by Pat Henshaw
He was wearing a suit and tie and had a slim computer in his hands. “I’m here to inspect the electrical.” His smirk solidified. He looked almost gleeful.
I turned to Fredi, who had his phone to his ear. I didn’t know who he was calling or hear his conversation, but after hanging up quickly, he minced up to Chad with a hell of a lot more swish and sway than he’d had at the furniture warehouse.
“Hello there, handsome.” He gave Chad the old up and down while he let the words slide out of his mouth. “And who do we have here?”
Chad recoiled as if a king cobra had locked him in its gaze. He cleared his throat, his eyes never leaving Fredi. He backed up a step.
“Uh, hi. I’m Chad Thompson. I’m an electrical inspector with the county. I’m here to inspect the electrical on this building.” He wasn’t stuttering, but it was a near call. His repeated words told us how uncomfortable he was.
“Oh, honey. How about if you inspect me instead?” Fredi looked over Chad’s shoulder at the same time I did. “Oh, wait. Here’s Abe to talk to you about that.” Fredi’s face brightened into a thousand-watt smile. “It was so good to meet you, sugar.” He put out a hand as if to run it down Chad’s chest, and Chad stepped back, nearly tripping.
Abe stalked up to Chad like a lion about to bite a gazelle’s head off. He and Chad squared off as Fredi waved his good-byes and threw Chad a pop-smacking kiss. As Abe and Chad moved toward the circuit breaker in the kitchen, David and I slid together.
“What the fuck’s going on?” I asked him.
“Got me.” He shrugged.
Uneasily we discussed table arrangements, trying to ignore the voices coming from the kitchen.
We ended up arguing about how many tables should be on the floor on a typical, nonevent night. I wanted fewer while David wanted more, and we were actually fighting like we were partners. Our argument was a first, and I was thrilled. Jason was definitely dead. He would have never argued with me about something in my restaurant.
When the discussion got a little heated, David refused to back down. Now I was having a hell of a time and was arguing for argument’s sake.
“Shut the fuck up and listen to yourself.” He wiped his forehead on his sleeve. “If it were up to you, you’d only feed your friends now and again, fuck the real customers.”
“Yeah, well, screw them. They know who I am. They’ll show up no matter how big or little the place is.” Okay, so sometimes I believed my own press. So what? I’ve proved I’m a top-notch chef.
He laughed. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Escoffier? Wolfgang Puck? Julia Child? Don’t kid yourself. Besides, how the hell did you ever get ahead in this business? Don’t you know you have to cook some damned food for some damned people if you want anyone to take you seriously as a chef?”
“What? Everyone takes me seriously as a chef.”
“Yeah, last year. But what about this year?” he asked. “You know what it’s like. You’re only as good as your latest triumph.”
I spread my arms. “And this is my latest triumph.”
“Not yet, it isn’t. You’re going to be losing a lot of the Tahoe traffic here. Look at this town. People aren’t flocking to eat out around here.” He looked through the window at the quiet downtown. A few cars were parked along the street, and a handful of tourists and residents ambled along the sidewalks. You wanted to find the action, you went to the mall around here, not downtown, no matter how picturesque it was.
“So what do you suggest?” I was hot and tired. I needed a shower and a beer.
“Tell me something.” I was about to pop him one when he turned serious. “What are you really thinking about the Star’s opening? You want a soft opening first? Then a gala of some kind?”
“No. I just want to open the restaurant and have people come eat.”
He sighed. “God, you do need me, don’t you?”
“Hey! That’s what happened when I opened the Bistro. I told a few people in the city I was open for business and then the phone rang and people booked tables.”
“Did you even advertise?”
“Yeah, I ran an ad in the Sacramento Bee, the Sacramento News & Review, the Stockton Record, and the San Francisco Chronicle. I listed the reservation line number and told the kid I’d hired for the front of the house to limit it to twenty people a night. It went fine.”
He sighed again. “You lucky bastard. Don’t tell that to anyone else. People kill to have luck like yours.” He was shaking his head and giving me the you-idiot look. “How about we do it a little differently this time? How about we have two soft openings—one for friends and one for press? Then the week after, we have a gala. What do you think?”
“It’s a lot of work.” I was shaking my head.
“Why? It’s just cooking for you. I’ll do all the rest.”
Oh. All right. Cook? Cooking I could do.
We agreed that the first week of December was the perfect time for both the soft and hard openings. David had already contacted some of his media friends, people he’d met through Donnie Ray and the app creator. He’d promised them they’d be on the list for the opening. He’d also be inviting celebs. Stars would be out in force, flacking their holiday films and music. A gala event given by a celebrity chef would be a draw for them. Having little interest in any of it, I told him to do whatever he needed and that I’d be ready for any publicity shoots he lined up.
I had more important things to do—like line up some killer menus.
As we were talking, Abe and Chad returned from the kitchen. Chad seemed nervous, almost like he wanted to bolt.
“No, file the inspection report right now.” Abe stood rigid like he wasn’t backing down. I got the feeling he was repeating himself.
“I can’t do it, Abe,” Chad whined.
“Everything meets code. Right?”
Chad nodded.
“So file the report.” Abe loomed over Chad, looking more menacing than I’ve ever seen him.
David shot me a glance, his eyebrow raised in question. I shook my head. I couldn’t help him. I had no idea what was going on.
With a loud sigh, Chad raised his netbook, typed with one finger, and then stopped with a grimace.
“I expect to see the report online in a few minutes,” Abe told him.
Chad nodded and almost ran out the door.
“What was that all about?” I asked Abe.
“Harassment.” Abe ran a hand over his head. “Chad said someone had reported that there were wiring issues here, and he was sent to check it out. Total bullshit. My bet is that the department had no report and Chad was out here to red flag you, then report it. Doesn’t matter because I’d already hooked everything up, so you were good.”
After Abe left, with the promise that he’d be attending both the hard and soft openings and any practice sessions we ran, David turned to me.
“So the battle begins.” Even though his eyes sparkled like he was looking forward to the fight, his tone was grim.
“Yeah. Let the fuckers beware.”
THE SNOW had finally melted and the roads were clear, so the next day David, LJ, and I closed up the Bistro. LJ cleaned the kitchen downstairs while David and I worked in the dining room. David wanted to talk to me without LJ. I figured we could get something done while he shared what was on his mind.
David tilted his head to the side and he looked like he was studying me.
“Could I ask you a couple a things?”
“Sure.” I nodded, but now he wasn’t looking at me at all.
“First, could you stop calling John ‘Little’ John?”
“What?” He’d done an end run, and I needed a sec to catch up. “Thought we were talking about publicity or some shit. Not LJ.”
“Yeah, see, that’s what I mean.”
“What?”
“His name’s John. Not Little. Just John.”
“I don’t get it. What difference does it make to you?” I shook my head and gave the room the once-over. Guess it was abou
t time we attacked the kitchen, the bathroom, and then my bedroom. Seemed like this place grew bigger every winter.
Suddenly David’s hand was on my arm and he was spinning me to face him.
“You may not think it’s important, but to John, it makes a difference. Calling him little diminishes him. You’re patronizing him. Just like the name ‘Pretty Boy’ did me.” His eyes blazed.
“What? But you were my Pretty Boy.”
“Not at fourteen or sixteen or eighteen, definitely not at twenty. I wasn’t a boy. Anybody’s boy,” he spat at me.
“You know I didn’t mean it like that. It was a compliment, for fuck’s sake. Like me calling LJ little.”
“Did he introduce himself as Little John?”
I shook my head. He’d introduced himself as John Barton. I’d been the one to tack the “little” on to his first name. Shit.
What a dickhead I was. First I’d labeled Jason as “pretty” and “boy” in a school full of rough and tumble WWF wannabes. I rubbed my scar as I wondered if I’d made the altercations with Tommy Thompson and his posse happen by calling Jason “Pretty Boy.” I’d waved a red cape in front of Tommy’s face, and he’d taken the bait. Shit.
Even worse, I’d brought my idiocy to the Bay Area with us. Hell, the tabloids even called Jason “Chef Adam’s Pretty Boy.” What the fuck kind of boyfriend does that to the love of his life? Only the loser kind as far as I realized now.
Then I’d started the whole thing over again—only without the boyfriend part—by nicknaming John “little.” The more I thought about it, the more appropriate the label of “thug” seemed to be for me. I’d carried a damn chip on my shoulder forever, and I’d made all those closest to me suffer for it.
I grabbed David and kissed him. At first he struggled, but then he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me back.
Fuck, I should have done this from the beginning. I remembered our first fumbled kiss as teens, all the adrenaline, all the hormones, all the sweetness and brightness. I remembered coming out of it ready to conquer the world. The Hulk had nothing on me. I was all muscle, all power, all love.
This kiss? Light-years ahead of what we had then. Now we were fusion, molecules bonding, new cuisine exploding on the palate. I could barely see him when we parted because I was so blinded by us together again. What started as an I’m-sorry had exploded into something bigger and better.
David looked stunned, totally shaken. He stepped back and studied me like I was someone he’d never seen before. Had I done something else wrong? I was worried, but elated.
He shook his head as if shaking off a blow. Then he glared at me.
“Do you understand what I mean about John?” he asked.
It took me a second to get back to what he’d been telling me. Oh, right. Little John wasn’t little. Got it.
“You’re right. You’re right,” I sighed. “I’ve been a dick and I’m sorry. No more ‘pretty,’ no more ‘boy,’ and no more ‘little.’ You’ll have to hit me when I forget until it becomes a habit.”
“Oh yeah. I could get used to hitting you.” He chuckled, but it sounded sexy and went straight to my dick.
“Okay, what else? You had a bunch of questions?” Might as well find out all the ways I’d been an ass and start cleaning up my act. Then we could move on to more important things, like a good fuck. “Lay it on me.”
He was outright laughing at me now. “No. No. It doesn’t all have to do with you. Well, it does have to do with you indirectly. I’m not ripping you a new one today.”
He made a move to get out of my hug, but I held on.
“So what’s the next indirect assault?”
He huffed. “Not an assault. Merely a question.”
I snorted.
“Are you sure about Xavier working in the kitchen?”
Again, he’d blindsided me. He stepped out of my arms.
“What the fuck? Where else would he be? I’m mentoring him.”
“Out on the floor with me,” David answered. “He could be a busboy. I think he’d like to be around all the people. He told me after he’d been shopping with you and John that he didn’t think the kitchen was the place for him. Why don’t you ask him?”
What? Okay, yeah, I could do that. But what a concept. Ask people what they wanted to do instead of planning it all out for them.
What struck me more, though, was how well David and I were meshing and acting like we were a couple, not just two people who used to be in love. The restaurants and even my cooking felt more like ours and not just mine anymore. A sense of peace infused me, like my family had returned and I was safe finally.
“Okay, yeah, I’ll talk to the kid. Boy. Xavier.” David had this silly grin on his lips, and I could feel mine smoothing out and lifting too. Damn, it felt good to smile again. “You got another question?”
He shook his head and stacked the last chair. I pointed to the stairs, and we went down to the kitchen to help John.
BY SUNSET we’d closed the Bistro. We drove back to Stone Acres. David was in Stone’s truck. After we unloaded the stuff in the truck beds, David drove to the bar while I locked up the Star down the street. When I got to the bar, I was impressed by the sweet array of motorcycles lined up in front. The good ole boys seemed to be in town. Not all of them were gay—in fact, very few were—but they were the most laid-back, tolerant bunch around. I’d cooked for them a time or two at the Bistro.
I recognized a few guys from high school and greeted them, and was introduced to friends and family members of others as I worked my way to the table where David sat. Two frosty mugs hugged the middle of the tabletop, and he pointed to one as I sat down.
“Stone’s coming over in a minute. I got you whatever he poured.”
Before I could comment, Stone was there, pulling back a chair and sitting.
“Okay, tell us about Tommy and his idea of downtown.” I didn’t want to know this, but I’d listen.
“So you and David are… what?” he asked.
Well, shit. Guess we had to get into this first.
“We’re, uh.” I looked at David and raised an eyebrow. What were we?
He stared back at me, his eyebrow going even higher than mine. His look said it was my call.
Dammit. I still loved the guy. He knew it. Hadn’t we spent the day together getting hot and sweaty? Okay, not the hot and sweaty of choice.
“I’m in. All in,” I answered.
Stone’s smile masked the tiny edge of worry and doubt I’d seen flit across his eyes. David too smiled, but his was softer, not quite the triumphant happiness I’d expected. Was something holding him back?
We talked and drank. On the surface all looked serene, but underneath the water was moving and searching. We weren’t on solid ground yet.
Having no bed in my apartment, we separated after a few drinks. I was getting tired of living at Stone’s place. Yeah, me being an unfucked fucking ingrate again.
9
THE NEXT day the furniture for the Star was delivered, and I called David, John—another name to get used to—and Xavier to help set up the dining room. The framed lawmen portraits had arrived, and we could hang them too. Hot damn. The Star was starting to look real.
John and I did a serious tour of the kitchen while David herded Xavier to the front of the house, where they started moving the tables and chairs.
“Four more tables,” David was telling Xavier when John and I emerged from the kitchen.
“Oh my God. Shit!” Xavier screamed, pointing into the corner where he’d been standing. “Shit, no!” He was scrabbling to climb onto a chair.
“What?” I asked.
“Didn’t you see it? The biggest damn rat ever!” he screamed back at me.
“Where?” Oh shit, a rat? I tried to breathe. No need to panic.
“How can you be so fucking calm? The thing nearly ran over my foot!” He was glaring at me.
“Language,” I warned. Okay, Xavier was more scared than I was. I had to
be the tough guy here. “Which way did it go?”
He pointed to the opposite corner. “Over there. And no, I’m not fucking going over there to show you.”
I was shaking my head as David, John, and I crossed to the other corner to see the rat staring up at us.
Now under ordinary circumstances, I would have been as freaked as Xavier. But I was afraid if I did it now, Xavier would be fucking doubly freaked and do something brainless. Like tell everyone within a ten-mile radius about the thing. Then we’d have the health inspectors on us like a ton of rats.
Since we had so many packing boxes around, I turned to get one of them to throw over the rat. While I was looking around without moving, David took off his T-shirt and tossed it on top of the rat, then scooped the shirt and the rat up into a bag-like bundle. He held it out to us.
“I’ll throw it in the back. In the alley,” he added as Xavier gasped.
While David strolled into the kitchen, the little bundle in his hand wiggling furiously, I went over to Xavier, who was shaking and sputtering.
“Hey, kid, it’s okay. All taken care of.” I wrapped him up in a hug, and he clutched me like I was a human buoy that saved him from being lost at sea. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s okay.”
He was shivering and crying, more scared than I’d ever been.
Finally, he sputtered and looked up at me. “My foster dad used to throw rats in my bed with me. To toughen me up.”
What the fuck? What kind of sick bastard did things like that?
I looked over his head where John seemed to be gagging as he stared at Xavier.
“Kid…,” John started and glanced at me. I shook my head and waved him toward the kitchen where I could hear David opening the back door.
“Go tell David what he said,” I mouthed to John. The kid didn’t need David coming in and saying anything to make Xavier feel worse. John nodded and quietly left to the kitchen.
“Hey, Xavier. You’re all right now. Look around. No rats.” He shook his head. “Hey, I’m as committed as you about keeping rats out of here. But think about it a minute. Did you look at it before David got it?” Again, he shook his head. His eyes were closed. “It was an itty-bitty scared animal surrounded by four huge humans. I’ll bet he was afraid you were going to step on him and kill him.”