by Lane Hayes
Oh boy. Here we go again.
I tuned him out with practiced ease, figuring I’d let him run out of steam before I patiently reset expectations. Preferably without losing my temper. In this case, I had to guess Benny would set Dad straight before I was forced to say a word. No doubt he could kindly tell my meddling father not to be ridiculous. Awkward letdowns always sounded better coming from strangers. And I could guaran-damn-tee Benny didn’t want to attend a family wedding with a guy he met three days ago any more than I wanted to go with him. It was absurd.
Imagine my surprise when I resurfaced from my reverie to my father clapping his pudgy hands before looking up at me with a satisfied grin as if to say, “My work here is complete.” Oh shit. What had I missed?
“…that’s a Saturday afternoon. Of course you’ll be free, right, son?”
“Excuse me?” I sputtered.
Benny jumped to his feet and burst out laughing. “You should see your face!” He stood on his toes and whispered in my ear. “Don’t worry. Just play along.”
He whirled away, saying something about grabbing his bag, while I watched in wonder, torn between thinking he smelled good and being very concerned I’d been flattened by a steamroller and had yet to recover. I shook my head in confusion and tried to refocus. I didn’t know where to begin. Not when my father was giving me that look. The one that said, “See? I took care of you.” Not good.
“I’ve got to get back to the office. Hector will drop me off first, then take you back home. Ready now, or do you want him to come back for you?”
“I’m ready. Let’s offer Benjamin a ride too and—”
“No. We’re leaving now. Benjamin can find his own ride.”
Dad furrowed his brow at me impatiently. “That’s not very nice. Besides, you need to discuss—”
Benny reappeared on the sidewalk a moment later with a cherry-red man-bag slung over his shoulder, a bright blue baseball cap, and a pair of Tom Ford tortoiseshell sunglasses. Somehow he managed to make the simple ensemble seem like haute couture. He looked elegant and confident. An undeniably appealing combination. But I still wasn’t going out with him.
“I’ll see you next week, Mr. G. Call me if you need anything.”
“Wait! Do you have Ezekiel’s number?” my father asked offhandedly.
Benny smirked and drew his sunglasses down his nose before giving me a mischievous look I couldn’t quite read. “What’s your number, honey?”
I stared at him incredulously and shook my head. “Look, Hector is waiting and—”
“Tell him I’ll be right there,” Dad said, shooing me away with both hands like an irritating bird. “I’ll give Benjamin your number.”
My face heated with a flush of embarrassment. I had to get out of there before I went fucking nuts. Why was this always the way things worked between us? It’s like he lived to torment me. There was no way he truly thought Benny and I were destined to be anything besides casual acquaintances, so why did he insist on making everyone uncomfortable? Maybe the better question was why I let him get under my skin. If I were smart, I’d play along like I was in on the joke instead of a taking everything so damn seriously. It was harder with him than anyone else in my life.
I was practically vibrating by the time Dad finally got in the car. I made a valiant effort to let it go and not let his constant meddling bother me. I lasted two blocks. Well, maybe closer to one and a half.
“Why did you do that? I’m not going to a wedding with some queen I met three days ago in the hospital emergency room. Not happening.”
My father raised his bushy eyebrows and feigned a look of surprise. “That’s a touch uncomfortable. If you felt so strongly, why didn’t you say something?”
I let out a rush of air and then smacked my head hard with my palm. This was a futile discussion. A one-sided foray into madness. It was pointless to engage. A smarter man would have smiled and changed the subject. I was a fucking moron.
“I did! You don’t listen. He’s a nice enough guy. I guess. But he is not. My. Type!”
“Are you shouting at me?”
“No. I’m not. I’m… I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Exactly. Which is why you should listen to me. And what is this ‘type’ talk? Benjamin is a good-looking young man. You said so yourself.”
“Sure he is. Look, I’m going to go back to work where I can deal with insane people who actually make sense and try to forget my father playing shadchan with me and someone who is entirely… too fabulous to take seriously.”
“I’m surprised you remember what that word means.”
“Matchmaker. I have an encyclopedic memory, Pops. I remember a lot of things I wish I didn’t.”
“Ah… and maybe now we come to the truth behind your tantrum,” he said sagely.
“Tant—” I threw my hands in the air and huffed. “I give up.”
“Good. Benjamin is good people. I’m old. And I see things you don’t. One day you’ll thank me. You’ll—”
“I’ll thank you to not set me up with anyone. That’s what I’ll thank you for. Please… leave my personal life alone.” I stared out the window, willing the traffic gods to cooperate.
“Why? So you bring home another taker like that Taylor character? Not on my watch. He was trouble.”
“Taylor wasn’t that bad.”
“Well, he wasn’t that good either. Listen… I know you think I’m a busybody—”
“You are a busybody,” I agreed.
“All I ask is that you talk to Benjamin when he calls you.”
“That’s the only thing, eh?” I eyed him dubiously as I stuffed my laptop inside my briefcase and prepared to exit. I was grateful to finally reach my destination. Now I just had to curb my desire to jump out of the moving vehicle before it came to a full and complete stop.
“Yes. For now. Ezekiel….”
I climbed out of the backseat and waited impatiently with one hand on the car door.
“Yeah?” I prodded.
“I almost died and—”
“You hit your head! You didn’t die. Stop it.”
“Well, these near-death experiences can’t be taken lightly at my age. Not long ago, I would have welcomed death.”
“Oh geez, Dad.” I glanced at my watch, sorry my attempt at kindness led me to yet another gospel according to George Gulden.
“It’s true. I would have given anything to be with your mother again.”
That stopped me. Maybe he knew it would. I was my mother’s son and always would be. There was no part of me that would ever turn away from even a casual mention of her name.
“She’s not dead, Dad.”
“But she’s not alive either. Not really.” He swallowed hard and continued in a low tone. “My heart breaks a little every day still. Maybe it’s what landed me in hospital, eh? I’m only human and though I have so much to be grateful for, I can’t help wishing things were different. They aren’t. We deal with the cards we’re dealt, right? The one thing I do know is your mother wants me to be sure our boys are all happy. I don’t mean to be a bother but… your happiness is my number one goal.”
“Dad….”
“Life is precious. It should be shared with those you love and cherish. Looks like we’re at your stop. Off you go now, son. I’ll forward Benjamin’s phone number this afternoon. Have a good day.” Dad waved at me before tapping on Hector’s seat. “Hello, good man! Shall we head back to Brooklyn?”
I stood on the sidewalk and watched the Mercedes fade into traffic. Dad’s parting statement rattled me. Not because he’d confirmed finding me a mate was one of his top priorities. Sure, that was irritating, but I was used to his over-the-top interfering style. The part that alarmed me was how casually he spoke of my mother and his own fear and loneliness. The sentiment was poignant and wasn’t easily dismissed.
THE FOLLOWING morning I was sitting in a strategy meeting with a prestigious client discussing market expectancies. In other words, shooti
ng the shit. We were all fairly intelligent people who understood there were no guarantees in the investment world. However, good business dictated that we find ways to convince each other we could predict the future to a small degree. I discreetly glanced down at my phone when it lit up with a number I didn’t recognize. A moment after missing the call, I received a text message.
Let’s meet for a drink tonight.
I ignored the message. It couldn’t be anyone I knew well enough to interrupt a client who’d made me millions of dollars over the past few years. I actually didn’t think about it until later that afternoon when I scrolled through my phone and saw it again. I sent a quick reply.
Who is this?
Benny. Your dad has called five times today to see if you’d called me yet.
I stared at the display for a moment. This was ridiculous. Did other people have to deal with this much parental interference in their adult lives? None of my friends did. Hell, none of my exes did. Avoidance wouldn’t work. Like any bitter pill, it was best to swallow it whole and get it over with. I pushed Call.
“Hello!”
“Hi, Benny. It’s Zeke. What’s this about?”
“Nice try.” He chuckled. “You know exactly what it’s about. Your dad wants to marry us off. As sweet as that is… I’m gonna have to pass. But somewhere between call three and four I started thinking the best thing to do was get it over with. Then we can honestly tell him we talked, had a drink, and mutually decided to part on friendly terms.”
“You don’t want to marry me, Benny?” I joked. His breezy tone set me at ease. I was relieved he didn’t take my father’s quest seriously. Moreover, I was glad he found it humorous.
“I’m flattered, but no, thanks. Unfortunately, George won’t let it go until we can at least claim we tried. So let’s have a drink. You can bore me senseless with stock market trends, and I’ll pretend to hang on your every word for an hour or less. Agreed?”
I couldn’t even pretend to be insulted. I was grateful he caught on quickly and was of a like mind. Besides, he was right. Going through the motions would appease my dad. We could truthfully claim we’d tried.
“Agreed. So tonight?”
“Sure, but ask me the right way.”
“What?”
“Ask me like you mean it. I’m Catholic. If I have to lie I’d like to do it with as little guilt as possible. Go on.”
I squinted at my cell. Was he for real? “Uh… okay. Would you like to meet me for a drink tonight?”
I made my way around my sleek wood desk and walked toward the window. As one of the senior officers, I’d been awarded a prestigious corner office with a view of the Hudson. It didn’t matter how many times I gazed out at the Statue of Liberty and the Jersey skyline, I would never tire of this view. The one from my loft was equally impressive, but this one meant more to me. I’d earned it through hard work, long hours, and dedication. I had to earn the right to keep it through more of the same. Nothing came easy in life. Nothing was free. Complacency led to certain failure in my field, and failure simply wasn’t an option.
“Can’t. I’m busy.”
“But you—”
“Just kidding! Love to! Let’s go somewhere fabulous.”
I winced at his word choice. “Fabulous?”
“Aka, not boring.”
“Okay. How about Antigua?”
“That’s on Broome Street, right? I’ll be there at eight. Don’t keep me waiting.”
He hung up before I could respond. I slipped my phone back into my pocket and wondered if this was a good idea after all. On the one hand, Benny was right. The effort should placate my father. On the other hand…. I shrugged. There was no downside. Anyone could get through an hour.
Chapter 2
ANTIGUA WAS a beautiful bar in SoHo with a warehouse feel and a splash of elegance. The ceilings were low with exposed antique wood beams. Corrugated metal covered the walls on one side while reclaimed brick anchored the other. Tastefully framed posters of old movie stars or rock-and-roll heroes covered the walls, and crystal chandeliers hung throughout the space, creating an interesting juxtaposition. Down-to-earth meets over-the-top opulence. The combination was a hit. This place was always crowded. I’d chosen it because it was within walking distance from my place and because I liked it. The added bonus of knowing the bartenders ensured I was served quickly. With any luck, I’d get out of this silly “date” in less than an hour.
I found an empty stool in the corner of the old-fashioned carved-wood bar and ordered a martini before turning to study the Friday night patrons. They were a mixed bag of ultra hip with bohemian affectations, overgrown beards, numerous tats and piercings, or more subdued young professionals like myself who liked an edgier ambience. Contrary to Benny’s fear I’d suggest something stuffier, I never would have. I wore a suit all week. I didn’t want to wear one on the weekends and definitely not when I went out. My navy-striped Hugo Boss oxford shirt and designer jeans were on the conservative side, but I was comfortable. And blue was my color.
“Can I get you another?” the handsome bartender asked, pointing to my empty glass.
I smiled and glanced at my watch. Benny was late. Or he wasn’t coming. Either way… what the heck? “Sure. Thanks, Don.”
I sent a quick text to let my friends know I’d meet them later. Carter mentioned something about grabbing a late dinner in Greenwich Village and then heading to a club in Chelsea. Anything sounded good. I’d had a long week, and I was ready to play.
A flash of fuchsia caught my eye when I looked up to thank Don for my drink. I did a double take. And then a triple. Holy fuck. Benny? He was wearing a short-sleeved, bright pink, fitted shirt with a pair of black jeans strategically frayed near his crotch that were so damn tight they looked like he’d painted them on. His Doc Martens were black, but the laces were floral. Yes, floral. I was pretty sure my seven-year-old niece had a pair just like them. While his outfit was brow raising, his hair was truly the icing on the proverbial cake. His dark bangs were streaked bright pink to match his shirt. To say he was colorful would be a gross understatement. He was… flamboyant. And I was fucked.
Benny waved his hands in the air as he made his way toward my corner of the bar. “Sorry I’m a smidge late. The subway is notorious. Is there any room here for me to squeeze in? I’ve been on my feet for hours.”
The pretty blonde on the stool next to me turned to face us with a smile. “We’re just leaving. You can take my chair.”
“You are an angel,” he replied theatrically.
She giggled as she slid off the barstool, squeezing between us in the cramped confines. The bar was hopping. My great idea was turning into a questionable one. It was hard to hear unless you were sitting very close, and frankly… I didn’t want to sit close to Benny. He made me nervous. And uncomfortable. The girl obviously didn’t share my reticence. She was giving him that look. The one that befell certain straight women who adored gay men. It was a cross between starry-eyed admiration and reverence. I did my best to keep my eye roll in check as I listened to their exchange.
“Do I know you? I don’t mean to be nosy, but where do you work?” she asked.
“In the Village at Johnny’s, and I just started over at Bowery Bagels. Maybe you’ve—”
“It’s must be Johnny’s. I was there last weekend with….”
I listened to her singing the Italian restaurant’s praises and idly decided this could work to my advantage. She could gladly take up what was left of my time here. I sipped my martini and checked my messages, in a zone until I heard her friend ask if she was ready to go. I watched them leave before taking a good look at Benny.
“You look… brighter than the last time I saw you,” I commented lazily as he swiveled to face me.
Benny smirked. It was a dangerous expression, not friendly in the slightest. I waited for him to let me have it. Instead, he waved to the bartender, who smiled and nodded in what looked like a silent communication. A moment later, Don se
t a fruity-looking drink in front of Benny, then pointed at his pink-tinged bangs and smiled broadly.
“Looking good. Anything else, Benny?” the bartender asked lasciviously.
Benny batted his lashes and chuckled. “No, thank you.”
Don grinned at him before turning to me. “I didn’t know you were waiting for this guy. I would have helped you score a table, man. Let me know next time.”
My brow was knit with confusion. Or irritation. I couldn’t tell yet. “How do you know Don?”
“I know lots of people. But don’t worry. You have my undivided attention for—” He checked the time on his cell before raising his glass in a mock toast. “—fifty-two minutes. Use it wisely.”
“Wisely, eh? You’re funny.”
“I try. So….” He took a sip of his drink and made a rolling motion with his hand, indicating I should start talking.
I really couldn’t think of a thing. I was gobsmacked and unprepared for… well, for him. I asked the first question that popped into my head.
“How old are you?”
“Speed dating for beginners! Slow down. You’re supposed to buy me a drink before you get too personal.”
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“You’re trying to make me uncomfortable. You’ve turned up the volume and you want to see if I can take the extra dose of fabulous,” I stated with a slow grin. “I’m onto you.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Right. Well, I’ll happily buy you a drink or two, but remember… this isn’t a date. It’s a—”
“Wrong. It’s a date. It’s supposed to be a date from hell. The ‘fuck that dipshit. I hope I never see him again’ kind of date. You’re doing a great job, by the way. I literally just walked in the door and you’ve already managed to be offensive in at least five different ways.”
I couldn’t formulate words quickly enough to catch up. I opened my mouth, then closed it before trying again. “How am I— What did I do?”
“You really don’t know, do you? Fine. I’ll play along. How do you like my shirt?”