Memories with The Breakfast Club: A Way with Words

by Lane Hayes

  “Doing what?” he interrupted, wiping down the bar with a wet rag.

  I shrugged nonchalantly. “I went to church with my mom then stopped by the cemetery. We usually head back home for breakfast but she was kinda…sad, I guess. I took her out instead. My brother and sisters met us. She likes having us around her. Eventually, I went back to my place and—”

  “Who were you visiting at the cemetery?”

  “My dad.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “Me too. It’s been a year, but it’s not something you get over easy, ya know?”

  “What happened?”

  “Cancer.”

  “That’s awful.” Remy sighed sympathetically and set his hand over mine. This time the radiant warmth coursed through his fingertips and shot up my arm and through my chest. I was torn between wanting to snatch my hand away and flip my palm over to squeeze his. I didn’t move a muscle. I cleared my throat and tried to act nonchalantly about all this contact when I spoke again.

  “Yeah. Mom’s doing better, but sometimes she’s a wreck. And Nonna—my grandma…she’s not so good either. Gramps died the year before Dad. Nonna lost her husband and her youngest son and…well, family is important,” I said, continuing my quest to be the world’s worst conversationalist.

  “Do you spend a lot of time with them?”

  I gave a half laugh. “My family? Yeah, you might say I can’t get away from them. They’re my co-workers, my friends, people I share meals with…you get the picture. It’s like living in a commune. Or some days, a nightmare. Take your pick.”

  “You work together?”

  “My grandfather founded De Luca Construction, and now my uncle runs it. I work with about ten of my cousins and an assorted number of guys who aren’t related by blood but might as well be ’cause I’ve known them my whole life.”

  “That is a lot of togetherness,” Remy agreed.

  “You can say that again,” I huffed sarcastically.

  “You’re lucky. I—hold on. I have to take an order.”

  He skirted the bar and stopped at the table behind me. I swiveled slightly on my stool to get a glimpse of him in action. I loved the way he moved with masculine fluidity. My brow knit as my thoughts rambled. Was he gay? He didn’t seem like it. Not that I was an expert. I wasn’t. Working at a gay bar didn’t necessarily mean he was gay. It meant he needed a job. Maybe he wasn’t gay at all and I was sitting here—doing what? Making a fool of myself.

  He returned and immediately set two glasses on the bar before grabbing a bottle of alcohol from the back wall. “Do you like Jack?”

  “Who’s Jack?”

  Remy chuckled. His pretty eyes creased in the corners and seemed to light his face from the inside. Wait. That made no sense. The thing was…he glowed. It was hard to look away from someone who shined like that.

  “Jack Daniels. Whiskey.”

  “Oh. Right.” I shook my head. “Nah. It’s okay, but I’m more of a beer drinker and—”

  “Hold that thought. I’ll be back.”

  He delivered the drinks and was behind the bar a moment later. “You’re lucky.”

  “ ’Cause I don’t like whiskey?” I asked in confusion.

  “Ha. No, sorry. I was talking about your family again. It’s an occupational hazard for me. I have a habit of jumping from topic to topic and not letting the other guy know. Anyway, I think you’re fortunate to have that kind of a support system around you.”

  “Sure. Except, sometimes it’s a little like being barricaded behind a thick wall with a bunch of people who drive you insane.” I studied his full mouth when he snickered appreciatively. “What about you? Where are you from? Do you have a big crew too?”

  “No. Not even close. I’m from a small town outside of Rochester and from an equally small family. It’s just my mom, Reeve and me.”

  “Reeve?”

  “My brother.”

  “Oh. What does he do?” I had no idea why I asked. Maybe it was to keep him talking. I loved the sound of his voice.

  “He’s in real estate. In fact, he just got his broker license and he’s thinking about moving to Manhattan too. I hope he does. It would be nice to have someone I know well to hang out with. He’s leery about the cost of living though, and I’m not exactly his ideal roommate. Reeve likes the finer things in life, and I can’t afford a fancy condo in my current job situation.”

  “I don’t get it. How long have you been in the city? Don’t you have any friends here? Where do you live? How are you gonna make it playing guitar in the park? I can’t see—what’s so funny?”

  I narrowed my gaze as he chortled merrily at my expense. When he sobered, he signaled to a middle-aged man nearby who was tying an apron around his waist. Then he inclined his head toward the back exit. “I’m going on break now. Come with me. We can talk outside.”

  I didn’t obey immediately. I wasn’t sure I should. Something warned me it might be dangerous to move to a quieter location. I didn’t fully trust myself around him without strangers chaperoning us. Then again, I wasn’t completely crazy.

  I gulped the rest of my beer and laid a couple of bills on the counter before following him through an employee lounge-slash-office to the alley. Remy sucked in a deep breath then flopped unceremoniously on the top step of the stoop and lifted his face to the evening sky.

  “It’s beautiful tonight,” he commented, leaning back on his hands.

  I sat beside him and hooked my arms over my knees before giving the heavens a cursory glance. Then I turned to smile at him. “Yeah, it is.”

  He returned the gesture times ten. Damn, the man had a nice set of teeth. Shoot, that was weird. I willed myself not to say it aloud and think of something saner instead. He beat me to it.

  “To answer your questions…I’ve been here for six months. I live a block away in an old building that probably isn’t much nicer now than it was at the turn of the last century. With one roomie, I can afford it. That’s all that matters for now. As far as what I want to do when I grow up…I’m twenty-seven. My rationale for moving to Manhattan is you only live once. I taught music and art at the local elementary school after I graduated from college back home. I liked the teaching part, but it felt claustrophobic walking down the same halls I’d walked when I was a student. I needed a change before I got stuck. If I fail, I can always go home, but so far, it’s working out okay. Not great, but I’m getting by. I could use a better-paying bartending gig, but the convenience of walking to work is sweet.”

  “I bet.”

  He cocked his head and gave me a funny grin. “You know, I actually put in an application over at Sparks.”

  I frowned. “The club?”

  “Yeah, the club,” he repeated mischievously. “I met Marcus, the owner, when I was there a couple of weeks ago. He told me he’d flag my application if I was interested, but he mentioned it might be a few months before there’s an opening. I can see why. That place is always bumping. The bartenders must make bank on tips alone. And then there’s the eye candy.”

  I scowled when Remy wolf-whistled. “What do ya mean? Like go-go boys dancing in their underwear?”

  “Mmmhmm. Better than my current view, that’s for sure. You’ll love it,” he assured me.

  “Love what?”

  “Sparks. Didn’t you say you’re on your way there?”

  “Uh…no. I mean—maybe. I—” I licked my lips and turned to face him before blurting, “Are you gay?”

  Remy’s eyes widened theatrically. “Gay?”

  I sensed I’d made a major faux pas and hurriedly scrambled to un-ask my question. “No, I didn’t—you don’t look gay and I don’t…um. I gotta get goin’. I gotta work early and—”

  “Hey. Don’t go.” Remy grabbed my elbow when I shifted to stand.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you,” I said, fixating on the giant trash bins lining the alley.

  “I’m not offended. I’m gay. Very gay and very proud to be gay. How �
�bout you?”

  I clung to the humor in his tone as I licked my lips and opened my mouth. Nothing came out. I wasn’t surprised. The words had never left my mouth before in my life. Of course, they wouldn’t come any easier sitting in the dark with my secret crush. I took a deep breath and tried again.

  Nothing.

  “Got it. Don’t worry, Tony. It comes with time.”

  “What does?”

  “The words. You just have to practice saying them. That’s what I did. I used to stand in front of the mirror when I was a teenager and say, ‘I’m gay’ to myself over and over. Some days, it rolled off my tongue and other days, I couldn’t speak. My mom caught my performance one morning and boom!—I was out.”

  “What’d she say?”

  “ ‘That’s nice, honey. Clean up your laundry. Dinner’s almost ready’…or something like that.” His bright smile washed over me like sunshine and hope.

  I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “Sounds like you’re the lucky one.”

  “I am lucky. But I bet you are too. If you’re gay and…you didn’t say so and I don’t want to put words in—”

  “I am.”

  “You are what?” he prodded gently.

  I didn’t answer for a long moment. It seemed more important to concentrate on my breathing and not pass out. To Remy’s credit, he didn’t push me. He sat quietly beside me, content to let the Lower East Side street noise serve as background music. When he sat forward and set his hand on my knee, the dam burst.

  “I’m gay. Very gay. No one knows, though. No one in my family, none of my friends. Every time I’ve been close to telling them, something happens and I clam up. Two fucking words and I can’t say ’em. It’s cowardly. I’m ashamed of myself, but I know those two words will change everything. My family has been through a lot over the last few years. No one needs to know this. Hell, they don’t want to know. Sometimes, I think I’d be selfish to say anything, ya know? Maybe it’s better this way.”

  Remy observed me cautiously as my heated speech petered out to a barely audible whisper.

  “It’s only better if it makes you happy, in my opinion. I don’t know your circumstances. You can only do what’s right for you.”

  I turned to face him and nodded. “Thanks. I—I don’t know who you’d tell but, please don’t say anything.”

  “I wouldn’t out you, Tony. Ever. Families are complicated, or so I hear. I only have two people to check in with regularly. I can imagine a whole tribe would be stressful, though. But you never know…they could surprise you.”

  “I doubt it. They’re busy trying to marry me off as we speak. Trust me, they’d be shocked if I told them the real reason I’m not interested in the women they bring around.”

  Remy laughed. “I take it this happens often.”

  “Oh yeah. It happened tonight. It was more awkward than usual ’cause I actually liked her. Just not the way I was supposed to. I couldn’t tell how she felt for sure, but I hate thinking I’m gearing up to let someone down. There’s nothing worse than breaking out the ‘Let’s be friends’ speech. Again.”

  “Yeah, that’s no fun. But it’s good to make new friends.” He gave me a sideways grin. “Like us.”

  “Yeah, except you make me sweat,” I admitted with a half chuckle. Then I added, “In a good way. I like you.”

  Remy hummed softly and sidled closer to me, resting his thigh against mine. “I like you too, Tony. You make me smile.”

  We stared at each other for a long moment. All those funny details came rushing at me. Things I never noticed about other people. The gorgeous halo of curls, the shape of his eyes, the freckle on his right cheek and those luscious lips. The lone bulb above the back door illuminated him in a yellowish light that shouldn’t have been flattering but was. I had a feeling Remy would look good with a paper bag on his head. Wait. That didn’t make sense. I furrowed my brow and cocked my head just as he set his arm over my shoulder and pulled me forward.

  My heart went into overdrive when the tips of our noses brushed. With a courage I didn’t know I possessed, I angled my head and slowly touched my lips to his. Just a touch. He had room to pull away. Hell, he even had room to punch me if I’d gotten this totally wrong. But when he purred softly and licked the corner of my mouth, I knew we were on the same page.

  I cradled the back of his head and gently threaded my fingers through his hair. I held him like he was a fragile flower or something. Then in my typical bull-in-a-china-store style, I plunged my tongue between his lips. Remy gasped at the onslaught, but he didn’t miss a beat. He wrapped both of his arms around my neck, drawing me close as he glided his tongue over mine, twirling and sucking feverishly.

  I didn’t know how long we made out on that stoop, but I could have done it all damn night. He tasted incredible and he felt even better. I loved the way he pressed his chest against mine and those sexy noises he made drove me wild. I wanted more than we were able to do on a cigarette break. Much more.

  We broke for air and eyed each other, looking for clues. Or maybe that was just me. I couldn’t be the one in charge of directing traffic here. I was out of my depth. He had to tell me what came next ’cause I’d never figure it out on my own. Remy caressed my cheek and smiled before leaning in to nibble on my bottom lip.

  “I have to go,” he whispered.

  “Okay. I’ll see ya ’round.” My huskier than usual voice didn’t mesh with the casual vibe I was going for.

  Remy pulled back with a smirk. “That’s all you’re going to say? ‘See ya’? Don’t you want my number or something?”

  “Um yeah. Yeah, I do.” I pulled out my cell and handed it to him. “Put it in. My hands are shaking.”

  This time when he smiled, I felt it deep inside me. The butterflies in my stomach fluttered like crazy but in a good way. He punched his number into my cell then called his phone before handing mine over. He ruffled my hair as he stood and waited for me to join him by the door.

  “Want another beer, or are you going to head over to Sparks now?”

  “Nah. I changed my mind. I’m going home. Maybe I’ll see you in the park tomorrow,” I said with faux nonchalance.

  “Hmm. Maybe you will. Bye, Tony.” Remy kissed me again then opened the door and disappeared inside.

  I shoved my hands into my pockets and glanced up and down the deserted alley. I still wasn’t clear about what came next, but I was cautiously optimistic. And it felt kinda nice.

  Chapter 3

  Mondays were usually a drudge. I liked my job fine—building stuff was in my blood. The smells and sounds of a construction site in mid-process got my motor running. I didn’t mind the incessant blast of jackhammers, the sawdust, or even the heat. I’d grown up tagging behind my dad with a plastic screwdriver and hammer tied around my waist, hoping to be given a manly chore to put my dormant skills to use. I wanted to be just like my old man. Strong, tough, and a master with a power drill. Luckily, I had connections. A job at De Luca Construction was part of my family legacy. It was mine for the taking if I wanted it. And hell yeah, I wanted it bad. But Mondays…

  Normally, I needed a giant thermos of coffee and whatever form of quiet I could find before I was fully functioning and ready to take on my week. It wasn’t a matter of waning interest in the work. It had more to do with bracing myself for interfering relatives who were sure whatever time we hadn’t spent together on a Saturday or Sunday was somehow their business. Today, I wasn’t fazed in the slightest. I was happy to be here, and I couldn’t fucking wait till lunch time.

  I did my best to keep my head down and not check my watch fifty times. I caught Mikey’s inquisitive glance when I hummed along to a Springsteen song and immediately admonished myself. He’d be the first one asking questions if I walked around with a sappy smile on my mug. I waited until he moved to another section of the floor, then I pulled my hard hat off, grabbed my cooler, and clandestinely checked my surroundings before slipping outside.

  It was a perfect sp
ring day with blue skies and a light breeze. I speed walked to the corner, grinning like a fool when I heard the faint strains of a guitar in the distance. I dodged a gaggle of nannies strolling through the crosswalk and breathed a sigh of relief when I got my first glimpse of Remy bent over his guitar just inside the park entrance. A modest audience of tourists seemed dazzled by his skills. I was no connoisseur, but I thought he was pretty amazing too. And when he swayed with his instrument…damn, that was sexy.

  He glanced up to nod his thanks to an older woman who’d dropped a few dollars into his guitar case. He didn’t stop playing, but I thought he faltered slightly when he noticed me standing at the edge of the group. He covered up the slight break in concentration with manic strumming and ended with a flourish, raising his right arm like an orchestra leader. His audience cheered in response. Some offered verbal praise and a few left more cash. He thanked them all, stopping to answer a couple of questions before moving to greet me.