Raising the Bar

by Leigh Dillon

  Tonio waved a graceful, dismissive hand. “It’s dinner wine. A little cabernet isn’t exactly falling off the wagon.”

  Then what is? Destin sat back, still dubious. Tonio, apparently a little put out at being interrogated, turned the silverware over and read the maker’s marks. Destin fidgeted with his napkin. Neither of them spoke.

  The waiter came back with a basket of fresh-baked bread and honey butter, and Destin filled the uncomfortable silence by buttering and crunching on the bread.

  “Bread’s good,” Tonio said, coming out of his moody silence. “Bread’s fuckin’ fantastic.”

  Destin heaved an inward sigh of relief. At least he and Tonio had that in common. However, the longer Destin sat across the table from Tonio, the more he realized he had no idea what to say to him. His dad would have told a few funny stories and maybe slipped in a couple of personal questions while everybody was still laughing, so deftly that Tonio wouldn’t have even known he was being pumped. Then when he had his hooks in, Dad would have pulled conversation out of Tonio like a magician pulling an endless, colorful string of handkerchiefs out of his breast pocket. But somehow the schmooze gene had bypassed Destin. He no more knew how to draw Tonio out than he knew how to produce that string of hankies. And Tonio wasn’t helping.

  “So, uh,” Destin ventured, “how do you like the apartment? Everything all right up there?”

  “All right? It’s crazy!” Tonio fixed Destin with a look Destin couldn’t quite interpret.

  “Crazy how?” Destin asked. “Is the modem messed up again?” Please, God, don’t let it be the plumbing.

  “Huh? No, nothing’s wrong. I just meant it’s pretty high-end for an apartment over a barn. I am not complaining, mind. I just thought it was kind of unusual.”

  “Yes, well, Dad had it done over a few years ago for Inga. She was one of his trainers.”

  “Inga!” Tonio fell back in his chair. “Blonde, Scandinavian, at least as tall as you?”

  The reason I went to an out-of-state college? “Yes, that’s her.”

  “Inga the Dominatrix?”

  “The what?” Destin blinked. “No, Dad wasn’t into that kind of stuff.”

  “I’m not saying he was. It’s just that Inga’s one of those crap trainers who think every problem has some fancy leather strap to solve it. Inga loves her leather straps. I noticed your tack room was full of horsey bondage gear. I guess that explains it.”

  Destin didn’t exactly blush at the idea he was harboring bondage gear, but for a moment there, he had trouble looking Tonio in the eye. “I know. She was only there for a year, but the tack room looks like she was there for ten.”

  “So she figured out pretty quick the piggy bank was getting empty and moved on?”

  Destin pulled the corners of his mouth down and nodded.

  “Yep, that’s our Inga.”

  Destin sighed, but the arrival of their order kept him from having to explain, yet again, the depths of his father’s improvidence.

  Tonio wasn’t kidding about being hungry. He ate quickly but neatly, so the soup almost magically vanished from his bowl even though he didn’t appear to be gobbling it. When he finished, he picked up the squash blossom that had garnished the soup, popped it into his mouth, chewed it, and swallowed it.

  Destin’s astonishment must have shown on his face, because Tonio paused in the middle of wiping his mouth and gave Destin a quizzical look.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I didn’t know you could eat those. I thought they were just decoration.”

  “Sure you can eat them. That’s why they’re called ‘edible flowers.’ You can eat orchids too.”

  “Are they good?”

  “Kind of sweet. Oh, look at this.” Tonio’s ribeye and Destin’s fish came swooping onto the table, and Tonio greeted his main course with his fork poised and his eyes agleam. The waiter poured the wine and departed. “So. Speaking of your dad’s fucked-up management skills,” Tonio said through a mouthful of steak.

  Destin took a sip of wine. This wasn’t where he wanted the conversation to go, exactly, but it was better than silence.

  Tonio swallowed his steak. “I was looking at your broodmares while I was out at the practice ring. Is that all you have, or is there another pasture somewhere?”

  “No, that’s all I have.”

  “But the broodmare barn has, what, twenty stalls?”

  Destin drank more wine. “Yes. Why?”

  Tonio drained half his glass of cabernet. “Why all the empty stalls?”

  “I told you. Because Dad sold the broodmares to pay farm debts and buy the damned Maserati,” Destin flared.

  Tonio sat back and held up one hand. “That’s not what I’m asking. Where are your boarders?”

  “Boarders! Bellmeade is a breeding farm, not a boarding stable.”

  “Yeah, whatever. What I’m saying is until you get more broodmares, you could be making money off those empty stalls. It’s fucking Bellmeade. First-class everything, and you’re not doing shit to capitalize on your opportunities to make up financial ground.” Tonio tossed back the rest of his wine, caught the waiter’s eye, and tapped the rim of the empty glass.

  The waiter nodded, hurried off, and returned with the bottle.

  Destin glanced around. A couple of the nearest fellow diners quickly returned their attention to their dinners, and Destin’s ears began to burn. “Listen,” he hissed, taking care to keep his voice down. “We do not need to be having this conversation here. I’ll worry about the farm. You worry about Sam. All right?”

  “No, not all right.” Destin stuffed another piece of steak in his mouth and chewed it angrily. “Booting your manager was the stupidest thing your father ever did. No, I take that back.” Tonio gulped down his mangled steak and chased it with wine. “Running off the farm’s sponsors was the stupidest thing he ever did. You wanna know when Bellmeade started sucking money like a race car sucks gas? It’s when Ariat stopped giving your dad its money. And CoolTech, and Morgan Stanley.”

  “You think I don’t know that? Why do you think I’m so eager to get Sam into the show ring? Sponsors want something for their money, in case you haven’t noticed. Like Grand Prix wins. Like Olympic medals. Yes, I could take boarders. Yes, there’s good money in boarding. But boarding, and limping along with a handful of aging broodmares, isn’t enough to keep Bellmeade’s head above water. I need quality foals to sell. I need sponsor money. I need Sam in the show ring.”

  Tonio snorted. “So now if Bellmeade fails, it’s all on me. No pressure. You’re still crazy to sit on your hands the way you’re doing, though. You better start bailing if you don’t wanna drown. Boarding might not keep you up forever, but you’ll fucking sink slower, ya know?”

  “Shhh!” Destin made a quelling gesture at Tonio.

  Tonio’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you hush me.”

  “People are staring.”

  “People always stare. Fuck ’em.”

  Destin pushed his half-finished fish away. “I’m not picking a fight with you. Just cool it, okay?”

  Tonio emptied his wineglass and fell on his ribeye with fresh ferocity. At least this kept his mouth occupied, and Destin sipped the rest of his wine in peace, letting the warmth of the alcohol smooth his irritation.

  When dessert came, Destin was half tempted to send the wine back, both his and Tonio’s. Tonio didn’t seem to actually be drunk, but his cheeks looked a little flushed and his eyes had taken on a troubling, belligerent glitter.

  “You know, maybe we’ve had enough wine,” Destin said, intercepting the bottle before the waiter could pour. “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired. Let’s just eat and leave.”

  “I’m fine.” Tonio gave a casual wave that nearly knocked his wineglass over. He caught it and gave an apologetic giggle.

  “No, you’re not fine. You really need to stop drinking.”

  Tonio shrugged, that dramatically careless shrug so calculated to offend. “I’m over tw
enty-one, so fuck it.”

  Every last shred of admiration Destin had harbored for Tonio evaporated.

  I am not putting up with this. Contract or no contract, he’s leaving tomorrow.

  And then what? Who’s going to ride Sam?

  Destin tightened his lips and glared across the table.

  Not Tonio Benedetto.

  Tonio didn’t seem to notice Destin’s disapproval. He had his nose buried in his glass of Freezeland White. Destin dug into his olive oil cake without even tasting it, every cell in his body humming with outrage. The fact that this was his fault, that he had blithely ordered wine in front of a recovering alcoholic, only drove the spike of self-recrimination deeper. That all the upsetting things Tonio had said were perfectly true just made it worse. When the waiter brought the bill, he flipped his Sapphire card on top of both tabs without a word.

  “Hey!” Tonio lurched to his feet, scraping the chair back, and waved for the waiter to return. He did, and Tonio fumbled his wallet out from inside his leather jacket.

  “No, sit down,” Destin said. “Dinner’s on me.”

  “Hell no. I can pay.” Tonio’s voice echoed around the room, drawing another round of stares. These were anything but admiring.

  “Just take my card,” Destin muttered to the waiter. The waiter nodded and walked away.

  Tonio, who had finally managed to extract a credit card, looked around, confused, and then dropped back into his seat.

  “Come on,” Destin said. “Dinner’s over.”

  “Where’s—?” Tonio tapped his card on the tabletop and looked around.

  “Too late, I already paid.”

  The waiter brought the receipt back. Destin signed, adding a huge guilt tip on top of the total. It didn’t erase the embarrassment of eating with a loud drunk, but at least it was something.

  Tonio managed to get all the way out of the dining room and down the front steps without looking more than a tiny bit tipsy. Only the exaggerated precision of his movements gave him away.

  “Hey. You know what I didn’t tell you?” Tonio said as they crossed the parking lot.

  Destin’s heart lurched. “No. What?”

  Tonio turned around and walked backward, facing Destin. “You’ve got really gorgeous blue eyes.”

  “Uh, thanks.” Destin put a hand on Tonio’s shoulder and steered him away from the shrubbery before he could back into it.

  “You should wear blue. Gray doesn’t do crap for you.” Tonio stopped walking, so abruptly that Destin nearly crashed into him. Instead of drawing away, Tonio leaned forward, and before Destin could react he planted a quick, warm, boozy kiss on Destin’s mouth.

  Heat, equal parts embarrassment and desire, enveloped Destin’s body. He stepped back, blinking, words tumbling through his head in a useless jumble.

  Do I really turn him on?

  Impossible. No way was he Tonio’s type. Flattering as the idea was, it had to be the wine talking. Even so, the ghost of that kiss burned on Destin’s lips.

  “You know, that Land Rover is a pretty slick car,” Tonio said.

  “Uh, yes, it is.” Destin pressed the fob, confused but relieved by the sudden change of topic. The Rover beeped and flashed.

  Tonio held out his hand, palm up. “Here, lemme drive it home.”

  Destin’s jaw dropped. “Uh, no. I don’t think so.”

  “Aw, c’mon. Let’s have some fun with it.” Laughing, Tonio made a surprisingly quick grab for the fob. Destin jerked his hand away before Tonio got it, but if Tonio hadn’t been slowed by alcohol, Destin suspected he would have succeeded.

  “No!” Destin snapped. He didn’t mean to speak so sharply, but Tonio was starting to scare him.

  Tonio’s laughter vanished in an eyeblink. “Oh right, you’re fucking George Washington’s next-door neighbor,” he sneered, his voice suddenly icy. “I’m not good enough to drive your limo. Fuck it. I’ll walk home.”

  “No, you won’t!” Destin shot back, trying hard not to yell. “It’s a long way, it’s dark, and it’s not safe. Get in the car. Please.” He reached for Tonio’s elbow, but Tonio whipped his arm out of Destin’s grip and stumbled toward the road.

  “Tonio, get in the damn car.”

  Tonio paused just long enough to flip Destin the bird, then continued down the driveway.

  “If you get out on that highway, I’m calling the police!” Destin shouted at Tonio’s retreating back.

  Tonio stopped. Destin could hear him talking to himself, and he was pretty sure he didn’t want to know what Tonio was saying. Then Tonio about-faced and came back. Without a word, he jerked the passenger-side door open and flung himself onto the seat.

  Destin, slightly shaky with relief, got behind the wheel and started the engine. “Better buckle up,” he said, pointing at the warning light.

  Tonio crossed his arms over his chest and looked out the window.

  “Fine. Whatever.” Destin put the Rover in gear and rolled onto the highway.

  Distance quickly extinguished the scattered lights of Paris, and the darkness of open country overtook them, pierced here and there by the pinprick gleams of light in the windows of distant houses. The stone fences, so picturesque in the daylight, crowded close against the road shoulders, darker shadows against the darkness. Traffic flicked by, sparse but steady. Tonio, drunk and dressed in black, had almost no chance of making it home along this highway alive.

  Destin shot a glance at his passenger. Tonio still had his arms crossed, and his face, highlighted by the sickly glow of the instrument lights, looked angry and haggard. Destin tightened his grip on the steering wheel and thought of the contract he’d printed out yesterday.

  It hadn’t been filed yet. That meant he wouldn’t have to feel like a criminal when he burned it first thing in the morning.

  Chapter 8

  DESTIN WOKE to noises in the house—the rattle of silverware, the clink of china on the countertop. Familiar, reassuring noises, and in his sleepy brain, a word formed.

  Mom….

  No, not Mom. Destin’s mother had died of cancer three years ago. Somebody else was in the kitchen, somebody who didn’t belong there.

  Fuming, Destin threw on his bathrobe and cinched the tie with an angry jerk. Halfway out the door, he realized his bare feet were freezing on the floor, and he turned back for his slippers. On the way back to the door, he hesitated, then picked up his comb and combed his hair. No reason, really, but when he threw Tonio out of the house, he wanted to look halfway masterly.

  He smelled eggs cooking and coffee perking as soon as he hit the foyer, and despite his anger, his stomach pinched with hunger. How long had it been since he’d had a real, hot breakfast? One that didn’t come prepackaged out of the freezer?

  He found Tonio standing over the cooktop, spatula in hand, fully dressed for riding.

  Tonio looked up when Destin walked in and flashed him a halfhearted smile. “Heya,” he said. “How do you like your eggs?”

  “Over easy.” Destin leaned back against the island. “Where’d you get the eggs?”

  “Convenience store. I went out this morning.” Tonio swept the scrambled eggs—his own breakfast, Destin assumed—out of the pan and cracked two new ones. Then he turned around and faced Destin, an apologetic half smile on his face. “I fucked up last night.”

  “Yeah.” Destin folded his arms across his chest.

  Tonio sobered. “I’m not gonna make excuses. That’s the first time I fell off the wagon in three months, and it won’t happen again.”

  Destin relaxed—not completely, but a little. “That was my fault too. I knew you were in recovery, and I shouldn’t have ordered wine. I wasn’t thinking.” As he spoke, he shot a glance at the liquor cabinet under the kitchen wet bar. His dad’s pride and joy, and one of his biggest downfalls. The bottles of Glenlivet and Jack Daniels lay discreetly hidden behind the mahogany cabinet doors, but the gleaming barware in the glass-fronted shelves above were a dead giveaway. Tonio had enough problems
without Dad’s convivial ghost tempting him, and Destin made a mental note to stop procrastinating about getting rid of the liquor.

  “Yeah, well, I should’a turned it down. I just….” Tonio turned back to the pan and slid the eggs up the side and over, catching them perfectly on the flat of the spatula and laying them back in the pan. “Look. It’s no secret people aren’t exactly lining up to hire me right now, so I can’t afford to screw up. We both need this thing to work out.”

  The last of the air finally went out of Destin’s anger, and he slumped and rubbed his stubbly face. “All right. We’ll write this off as just a bump in the road. It needs to be the last one, though. Seriously. I was going to tear up our contract as soon as I got to the office this morning.”

  “Yeah, I figured.” Tonio whisked two perfectly cooked eggs out of the pan and onto a plate. Like magic, toast popped up in the toaster, dark golden brown—a little darker than Destin liked it, but he wasn’t in the mood to complain. That feeling of rightness had come back. Slowly the old house seemed to be waking up from its cold slumber, a feat Destin, mired in his bog of despair, had not been able to manage on his own. It took a new heartbeat in its kitchen, a new voice in its halls, to bring back the house Destin remembered. Even if that new heartbeat’s tenure was likely to be short.

  “I got a hackamore while I was out,” Tonio said, parking the plates on the island. He kicked a stool back and sat down. “Sam has an issue with taking the bit, so maybe going bitless will change things.”

  “It’s worth a try.” Destin lifted his egg onto his toast and cut into them with his fork. Yolk ran out, thick and silky.

  “I hope you don’t mind spotting me in the ring. I don’t know how Sam’s gonna react to the hackamore.”

  “No problem.” Destin wiped an egg drip off his chin. He could get used to waking up to this every morning. He glanced across the counter at Tonio, busy shoveling his scrambled eggs onto his fork with his thumb. He seemed like a pretty decent guy when he wasn’t overexcited, as he probably was last night. Maybe….