A Kind of Romance (9 page)

“He’s slime. I get it. But why did I suddenly become your boyfriend?”

“Complacency is the key to failure. I want him to think he’s got nothing to worry about. If he thinks I have a new man in my life, he’ll assume I’ve moved on and no longer care that he fucked me over.”

“Fucked you over? Isn’t that a tad melodramatic? If you ask me… good riddance. Your ex sounds like a shit, and that asshole back at the bowling alley is even worse. Steer clear. Let them fumble through the mess they’ve made on their own and count yourself lucky you found out you were hanging around someone with questionable character.”

“Lucky?” I snorted. “‘Forgive and forget’ isn’t in my vocab. I can’t let it go that easy. I’m not sure what I’ll do, but I’ll think of something.”

He gave me a reproving look and shook his head. “You’ll only end up making yourself miserable, Zeke. Is this it?”

I glanced out the window as the car slowed on a quieter street in Greenwich Village near Washington Square. The evening was cool but pleasant enough to wait outside. It wouldn’t be necessary for us. Our private table upstairs would be ready and a bottle of Brunello would be open in anticipation of my arrival. Sometimes it was very satisfying enjoying the perks of having a few extra bucks in a city where the right amount of cash could buy the illusion of respect, if not the real thing.

“Yeah. Come on.”

“Wait. Am I underdressed?” His expressive eyes widened theatrically. I couldn’t tell if he was messing with me, though. The guy who wore brilliant hues to coordinate with his hair dye didn’t seem the type to sweat dressing for dinner.

“You suddenly care?” I asked as I guided him by the elbow toward the front entrance.

“You’re joking, I hope. I’m always cognizant of ambience. It’s important to know your environment if you want to stand out. In the right way, that is.”

“I doubt the fear of being a wallflower is an issue for you,” I observed sarcastically as I held the door open.

“Ah,
buonasera
, Signore Gulden! We’re happy to see you again. Your table is ready. Please allow Anna to escort you.”

“
Grazie
, Roberto,” I replied, smiling at the tiny young woman who stood at the maître d’s side.

I placed my hand on the small of Benny’s back, indicating he should move ahead of me. He stopped in his tracks and turned to Roberto, pinning the older man with an intense stare. He asked a question in rapid-fire Italian I had no hope of understanding. If it wasn’t a short phrase or something readily translated, I was lost in any language other than English. I watched in bemusement as the two men engaged in a brief chat about God knows what. Roberto’s eyes crinkled at the corners in obvious delight as he fielded what seemed like a stream of nonstop questions. Then he gestured for Benny to follow him, evidently deciding he would do the honors and escort us to our table himself. He led the way up the wide, sweeping staircase, chatting animatedly with Benny in a hushed tone in deference to the diners in this quieter section of the restaurant. I followed them, thinking this wasn’t how things usually worked.

Bandini was a converted old carriage house. It was known for its old-world charm and incredible wine selection. The clientele tended to be a well-heeled, after-work crowd or tourists who wanted the bragging rights of dining at a celebrity-chef hotspot. My “date” definitely stood out in his bright shirt and pink hair, I mused, taking the chair facing the window. I thanked Roberto again, then glanced across the small, white-linen-clothed table at Benny.

“What did you say to him?”

“I asked if they served gluten-free pasta.”

I felt my forehead crease in disbelief. “You’re gluten free?”

“Hell no. You know how you can tell if someone is gluten free?”

“How?”

“Don’t worry, they’ll tell you. Ha! No disrespect to those who have genuine issues, but let’s be real… the fad followers drive me nuts. The ones who can’t stop talking about the things they’ve cut from their lives, like their superior show of willpower means they’re special. Bor-ing!”

“And that’s what you and Roberto were discussing?” I asked dubiously.

“Of course not. I just wanted to hear him talk,” he said as he opened the leather-bound menu.

“Because….”

“To see if he really was Italian. They’re always hiring people with fake accents at this kind of place. I was curious. That’s all.” He shrugged and lifted the menu high enough to cover his face.

“And….” I lowered the menu with a single digit and cocked my head.

“He’s Italian.”

“I could have told you that. This is authentic cuisine. No bullshit.”

Benny scoffed. “The most authentic Italian is made at home. At least that’s what Nonna says. I’ll let you know what I think. Holy crap! Twenty-nine dollars for a plate of—”

“Never mind the price. I got this.”

“Good. I’ll treat you to a bagel or a slice of pizza next time.”

“I’ll pass on the bagel, but the pizza sounds good.”

We shared a smile until the sommelier paid a special visit to pour the wine himself and inquire if I found it to my liking. I caught Benny’s discreet eye roll before he turned his attention back to the menu.

“Well, is it decent?” he asked in an overly enthusiastic tone.

“If you’re talking about the wine… yes. It’s impeccable. Take a sip.”

Benny’s eyes twinkled as he lifted his glass. I could tell he wanted to tease me, but he gamely sipped the superior Brunello and let out a contented-sounding sigh.

“Mmm. Impeccable!” He drew out the word mischievously, but his expression indicated he was impressed. “I don’t think I’ve had anything but Chianti in too long.”

“This is my favorite. They have an incredible Amarone too. We can try it next.”

“Sounds good, but I’ll warn you… I’m a lush.”

“I’ll take my chances.” I smiled.

The dim ambient lighting and the single votive were very complementary to Benny’s skin, hair, and eyes. He seemed to glow with an innate cheerfulness I found extraordinarily refreshing.

“So tell me about your evil plan for righteous retribution.” He batted his eyelashes playfully as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.

“I don’t have one.” I raised my wineglass in a mock toast and added, “yet.”

“Hmm. Well, then, tell me about your ex. He must be special to incite this kind of angst.”

I chuckled when Benny cocked his head and lifted his eyebrows comically. “Taylor didn’t incite angst. It’s more the principle of the matter. You know?”

“No, I don’t. If a guy cheats on you, he’s a bad bet. Cut your losses and move on. The fact you can’t let him go must mean you were madly in love with him and you’re now in the thrall of a jealous rage you can’t control.”

I busted up laughing. “‘The thrall of a jealous rage.’ That’s a good one!”

Benny picked up his wineglass and eyed me carefully over the brim before taking a sip. The candlelight cast a rose-tinted hue over his bangs. It was beautiful in a strange way. A pretty trick of light and shadow. I glanced gratefully up at the waiter who stopped to take our appetizer order and recite an impressive list of specials.

“We’ll have the beet tartar and the salumi plate. Thank you.” I smiled at the waiter and set my menu at my elbow.

“Not so fast. I’ll have the caprese. Wait. No, I’ll have the arugula salad, please. Dressing on the side. Thank you.”

The waiter nodded and stepped away, leaving me with an irritated-looking dinner companion.

“What’d I do?”

“You ordered for me!”

“I ordered for the table. What’s the problem?”

“You don’t know me well enough to order for me. I hate beets! All caps. Never assume you can dress them up at a fancy restaurant with goat cheese, a sprig of mint, charge fifteen bucks, and fool me. I’ll still think they’re disgusting!”

“Now I know. Geez!” I exclaimed, throwing my hands in the air dramatically. I was inordinately pleased when Benny laughed at my antics. “Anything wrong with salumi?”

“No. I love all Italian meats. Prosciutto, bresaola, even mortadella.”

“I think there’s probably a dirty joke in there, but I’m going to leave it alone.”

Benny chuckled as he reached for his wineglass. “Good idea. Back to your ex and the married man from Texas. What’s the story?”

“It’s not a particularly exciting story. Taylor and I were together about a year, and no… I wasn’t madly in love with him. I cared about him, though. I thought we were good together. He’s a waiter at a bistro near my office. We would chat occasionally when I came by, but we didn’t actually get together until we ran into each other at a club in Chelsea. Too much alcohol may have been the catalyst, but we wound up in bed that night, and that’s how it began.”

“A drunken night spent screwing your brains out is always a promising beginning,” he agreed with a straight face.

I chuckled, feeling curiously charmed in spite of the fact he was making fun of me. “Maybe not.”

“Go on.”

“There isn’t much to tell. We were a normal couple who did normal couply things. Dinners, movies. We went to occasional family parties, and—well, I went to his. Actually, he didn’t attend many Gulden events. My dad wasn’t a fan, but that didn’t seem to bother him. We were happy. Or I thought we were.”

“What happened?”

“I really don’t know. One day everything felt different. Taylor was suddenly unavailable at weird hours. I didn’t think much of it at first, but after a while it became harder to ignore. I ignored my friends, my dad, and anyone else who tried to tell me he was a user with questionable integrity. My natural proclivity to contrariness makes it difficult for me to listen to reason at times. I didn’t want them to be right. Dad and Carter both hated the guy and—”

“Who’s Carter?”

“My best friend. He’s the one who told me he noticed Taylor with someone at the gym looking cozy. I was pissed. We got in a huge fight. Carter wouldn’t back down and… that’s not like him. He’s tenacious, but when we were together, he’d eventually give in. Hmm. Maybe that’s why we broke up.” I brushed at my nose absently and looked out the window. I hated tripping over the rugged parts down memory lane. I was surprised I’d gone there and now I’d lost my place.

“So Carter is an ex too?”

I nodded. “Yeah, but that’s ancient history. We’re best friends. I trust the guy with my life, but I—I hate being wrong. And I was definitely wrong. I started paying closer attention to Taylor’s work schedule, which was pretty damn challenging considering my own ridiculous schedule. There was a pattern forming with evenings he claimed to be doing extra work for an uptown caterer and was too tired to come over. The funny thing was we’d recently agreed to being monogamous. A big fuckin’ deal for me. I hadn’t attempted it since Carter. It seemed weird he wouldn’t just say, ‘Hell, this was harder than I thought. Let’s go back to the way it was before,’ you know?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been there. I suppose I’d be hurt.”

“I’m not hurt. But I
am
pissed.”

A server came to our table with our appetizers a moment later. When he left, I picked up my fork and continued my train of thought.

“Seeing Clay tonight was out of context. It felt like a sign. I don’t know what I’ll do, but I can’t leave it alone.”

Benny shook his head. “The sign is clearly saying move the fuck on. Do not stop, do not pass go, do not collect one hundred dollars.”

“If you’re quoting Monopoly, it’s two hundred dollars, babe.”

“Babe. I like that. Since we’re boyfriends it’s totally permissible too. What should I call you? Honey, sweetie, or—”

“Stop joking and eat your salad. Want some of this?” I waved my fork over the plate of Italian meats and breads in the middle.

“Sure. Here. Give me your plate. I’ll give you some salad too.”

I held up my plate without thinking and let him divvy a portion of his arugula. He gave me almost all the tomatoes.

“Don’t you like tomatoes?”

“I love them. Just not yellow ones. So what—?”

“Hang on. Yellow ones taste the same as red ones.”

“So they say. I don’t agree. They’re sour. Not my favorite.”

“That’s….” I tried to think of a good word but only came up with “weird.”

Benny chuckled good-naturedly. “I’m weird. Now you know!”

I gave a half laugh as I speared my salad. “You are. But in a good way. I like you, Ben. You say what you think and do as you please. Your only problem is you wear your heart on your sleeve. You’re too nice.”

“Sometimes that’s true. But what does that have to do with tomatoes?”

“I’m not talking about tomatoes, smartass. I’m talking about your move-on philosophy. It’s never gonna fly for me. Where I’m from, if someone fucks you over, you better address it.”

“You’re hopeless,” he sighed. “What are you going to do? Have an affair with his wife?”

I shivered dramatically and gave him a dirty look. “That’s disgusting. I’m a gold-star gay. I’ve never been with a woman, and I’ll happily keep it that way. How ’bout you?”

Benny barked a quick laugh. “Hell no! I’m surprised
you
haven’t, though. You seem more the type to have experimented in his youth.”

“I wasn’t. I knew I liked boys pretty early. When I was thirteen, I had a monster crush on my brother Abe’s friend, Eddy. Fuck, he was hot. He was tall, athletic, blond, blue-eyed. I developed a serious stutter whenever he came around. I think my mom noticed it first. She’d give me this look that was part indulgent, part ‘watch out for your father.’”

“George mentioned he had a hard time accepting you were gay at first.”

“Is that why you said you thought he’d be thrilled if I turned out to be straight earlier?”

“No. I’m just good at reading people. George strikes me as a guy who was pretty macho as a younger man. I doubt he knew many gays or cared about gay rights until he realized he had a personal reason to do so. It’s a testament to his character that he’s become such a staunch supporter of the community. I had no idea until I started working at Bowery that he sends extra food to the LGBT shelters in—”

“Yeah, he’s a fucking prince,” I hissed in a low, menacing tone before I could stop myself. My blood was on a sudden, slow simmer. I knew from experience it might herald a rage or at the very least, a massive headache. But it wasn’t like me to speak disparagingly of my dad. Ever. Family loyalty was ingrained in me. George might drive me crazy, but he was still my father.