Something Like Thunder

by Jay Bell

  “Do you want to come inside?” Tim asked when they pulled into his driveway. “Meet the dog?”

  Nathaniel hesitated.

  “That’s not code for us sleeping together,” Tim prompted.

  Nathaniel laughed nervously. “Okay. Just real quick. I need to get back to Zero before he has an accident.”

  Chinchilla met them at the front door. Tim led the way through a sprawling first floor to a backyard, complete with swimming pool, so she could go potty.

  “Does she like the water?” Nathaniel asked.

  “No!” Tim said. “Bulldogs can’t swim. I mean they can if they have to, but there’s a good chance they’ll drown. They don’t do well with running either, which sucks because I like to jog. Occasionally I’ll let her run with me to the end of the driveway and back. She thinks it’s a big deal.”

  Nathaniel laughed.

  Tim’s sparkling eyes met his. He must have seen something there because he grew somber. “We’ve been really honest with each other so far,” he said. “That goes against all conventions for the first date, but since we’ve already broken that rule, there’s no sense in stopping now. So what do you think? You and me. Are you feeling it?”

  Nathaniel considered the question. “I like you, and I’m sure you’ve never ever heard this before, but you’re smoking hot.”

  “Thanks,” Tim said, but he didn’t smile, already guessing what was coming.

  “I’m too messed up. I’m not willing to take any chances. You’re right that I need to put the past behind me, and that’s what I plan on doing. But that doesn’t mean I’m open to the future.”

  “I understand completely,” Tim said. Then he grinned and winked. “Quickie?”

  “I can see why you and Marcello are friends,” Nathaniel said. “I think I’ll head home before you manage to seduce me.”

  “Smart move.” Tim walked him back through the house and stopped on the front porch, but neither felt any tension. They both knew there wouldn’t be a parting kiss. “If you ever need a sympathetic ear or just someone to dog sit, give me a call.”

  Nathaniel nodded his appreciation. “You’ll regret that offer when you meet Zero, but thanks.”

  “Take care of yourself.”

  “You too,” Nathaniel replied. “And remember, if you do meet Benjamin again, you’ve only got two strikes. That last one didn’t count.”

  Tim laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  * * * * *

  “Is everything prepared for the charity ball?”

  Nathaniel glanced up from his desk in surprise. A visit from Marcello was rare. Usually Nathaniel was summoned to the office upstairs. His boss glanced around the room, as if confused by the small space. Or maybe he was looking for a wet bar that wasn’t there. He came prepared though, an open bottle of champagne in one hand.

  “I couldn’t find the damn glasses,” Marcello said, settling down in a chair.

  “That’s because I hid them along with the champagne. I don’t know how you managed to sniff one out and not the other.”

  “I’ve been told that I have a gift.”

  “And soon you’ll have a shortage. Those are for the ball.”

  “I’m not the slightest bit concerned,” Marcello said, waving a hand vaguely. “You always take such good care of my balls.”

  Nathaniel grimaced. “Yet another mental image I’d like to carve out of my brain.”

  “Speaking of balls,” Marcello continued unabashed, “Tim will be at this one. You know that, right? I don’t want any jealous behavior because he’s moved on.”

  “We went on one date two years ago,” Nathaniel said.

  Marcello blinked. “Has it been so long? Where does the time go?”

  “In there,” Nathaniel said, nodding at the open bottle.

  “Then we better get it out again.” Marcello took a hearty swig. “I need a favor. Are you busy?”

  “I need to get the guest list approved so the invitations can be sent out today. Otherwise there won’t be anyone at the charity… event.”

  “Excellent,” Marcello said as if not having heard him. He set the bottle on the desk. Apparently he was staying. “I need you to do some research for me. Find out everything you can about a certain individual.”

  Nathaniel sighed and grabbed a pen. “Does this person have a name?”

  “William.” Marcello made a face and patted himself down until he located his phone. Then he read from the screen. “Townson.”

  “Okay,” Nathaniel said. “How soon do you need this?”

  “I can wait,” Marcello said. Then he leaned back, looking around the room pleasantly.

  Nathaniel glared at him. When that didn’t help, he started typing on his computer. “What are we looking for?”

  “He’s secretive about his past. That’s very frustrating to a young man I met recently. Bright as a spark. In fact, we need to discuss some of his ideas soon. For now, I’m eager to play Cupid, and as I said, this William isn’t very forthcoming about himself.”

  Nathaniel paused in his searching “Maybe he doesn’t want anyone to know about his past.”

  “What difference does that make? Come on, what can you tell me?”

  Nathaniel focused on the task. Twenty minutes and one champagne bottle later, the printer next to his desk was whirring out the essential documents. He handed these to Marcello, who flipped through them. “Well well,” he said musingly. “Nasty business. Still, I see no reason for hiding what was essentially an accident.” He sat upright. “Did you see his boyfriend? How striking!”

  Nathaniel’s eyes flicked back to the monitor. The newspaper article was about a car wreck, the two victims still in high school. One was William Townson, who appeared to be the consummate boy next door. The other was Kelly Phillips, whose sly smile looked like it could cut through steel. He was indeed very fetching. Judging from the comments found on one site, the two were dating openly, which led to all sorts of ugly speculation about what exactly had caused the accident. “The kid lost a leg. It would be a miracle if his face made it out unscathed.”

  “That’s not always a bad thing. Did you have a chance to see Tim’s scar? I think he likes to show it off. Why else would he walk around his house shirtless when he knows I’m peeping in the windows?”

  “It was one date,” Nathaniel reminded him. “Our clothes remained on.”

  Marcello peered at him. “I understand the words, but you’re not making sense.”

  “Anything else?” Nathaniel asked pointedly.

  “One of these articles is just an excerpt. Do you think you can track down a copy of the paper? I like the cheap and tawdry feel of newsprint.”

  Nathaniel sighed. “I need a raise.”

  “Done. Maybe we should look into this Kelly Phillips. Put him in front of a camera and see if he’s always that photogenic.”

  “If he is, it’s bad news for the guy hoping to hook up with William.”

  Marcello shook his head. “Nonsense. Love is a revolving door. The only trick is timing when you step in.”

  Nathaniel scowled. “I have a lot to do.”

  “Of course! Thank you for your help. You’ve been very kind.”

  Nathaniel watched him leave. Then he looked back at the newspaper article—at Kelly—before he closed the browser window and got back to work.

  * * * * *

  Nathaniel enjoyed organizing charity events. Over the past few years, he had watched Marcello spend ridiculous amounts of money on cars, clothes, and vacations. He binged on food and drink, engaging in frequent illicit activities, as if unaware of his own mortality. And yet this pattern of indulgence extended to charities as well. All of Marcello’s questionable personality traits were balanced out by his drive to help others less fortunate than himself, which quite frankly included almost everyone else on the planet. Arranging these events could be a logistical nightmare, but Marcello always swept in and became directly involved. Nathaniel had once seen him talk a contributor in
to changing his generous five-figure donation into six figures instead.

  Nathaniel looked forward to each such event, but this one was difficult. The concept had him intrigued: a shut-in to support those who were unable to leave their homes due to illness or disability. Nathaniel had worked with the production wing to create films that helped expose their plight. That had been fun. Dealing with building codes or health and safety regulations invoked by shutting a bunch of rich guys in a ballroom for one hour—that wasn’t so enjoyable. Nor was replacing the caterers when they pulled out at the last minute, or this stupid request of Marcello’s to allow William and his suitor to sneak off together during the shut-in. They would be masquerading as waiters, which seemed ridiculous and unnecessary. Nathaniel intended to put them to work regardless. He wouldn’t allow them to stand around being idle.

  “Is everything going according to plan?” Marcello asked.

  Nathaniel looked up from his list. The kitchen was a buzz of activity with him in the center like a queen bee. Or like someone who just had a hive fall on his head. “The lead bartender informed me—now instead of yesterday—that one of the deliveries didn’t arrive. So it’s either an evening of virgin cocktails or I need to run to the store.”

  “No need,” Marcello said. “You can raid my private pantry. There should be sufficient supplies there to get us through the night.”

  That would save time. Marcello’s home was a few turrets short of palatial. Who else had a ballroom and professional kitchen in one wing of their home? The first time Nathaniel had visited he had gotten lost. Literally.

  “Do you have a moment?” Marcello said, gesturing to one of the hallways.

  “No. I need to play drill sergeant to these waiters.” All around them were shirtless men dressed in formal slacks and bowties, most of them socializing instead of preparing for duty. One was currently rolling a joint, which set his teeth on edge.

  “Tim will take over from here,” Marcello said. “He’s on his way. I figured you have enough on your plate, and he’s very experienced in such things.”

  “At playing waiter? I know he runs the Eric Conroy Foundation but—”

  “He volunteered often in his youth. Just wait until you see him shirtless in person. It’s absolutely breathtaking. Time for that later. Come along!”

  Nathaniel followed Marcello grudgingly down a hallway and into a sitting room full of books. The only thing stopping him from calling it a library was the existence of one elsewhere in the house.

  “You’ve been an absolute blessing,” Marcello said. “I didn’t hold back when you first came into my employ, and you’ve met every challenge with absolute ferocity. You’re twice the man Kenneth ever was. Much easier on the eyes too.”

  “Thanks,” Nathaniel said, “but if this is you trying to seduce me…”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Marcello said, stopping at a table and spinning around. “The best cake is the one you never nibble on. Speaking of which…” He gestured at a table, where a cupcake was burning with a single candle. Next to it was a bottle decorated with a red ribbon. “Happy birthday!”

  Nathaniel was speechless.

  Marcello smiled. “You didn’t think I forgot, did you?”

  “To be honest, I forgot myself!”

  “Here, make a wish before the frosting gets singed. I had to run down the hall after lighting it. I almost passed out.”

  Nathaniel, still overwhelmed, scrabbled for an appropriate wish. More of this. That would do. He liked his life. Plenty of challenges, none of them emotional. What more could he want? One thing came to mind as he blew out the dangerously low candle, but he quickly shoved it aside.

  “No doubt you’re watching your carbs,” Marcello said, eying the cupcake longingly.

  “Knock yourself out,” Nathaniel said. He picked up the bottle of wine instead, jaw dropping once he read the label. “I know how much this costs!”

  “Prove it,” Marcello said playfully.

  “Upwards of one thousand dollars.”

  “Correct! You know, it really is astounding how much you’ve learned in the past few years. Nobody comes by such things naturally, no matter how much they might pretend to. I’ve spent decades sampling an unimaginable number of spirits, just to familiarize myself with the subject.”

  “Alternatively, you can just memorize the names and descriptions.” Nathaniel continued to study the bottle, unable to imagine ever drinking it. “I appreciate the gesture, but I think I’d rather have the money.”

  Marcello chuckled. “I thought you’d say that, which is why you’ll find another little treat on your next paycheck.”

  “Thank you,” Nathaniel said, looking up. “Not for the money or the wine. I like both, but thank you for trusting me. I was naïve when I asked for this job. You could have started me out in some lowly position or ignored me completely, but you trusted me with—well, everything.”

  “Oh I still have a few secrets,” Marcello said, “and if I remember correctly, at the time I owed you a favor. I did see potential in you though. Loyalty too, which is a truly rare commodity. Working with you has been an absolute pleasure. Of all the assets this company has, you are my most treasured.”

  Nathaniel felt moved but did his best not to show it. “You sure this isn’t just you trying to get into my pants?”

  “As I said…” Marcello lifted the cupcake and took a bite.

  Nathaniel considered the bottle fondly, appreciating what it symbolized more than the actual contents. “Thank you,” he murmured, setting it down again. “Now it’s time for me to keep proving myself to you.”

  “Excellent! Don’t forget about our young lovers tonight. When the shut-in starts, William and Jason will be venturing into the house alone. They know where to go. If you see two waiters sneaking around, don’t sic that dog of yours on them.”

  “He’s out back,” Nathaniel said. “I won’t forget.”

  He returned to the kitchen, and while Tim had clearly set the waiters in motion, not everything was up to Nathaniel’s standards. He barked orders, telling men to stand up straight or pull their pants up over their underwear lines or in the case of one vaguely familiar face, to stop poking at the hors d'oeuvres. He was blond, pale-skinned, and had an impressive physique, but tonight that didn’t count for much.

  “William, right?”

  The guy looked up in surprise and smiled. “Yeah!”

  Nathaniel didn’t return the gesture. “Why are you touching the food?”

  “I’m trying to figure out what it is.”

  “Brandade de Morue au Gratin,” Nathaniel said. “You need to tell the guests what you are presenting them with when offering it.”

  “Brandy morey gray tong?”

  He sighed. He might not be fluent in French, but this job had forced him to learn how to pronounce most words. “Brandade de Morue au Gratin.”

  “Brandaddy de morey gratin?”

  Nathaniel was seriously tempted to tell the guy to fuck off and go wait for his lover. Instead he repeated himself until William got the pronunciation right. Then he took him by the shoulders, turned him toward the ballroom, and gave him a gentle push. After making sure no other waiters were loitering around, Nathaniel went into the ballroom to greet guests and make sure everything was going smoothly.

  He spotted Tim, a tray of champagne glasses balanced expertly on one hand, his smile just as sparkling. He would stop, hand out drinks, flirt, and move on. Perfect. At least Nathaniel wouldn’t have to worry about him. He stopped by the stage, checking the audio equipment. Then he made his way to the back of the room to confirm that the digital projector was properly primed. He berated the technician there, just to make sure he knew his job, then moved through the crowd, stopping to speak with some of the bigger names while keeping an eye on refreshments moving around the room. When he noticed more empty glasses than filled, Nathaniel took one of the younger waiters by the arm to stop him.

  “The champagne is running a little dry,”
he said. “Better get another tray from the kitchen.”

  The kid looked up at him with huge eyes, as if he was being chastised by a stern parent. Or maybe it was recognition, because there was something familiar about that face. If they did know each other, it wasn’t well enough for them to stand there gawking. “Did you hear me? We need more champagne. Marcello will be asking for money in half an hour, and we want everyone feeling generous.”

  The young waiter worked his jaw, finally managing to speak. “I’m not old enough to serve alcohol.”

  “Oh, sorry. In that case just head to the kitchen and let them know. Tell any waiters on your way too. All right?”

  The kid nodded. “No problem.” Then he pivoted and headed toward the kitchen. Nathaniel watched him go, the familiarity nagging at him until an older man extended a hand toward him. One of their more generous contributors. Nathaniel tried to put the matter out of mind and focus on playing host, but when he risked another glance toward the kitchen, he saw Marcello speaking with the young waiter. The conversation seemed more involved than just the champagne shortage. What were the names of the two star-crossed waiters? William, obviously, but who was the other?

  “I’d like to make a donation before the actual shut-in,” Nathaniel’s conversation partner was saying. “I haven’t stayed up this late since my sixties!”

  This reminded him to focus on the true priority of the evening. Nathaniel accepted a check, issued a tax-deductable receipt, and escorted the man outside to his car. When he returned inside, Marcello was on stage, announcing the shut-in. The waiters were swarming toward the kitchen, taking the food and drink with them. One whole hour without snacks and booze. How would any of them survive? Once the room was clear of staff, Nathaniel locked the doors personally, then nodded to one of the technicians, who lowered the lights.

  He looked toward the stage, where Marcello and Tim had just finished speaking about the cause. The digital projector switched on. Nathaniel watched to make sure the edges were aligned and the image wasn’t skewed. Everything looked good, so he allowed himself to relax by leaning against a wall. That didn’t last long. A motion to his immediate right caught his eye, someone yanking on the kitchen door. He sighed. There was always one person who couldn’t wait to break the rules.