He had two more days and nights until The Crystal Sea returned to take him away from here, from a place he loved. From the man he loved.
“This will be over so soon, and I don’t want it to be.”
“Let’s enjoy what we have now,” Stefano said, “and not spoil it by worrying about tomorrow or the next day.”
But Jack couldn’t help it. He was a worrier. It had taken him ten years to find his way back here. The prospect of another ten was unthinkable. They would both be forty then, and another decade would have been wasted. Stefano couldn’t leave Portofino, and Jack would never ask him to. What the hell could he do about it?
“I can’t be here all the time,” Jack said. “I have to travel all over for work.”
Stefano squeezed him tight. “I understand this.”
“I don’t think you do. What I’m trying to say is, I’ll be back very soon. I have a few commitments to honour in America and England, and then I’ll start work on my next album. I’m going to write that album here, Stefano. Right here. I’m going to rent this house for the whole summer and work on my songs.”
Stefano turned to look at him, his eyes shining bright in the dark evening.
Jack grinned. The idea had only occurred to him in that moment, and it was already absolute. His manager would have a shit fit. The record company would expect him to work in New York like he always did. He didn’t care.
“What inspiration,” he said. “The sea, the village, you, your guitar. This will be the best thing I’ve ever done. I just know it.”
They were kissing again, bodies yielding to each other.
And after the summer? Who knew? He didn’t want to think beyond this night.
But he was certain Stefano and Portofino were part of his life now, and that’s how it would stay.
No more wasted years.
What a Coincidence
Matthew Bright
On their first date, Winston and Travis talked about time travel.
It was because of the card game, a daft suggestion by Winston’s roommate as Winston was heading out of the door. Perfect first date material, the Wolfman claimed. Breaks the ice. Pick a card, ask the question, and voila: instant chemistry. And if anyone knew about chemistry, the Wolfman did.
Winston was first to arrive, and in a nervous spiral, pocketed and unpocketed the box of cards four times before finally deciding that he might as well let the geek flag fly from the offset and damn the consequences. It was unusually decisive for him, but downing a full glass of wine helped.
“Would you like the rest of the bottle, sir?” asked the waiter.
Winston mentally tallied up his bank account. Twenty-five dollars—possibly—and five dollars in change jangling in his pocket. He definitely could not afford a full bottle of wine. “Yes, please,” he said.
The sir made him a bit uncomfortable. In fact, now that he had settled a little, so did the entire restaurant. This place was several steps above the three-for-ten-dollar pizza joint on the corner Winston regularly frequented. For a start, there was a waiter, for seconds, there was that sir. Winston was quite certain he wasn’t old or mature enough to be a “sir” yet. And for thirds, he was fairly certain he recognised one of the customers in the private booth from television.
His discomfort must have shown. When he glanced toward the older couple at the next table—one short, one almost comically tall, and both with salt-and-pepper beards—the shorter of the two caught his eye and smiled reassuringly. “First date?” the man inquired. “You have the look. Sort of hunted, but horny.”
Winston smiled politely. “That obvious, is it?” He indicated his clothes, which felt hideously shabby, though they were the smartest he had. “He chose the restaurant, as I’m sure you can guess.”
“Not your kind of place?”
“I’m a drama student. I can barely afford to walk here, let alone eat here. But’s he a scientist. I think.”
The short one laughed. “You poor baby. Have you met this mystery man yet, or is this a blind date?”
“I’ve seen photographs.”
“Ahhhh.” The short one winked knowingly. “From an app, is he?”
“No! Worse. From my mother. You know how they are. Find out someone they know is gay, and it’s all, ‘You should meet my son!’”
“My commiserations—” The man broke off, looking over Winston’s shoulder. “Actually, I take that back.” He looked away and theatrically hid his face behind a slice of garlic bread.
“Hello. Sorry I’m late!”
Winston leapt up. Travis had appeared at the door without Winston noticing and was removing his coat and scarf. The pictures didn’t do him justice. Astonishingly attractive, he was tall, blond, and boyish without seeming fey. Striding purposefully across the room, he put Winston in mind of a lion prowling majestically on the savannah, and then he smiled as he drew near, fussing prissily with his scarf and gloves, and Winston downgraded the comparison. A stuffed lion perhaps. Still a bit wild, but more huggable.
Suddenly, bankruptcy didn’t seem all that bad.
An awkward handshake-hug-no-handshake-no-hug ensued, punctuated by the arrival of the waiter. “Your bottle, sir.”
Winston froze. “Ah, yes. Sorry. That’s for, er, both of us, actually. Not just me. Sorry, presumptuous…”
Travis took the bottle and inspected the label. “Good choice,” he said. “That’ll be fine.”
Winston sank miserably into his chair. “I hope you like red.”
“I do, actually. It’s my favourite.” Travis smiled, and Winston perked up.
“Good.”
“Yes.”
Neither of them could find anything much to say after that, and they took an excruciating minute to stare in opposite directions around the restaurant. Winston noticed a lot of male-male couples dining, which was no surprise given they were in the fashionably gay quarter of town, but they made him feel self-conscious. Judging by their clothes, wristwatches, and choice of drinks, most of the clientele were considerably more wealthy and sophisticated.
Travis, on the other hand, fitted right in.
“It’s nice to meet you at last,” said Winston, once he had closely inspected the specials boards, the curtain rails, and the light fittings. It had begun to rain outside, and he conceded that as an early escape would involve getting soaked, he might as well make some effort. “My mother has told me a lot about you.”
“Wonderful!” said Travis brightly. A little too brightly, perhaps, or was Travis imagining it? “She’s said a great deal about you, too.”
“That,” said Winston, “is almost literally the last thing a boy wants to hear on a date.”
“Sorry!” Travis looked awkwardly at his menu.
They really were marvellous light fittings, on second inspection. Winston took a deep breath. “Okay, look, so, I’m not very good at small talk and date stuff, as my mother probably told you, so…”
“She did mention you were socially awkward. She said it was odd because you were great onstage, but terrible with real—”
“Yes, thank you. Remind me to thank her deeply and fully for that later. Anyway, the Wolfman gave me this card game ice-breaker type thing. Maybe…Do you fancy…?”
Travis looked slightly aghast, as if Winston had in fact stripped naked and climbed up on the table. Winston bit his lip. Of course, playing cards in a restaurant like this, it was stupid.
“The Wolfman?”
Winston shrugged. “Sorry, yes. Should’ve mentioned. He’s my roommate.”
“Ah, of course. Is he hairy?”
“Not particularly.”
“Oh. Well, sure. Let’s put this in the Wolfman’s hands. Fire away.”
Winston unpacked the cards, shuffled them. “Sorry, I know this is really cheesy.” He carefully watched Travis, who just shrugged and smiled faintly. He looked noncommittal, but at least he hadn’t laughed the cards off out of hand.
“You know,” Travis said, “I was reading a journa
l a couple of months ago, and there was an article about a set of questions you can ask someone, and by answering them, it makes them fall in love with you. Or something. It’s a bit more complicated than that. You have to look them directly in the eyes all the way through, I think.”
Winston flipped over the first card and leaned forward, fixing his gaze directly on Travis’s. “First question: ‘If you could only eat pizza forever, or pie, which would you choose?’”
Travis thought for a second. “I don’t think that’s one of the ‘fall in love’ questions.”
He’s smirking, Winston thought. He thinks this is ridiculous. I wonder if his mother hounded him to go on a date, too? The pity date with the socially awkward, possibly alcoholic, drama student who brought a card game to a swanky restaurant. “It’d work on me,” Winston said. “I really like pizza.”
From the next table, Winston heard someone slapping their own forehead, hard. Winston glanced over at the short man who had spoken to him earlier, but the man was sitting, smiling innocently back at him.
“Well, I’d have to say pie. For reasons I’m sure are obvious,” said Travis.
Winston had absolutely no idea what the obvious reasons were but didn’t dare ask in case “idiot” was added to the list of words to describe Travis’s awful date.
“Another card?”
Travis shrugged. “If you like.”
Winston translated this as please god, no more, but he’d committed to the course now and found he couldn’t really stop. “Okay, ‘If you could time travel to anywhere and any time, where and when would you choose?’”
Travis delicately folded his napkin and spread it on his knee. “Well…”
“Excuse me, are you gentlemen ready to order?” The waiter hovered stork-like at Travis’s elbow.
“Well, I am,” Winston said. He had checked out the menu earlier and carefully worked out what he could afford to buy. “I’ll have the seafood special, please,” he said, handing the closed menu to the waiter in what he fondly imagined was the confident, familiar manner of a man who ate in these kinds of restaurant all the time.
“Oh, I’m sorry sir. I’m afraid the seafood special is from the lunch menu. We’re serving the dinner menu now. Perhaps I gave you the wrong one by accident?”
Winston very carefully did not look at Travis across the table. He plucked the menu gingerly from the waiter’s hands. “I’ll just take that back, thank you.”
He opened the menu and looked it up and down. The prices were different. Still, if he walked home, rather than got the bus… “Er—I’ll just have the plaice. Thank you.”
Travis peered at him over his own menu. “No starter? The pâté here is incredible.”
Winston bit his lip and shook his head. He had never eaten pâté, and suspected he would not like it. “I’m fine.”
“Okay, then. Well, me neither. I’ll have the same as my friend.”
Friend. Ouch.
The waiter removed their menus and faded away.
“Go on then,” said Winston. The menu mix-up had stung him, and he blamed Travis for some reason. Sixty minutes—ninety, tops—of strained conversation, and then they could go their separate ways: Travis in a taxi to some penthouse where he would probably eat pâté, and Winston on foot back to his student pit where he would eat an entire pack of digestive biscuits and call his mother to tell her never to ever set him up on a date again. Sixty minutes, and the least Travis could do was play the game. “If you could time travel anywhere…”
Travis ran his hand through his hair thoughtfully. Winston wilted a little, feeling faintly guilty for his rancour. Travis really was very attractive. Whilst this was quite arousing, it also made Winston hideously aware of his own shortcomings: short, thickening round the middle, in an outfit that probably cost less than the price of Travis’s scarf.
“I think I’d go to—”
He was cut off by a loud ching-ching-ching ringing through the restaurant. At the next table, the man who had talked to Winston earlier had climbed up on his chair and was holding a glass aloft. “Ladies, gentlemen, and undecided, if I could have your attention for one moment, please!”
His tall companion buried his face in his hands. “Oh god,” he mumbled through his fingers. “He is such a drama queen.”
“A momentous occasion! Today is the thirtieth anniversary of the day that I met this wonderful man right here. Yes, him. The one that’s about to hide under the table. The love of my life, without whom I would be nothing. Ladies and gentlemen, to my husband!”
His companion peeked through his fingers, looking half-embarrassed, half-pleased. Around the restaurant, people clapped and raised their glasses.
“And furthermore—”
“Nope.” His companion hauled him down and pinned him to his seat. “Quite enough, thank you.” He kissed him firmly on the lips. “I love you, but shh.”
Beneath the sound of applause, Winston saw him mouth, “I love you, too.”
And then, spectacle over, everyone returned to their own meals and their own conversations. Once even the gawkiest had looked away, Winston leaned over and extended a hand. “Congratulations to you both,” he said. “Thirty years is good going.”
The man beamed at him. “Tell me about it,” he said. “But thank you.”
“I’m Winston. This is Travis.”
“Lovely to meet the pair of you,” said the man, and then to Travis, “We were just talking about you before you came in. His mother’s a big fan of your homosexuality. This is, er, Trevor. And I’m W…Winifred.”
His husband flinched. “Winifred?”
“Yes,” he said. “Winifred.”
Travis shook the man’s hand. “That’s an unusual name. I didn’t know it was a, er…”
“A man’s name? Yes. It is.”
That seemed to settle things.
“So,” Winifred continued without pause, “how’s your first date going? Oh, don’t look so surprised, Travis. I’m an old queen, I’ve seen things. Of course you’re on a first date. I can smell the fear. Also, Winston told me before you arrived.”
Travis remained open-mouthed, looking sidelong at Winston, clearly unsure how to respond to his short, erratic man. Winston, for his part, was starting to feel unexpectedly at home. The restaurant might be alien territory, but people like Winifred were in every nook and cranny of the drama school.
“Well, you know, our mothers colluded and now we’re here. It’s how all the great romances started.”
This seemed to please Winifred. “Oh, delightful! Young love is so nice to see, y’know, in the wild. Trevor and I’s first date was dis-assss-trous. He thought I was uncouth. Uncouth and possibly an alcoholic, and I thought he was stuck-up and boring. Still, all worked out, didn’t it?”
Winston chanced a glance at Travis, who caught his eye. He thought he caught a glimpse of that smirk again, only this time it was directed at Winston. Conspiratorial, almost. Perhaps there was hope yet.
Winifred prodded Trevor. “Didn’t it?”
With an air of rehearsal, Trevor nodded. “Never happy, dear.”
Winifred cupped an ear. “I’m sorry?”
“Never happier, dear.”
“Quite right. Ooh, what’s this?” Winifred plucked the card from the table. “‘If you could time travel to anywhere and any time, where and when would you choose?’”
Trevor choked into his glass.
“It’s an ice-breaker thing,” Winston muttered, suddenly acutely embarrassed. “The Wolfman…”
“It’s an interesting question. How about you, husband mine? Where would you go?” Winifred fixed Trevor with that half-smile, half-cocked-eyebrow look of someone sharing a private joke.
“You know that answer well,” Trevor said. “I would go back to our very first date—”
“Aww, how sweet!”
“—and warn myself away.” Trevor ducked a light slap. “No, of course not. But that’s where I’d go. I’d like to see myself looking y
oung and thin again, not to mention this old thing.” He jerked a thumb at Winifred.
“Me, I’d go back to Shakespeare’s London and watch A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Globe,” said Winston.
“What a coincidence!” Winifred said. “Me too! Though you’d have a job, actually. The Globe wasn’t built when A Midsummer Night’s Dream was written.”
Trevor laid a hand on his husband’s arm. “Winifred, darling, I think we should leave these two to their date, don’t you?”
“Of course. Sorry, sorry! No one’s ever going to get laid with some old queen banging on at them, are they? Don’t let me get in the way.”
Forced back into each other’s orbits, Winston and Travis were struck for a second time with a complete absence of anything to say.
“Another card?”
“Yes,” said Travis, a little too quickly.
“‘What would you like to be when you grow up?’”
They pondered.
“I’d settle for ‘reasonably functional adult’,” said Winston.
Travis bit his lip and reached for his wine.
“Sorry,” Travis said. “I mean, go on. What about you?”
“Well, I guess I am a grown-up.”
Beneath the tablecloth, Travis screwed the napkin into a tight knot around his hand. Above the level of the table, he smiled politely. “Of course. Yes. But are you doing what you want to do now? You’re a scientist, right?”
“I’m a mathematician.”
“That’s…that’s exciting, too.”
From the next table, Winston heard the slap to the forehead again.
“No, I mean, it is, right?” said Winston. “I mean, if that’s what you’ve always wanted to be?”
“It is, actually. Numbers are the answer to everything. If you understand mathematics, you understand the universe. Honestly, it’s far less dull that it sounds.” Clearly, Winston didn’t look too convinced, because he carried on. “Okay, so say you had a pizza…”
“I really don’t like pizza that much, if that’s the impression I gave you, and oh my god, I’ve just got what you meant about pie now.”
Men in Love: M/M Romance Page 8
