by Darien Cox
Despite the more casual presentation, I again thought Duncan exuded elegance. Something about his posture, the way he moved—a sharp contrast to my clumsy entrance and current fumbling as I scooped my pack up off the floor.
“Hi, Zach,” Barry said.
Mumbling a greeting, I speed-walked to the back of the bar, feeling eyes on me as I fled.
In the back room, several of the wait staff were getting suited up in their costumes. I opened my locker and went about changing out of my street clothes. After squeezing into my leafy leotard suit, I sat on a bench and drank a bottled water while I waited for Richelle to finish painting glittery scales onto the face and chest of a young woman. Reptilian wings sat on the floor beside the dragon lady, as yet unattached. I saw my brown and gold wings behind them, and the twigs for my crown next to the makeup box.
Wings of all variety seemed a constant in most of the costumes, even though I was pretty sure wood nymphs didn’t need to have them. I pondered asking if I could go wingless for the evening, but decided I shouldn’t brand myself the token complainer, especially after calling Mythic a dump in front of Duncan. Suck it up. The money’s good.
“You’re next, Zach,” Richelle said as she dusted the dragon lady’s arms with green glitter. “Don’t go far.”
“I’m panting with excitement, Richelle,” I said.
That got me a smirk and cocked eyebrow from Richelle, but I felt safe sassing her a bit. When someone’s been spreading paint all over your naked skin for three weeks, a bond is forged. She had a good sense of humor, crazy green pixie hair, and vine tattoos on her arms. When we first met I’d thought the vines were painted-on so she’d blend in with the scenery, but they remained constant so I guessed they were permanent. I wondered where Duncan had found her. Or Barry. Or anyone. I wondered what Corey’s uncle’s story was, and why he’d opened this ridiculous club in Boston when he was from Long Island.
“Hello, Zachary.”
Speak of the devil. Duncan had entered the back room, and was looking down at me. “Hey, Duncan.”
“Can I borrow you for a moment?”
Richelle glanced over, frowning. I wondered if I was going to get fired after all. I got up from the bench. “Sure.”
“Follow me, please.”
I trailed Duncan out of the back room and into the club. He led me to the cocktail table he’d been sitting at when I arrived, but Barry was no longer there. Duncan sat and neatened the papers on the table, then glanced up at me. “Have a seat.”
Taking the chair across from him, I eyed him expectantly. “What’s up?”
He gave me that amused look again, and I wasn’t sure if it was his normal expression or if something about me brought it out. Corey had a similar look when he was about to verbally eviscerate someone, and maybe that was why Duncan made me nervous. He wasn’t blond, he was older than Corey, and the resemblance was only minimal. But something about him gave me that same nervous tickle in my gut. “So,” he said. “This is what your face looks like without makeup.”
“This is it,” I said. “Not nearly as pretty.”
He cocked an eyebrow and looked me over, like he might argue, but said only, “I thought we should be properly introduced, first of all. I understand you didn’t expect to be accosted by your past when we came in after the opera.”
“I’m sure Corey gave you just a great opinion of me,” I said, already defensive.
“My nephew had nothing but nice things to say about you.”
“Oh.”
“Why would you think he’d speak ill of you?”
I shrugged. “We dated.”
Duncan chuckled and sipped a club soda. “Of course. But my understanding is my nephew has dated a lot of men. He’s congenial enough with Stewart. Is that not the case with you?”
“Come on,” I said. “He didn’t tell you I’m the devil?”
“He did not. Is that what you are, Zachary?”
“I’d prefer if you’d call me Zach. And I guess it doesn’t matter what Corey thinks. I’m a good bartender. Why, you have a problem with me already?”
Duncan stared at me, looking puzzled. I probably shouldn’t be snippy with the owner, but that thing about him that reminded me of Corey activated something weird and defensive inside.
“I don’t care who you did or didn’t date, Zach, including my nephew. I wanted to ask you about your idea.”
“My idea?”
“Barry said you think we should include some vegetarian items on the menu.”
“He…he did?”
“Yes. This comes on the heels of Jamil telling me customers often ask for lower calorie versions of our cocktails, so it’s gotten me thinking about making some changes to the menu among other things.”
“Barry blew me off when I brought that up. I got the impression he thought it was a dumb idea.”
“He does.” Duncan smiled. “When you passed by us, I asked what he thought of you, and he went on about you being a twig-eater. You’re a vegetarian?”
“Yeah. Mostly vegan for about a year now.”
“Do you cook?”
“Sure, all the time, for myself and friends. But I’m not a chef or anything. Never worked in a kitchen. Booze is my forte.”
“But you do have ideas, Barry said. For vegetarian tapas?”
“Sure. I’ve got a lot of ideas. I tried to tell Barry some of them but he wouldn’t listen.”
“Would you be willing to give me a presentation sometime?”
“Oh. Like…cook for you?”
Duncan nodded.
“Ah…I’m pretty sure the staff in the kitchen doesn’t like me. I took the chef’s parking spot on my first night and he screamed at me like I’d pissed in his soup.”
Laughing, Duncan said, “Emerson is an acquired taste, pun intended, and he really likes his parking space. I wouldn’t risk using the kitchen here. I was thinking outside of work hours. But I’d still pay you for your time, of course.”
“Oh.” Panic, and a touch of shame rose up as I thought about my crappy little apartment. I made do with the lame kitchenette, but there was no way I could do what Duncan was asking at my place. I didn’t even have a table, usually ate on the sofa.
“This idea doesn’t appeal to you?”
“No, it does, it’s just…my place is…small.”
“I wouldn’t put you out like that. You can come to my place. Give me a list of the ingredients you’ll need and I’ll purchase them for you.”
“I um…” Something tingled inside, a flutter of warning. It was unlikely my new boss was hitting on me. Just because Corey was gay didn’t mean his uncle was.
“That a problem?”
“No, it’s just, that would kind of ruin it, right?”
Duncan shook his head. “Ruin what?”
“Well, half the fun cooking for someone is letting them guess the ingredients. If you already know what I’m putting in the food, it ruins the objectivity.”
Duncan leaned back in his seat, reaching into his jeans pocket. My gaze traveled over his strong neck and bit of sparse chest hair showing above his shirt. My eyes snapped back to his face when he offered me a credit card. “Use this, then. Buy what you need. Then you can come to my place and show me what you’ve got.”
My fingers paused before taking the credit card, trepidation rising again. I’d seen this movie before. Older, successful guy handing money to the dumb pretty-boy, feigning interest like I was someone special. I wasn’t special. Years of conditioning and poor treatment had convinced me that everyone saw me as just a hot piece of ass. That was my value, aside from being able to mix a mean drink. I was trying to stop believing that was all people saw in me, trying to be more open and trusting, but it was some tough conditioning to shake.
I had no right to judge Duncan based on my past experiences. I didn’t know him. But I’d been working in bars since I was twenty-one, and I’d been lured in before with smiles and promises, only to find out what they really wanted was a
whore. I had nothing against sex workers, even knew a few. But I wasn’t one, and the occasions where I’d been treated as such, the intent had been to diminish me. To make me feel like my body was my only worth. I’d managed to make it this far in life, even a life working in seedy bars and pickup joints, without becoming anyone’s whore. There was no way in hell I was going to start now, not when I’d spent the last two years trying to rebuild my shattered sense of self.
“Zachary.”
“Zach. Please.”
“Zach. Why are you looking at me that way?”
“What way?”
“Like you think I’m trying to fuck you.”
Heat rushed up my neck, flooding my cheeks. “I wasn’t thinking that.”
“No?”
“Of course not.”
“Good. Just the same, I assure you. I’m not trying to screw you, literally or figuratively. I simply like the idea of vegetarian tapas at Mythic, and Emerson wants nothing to do with it. It’s actually given me an idea for what to do with the outdoor patio area I’m planning to make presentable soon. If you think you can cook well enough, I’d like to try some of your ideas. Food, Zach. Not sex.”
I accepted the credit card. “I’m sorry.” I winced. “I’ve had a lot of people…”
“Try to use you?”
Sighing, I nodded. “Yeah. In other jobs I’ve had. Again, I’m sorry. Just an inherent caution, learned behavior.”
“I’m not surprised. You’re extraordinarily attractive. But I’m not trying to get in your pants. If you’re not comfortable, though, I’ll find someone else to help me out with this. I don’t know much about vegetarian cooking, but I’d like to learn.” He grinned. “You’d have to give me back my credit card if you refuse, of course.”
Reassured, I held up his card. “I’ll keep it.”
“Good. Barry has your number. I’ll be in touch. You can go finish getting ready.”
“Thanks.” I stood.
“My pleasure.”
“Oh, ah, how much can I spend?”
“As much as you need to give me a variety of choices.”
I nodded. “Okay. I’ll start thinking about what to make. See you later.”
“Have a good night, Zach.”
I left the table and headed toward the back room. I wanted to do this, I realized. Since going veg, I’d gotten very inventive with my cooking, and it gave me a charge, coming up with new ideas and recipes. Last month I’d spent the weekend with Sarah and Yvonne, who Corey used to refer to as my ‘hippie lesbian friends’ because they were both strict vegans, and I’d made them a bunch of appetizers that they went nuts for.
The idea of showing off for Duncan was appealing, and my mind was already making calculations and spinning over what I might put together. Suddenly I found myself challenged, wanting to impress Duncan. Maybe because in the space of one quick conversation, he’d made me realize maybe I did have a few passions left in my depressed zombie brain. I liked making interesting food. It was a tiny, insignificant thing, but maybe it meant I wasn’t completely dead inside.
I also liked the way Duncan called me out on my ‘I hope you’re not a creeper’ moment back there at the table. Not only that he sensed my discomfort, but that he was so straightforward and professional about it. It was entirely possible that Corey’s uncle was an okay guy. I even liked the way he’d called me extraordinarily attractive. Usually comments about my looks made me uncomfortable when coming from a stranger. But Duncan had treated it like just a small detail. He hadn’t pretended not to notice, but his comment sounded far more respectful than what I was used to hearing. That I was cute or hot or sexy, or other less savory things not to be repeated in polite company.
By the time Richelle finished painting me up and I started my shift behind the bar, Duncan was gone. As I served drinks in my ridiculous crown of twigs, I found myself humming along with the music piping through the sound system, and realized I was experiencing my first good mood in a very, very long time.
Chapter Three
I sat on the floor under my skylights with my friend Sarah, a collage of index cards spread out between us. I’d done a shopping trip and we planned to do a test run of some of my tapas ideas, and I’d invited Sarah over to give her opinion, as she’d already tasted most of what I planned to make. I wanted to choose only the best of my culinary repertoire to impress Duncan with.
“I’m not sure you should do a veggie burger,” she said, picking up one of the cards. “It’s too cliché, and carnivores always assume a veggie burger’s gonna taste like cardboard even before they try it.”
“But my veggie burger is delicious. You’ve had it! I thought I could do sliders.”
Sarah grinned at me and shook her head. A petite black woman, Sarah would have fit right in at Club Mythic. Her hair tied back in a bun, she had pointed, elven brown eyes and a cute turned up nose. A half-moon tattoo edged the side of her neck, and even her earrings were tiny sliver fairies. “I’m not the average customer, though, Zach. I’m already vegan. You’ve got to win over those people who like to try veggie food so they feel like a healthy person but don’t want to take too many risks.”
“Okay.” I sighed and sifted through the other recipe cards I’d written out. “I’ll try to focus on not scary or intimidating healthy choices.” I snorted. “Elfy choices.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “You should call them that! Elfy choices!”
“That’s a little tacky.”
“Club Mythic is a little tacky. Seems like tacky is the owner’s thing.”
I shrugged. “That’s true. Okay, what about the Mexican stuffed sweet potato skins with vegan sour cream?”
“Put those in the definitely pile,” she said, taking the card from me and setting it on the floor beside her. “Standard bar grub but with a vegan twist, far less intimidating.”
“All right. How ‘bout the fried eggplant rollups with veggie ricotta? Could serve them in twos with a little marinara on top. Italian food is safe, right?”
“Maybe pile.” She snatched the card. “It’s a little fussy and complicated.”
“No it’s not. They take like twenty minutes to make if I’ve got the cheese mixed first.”
“Okay, maybe pile for now. Let’s get the definitely-definitely ones down first then we can time how long everything takes to prep and cook. If you have to give this guy a presentation you want to make it easy on yourself so you don’t freak out.”
“He said he wanted a variety. How much shit should I make?”
She shrugged. “Five tapas? Six? It’s just giving him a sample. If he wants to see more he can tell you. Let’s just keep it manageable this round and blow his mind with what you’ve got.”
“My stuffed portabella mushrooms?”
“Definitely pile. Those things almost made me come in my pants.”
“Butternut squash quesadillas with the spicy black bean puree?”
“Definitely. Love those. And again, veggie version of standard bar grub.”
“You’re awesome, thanks for helping me with this. I don’t deserve you.”
“Please. It’s the least I can do. You drove me to work for a month after I broke my ankle.”
“Still, thank you, Sarah. I’m kind of nervous about this and you’re a big help.”
“Why are you nervous? You’re a good cook and you said Duncan’s a nice guy.”
“He is. Wicked nice. But he kind of makes me nervous.”
“Because he’s Corey’s uncle?”
“No, he’s just…I don’t know. I don’t exactly feel judged by him, but like he’s examining me under a microscope.”
“Maybe he’s gay.”
I shook my head. “He made a point to tell me he wasn’t trying to fuck me.”
“Doesn’t mean he’s not gay.” She smirked. “Doesn’t mean he’s not enjoying the view.”
“Even if he is, I doubt I’m his type. He runs a tacky club but he’s kind of…sophisticated. Like he’s got it all
figured out, and that’s so not me.”
“You sound intrigued.”
“What? Nah, he old.”
“How old?”
“Mid to late forties maybe.”
“Like, fit forties or fuck it I’ve let myself go forties?”
“Oh he’s fit. Kind of sexy, actually. He’s got Corey’s eyes. Or I suppose Corey has his eyes.”
“Oh boy.”
I laughed and shook my head. “There’s no oh boy. It’s a simple observation. I’m not blind.”
“Just keep in mind that he’s your boss. You don’t exactly make good decisions when it comes to men.”
“You mean I didn’t used to. I’m new, careful Zach now, remember?”
Sarah sifted through the cards on the floor, avoiding my eyes. “Maybe too careful.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re still punishing yourself because of screwing up with Corey. I said be careful because your boss is a bad choice, but that doesn’t mean you need to be celibate. You’re living like a fucking monk. I don’t even want to guess how long it’s been since you’ve had sex.”
“It’s been a long fucking time, because I have neither the time nor motivation to hook up. That’s the only reason. I’m not punishing myself because of Corey. I’m over it.”
“If you say so. So, we gonna cook some of this stuff or what?”
“Yeah. Let’s do a practice run so I’m ready when Duncan decides to call on me.”
Sarah and I spent the rest of the night making samples of my chosen tapas, and by the time she left and I went to bed, I had a definitive list.
Turned out my prep was definitely ahead of the game, because for the next couple weeks, I was not contacted or approached by Duncan Stengel again. I worked my shifts, made lots of tips, did my thing, but no requests for a vegetarian ‘presentation’ came. I did see Duncan, twice, however.
The first time, I was tending bar when I saw him drift through the crowded club and out the back door, presumably to the outdoor space he’d mentioned renovating. A half hour later he came back into the club, offered me a wave, then exited again out the front doors.