Marie Sexton - Coda 04 - Strawberries for Dessert (9 page)

There was a moment of silence, and I wished I could kick Cole under the table, but he was sitting next to me, and it would have been anything but subtle. “Oh,” my father said with obvious embarrassment. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be!” Cole said, smiling, and I could see that my dad was more confused than ever.

 

“Let’s talk about something else, shall we?”

But I wasn’t ready to let it go. I didn’t want my dad thinking that Cole was a bum, or that he was somehow living off of me. “He’s rich,” I blurted out.

They both turned to look at me again. This time, the annoyance on Cole’s face was obvious. Even my father must have seen it, because he asked suddenly, as if coming to my rescue, “Cole, are you from Phoenix originally?”

Cole kept his withering gaze on me for another fraction of a second before turning back to my dad. By the time his eyes landed on my father, the anger was gone from his face, and he was smiling again. 70

“No, although it’s hard to say exactly where I
am
from, to tell you the truth. We spent a few months each year at my father’s house in Orange County—”

“You have a house in Orange County, too?” I asked in surprise.

He cut me a quick sideways look. “Not anymore.” Then back to my father: “When I was very young, my family spent a great deal of time in New York, because it was the house my mother liked best. But by the time I was eight or so, she and my father had split, and my father didn’t like to go there. So we went to Paris instead. We were usually there at least six months out of the year. My father had extended family in the area. They’re still there, I suppose, although I haven’t heard from any of them since he died.”

“I’m sorry—” my dad started to say, but Cole waved him off before he even finished the words.

 

“It’s nothing, honey. It was twenty years ago.”

 

“That’s why you like to travel so much,” I said with sudden understanding, and he shrugged.

“Traveling’s not something I
like
to do so much as something I’m
compelled
to do. I’ve tried staying put, love, but it never works out. It makes me restless and cranky and terribly unpleasant.”

“You must have been pretty young when your dad died,” my dad said.

 

“Dad,” I said, “I’m sure he doesn’t want to talk about that.” But Cole ignored me and answered.

“I was fifteen. My mother is still alive, so technically she had custody until I was eighteen, even though I never saw her. It’s as predictable as the movie of the week, really. A couple of housekeepers kept me in line until I went off to college.” He smiled, in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood. “My mother’s single too, love, and lord knows she spends enough money on surgery, I imagine she’s still gorgeous to boot. Maybe I should set you up sometime.”

My dad looked a little alarmed. “Cole,” I said, “no.”

 

He rolled his eyes at me. “Honey, lighten up. It was a joke.” 71

 

My mother was dead, and he was joking about setting my dad up on a blind date? “It’s inappropriate.”

“Jon,” my dad said, “it’s fine.”
“See?” Cole said to me. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” I said. “He doesn’t want to date anyone!”

“How do you know, love? Have you ever asked him? George, are you dating anyone?”

“Cole!”
“
What
, love? It was a simple question.”
“My mother is
dead
!”

“Good lord, honey, I know! But it didn’t happen yesterday, did it? Am I supposed to assume he’s going to live a life of chastity for the rest of his days?”

“Boys—” my dad started to say, but Cole cut him off. “George, I’m so sorry if I offended you. Truly. That was never my intent.”

“You didn’t—”
“That’s not the point!” I said.

“Jon,” my dad said, “the truth is, I’ve been thinking about trying one of those dating services—”

 

“Oh my God! Can we talk about something else please?” I snapped.

Cole gave me a venomous glare, and my dad sighed heavily before coming to my rescue yet again by asking, “So, how did the two of you meet?”

Cole and I eyed each other for a second. There was a challenge blazing in his hazel eyes. He was definitely not happy with me. I turned back to my father. “We were set up by a mutual friend.”

“Yes,” Cole said sarcastically. “Lord knows
what
Jared was thinking.”

 

72

 

“Nobody’s making you stay,” I snapped in irritation.

He smiled at me. “Good point, lovey.” He turned to my father. “It was lovely seeing you again, George, and I hope you had a wonderful birthday. I know it’s terribly improper to rush out like this, but I’m sure you and Jonny would like some time alone anyway.” He stood up from the table without even looking at me.

“You’re leaving?” I asked in surprise. I hadn’t really meant for him to go.

 

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

My dad once again looked uncomfortable, and I was trying not to be pissed. I followed him into the living room where he put on his shoes and grabbed his keys. “I can’t believe you’re just walking out on dinner,” I hissed at him, hoping my father couldn’t hear. “It’s rude.”

“You’re the one who’s rude,” he said, turning on me. “You’re so busy treating us like children you don’t notice when you’re not needed!”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing at all,” he said, and slammed the door behind him.

I stood there in the living room, trying to compose myself before going back to my dad. I counted to five. Or maybe it was twenty-five. Once I had quit seeing red, I went back in the dining room to find that my dad wasn’t there. I found him in the kitchen, using a piece of bread to mop the cioppino pot clean.

“That boy may be a fruitcake,” he said, “but he sure can cook!”
I
DIDN
’
T
hear from Cole the next day, and I was annoyed enough at

him that I would have been perfectly happy to leave it that way for a few days, but that was the night we were supposed to go to the theater. I broke down and called him at four to confirm that we were still on. Normally, we probably would have gone to dinner first, but we both 73

seemed to feel it was best to skip it tonight. He agreed to meet me at my house, and we would ride together from there.

I really was looking forward to the show. My love of the theater had come from my mother. She went as often as possible. My dad hated it, and so, starting when I was about ten, my mother took me instead. I loved the music and the stories, but more than anything, I liked going simply because it reminded me of her. I treated the theater with a reverence most people reserved for church. Despite being annoyed at Cole, I was happy to be able to use my tickets for once. It had been far too long.

Unfortunately, I could tell from the minute he walked into my house that Cole and I were going to clash that evening. He was dressed as he always was—thin dark pants with a light sweater and a scarf. He had a jacket, but it wasn’t a suit jacket. It was white and trendier than anything I had ever owned, and I would have bet a month’s pay he had bought it in Paris. I knew nothing about fashion, but it definitely looked like something right off of a fashion-show runway. It was cut long in a way that almost seemed military and yet still oddly ostentatious. “Is that what you’re wearing?” I asked, before I could help myself.

“No, love,” he said. “I have an Armani hidden underneath this. I was planning a Superman-style change of wardrobe in the car.” Maybe I deserved that, but I wasn’t going to apologize. “I thought you would wear a suit,” I said.

“Not even if this were my own funeral.”
“Fine.”

We hardly spoke in my car, and as soon as we entered the theater, he headed for the bar, with me tagging along behind. I was reminded immediately of the night in Vegas when we had gone to the restaurant. At home, when it was only the two of us, his flamboyance seemed to fade. In public, it always came back to some degree. I thought I had grown used to it over the last few months, but tonight it seemed worse than ever. His walk was too swishy, his gestures too broad, his voice too lilting. I didn’t normally feel that I had to hide my sexuality, but I didn’t feel compelled to broadcast it, either. Being with Cole, I may as well have been carrying a neon sign that said, “I’m gay!” He made me 74

self-conscious of my own mannerisms, and I found myself making an effort to look as
straight
as possible, something I hadn’t thought about in years.

We got in line at the bar. For once, he wasn’t talking a mile a minute. At first I was simply happy to not have to listen to him. I reminded myself that this was supposed to be fun. Then I looked at the bar, and my anger returned, stronger than ever. The bartender was young, cute, and as blatantly queer as Cole. He was busy helping the customers in front of him, but his glance kept returning to Cole, and they would smile at each other every time.

“Did you pick this line on purpose?” I snapped.

“What if I did?” he snapped back. He eyed me up and down before turning his back on me. “Your condescension is getting a little old, darling.”

I bit back my response, and then it was our turn. The bartender— his name tag said Trey—leaned forward so he was a few inches closer to Cole. “What would you like, sir?” he asked in a tone that was rife with suggestion, and Cole grinned wickedly at him.

“How long has that Pinot Noir been open, sweetie?”

 

“That one? Since last night. But I’ll open a fresh one for you if you like.”

Cole gave him a look that was so flirtatious I wondered that the people standing next to us couldn’t feel the vibes coming off of him. “I would appreciate that very much. I’ll have a glass of that and a glass of Chianti too.”

“Would you like me to open a fresh one of that as well?” “No, sweetie,” Cole said, cutting me a sideways glance. “Don’t bother.”

 

“Would you like to place an order for intermission? You can pay now, and the drinks will be waiting for you at the end of the bar.” “That sounds perfect.”

 

75

Trey poured my drink first, and Cole handed it back to me. Trey eyed me with obvious curiosity, and I did my best to incinerate him with my eyes. I failed, unfortunately. He turned away to open Cole’s wine and pour it. I couldn’t quite see what he was doing, but when he turned back around, he placed the glass in front of Cole on a cocktail napkin. I had a mere second to see that there was a phone number written on it before Cole picked it up and put it in his pocket. “Thanks, sweetie,” he said, winking at him and handing him two twenty dollar bills. “Keep the change.”

“You are unbelievable,” I hissed at him as we walked away.

“Good lord, love.
What
is your problem? Did you see me ask for his number? No. And even if I had, it’s not exactly your business anyway, is it?”

“It’s not the number! It’s—” I stopped short, because the truth was, I wasn’t sure exactly what to say. Yes, the phone number had bothered me, as had the obviously giant tip he had given in exchange. But it was his blatant dismissal of me that pissed me off more. On the other hand, I was being honest enough with myself to accept that almost everything he did was rubbing me the wrong way tonight. It was unfair to attack him for it. I made myself stop and count to five. I drank my wine, and we pointedly ignored each other until it was time to find our seats.

Intermission passed much the same way, and although Trey was busy pouring drinks, I saw the looks they gave each other when we picked up the wine Cole had ordered ahead of time.

“So,” Cole said in an obvious effort to cut the tension between us, “have you seen this play before?”

“No. But it’s very popular.”
“The costumes are absolutely amazing, aren’t they?”

“I suppose.” I hadn’t really noticed the costumes, and the fact that he
would
notice annoyed me for no good reason. It seemed to underline my conviction that we had nothing in common. “What do you think so far?” I asked, and I couldn’t make my voice sound friendly. 76

He eyed me warily before saying drolly, “I think you and Elphaba have a great deal in common.”

 

“I’m not green.”

 

“Of course not, love. It’s more the attitude. Uptight and with absolutely no sense of humor.”

“I suppose we should all be more flighty, like Galinda?” I asked, and I saw by the way his eyes narrowed that he did not miss my meaning. He turned away from me and drained his glass of wine, then walked back into the theater without me.

I didn’t care if he was angry. I didn’t care if I had hurt him. I stood there cursing myself for everything I could think of, from first agreeing to meet him for dinner so many months ago to asking him out tonight. I finished my wine and went back in, taking my seat next to him without saying a word.

After the play, I wanted only to get out of there as quickly as possible. What was normally a pleasant experience for me had been ruined, and I wanted nothing more than to be away from him. The lobby was packed with people shopping at the merchandise booths and buying more drinks, and some like us, who were simply trying to get to the door.

We were almost there when a familiar voice said, “Jonathan!” I turned in the crush of people to find Marcus next to me. “It’s good to see you don’t work all the time!” he said cheerfully. “Let me buy you a drink.”

Shit. There was no way I wanted to tell Marcus no. On the other hand….

“Come on,” he said, sensing my hesitation. “My wife is over there,” he waved vaguely in the direction of the bathroom, “talking to her sister. I’ll be here at least another hour.”

“Well, sir—”

 

“We would love to join you,” Cole suddenly said from just behind my right elbow, and Marcus looked at him in surprise. I felt 77

 

dread forming in the pit of my stomach. Cole held his hand out to Marcus. “I’m Cole. And you are?”

 

“Marcus Barry,” Marcus said uneasily, shaking Cole’s hand. “He’s my boss,” I said to Cole, hoping he would realize that I was pleading with him not to embarrass me.

 

“Marcus! Of course. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard all about you, of course.”

Marcus was looking back and forth between us, his cheeks slowly turning red. “I’m sorry,” he said, obviously flustered. “You’re a friend of Jonathan’s?”