Marie Sexton - Coda 04 - Strawberries for Dessert (2 page)

“Listen, Dad, it’s good that you called. I’ll be out of town again next week. I have tickets to a show. I wondered if you wanted them.” I had season tickets to the theater, but I rarely got to use them anymore.

“I don’t know, Jon,” he said reluctantly. He didn’t share my love of the theater. He preferred baseball. And that pretty much summed up our entire relationship. “What show is it?”

“
West Side Story
.”

 

“No, thanks, Jon—”

 

8

“You might like it.”
“I already know how it ends. The Capulets and the Romulans—” “The Capulets are
Romeo and Juliet
—”
“Same story, different music.”

“—and I assure you there are absolutely no Romulans in either story.”

 

“More’s the pity, too. That probably would have livened things up a bit.”

I made an effort to not sigh. I hadn’t really expected him to be interested in the show, but I hated to see the tickets go to waste. Maybe I could give them to my neighbor, Julia.

My phone started to buzz in my hand, signaling another incoming call. “Dad, I have to go.”

 

“Okay, Jon. Good luck on your date.”

 

I knew it took a certain amount of effort for him to say that, so I said, “Thanks, Dad,” before hanging up and answering the new call.

It was my boss again.
“Jonathan, did you get that Clifton Inn issue resolved?”

“Not exactly. Their records were a mess. They were using two different systems to—”

 

“I think you’re going to need to fly out there on Monday.” “I leave for Vegas on Monday,” I said, although I felt that he should have known that already. “Franklin Suites. Remember?” He sighed. “You may have to cut that short. The Clifton should be your top priority right now.”

Deep breath. Count to five. “I suppose I could leave Vegas on Wednesday and fly directly to LA. Assuming that Franklin has their books in order—”

“Let me look into it and call you back.”

 

I hung up the phone and checked my watch. It was exactly six o’clock. Cole wasn’t late yet, but he could very well have arrived while 9

I was on the phone. I looked around but didn’t see anybody that seemed to be looking for anybody else. I wondered how I would identify him when he arrived.

I shouldn’t have worried.

There are more stereotypes about gay men than I could even name—bears, twinks, leather-clad bikers, fairies. The list went on and on. Most of the men I knew didn’t fit neatly into any of those categories. But when Cole walked into the restaurant, the word that jumped into my head was “flaming.” He was about five nine, shorter than me by two or three inches. His body was thin, his features slightly feminine. His hair was almost the same color as mine, light brown, well cut, but with a long fall of bangs that tended to hang in his eyes. His clothes were obviously expensive but slightly eccentric—black, tightfitting pants that might have been suede, a close-fitting lavender sweater that was probably silk, and a light scarf around his neck.

I’ve never been into effeminate men, but I certainly couldn’t leave now. And he didn’t necessarily need to be my type if it was only one night.

He walked up to the podium where the hostess was taking names, and she seemed to recognize him. She immediately smiled at him, and it looked genuine. He tilted his head, causing his bangs to fall over his eyes. He smiled at her flirtatiously, and I thought maybe he was even batting his eyes at her. I couldn’t hear what he said, but she laughed and then pointed my way.

There was a slight sway to his walk when he came over. “I think you’re waiting for me.”

“I think so too.” I held my hand out and he shook it. I expected his grip to be weak and limp, but that wasn’t the case. His hands were slim and incredibly soft, but his handshake was firm. “I’m Jonathan Kechter.”

He tilted his head again, but to the right this time, so that his bangs fell away from his eyes, and smiled at me in a way that made me think he found me incredibly amusing. “Cole Fenton,” he said, in a somewhat sarcastic tone. He cocked his head back toward the hostess, 10

who was waiting with menus in her hand. “Come on, then. Our table’s ready.”

 

“They told me it would take a while,” I said in surprise. He was already walking away, and he glanced at me over his shoulder, smiling. “Darling, I
never
have to wait.”

They seated us, and Cole handed his menu back to the hostess without even opening it. He leaned back in his chair and regarded me with his head tipped to the right so his hair was out of his eyes. His skin was almost a caramel color—a shade too dark to be called white, but too light to be called anything else. I couldn’t see his eyes well enough in the low light to determine their color—I thought brown—but I could see his expression. It was mischievous, almost mocking, as if he took nothing seriously, and it annoyed me for no good reason. “So, you’re Zach’s ex.”

It wasn’t even a question, and I tried not to act too surprised. Zach and I had been apart for more than ten years now, and I had spent those years thinking of him as the one that got away. I hadn’t ever stopped loving him. A chance encounter in Vegas had made me remember all the ways we had been good together… and all the ways we hadn’t. “Jared told you that?”

“Not exactly. But it wasn’t hard to figure out, darling.” I bit back my irritation at both him and Jared. “My name is Jonathan.”

 

“I
know
. You’ve told me four times now.”

I debated briefly whether there was any point in asking him outright to stop calling me “darling.” I had a feeling he would only laugh. “And you’re a friend of Jared and Matt? Do you know Zach and Angelo too?” I asked.

“I’m sure Matt would object to being classified as such. The only one of them I
really
know is Jared. I’ve known him for nearly twelve years now. We’ve been friends since college. The others I’ve only met once or twice.”

The waiter arrived then. “Hello, Mr. Fenton. It’s good to see you again. I assume you don’t need to see the wine list?”

 

11

“It’s wonderful to be back, Henry. You’re correct, of course, I don’t need the list. I’m not sure quite yet what we’ll be drinking though.” He looked over at me. “Do you know what you’re ordering, darling?”

I swallowed the urge to tell him my name again and said, “I was thinking the lamb chops.”

 

He smiled. “Excellent.” Then to the waiter, “I’ll have the same. And a bottle of the Tempranillo Reserva, please.”

 

“Of course.”

A Spanish red—Zach’s favorite. What were the chances Cole would pick that? Not many restaurants even carried Spanish wines. Zach was always bemoaning the fact when we ate out.

“Did I say something wrong?” Cole asked suddenly, interrupting my thoughts. I realized I had been staring absently at the tablecloth, and shook myself out of it.

“No. Just the wine you chose—it reminded me of Zach.” “Then you shouldn’t have ordered the lamb, darling.” I had no idea how to respond to that.

The waiter brought the wine. As he was pouring it, my phone rang. It seemed impossibly loud in the hushed dining room, and everybody around us turned to look at me. I felt myself blush. I pulled my phone out and hit the button to turn off the audible ring. I looked over at Cole and found him looking slightly amused.

“I’m sorry,” I said, pointing to it. “I really have to—” “Be my guest,” he said, and I answered.
“This is Jonathan.”
“Jonathan, it’s Sarah!”
“Sarah, can I call you back?”

“Jon, we put in all of the charges for the spa products we sell, but when we try to enter the state tax—”

 

“You don’t do that until checkout.” I was certain I had already told her that, but it was a common mistake.

 

12

 

She sighed in frustration. “I’ll never figure this out!”

“Sarah, you’ll be fine. It’s Friday night. Go home and get some rest. You’ll do better if you wait until morning and look at it with fresh eyes.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she said, but I knew she wouldn’t take my advice.

 

“I’m a little busy right now, Sarah. Can I call you first thing in the morning?”

She sighed again. “Sure. All right. Good night.”
I hung up and said to Cole, “I’m really sorry about that.” He smiled. “Duty calls?”
“Always. I’m sure you know how it is.”
His smile got bigger. “Not really.”
“What do you do?”

His haircut was perfect. If he cocked his head to the right, his bangs fell to the side, allowing him to make eye contact. But if he looked down, or cocked his head the other way, as he did now, his hair fell in front of his eyes, making it harder to read his expression. “Such a predictable question, darling. What do
you
do?”

“I’m the Senior Liaison Account Director for GuestLine Software, Incorporated.”

 

His mouth twitched into a smile. “That’s
quite
the title. What exactly
is
GuestLine Software, Incorporated?”

“We write software for large hotels and resorts. Reservations, spa services and room charges, payroll and staffing. We put it all in one place so that—”

“I don’t own a hotel, darling. You don’t have to sell it to me. Is that why you were in Vegas when you ran into Jared?”

 

“Yes. We have three new clients there.”

 

“And what exactly does a
Senior Liaison Account Director
do?”

 

13

There was a mocking tone to his voice, and I tried not to be annoyed. It had taken a great deal of time and hard work to achieve that position in such a short time. “I help our new clients transfer the bookkeeping portion of their records into the GuestLine software.”

“I see,” he said. “How long have you worked for them?” “Eight years.”

“Eight years. Tell me, darling”—and now he tipped his head again so I could see his eyes— “are you
happy
being the Senior Liaison Account Director?”

“Well, ultimately I would like to travel less. Another year or two, and I should be able to move up and start doing more of the in-house accounting. Another few years after that, and—”

“Is there a position you’re aiming for, or do you just climb and climb until you can’t climb anymore?”

 

The question seemed odd to me. Of course promotion was always the goal. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean, will there ever be a point where you’re happy with what you have and you can sit back and relax?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer him, but it ended up not mattering because my phone rang. Again. And once again, everybody at the surrounding tables looked my way. I answered as quickly as possible.

“This is Jonathan.”

 

“Jonathan!” It was Marcus Barry again. “I’ve arranged for Lyle to cover Franklin Suites. I want you on a plane to LA Sunday evening.” “Of course.”

 

“Let’s get this one wrapped up before they drive us both to drink.”

I couldn’t have agreed more. “I’m sorry,” I said to Cole as I hung up. “It’s a new client, and—” He waved his hand at me dismissively, although it was obvious he found it less amusing the second time. “I don’t think he’ll call again,” I said as our food arrived. I turned my phone to vibrate and put it on the table next to me. We ate in silence for 14

a while. The wine really did complement the lamb chops perfectly. I broke the silence by asking again, “What do you do?”

He looked up from his plate, tilting his head so that his hair fell into his eyes again. I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or amused by my question. “Is it so important?”

“No,” I said, although I found it odd that he seemed unwilling to answer. “I was just curious.”

 

“You’re curious, because somehow your image of who I am is all tied up with my profession?”

“Well…” Wasn’t it? “Yes.”
“What if I told you that I was a hustler?”

“I—umm—” I realized I was stammering and stopped short. Was he serious? Had Jared given my number to a hustler? I had no idea how I was supposed to react. “I would tell you that I’m not paying you for anything tonight,” I finally said. On the other hand, it would mean that I could quit trying to make conversation with him. “Are you?” I asked.

“Of course not,” he said, grinning at me, and I figured it was a good sign that I was relieved to hear it. “But the thought that I might be changed everything, didn’t it?” I had no idea what I was supposed to say. I felt like I was caught in some strange game of twenty questions. He laughed at me, and I tried not to be irritated by it. “You’re still
dying
to know, aren’t you?” he asked as he flipped his hair out of his eyes.

Of course I was. His reluctance to answer only made me more curious. “Yes. It’s a simple question: what do you do?”

 

He seemed to consider for a moment, drinking his wine, and then he said, “I travel.”

 

“You
travel
?” I asked. I was racking my brain in an effort to figure out what in the world he meant. “I don’t understand.”

“Is it a word you’re not familiar with?” he asked, and I could see in his eyes how amusing he found it all. I felt like he had been quietly laughing at me ever since we had introduced ourselves, and for better or worse, it was starting to annoy me.
15

“Of course I’m familiar with it,” I said, “but don’t see how you can make a career out of it.”

“I never said that I did, darling.”
“But you just said—”
“I like to cook, too.”
“So, you’re a chef?”

“I guess you could say that. But I don’t do that for a living either, if that’s what you mean.”

“
Of course
that’s what I mean!” I said, and even I was surprised by how angry I sounded. Several of the people at nearby tables had turned to look at me, and I felt myself blushing again. I closed my eyes and made myself count to five.

“Have I upset you somehow, darling?”
“No!” I said, calmer now, although I was still irritated at him.

“So quick to apologize about the little things,” he said lightly. I finally opened my eyes again and found that he was still smiling at me, although his expression was far less mocking than it had been earlier. “How long were you and Zach together?”

The sudden change of subject completely caught me off-guard. I was still confused and annoyed over the last conversation. But the look he was giving me now was open and honest, rather than condescending, and I answered, “Three years.”