When Irish Eyes Are Smiling

by TomNJus

  Since college, I’d also had the advantage of that question: “So, I hear you’re a real estate agent…” which was my invitation to discuss the housing market and compliment the parents on their cozy nest. Any reservations they had about me usually vanished in that instant and I was in-like-Flynn. People like to have their primary asset valued and admired.

  Somehow, I didn’t think that was going to fly this time.

  One thing I did know, appearances mattered. I’d picked out my wardrobe very carefully: a pale, apple green, linen shirt, sand-colored Dockers and closed-toed leather sandals, casual and summery, but respectful. The crowning touch was a pair of y-type leather suspenders from Italy. I knew Joel would be wearing one of his fedoras and I wanted to match his retro style.

  I also figured he’d like them.

  Everything was pressed and iron-crisp from the cleaners, the trouser pleats knife-edge sharp, and the linen shirt wrinkle free. With each article of clothing I slipped on, I felt my self-confidence notching up; like putting on armor. I attached the suspenders to buttons sewn on the trousers, adjusted them, and then brought them up. Damn. I had nice shoulders, and I liked the way the suspenders hitched up the pants over my ass. Slipping my hands into my pockets, I stepped back and grinned.

  There. That was what I was talking about. I rolled up the sleeves to just below the elbow. Behold: one all-American, golden-haired boy. No slick real estate agent here, no siree! Just a friendly, charming, honest lad.

  “I’m back!” Joel shouted coming in through the front door. “Ready to go?” I caught a glimpse of him and sucked in a breath. He was wearing his black fedora with charcoal slacks. They were matched up with a deep blue, cotton dress shirt. That was my favorite color on him. I never met a man who looked more beautiful in blue.

  “Dev?” he called impatiently.

  “Just let me get my wallet,” I said, stepping out. He stiffened and gawked, which was gratifying.

  “When did you get those?” he demanded as I deliberately bent to fetch up my keys.

  “The suspenders? I’ve had them for a while. Just waiting for the right place to wear them.”

  “The right place would have been in the bedroom,” he said, reaching out and grabbing them. He pulled me in and growled as he kissed me. “Preferably without a shirt.”

  That made my cock stir. I dueled with his tongue and bit at his lower lip. “Afterwards,” I promised.

  We drove to the pub. It was a freestanding, white building right on the corner of a fairly busy street. Joel parked in the crowded lot behind, and walked us around to the front. There was an old fashioned, wooden sign: a pair of decidedly feminine, green eyes surrounded by shamrocks and the words Irish Eyes Pub and Tavern. The place was already alive and hopping. There were folk seated at umbrellaed picnic tables out front, and kids darting about on skateboards. Chatter and fiddle music hit us as we stepped in, along with the malty fragrance of beer.

  The inside of the pub was both what I’d expected and not. There were the usual white-washed walls and wood ceiling beams, the stone fireplace that dominated one end, a dart board, and, of course, a beautiful oak and brass bar where patrons stood two deep, reaching, as bartenders handed out dark beers and pale ciders.

  What was unexpected was how airy and bright the pub was. I’d anticipated some place enclosed, but it had large, open windows that, on the outside, held flowerboxes filled with marigolds, asters and daisies. There were vases of these on the tables and festooning the fireplace mantle. The wall décor was equally uncluttered and eye catching: framed photographs of Irish meadows, brooks, stone bridges and quaint cottages.

  “Whoa,” I said, hand on Joel’s arm. “This is where you spent your formative years?”

  “It was my second home,” Joel acknowledged. “Everyone in the family had to do their share. Serving tables, cleaning up, stocking, and counting out the register. We were always threatening to call child services,” he added wryly. “As I wasn’t the most sociable kid, I usually stayed in the kitchen with Mam.”

  He guided us over to a buffet table, which was indeed loaded down with an impressive spread. There was soda bread and wheels of dark, yellow cheddar and creamy blue cheese. There were steamed carrots, a mountain of corned beef and cabbage, a leek and bacon quiche, shepherd’s pie, and an enormous poached salmon.

  There were also two men and two women, standing nearby, calling to Joel and waving. The next thing I knew, he’d been snatched away. They had to be his brothers and sisters, the way they pinched and punched him, ruffled his hair screamed of older sibs toying with a baby brother. Finished with the hugs and kisses and pokes to the ribs, he said something to them and waved my way.

  Green eyes fastened on me. Four pairs of them, five counting Joel’s, and except for Joel’s, none of them looked friendly.

  I put on my most confident smile. If they thought to intimidate me, they were going to have to think again. I stepped up, hand out.

  “This is John, and this is Rosie—” Joel introduced the two eldest. John looked like an older version of Joel, black hair threaded with a bit of silver, laugh-lines about his green eyes. Conservatively dressed, he was tallest of the siblings, also the thinnest and palest, as if he didn’t get out much; his expression was cautious, as if reserving judgment.

  Rosie had short, dark hair and a pixyish face. A plum colored, sleeveless dress revealed long arms. Her eyes were hard, and so was her handshake. She looked like she wanted to interrogate me and, if she didn’t like the answers, have me shot.

  “And this is Katie and Gabe,” Joel went on brightly. Was he missing the fact that his brothers and sisters already hated me? Smile still plastered to my face, I turned to the other two.

  Katie was the youngest next to Joel, also the shortest, which made her the only one shorter than me. Her long hair was a dark auburn, and her face softer, less angular than her siblings’ were. That might have been due to the fact that she was some seven months pregnant. She was the only one to offer me a tentative smile.

  Then there was Gabe.

  A few nights back, while stretched out on Joel’s couch, my head in his lap, I’d boastfully mentioned that I’d been on both my high school and college wrestling teams and asked if he’d wrestled.

  “I’m gay,” he’d responded, “of course I wrestled in high school. How else was I going to get my hands on all those hunky straight boys?”

  I’d laughed.

  “Bet I can pin you,” he’d said then, a lazy, cocky challenge. Well, there was no backing down from that. We moved the coffee table, stripped down to our underwear and went at it. There were some very sexy moments, like when Joel kept me from scoring on him by maintaining a tripod position. He deliberately ground his firm ass against my crotch as I tried to press him down. I called foul No arousing moves.

  I got back at him by hooking his knee and getting us leg locked.

  Naturally, I presumed that I’d out-wrestle him and I did get him down, time and again, but he managed to escape every hold! Every nelson, headlock and bear hug. Professionally or for fun, I’d never wrestled anyone able to contort or wiggle away so quickly. Finally, he trapped me in an embarrassing and very erotic face pin.

  “Where the fuck did you learn to wrestle like that?” I panted, staring at the bulge in his shorts, inches from my nose. Spots of excitement were appearing on the cotton.

  “My older brother Gabe,” Joel said. He was leaning over me, holding tight to my wrists. His chest hair was slick with sweat and drops of it were falling from his face onto mine. “He liked to wrestle and pin me down. Every time I learned to escape a hold, he came up with a new one. By high school, I could slip out of anything.”

  “Sounds like a nasty kid,” I said uncertainly. As an only child, sibling relations were a mystery to me.

  “Are you kidding?” He finally rolled off to lie on the carpet beside me, which ought to have been a relief, but left me strangely disappointed. “Gabe taught me how to swim, and ride a bike, throw darts. H
e took me to my first rock concert, gave me my first taste of whiskey, and showed me my first porn movie. He got me so drunk on my sixteenth birthday I threw up all over the inside of his Charger, and then on Pop when Gabe dragged me into the house.” Joel smiled fondly. “Other big brothers use to shoo away their little brothers, but Gabe always let me tag along, and the bullies in the neighborhood never touched me because they knew if they did Gabe would beat the shit out of them. He was the best.”

  So, here I was at last, face to face with the legendary Gabe. He was auburn haired like Katie, but the red highlights were more noticeable, they burned like fire in the sunlight. His face was squarer than his brothers’ were, as was his build; there was muscle under that maroon shirt, hard muscle. I half expected a crushing handshake from that broad hand, but he was surprisingly careful. His eyes were hard as peridots and never broke from mine.

  “Nice to meet you, Devlin,” Gabe said for all of them.

  Yeah. Right.

  The band finished off its set, and voices filled in the gap. The place was wall-to-wall people.

  “WELCOME!” a shout from the fireplace. “And thank ye all for coming. If I can have a minute of your time?” The voice was very like Joel’s, clear and lyrical, only with an Irish accent. “This is a very special day for the O’ Shaughnessy family.”

  “We’d better get up there,” John said, and the siblings pushed their way forward to join a balding, older man at the fireplace. I’d expected Joel to take after his dad, but the old man was neither tall nor lean. He was solid, with a fringe of fiery red hair, paling to orange and white. Only Gabe had inherited that square face and solid body. But the old man’s green eyes were familiar; warm and playful, just like Joel’s.

  It was his wife, Joel’s mother, who’d passed on the stunning bone structure and height to her children. She was taller than her husband, a slender, elegant woman with silver streaks in her ebony hair.

  The siblings had just stepped up when a bespectacled fellow, a fawn-haired woman, and a willowy young man joined them. Spouses undoubtedly. Seven kids came with them. They ranged from around sixteen to six and were all dark haired save for the littlest, a redheaded boy standing at Gabe’s knee. Every single one of them shared granddad’s green eyes.

  The family arranged themselves under a large, gold banner with the familiar Go n'eiri an t-adh leat! wish upon it.

  It was odd to see such a clan. Family holidays for me meant a restful vacation with Mom and Dad in whatever country they were residing. I wondered what such holidays would be like with Joel’s family.

  “Is that everyone?” the patriarch asked, and the room chuckled. “Right then.” His hands went into his pockets, as if preparing to tell a story. “Let me start over. Thank ye all for coming.”

  “Couldn’t miss out on the free food!” someone yelled. More laughter.

  “S’not free, Freddy-me-lad!” Dad retorted. “You’ve got to listen to my speech. Now where was I. Ah, yes. When Ula and I first started this pub back in ’65, I had this chauvinistic idea that my son, Johnny,” a wave over to his eldest, “would take up the reigns when I retired. One day, John came home from high school and told me that he and his friends were learning how to program computers. I told him there was no future in that.”

  Laughter, and a wry smirk from John. Dad shrugged with good-natured chagrin.

  “Still,” he went on, “even when it came clear that running a pub wasn’t for Johnny, I thought sure one of the other boys would want to walk in my shoes. We O’ Shaughnessys can be a stubborn lot, but once you convince us, you convince us. Eventually I got it through my thick skull that it was Rosie who always stayed after hours. And it was Rosie had all the good ideas, like serving up a Sunday brunch, or having Thursday dart night. And live music, too. Thing is, Rosie’s always had her Irish eye on Irish Eyes. She was even mercenary enough to marry our bookkeeper so the pub wouldn’t lose him.”

  A louder laugh and Rosie’s bespectacled husband ducked his head.

  “It’s long past time Ula and I let her and Matthew sail this ship, while we sit out on the deck and enjoy the cruise.” A grinning Mr. O’ Shaughnessy put his arm about his wife and lifted a waiting beer glass off the fireplace mantle. “So I’ll end with this blessing we got from our families when we left Ireland for our new life in America. I can’t think of a better or more proper wish for us all on this particular day: May you always have walls for the winds, a roof for the rain, tea beside the fire, laughter to cheer you, those you love near you—and all your heart might desire. Go maire sibh bhur saol nua.”

  “Go maire sibh bhur saol nua,” everyone echoed and, those with drinks, toasted and drank. There were hugs all around, and the band started up again with a lively jig. Joel waved me over and I got through the crush. He introduced me to his parents.

  “This is an amazing place, sir, ma’am,” I said shaking their hands. “I’m in awe of all you’ve done.”

  “Well, thank ye, thank ye very much,” Dad said. He seemed reticent, but this was hardly the best time for a get-to-know-you. His handshake was warm enough. Mom—Mom had eyes so blue as to be almost indigo, and they were gazing at me as if peeling back layers of skin.

  “Devlin,” Joel’s father said as if testing the name. “So you’re Irish?”

  “Typical, American mongrel, actually. Danish mostly, with some French and Russian mixed in. But I’ve been told that my Christian name came from a distant and infamous ancestor who was both Irish and a bit of a scoundrel.”

  That seemed to amuse and please the old man. Joel and I excused ourselves, letting the hosts have their turn with other guests.

  “Let’s plate up,” he said getting us back to the buffet, “I’m starving.”

  So was I. We heaped on food, and I managed to find an empty seat at one of the picnic tables outside while Joel fetched drinks. A beer for me, and a scotch on the rocks for him.

  “So what did that last part of the blessing mean?”

  “Go maire sibh bhur saol nua?” He took a bite of corned beef doused in creamy horseradish sauce. “May you enjoy your new life.”

  “Nice.” We tried to eat, but were interrupted repeatedly as friends and old time patrons came by to chat with Joel and exchange gossip. Eventually, his nieces and nephews got hold of him and dragged him off, insisting that he play darts with them.

  “Go on,” I urged as they pulled at his hands, and called him “Uncle Joel.” I didn’t really mind being left alone for a bit. The food was good and the beer was excellent, so dark it was almost black with a rich, frothy head.

  “Mind if I sit down?” It was Katie.

  “Please,” I urged her, half rising. “Need any help?”

  “No, no.” She settled awkwardly at the end of the bench, carefully adjusting her protruding belly. “I’m fine really. It’s just hard to navigate this wide load. Enjoying yourself?”

  I settled back down. “Everything’s delicious and I love the music.”

  “Good.” There followed a moment of awkward silence between us.

  “Joel says you’re an artist?” I felt my face warm as I said this, remembering how I’d told Joel at our first dinner that artists were passionate lovers. Had I’d known his sister was one—

  “Painting and photography.”

  “Are those your pictures inside?” I’d been trying to be polite, but now I perked with interest. “They’re fantastic. I mean, really fantastic.”

  She blushed. “You’re just saying that.”

  “I’m not. You’ve got the eye. Have you ever had a gallery showing?”

  “Not yet. I’ve been trying to arrange one, but I don’t have that many contacts—”

  “My ex was an artist. I’ll get some names from her and pass them on to Joel.”

  “Thank you.” She was quite stunned, though I wasn’t sure why. After a moment she ventured, “We weren’t real welcoming back there, were we?” I started to wave her off, but she ploughed on, “You’ve got to understand, Joel has onl
y brought one other guy around to meet the family, which means he must be serious about you. As serious as he was about Eric, and that didn’t end well.”

  Eric. I’d almost forgotten about the text message I’d blithely erased. “Joel hasn’t said much about Eric.”

  “Talking about Eric, huh?” Gabe unexpectedly sat down in Joel’s vacated spot. I‘m not sure how he’d snuck up on us. He had a half-empty beer in his hand, and challenge in his eyes. He said Eric’s name as if it were something foul he wanted to spit out.

  “Gabe—” Katie looked uneasy. “Keep your voice down—”