by John Herrick
This time around, Hunter underwent a lot of internal evaluation. He felt like a loser, as he usually did when he sabotaged a relationship: He had failed both his girlfriend and himself through his dishonesty, and by involving both of them in a relationship he knew was doomed before it had begun.
For the first time, however, this particular failure left him afraid about the future.
For the first time, he wondered if winding up alone in life was a real possibility. He couldn’t force himself to yield to a heterosexual relationship. But he also couldn’t bear to consider the possibility that his attraction to the same sex was not a temporary phase that would disappear.
And so, that August, Hunter returned to school with an intense sense of loss. He felt like he’d started to outgrow his fraternity activities, so he minimized his time at the fraternity house and lent more time to his studies. For social interaction, he opted for intramural sports. He involved himself in sand volleyball until October, then indoor volleyball until spring.
Hunter met Lance on the sand volleyball court. Lance exuded sheer confidence in demeanor and agility. The first thing Hunter noticed about him was his legs, bronzed from the sun and carved with precision after years of exercise. From behind his sunglasses, Hunter would study Lance’s legs in motion on the sand, racing closer to the net, then flexing before he reversed course to prepare for the volleyball’s return. Hunter gave no indication of his own interest. And although he couldn’t pinpoint where the masculine Lance’s attractions resided, Hunter had to assume the athletic guy was straight.
Their association began innocently enough. They played on the same team. Hunter would set the volleyball for Lance to spike over the net, or they would crash into each other as both chased a ball the other team had lobbed over the net faster than expected. The ball would sail past their arms and leave them shrugging their shoulders, laughing.
Hunter and Lance also shared similar personality characteristics, including compatible senses of humor, and within a few weeks, they bonded. In the weeks and months that followed, on most days, they met each other at the campus recreation center, where they ran a mile or two before dinnertime.
They talked sports and business classes. Lance wanted to go on to law school after graduation. After classes, oftentimes they sneaked into the law school library, where, unlike in the student commons, they could study without distraction from fraternity guys who walked past. Sometimes Hunter and Lance would look up from their books and engage in spontaneous conversations about inane topics, speaking under their breath in the law library.
“I have an affinity for leather-bound books,” Lance would whisper in jest as he glanced at the reference shelves around them. “And fine mahogany tables, and lamps with these little green shades,” he would add, flicking a banker’s light with his index finger.
The cunning expression on Lance’s face as he joked around kindled Hunter’s affection, yet for all Hunter knew, he meant nothing more to Lance than anyone else in the room. So Hunter would respond with a tone of equivalent humor.
“I have a sudden urge to smoke a pipe filled with the finest tobacco,” Hunter whispered above a snigger.
Hunter enjoyed those moments. Because the library enforced a strict policy of silence, he and Lance had to lean toward each other to whisper. Though he refused to admit it to himself, Hunter grew weak at Lance’s green eyes, which seemed to wink whenever he smiled. He admired the natural way Lance’s hair parted on one side, and the tiny scar over his eyebrow, which Lance attributed to a hockey incident as a kid.
One evening in early December, Hunter stopped by Lance’s apartment to study for final exams before they caught a basketball game on television. Lance’s roommate had left for a study date at his girlfriend’s apartment.
As game time approached, Lance turned on the television. Side by side, they sat on the floor, backs against the sofa, where they continued to study. Soon they veered into one of their typical back-and-forth jabs involving random, personal trivia.
“Pancakes or waffles?” Hunter said.
Lance thought for a moment.
“Waffles,” he replied. Then, with a glint in his eye, he said, “Ocean or mountains?”
“Mountains.”
Lance looked surprised. “I didn’t expect you to say that.”
“Why not?”
“I guess you seem more like a beach type of person. The waves, soaking up the sun …”
“I like the ocean too,” Hunter said. “Given a choice, though, I’d get submerged in nature, up in the mountains where it’s silent and you’re surrounded by trees and wildlife.”
Lance grinned, then angled his head as if to examine Hunter’s face closer.
“I guess I learn something new about you every day,” said Lance.
For Hunter, though the television remained on, the room quieted down. As Lance studied Hunter’s face, Hunter returned his stare. Soon their eyes locked, their gazes lingering a bit too long. Hunter felt a magnetic current tighten between his chest and Lance’s, and he sensed Lance had picked up on the connection, too. Lance’s pupils fluttered larger—ever so slightly, but Hunter caught sight of it.
Lance leaned in. Hunter responded on instinct and, before he could give it a second thought, leaned into the magnetic current.
One kiss.
Hunter had never kissed another guy before, and on the slim chance it were to occur, he’d always envisioned a queasy feeling would settle into his gut. What he hadn’t anticipated was his reaction upon kissing Lance. Peaceful confidence overshadowed the nervousness he’d expected. Rather than shame, invigoration coursed through his veins. The kiss reminded him of neon-orange sparks on the Fourth of July.
The shame followed later.
As Hunter lay in bed that night, recounting the kiss in Lance’s apartment, the acid of guilt washed over his soul. Hunter realized he now had another secret to hide. More than that, he wondered if he had failed God. Hunter felt ashamed by the temptation he faced, because he knew, given the same opportunity, he would engage in that kiss all over again.
After that night, Hunter decided his best course of action would be to avoid Lance altogether. Since it was the last week of the fall semester, he had no difficulty accomplishing that feat.
Hunter never touched bases with Lance during winter break. When they returned for the spring semester, Hunter switched to intramural softball. He avoided the law school library. Hunter retreated into the backdrop of the university’s large campus.
He and Lance never crossed paths again.
But in spite of his efforts to deny the temptation, Hunter couldn’t erase the memory of that kiss, the one that challenged who Hunter had thought he was.
CHAPTER 30
Hunter ran a finger between his tie and his neck. Normally ties didn’t bother him, but the context of a stuffy uniform made it feel tighter than usual.
Ellen had rented the uniform for him. Its black jacket and pants mimicked a tuxedo. His white shirt felt so starched, Hunter swore he could hear it crinkle when he shifted his arm. Ellen had furnished Gabe, who stood beside him, with an identical uniform for her catering event.
Ellen had arranged a buffet-style layout for the evening. In keeping with how organizers had planned the room’s décor, she had designed her menu with an upper-echelon feel. Oftentimes when she catered, Ellen plated each course, which the event’s servers would deliver to guests at their tables. Tonight’s event, however, called for a cocktail hour and silent auction, after which guests could make their way to dinner tables at will. The buffet layout had struck her as a fitting match for the evening’s schedule, and organizers had agreed.
Ellen had assigned Hunter the primary duty of slicing honey-roasted ham upon request. She had taught him the precise method by which she wanted him to slice the portions. For his part, Gabe sliced roast beef. Throughout the evening, they had also acted as runners, replacing serving pans of side dishes and an assortment of desserts they had plated in advance. Bef
ore the event began, Hunter and Gabe had helped Ellen prepare and deliver the food. When the evening ended, they would help her clean everything up. Throughout the evening, in addition to replacing items along the buffet line, Ellen had floated around the room, filling in gaps and helping tend the open bar when the bartender got busy.
Though dinner service had ended, Hunter and Gabe remained in position at the serving line in case any no-shows decided to arrive late. Taking a breather after refilling some desserts, Ellen stood beside Hunter, facing the dinner tables. Hunter knew Ellen had pasted a smile on her face in case any guests happened to look back at a random moment.
“So, Gabe, Hunter wrangled you into helping me? You’re such a sucker.” She gave him a wicked grin. For an extra jab, she added, “And you’re not even getting paid. Go figure.”
“Well, you’ve given me enough referrals. I think I owe you something,” Gabe joked back. Ellen had, in fact, offered to pay him, but he’d turned down her offer. “Thanks for the tux uniform, by the way. It’s spiffy.”
Hunter snorted under his breath.
“I have to say, I knew the massages would do Hunter some good,” Ellen said, “but I never expected the two of you to become friends out of it. How did that come about?”
Hunter felt his heart rate rise. They would need another cover story. Would he spend years covering things up? The pressure had begun to weigh on him. But then he considered the alternate scenario, of people finding out and opening that Pandora’s box.
“Oh, you know …” Hunter shrugged, “we started talking, had a few laughs …”
“Yeah, I’ve told Gabe plenty about myself the last couple of years. You just hope he can keep a secret, know what I mean?” she said with a wink.
“I’m still standing right here,” Gabe joshed, leaning over from the far end of their threesome. “Good to know you think I’m a double agent trading secrets, Ellen.”
“I apologize for doubting your loyalty.” Ellen turned to Hunter. “Don’t even think about gaining blackmail material from him about me, Hunter. Gabe doesn’t play for both teams. Only mine.”
If Hunter were sipping champagne, he would have choked at Ellen’s remark. Perhaps he could find humor in this after all.
They stood in the rear of a hotel ballroom. Guests had mingled over cocktails in the hotel’s inner terrace before heading into the ballroom for dinner. From Hunter’s view, he saw a range of circular tables covered with white tablecloths and a crowd of two hundred people, most of whom he estimated as his parents’ ages or older. The men had dressed in tuxedos or black suits, the women in formal gowns or dresses. At the front of the ballroom sat a podium where, after dinner, the evening’s host would perch. Classical music played overhead, a concerto from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, which Hunter recognized from a music-appreciation course in college. The hearty scent of roast beef now sent hunger pangs through him. He’d grabbed a chicken sandwich for dinner a few hours earlier, but now he craved a bite of red meat. It took extra ounces of self-control not to sneak a sample. Then again, a mental image of Ellen’s wrath served as a deterrent.
“What is this event, anyway?” asked Gabe.
Through her pasted smile, Ellen replied, “It’s an auction to benefit a charity in Cleveland, one that offers extracurricular programs for underprivileged kids.” With a gesture of her head toward the guests, she said, “See all those people sitting out there?”
Hunter and Gabe nodded.
“Most of them donate a lot of money to the place. Some don’t donate anything yet, but they’re wealthy enough to give a lot, so they got invited, too.”
“How’d they select you for this catering job?” Hunter asked.
“Brendan’s mom is on the charity’s board of directors and recommended me for the gig. I suspect she had an ulterior motive, though: I think she hoped to hear people rave about her future daughter-in-law’s cooking.”
As if on cue, a woman rose from one of the tables and made her way toward them, her hair a perfect shade of silver, wrapped in a bun fit for a gala. The woman wore a full-length gown and held aloft a glass of white wine in one hand.
“Speaking of my mother-in-law-to-be, here she comes,” Ellen murmured, donning a facial expression more chipper than she’d worn thus far.
As the woman drew near, a married couple approached her and engaged in a brief conversation before accompanying her to the buffet line. The couple looked close in age to Brendan’s mother, their demeanors modest.
“Hello, Ellen,” Brendan’s mother said. Her skin looked so smooth, it defied her age. Hunter wondered if her hair color was prematurely gray like Steve Martin’s.
When she and Ellen greeted each other with European-style kisses on each cheek, Hunter almost burst out in laughter. Oh, he could tease Ellen about this for years to come. From the corner of his eye, he could see Gabe, too, trembled from stifled laughter. Hunter nudged Gabe with an elbow to the ribs to get him to stop before it became contagious.
“Ellen, I’d like you to meet Ron and Julia Napoli,” said Brendan’s mother, a picture of graciousness. “This is my future daughter-in-law, Ellen Krieger.”
A cordial Ellen shook hands with the couple. “How nice to meet you! This is Hunter Carlisle and Gabe Hellman, friends of mine who offered their assistance tonight.”
“I’m Joyce Pieper,” said Brendan’s mother to Hunter and Gabe. “Thank you for taking care of my Ellen.”
Pleasantries and shaking of hands all around. When Joyce held her wineglass aloft, Hunter noticed lipstick marks on its rim.
“I’m going to boast a little about my future daughter-in-law,” Joyce said. “She designed the menu for tonight and prepared the meal.”
Ron and Julia responded with genuine Ah! expressions as Joyce beamed at their reactions.
“Have you been involved with this charity long?” Ellen asked the couple.
“We’ve supported it for the last few years. A wonderful organization,” Ron said. “You and I have something in common, Ellen.”
“Really? Do tell.”
Do tell? By Hunter’s estimation, Ellen’s response to most people would have been “Get outta here!”, and chances were fifty-fifty she would have thrown in an expletive for good measure.
“I assume you began your catering business from scratch,” Ron said.
“I did indeed, sir.”
“I began my business from scratch, too. I used an old family recipe to create the pizza sauce.”
“Ron and Julia own the local Napoli Pizza restaurant chain,” Joyce chimed in.
Ellen blinked once, the way she did when someone had impressed her, but she kept her cool.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t put two and two together,” Ellen said. “I can only imagine how it must have felt to see your restaurant grow from one location to—”
“The second-largest chain in northern Ohio,” Julia said, her lips pressed together. “The opportunities for expansion are prime. I’d like to see us move quicker than we do. Ron prefers to keep the intimate, family feel.”
“So you and your husband make all the business decisions together?”
“Oh heavens, no, dear.”
“Julia involves herself in full-time charity work,” Joyce Pieper said. “In fact, she’s one of our most critical friends here. We couldn’t benefit the youth of Cleveland to the extent we do without her support.”
“So you volunteer with the children the charity helps?”
“Julia helps us make important decisions for how we operate the charity,” Joyce said. “We’d like to have her on the board one day, but I’ve yet to convince her.”
“How wonderful for you, Mrs. Napoli,” Ellen said with another winning, plastered smile. Julia pressed her lips together into a tight smile in return.
Julia Napoli sent chills across Hunter’s flesh, and from the telling look in Ellen’s eyes, he suspected she affected Ellen the same way. The more Hunter listened to them talk, the more he realized Julia knew her husband’s busin
ess as well as he did. Much like a first lady married to a president—no official position, but perhaps greater influence than the most trusted advisors. For his part, though, Ron Napoli seemed rather kind, a grandfatherly type. Julia, however—well, Hunter couldn’t see kids as a thrill for her.
Hunter looked toward the floor and noticed Ellen’s foot squirming against the carpet, out of sight of her mother-in-law and the Napolis. If given the chance, Hunter knew Ellen would have bolted for the door.
“If I may inquire,” Ron said to Ellen, “where do you base your operations?”
“For my business? I handle everything at my home for now.”
“Nothing wrong with starting out in your home. Julia and I—this was decades ago—lived in a tiny apartment above our first little location in Parma. The pizza oven helped keep the apartment warm.” Ron’s eyes gleamed as he reminisced. “Those were quite the days.”
Hunter had no doubt Ron Napoli, a successful businessman, must possess a firm edge to manage his operations and employees while fending off his competition. Yet he also had an air of childlike innocence. Hunter wondered if Ron even suspected he had received tonight’s invitation due to his capacity to write a hefty check. His wife, on the other hand, appeared fully aware and absent of complaint.
“We should probably return to our seats,” Joyce cut in, checking her watch. “The program will begin in a minute or two.”
“In that case, I wish you the best in your endeavors,” Ron said, shaking hands with Ellen, then with Hunter and Gabe. His wife followed suit, switching her wineglass from right hand to left. Ron’s handshake felt warm and fleshy, while his wife’s felt wiry and cold, chilled by the glass of wine.