I’d repeatedly told him that riding a Harley and owning a pair of chaps did not automatically qualify me for the designation.
He’d also been looking for someone assertive, someone more mature and financially stable, who could “take care of him.” That definitely wasn’t me. Outside the kitchen and my passion for motorcycles, I was notoriously indecisive and passive. Needless to say we didn’t last.
“I need a favor.” He leaned across the wide granite island. “Who’s the silver fox? And can you introduce us?”
I chuckled. “Can you narrow it down a bit? In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a lot of silver around here.” I touched the two patches that had recently sprouted in my beard as proof. Fortunately they were relatively symmetrical. Perry said it gave me gravitas.
“Not like this guy. You were talking to him earlier.”
Perry. My gaze immediately sought him out in the backyard where he was deep in conversation with Gregg Olsen, an old friend of Dale’s. Of course Perry was aging gracefully, the hair at his temples darker and then lightening gradually to a perfect shade of silver on top. “Oh. You mean Perry.”
“Why haven’t I seen him at any of Simon’s parties before?”
“He lost his husband a couple of years ago. It’s taken him awhile to get back on his feet.”
“Oh. Then he needs someone to take his mind off things. To show him how to have fun again.”
Yeah, me. Isn’t that what I’ve been doing since Dale took sick? I glared at Josh. “He’s not for you.”
“How would you know?”
“Because I know him. I knew them.” I heaved a sigh. “They were fucking perfect together. I didn’t even know love like that existed. When Dale died, it nearly destroyed Perry.” I hated to think of those days. Losing Dale had been hard enough—he’d only been sixty-five—but seeing the upbeat and cheerful Perry dwindle down to nothing, an empty shell who wouldn’t move from their bed, had been worse. Fear had been a permanent rock in my belly. Every time I’d stopped by to check on him, I’d been half-afraid that I’d find him gone too.
“Per
ry is not into playing daddy,” I warned. “He’s not into casual hookups. He’s old-fashioned, romantic. Classy.”
“The opposite of you, you mean.”
I sighed again. “Yeah, the opposite.”
“Just because all you wanted from me was sex, doesn’t mean that’s all I have to give.”
Ouch.
Josh grabbed an asparagus spear off the platter on the counter and wandered back out to the party. He stopped to greet Simon, who was on his way in, with a kiss. In my experience, there weren’t many men who could pull off a caftan, but Simon was one of them. A former actor, he’d earned his flamboyance and wore it proudly. The red silk billowed behind him as he glided into the kitchen, the fabric so thin it revealed the darker circles of his nipples and the outline of his penis.
“Darling, when I asked you to cook, I never meant for you to hide away in my kitchen. Even if you do look like you escaped from Margaritaville.” Simon tossed his long thick mane of snow-white hair. It was impossible to guess his age—he’d had so many facelifts that his eyebrows were raised in a state of permanent surprise—but I’d once seen a playbill with his name on it from 1965, so I knew he had to be somewhere in his seventies.
“This is what a personal chef does, Simon,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. “But we’re going to be short—you told me twenty-five and there’s a lot more than twenty-five people out there.”
“Can I help it if everyone wants to attend my party? Besides, you know the young ones never eat.” He twirled. “Do you like my ensemble? I’m channeling Father Christmas.”
Simon’s mid-December birthday bash was the unofficial start to the queer holiday season in Palm Springs, a glorious mash-up of retro glamour, festive spirit, and tacky vulgarity, as evidenced by the mix of Christmas carols, show tunes, and dance music the DJ was playing outside. The guest list was filled with old friends and padded by a revolving horde of nubile young men in tiny Christmas-themed bathing suits. Before the night was over, the pool heater would be turned up and many of said bathing suits would be discarded. Simon’s parties were legendary in the valley.
“I expect they’ll be lining up to sit on your knee by the end of the night,” I said.
“Oh, I’m counting on it. I’ve already picked out the naughty ones.”
I laughed.
“There was a time I wouldn’t have been able to tear you away from that debauchery out there,” Simon remarked. “You used to be such a wild man. I still remember that time you and—”
“I know. Which is exactly why I’m better off in here. Too much drama. I think I’ve slept with half those pretty boys out there. I’m a respectable entrepreneur now.”
Dale’s death had made me take a good, long look at my frantic, hard-partying life. It had forced me to realize how empty it was. There was nothing remotely attractive about a man on the far side of fifty desperately clinging to his youth. So in a move I still couldn’t quite believe, I’d quit my job as the executive chef for the Parker Palm Springs resort and ventured out on my own. I set the hours and the pace, and the change gave me more time to keep an eye on Perry who had offered up his graphic design services free of charge.
“Our Perry is very popular today. It’s so good to see him out, isn’t it?” Simon murmured. We both turned to gaze outside where Perry was talking to someone new. I stiffened as a suddenly shirtless Josh joined them. Perry faltered for a second, no doubt blinded by the sheer perfection of Josh’s chiseled chest.
I’m ready to date again.
“Yeah,” I grunted.
“I was so worried about him after Dale died. He’s not like you or I. He needs a man in his life.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“He didn’t have to. I have eyes. You of all people know that Dale wouldn’t want him to be alone.”
“I’m sure he won’t be for long,” I grumbled. Then there would be no more popping by to see that he was okay, no more thrice-weekly dinners and drinking Pinot on the patio, or getting caught up on the latest movies on Netflix. My stomach hollowed.
“Ooo-hoo, do I detect a little jealousy there?” Simon crowed.
“I think you need to adjust your hearing aid.”
“Bitch. My hearing is perfect. You’re not fooling anyone, darling. You’d best make your move before he’s snapped up. Of course you’d have to give up these young playmates of yours and try a mature relationship for once.”
“There will be no moves, Simon.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s my best friend’s husband.”
“Was, Joel. Was.”
“That doesn’t change anything.”
“Do you know how many lovers I’ve lost over the years? Far more than I care to dwell on. But that has never stopped me from wanting to love again, or be loved again.”
“Simon,” I huffed, “I don’t mean to be an ass since you’re paying me and all, but stop trying to make this a thing. Even if I wanted things to change, I wouldn’t be at the top of Perry’s list. Look at me: I’m not cultured, I’ve never even left Cali; I didn’t go to college, barely squeaked through culinary school. I’m self-employed, with an empty 401(k). Not to mention I’m at least fifty pounds over my ideal weight, and I don’t even care.” I held out my left arm, where an olive branch tattoo snaked up to disappear beneath my shirtsleeve. “Hell, back when I was shaving my head, people mistook me for a bouncer all the time. I am nothing like Dale.”
“Of course you’re not. Yes, you’re a little… rough and scruffy, and your wardrobe is atrocious, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything. Everyone already thinks you’re a couple.”
“They do? Why? Who said that?”
Simon waved off my questions with a flick of his wrist. “And I never trust a skinny chef.”
I snorted. “Perry may think he’s ready to date again, but he’s not.”
“Are you sure it’s not you who’s not ready?”
“Seriously Simon, if you don’t get out of my kitchen, I swear I’ll walk, and you can take care of this tuna yourself.”
“Actually, it’s my kitchen, but since you asked so nicely, I will leave you alone to deal with your meat.”
“It’s fish, not meat. And come to think of it, I’m surprised you didn’t want sausages on the menu. Big, juicy foot-long—”
“Now that would be gauche, dear boy. And while I may be vulgar, I am never gauche.” Simon winked at me before strolling out onto the patio with a dramatic flourish of fabric. “Alright, my lovelies,” he cried. “It’s time for Father Christmas to spread some cheer.”
“As long as that’s all you’re spreading,” someone taunted.
“Sure you’re not Father Time?” one of the younger guests shot back.
Simon waggled his finger at the hecklers. “Lumps of coal for you gentlemen. And I use the term lightly. Now, who wants to sit on Santa’s lap and tell me if they’ve been naughty or nice?”
SIMON’S PARTY went off without a hitch—they always did—especially once the sun went down and the music went up. The bartenders were busy; cocktails flowed freely, hands roamed even more freely, and no one but me noticed that the tuna was slightly overcooked.
And if one more man told Perry how good he looked, I was going to hit something.
With the last of the dinner apps done and the waitstaff taking care of serving and cleanup, I could begin to relax. All that remained was Simon’s birthday cake.
I glared at Perry who was standing beneath the glow of the patio lanterns, one of Simon’s half-naked boys hanging off his neck. Popular was right. Then Perry turned his head, giving me a glimpse of his tight face. I knew that look.
I pushed through the crowd toward him.
“Help me with dessert?” I wrapped an arm around his shoulders and drew him away from his companion. At only five foot seven, Perry fit perfectly under my arm.
“Thank you,” he whispered, letting me steer him into the kitchen. “My hero, once again.”
&nbs
p; “You looked like you needed rescuing.”
He took a stool at the island. “Yeah, I think I bit off more than I can chew. Should have eased back into the scene. And the holidays make it even rougher.”
“Yeah. That’s why I like to keep busy.”
“You have been. I’ve hardly seen you lately.”
“’Tis the season. Christmas is one of my busiest times of the year.”
“Mine too.” Perry was a freelance graphic designer. With Dale’s pension and benefits, he didn’t need the income, but he had retained a small clientele more to keep his sanity than anything else.
“Yes, but while you’re winding down now that everyone’s got their Christmas cards and calendars sorted out, I’m only getting started.” I handed him a bowl of strawberries. “Can you clean these for me while I whip the cream?”
“Whip the cream? I hope you know the safe word.”
I laughed. It was nice to work side by side again. We normally cooked together at his place three times a week, but since Thanksgiving, my uptick in bookings had meant a reduction in my time with Perry. No wonder I was so irritable. In the beginning, cooking together had been the only way I was certain he was eating, but then it became something I looked forward to. A lot. I’d have been there every night if I didn’t think I’d wear out my welcome.
“I’ll probably head out soon, before things get too wild,” Perry said. “All this hedonism makes me feel old. And lonely.”
“Snap your fingers and you won’t be lonely for long. Take your pick.” I swung an arm at the smorgasbord of flesh on display on the patio.
“It is a bit of a buffet, isn’t it? I never understood where Simon finds all these men.”
“They find him. Money has that effect on people.”
He was quiet for a bit. Then, “Your friend Josh asked for my phone number. He wants to ‘have a drink sometime.’ Does that constitute a date these days?”
Fucking hell, I was going to kill him. “If he asked for your number, you can expect some dick pics shortly.”
