by Troy Storm
“I…I’m not looking…oh, shit, he’s big… Syb…” Chad scrambled to his feet.
“Tell me, Syble, there is nothing going on. Tell me!”
“Steven, Chad, we really need to talk about this at some other place, where we can all talk quietly together and explain and—”
“Oh, God, no!” Steven sat down, his head buried in his hand. “Oh, God. What have I done? What have you done? Syble,” he looked up, eyes desperate. “Syble…Jesus…”
Their young server appeared, wide-eyed. “Uh, is everything okay? The food’s almost ready. It’s, you know, a special order and it takes, oh, uh, hi, coach. I didn’t notice it was you before…I mean, you had your head down and…”
Chad sat, flustered. Syble stood.
“I’m so sorry, Peter, our server for the evening,” she said, quietly, “We’re leaving…It’s…a family emergency. C’mon, guys.” She grabbed her wrap from the back of her chair and began threading here way through the tables toward the exit.
With effort, Steven raised his eyes to the young coach. Young, studly…yet he looked as appalled as Stephen. Totally out of his element.
With a desperate look, the coach quickly hopped up and followed Syble.
“We can’t leave him here, Syb. Gee, the guy’s really…”
“Of course, he’s really! Wouldn’t you be? Stephen, please come along, quickly.”
Stephen roused himself, his mind in turmoil. He glanced at the waiting couple and the worried looking waiter. “I…I’m sorry about this…uh…emergency. How much…” Syble looked distraught, on the verge of breaking down in tears. The young coach next to her just looked panicked…and infinitely sad. What the hell kind of reaction was that? Was that how he cheered his losers on? Stephen pulled out his credit card. No, they obviously couldn’t take the time. How much cash did he have?
“If we just leave? We haven’t eaten…”
“It’s okay. I’ll, uh, take care of it.”
“You’ll…?”
“No, no. We haven’t time. We’ve got to get out where we can talk.” Syble rushed back to tug at her husband’s elbow. “Steven, we really must go.” She was on the point of tears. “I’m sure Peter will understand. I’m sure Mr. Les…Mr. Friends will understand.”
Steven’s hands were shaking. Steven’s hands never shook. “It’s okay, Syb. It’s okay. I’ll be with you in just a sec. I’ll be with you, the both of you…” He sat heavily, overwhelmed at the sudden thought. The both of them. The sight of the both of them…together. “Oh, God.”
“Steven, please.” She began to choke, the tears finally coming. She tugged him upright, choking the words out. “Let’s…go now! We can’t…make a scene…here. I’ll call later,” she burbled to the young waiter. “I’ll explain. We’ve got to talk.”
“Syb.” Stephen felt dead. It was all his fault. It had to be his fault. The collapse. His clients. Their losses. Now this. His life. With her. Gone too? Oh, God.
Syble reached for the back of a nearby chair. The woman seated in it looked up anxiously.
“Are you alright? Are you ill?”
Chad rushed back to anxiously grip Syble’s elbow.
Stephen bit his lip and gripped his wife’s other elbow. “We just need to get some air," he answered the concerned lady. “Syb, love, have some water. I’ll pay the young man. He’ll get charged for our meal if I don’t.” Syble felt for her chair. He stuck out his credit card. “It’ll only take a moment. Coach,” he said with a pained expression, “hold on to her.”
“What did you say?” The tremble drained out of her voice as she slowly straightened, blinking, looking from Stephen to the anxious young man standing nearby. She reached for Peter, needing no assistance from Chad. “Is that true?”
“Uh…yes, ma’am, but…it’s okay. You guys need to leave and…”
She sat. Firmly. “Get me the manager.” Her voice suddenly hard. She stopped Stephen from proffering his credit card. Firmly. “Now, Peter, our server for the evening. Now!” she added, smiling tightly, slowly removing her wrap. “I would like very much to speak with him now!”
“Uh, love, Syb,” Stephen leaned down. “It’ll…it’ll be fine. We’ll all talk.”
Her voice was calm…ice. A winter’s day had never been colder. “Sit down, Stephen. Sit down, Chad. What we have to say to each other can wait. This cannot. Oh. There you are, Mr….Monsieur Les Amis.” Her mid-Western French was impeccable.
“Uh oh.” The ice in her voice hit Stephen in the face. He was suddenly very much…in the present. He stroked his neck and smoothed his hair, checking out the restaurant’s décor, trying not to connect with the intrigued nearby customers.
Chad nudged his foot under the table as a tall, middle-aged Frenchman hurried up, a questioning look on his face.
Stephen’s broad shoulders lifted slightly. He mouthed to Chad. Prepare yourself.
“Madame, I understand you are not well.” The elegant man looked awkwardly from Stephen to Chad and back again. “Perhaps we call…”
“You understand incorrectly. I am very well. You can inform me if I have been incorrectly informed…and then we will see who will call whom…and for what purpose.”
The Frenchman’s well-attended eyebrows arched. He waved Peter, the server, away to attend to his other tables. “If there is a problem…”
“There is. If a waiter gets stiffed by a customer, do you take that table’s check out of the young person’s salary?”
“Why…I… It’s customary to…”
She cut him off. “If we left now, having ordered our food, and did not pay, would you take the hit, or hit the kid? It is a simple question. Tres simple, n’est-ce pas?”
“Madame, I don’t think…”
“Indeed you do not.” She reached up and gripped his lapels, pulling firmly down until he was kneeling at her side. Chad watched, mouth agape. Stephen peeked under his sheltering fingers.
“Are you aware of how many thousands of dollars we have spent in this place…this Restaurant Des Amis, mon ami…over the years?”
His mouth flapped.
“And are you aware of how many thousands of dollars will not be spent once the word gets out among my friends that you are treating your employees as chattal? There may even be legal repercussions. There most certainly will be,” she said evenly, her nose to his, “plenty of publicity.” She released the stunned man. “Unless you change your policy as…I…sit…here. Starting with Peter.” Her arm shot out to point directly at the young man hovering near the waiter’s station. “Our charming, more competent than you deserve, server of the evening.”
Finished, she stood, her hand firmly on the Monsieur Les Amis’ shoulder, keeping him down.
Stephen quickly gestured for Chad to stand, too.
“It astounds me,” she spoke loudly to the kneeling man, “that even reputable businessmen treat the young persons of this community with the same disdain for their rights as some well-meaning, but incredibly incompetent parents do. No wonder our kids have so little sense of responsibility—both girls and boys! We certainly don’t show them by example.”
Whipping her wrap around shoulders she stalked out to a smattering of applause, hurriedly followed by Stephen and Chad. Halfway across the parking lot, their young server, caught up with the group, grinning from ear to ear. “Wow, Ms. Thornton, you’re awesome. I had ’em throw everything in some doggy bags.” He handed over several containers to the men. “And Mr. Deschamps said we’re not getting docked anymore. If you ever run for anything, let me know.” With another ear-to-ear grin he hurried back.
Syble leaned against the car and began to weep. “Dammit. Fuck. Shit. Dammit,” she snorted, her nose began to run.
Stephen shoved his containers at Chad and hugged her. “It’s okay, beautiful. You did great. You got a Kleenex, coach? Nah, I guess you butch types don’t carry tissues, do yah?”
“What th…I’ve got a handkerchief,” Chad huffed, “it’s in my inside pocket.”
He shoved his chest forward, his hands full of the restaurant containers. Stephen reached inside the young man’s jacket.
“Jeez, a real handkerchief, and I thought I was the old dude. Wonder where this has been?” He gingerly held the cloth between his thumb and forefinger and offered it to Syble.
“Oh, stop that, smarty pants,” she sniffed, dabbing at her eyes. “Thank you, Chad, at least I have one gentleman in tow tonight.” He beamed, suspiciously.
A heavy crunching sound announced a car slowly coming to a halt on the rough gravel behind them. An officer of the law leaned out the cruiser’s window. “Everything all right here, folks?”
“Yes, sir, everything’s fine,” Chad answered, somewhat warily.
“I saw the lady was crying,” the office noted, menacingly.
“I was, but I’m not now. Thank you, officer, for checking.” Syble waved the handkerchief gently in his direction.
“I just wanted to be sure.”
“We appreciate it. Thank you, again,” she repeated, more firmly. “We’re leaving now.” She started for the passenger door, which Stephen promptly unlocked with the remote.
Chad hustled around to the passenger side and began dumping doggy bags in the back seat. “Cops always make me nervous. I don’t know why that is.”
“Because you’re doing something wrong, maybe?” Stephen said, standing at the driver’s door, pointedly. “Did that ever occur to your jock brain?”
Syble’s jaw dropped. “Not now, Stephen, please. We’ll all talk about all this as soon as we get back to the house.” The fresh air seemed to have revived them all.
She opened the passenger door as Stephen banged the top of the car. She was being way too cool about what might be going on. “Syble. You and this…you and this guy aren’t really… Please tell me you’re not like…dammit! This has been a fucking shit year all the way around. Twelve fucking shit months…dammit! You could have at least given me a clue. A chance!” He glared at Chad over the top of the car in the dim light. “How long have you two been friends?" Complete realization slammed him in the face in the night air. The pale vision in the restaurant coalesced into HD clarity. Them. Naked. “Oh, God, you haven’t been…like…doing it, have you, Syb? Not right under my nose?” he pleaded.
“Stephen, I’ve hardly been under your nose, or any other part of you, for the last year,” she said, grimly. “Once a week. Maybe! And often not even that! Now, get in the car and let’s go home.”
“You have, haven’t you?" His face was furious enough to cause Chad to freeze in place. “You little fucker, taking advantage when I was off trying to save our asses, how could you have done that? And you talk about responsibility…the both of you!” he yelled across the car top. “You ought to be ashamed of yourselves!” His voice choked.
The sound of tires scattering gravel announced the return of the police cruiser. Stephen slammed his fists onto the metal top of the car and dropped his head onto them, his shoulders heaving.
“What’s going on here? You said you were leaving, that there’s no problem.”
“We are leaving, officer. There is no problem.” Syble marched unsteadily over the gravel surface to the cruiser’s window. “We’re having a domestic dispute. We are not loitering. We are trying to get somewhere where we won’t make public spectacles of ourselves. Any more than we already have. Your hounding is not helping the situation.”
“Now look here, lady…”
“Now look here, what?”
The officer’s voice was tighter. “It’s my job to…”
“Interfere with consenting adults trying to work out a domestic situation?”
“Consenting?” Stephen raised his head, his moist eyes glittering dangerously. “Who the hell consented? I didn’t consent!”
“But you would have, Stephen, if you had known.” Pleading, she turned to go to him. “Chad is a great…Oh!” She stumbled on the uneven surface of the gravel. Both Stephen and Chad rushed to grab her.
“Have you been drinking?” The cruiser door swung open and the office sprang out.
“Of course we’ve been drinking.” Syble spun on him, slamming a hand to steady herself on the back of the police car. “We’ve just been to the most expensive restaurant in this part of the county. What did you expect us to be doing? Chug-a-lugging Shirley Temples? I thought we were going to have a nice meal which would sober us up for the drive home where we can discuss this situation like adults.”
Shoving her support team aside, she swung the back door of their car wide, almost dinging the SUV beside them. Reaching inside, she grabbed a container. “And the meal was going to be delicious. In fact, we can try it now.” Unwrapping a filet mignon, she clutched the meat in her fist and ripped a chunk off in a vicious bite. “Damn! That’s good.”
“Officer,” Stephen said calmly, sniffing and wiping his nose on his coat sleeve.
“Oh, Stephen, that’s disgusting,” Syble muttered, slapping the filet mignon into Chad’s hand and swabbing at Stephen’s sleeve with the coach’s handkerchief. Chad winced and took a bite of the filet. His brows lifted appreciatively.
“That's good,” he muttered.
Stephen grabbed the meat from the young man’s fist and, baring his teeth, bit a large hunk. “Officer,” he chewed, “we each had a glass of wine, and considering the watered down vintage we were served, I think we’re well under the DWI percentage. However, if you have a Breathalizer, I’d be glad to…”
The policeman warily shook his head, his eyes darting from one to the other of the determinedly chewing group as Syble carefully rewrapped the meat and rummaged for Handi Wipes. Slowly the cop slid back into the cruiser. “Not to get personal, but what exactly is the…arrangement, here?”
Chad swallowed. His tongue probed his cheek as he scanned the barely discernable stars above the parking lot. Syble put the refolded hanky to her lips daintily, her eyes scanning the gravel.
Straightening to his full height, Stephen tugged Syble against his side. “I am the husband,” he announced firmly, “and this is my wife.” He felt Syble’s instant body response. “Uh…”
“Yeah, and…?” The officer tilted his head.
“Your wife?” Syble extracted herself from his grip, her deadly voice slicing cleanly through the night air. “Your? My, how possessive we’ve suddenly become. Does possession also entail leaving me alone for most of the week for the better part of a year?”
“Syb, I didn’t mean it that way…I…”
“She’s not your wife?” The officer’s eyes narrowed.
Chad moved in and pulled Syble against his side. “She’s my…”
“Your…what?” Syble snapped, pulling away.
Stephen snickered.
"Don’t you dare snicker at me, Stephen. You won’t get any for a month!”
A subdued chortle escaped Chad’s throat.
“And you, little friend…” She honed the edge on her deadly promise. “You’ll be lucky to get any from him!” She snapped her head toward Stephen.
The officer’s eyes widened. “O…kay. I see what you mean about needing to work out…the details.” He revved the motor. “Just don’t work ’em out in this parking lot.” The gravel spun from under the departing cruiser’s wheels.
“What did I do?” The young coach wailed, totally chagrined.
“Syble,” Stephen explained to the puzzled young man, “though so designated by the laws of this state and this fair country, is loathe to be referred to as my anything. At least, not where it matters. And this, apparently, is one of those times.”
“I am nobody’s anything.” Her voice rose.
“You are most definitely somebody’s something,” Stephen melted and smiled affectionately, pulling her to him. Chad pulled from the other side. “It looks like,” Stephen glared at the young man, “that’s what we now have to figure out.”
They spread out reluctantly to get into the car.
“But, I’ll warn you right now,” Stephen growled
over the purr of the engine, “I’m not about to give you up, Syb.”
Chad leaned in between them from the back seat. “And I’m not giving you up, either,” his declaration full of youthful determination and bravado.
Syble looked at their determined faces. “I have no intention of giving up either of you. Now, let’s go home.”
Chad and Stephen stared at each other. “What?”
Suddenly the older man whipped an arm back to grab the younger around the neck trying to haul him into the front seat. “Aagh!”
“Stephen, stop it! Stop it!” Syble pounded on her husband’s arm locked around the assistant coach’s neck as his other hand grappled to release his seat belt. “Let go of him, Chad!”
Stephen slammed the furious young man backwards into the back seat and, not having latched his seat belt, scrambled to launch himself into the back as Syble shrieked louder. Chad swiftly elbowed the descending older man in the face and scrambled out the back door. Roaring, Stephen followed, chasing Chad around the car as the young coach tauntingly danced out of his reach.
“Don't make me lay you out, old man!”
Syble followed, screaming. The police cruiser roared up, the office out of the car almost before it had come to a halt.
“What the hell is going on? Are you people totally nuts?”
Stephen threw himself at Chad, who sidestepped, slid in the gravel and they both went down. The larger and older man gained his footing first, yanked the younger up by his shirtfront and with a deadly roar, cocked his fist back.
“Stephen!”
Chad’s blue, blue eyes locked on the viciously balled up fingers, skin pulled tight over four battering knobs of knuckle bone.
“Are you all fucking deaf?” the office roared.
Stephen’s hand shot forward. Chad ducked. With a loud crystalline pop the tempered glass of their car window behind Chad exploded into sparkling popcorn all over the back seat.
“Goddammit!” the patrol office bellowed, waving his unholstered revolver high over his head, “I'm giving you fuckers three!”
“Oh, Stephen, your poor hand.”