Dinner at the Blue Moon Cafe

by Rick R. Reed

  It was a vision Thad really wanted to have.

  But he would be denied.

  Then he heard something. A scratching at the bathroom door, like claws. Scritch, scratch….

  He suddenly remembered Edith, forgotten and locked in the bathroom all night. A pang of guilt rushed through Thad. He glanced over at the clock next to the bed and saw it was almost ten. He couldn’t remember when he had last slept so deeply and wakened so late.

  I was really exhausted. He wanted to smile at the thought, but his elation at the memory of last night was muffled by the reality of this morning and waking up to Sam being gone. He didn’t even say good-bye….

  Wearily Thad swung his legs over the side of the bed. His ass felt sore, but it was a pleasant reminder of the night before. Edith must have realized he was stirring because her scratching grew more intense, accompanied by whining.

  “I’m coming, stinker. Just hold on.” He groped in his drawer for a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, dressed quickly, then into his flip-flops and grabbed the leash from its hook by the door.

  Edith barely made it outside before letting go with a yellow torrent. Thad laughed. “I don’t know where you keep all that.” She looked up at him with her bulgy eyes, as if offended. “Sorry.” He followed the dog down the street so she could find a suitable spot to complete her morning business.

  It wasn’t until Thad got back inside that he noticed the folded sheet of paper taped to the cover of his laptop. Dispirited, he quickly crossed over and snatched the paper from the computer’s brushed chrome surface. Do I really want to read this? How can I not read it? Besides, it might just say something like “had a wonderful time, call you tonight.” But Thad was not enough of an optimist to put much stock in that.

  He opened the note and began reading.

  My Dear Thad,

  Last night was wonderful. Amazing. You are the first person I met since I came to Seattle that I really want to know better.

  But now I am afraid. Afraid of getting too attached. Afraid of involvements. I need to concentrate on my restaurant and my son. If you were just one of those one-night stands, I would not have bothered to write to you like this. But you are a special man. You already got my heart beating a little faster. I like that. And I don’t like that because it takes me away from what I came here to do.

  So, for now, maybe we should not see each other again. I hope you understand. Maybe when the restaurant gets on its feet, I can have someone like you in my life again. But right now, I think you’re just too much temptation.

  Thad sat down heavily on his bed, staring at the letter. All the jubilation, all the hope, all the lust deflated out of him like air out of a balloon. Had he done something wrong? The note was on the order of the old saw “it’s not you, it’s me,” but he knew most of the time people just said that to bypass offending the dumped party. Thad, after losing his job and never having had much luck in the romance department, couldn’t help but augment his lowered self-esteem with questions about his prowess in bed, his looks, the size of his manhood…. Was he tight enough? Was he clean enough?

  And maybe what Sam said about a son was true, but maybe he’d lied about there being no one else. If there was a son, there had to be a wife… or at least had to have been at one time. Or at the very least, someone he was with long enough to give her a son. Maybe she had been in the back last night, cooking his pastina? He pictured a dark-haired Sicilian woman, her chocolate-brown eyes peering out at him from the kitchen, her heart thumping with jealousy.

  Save the creativity for my job hunt or my next job, if I ever find it….

  Edith, always able to sense things beyond what a dog should rationally be capable of picking up on, made a mighty leap to join him on the bed. She lay down beside Thad so her little body pressed against his thigh, then put her head on his lap to stare up at him with sad eyes. The gesture brought a lump to Thad’s throat and a hot stab of wet at the corners of his eyes.

  Don’t be stupid. He was just another guy. And they all have baggage. The only surprise is that maybe—for a few hours—I thought this one might be different.

  Thad slumped back on the bed, one leg dangling over the edge. Edith shifted a bit but maintained her vigil, faithful as always.

  Thad tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that Sam had at least tried to be kind in his note. And maybe what the man had said was true. Seattle was full of good restaurants of every stripe, and it must be hard to make a go of one, especially one with a popular lakefront location where the rent would be astronomical. Maybe, just maybe, he was so taken with Thad—as he had said—that he just couldn’t afford the distraction of a hot redhead right now.

  Sure. That’s why he didn’t even bother to wake me up to give me a kiss good-bye.

  Thad sat back up and scratched Edith behind the ears. “The hunt continues, my dear. Both for an exciting man and a fulfilling job. Or maybe the other way around? Who knows if there is even any such thing out there?” He stood. “But for right now, you and I are not gonna think about flaky men, a silent job market, or anything depressing.”

  Thad forced himself to smile and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes to halt the flow of any more tears. He took in a great quivering breath. “Right now, you and I are going to have a big breakfast. Some chicken for you and a big stack of pancakes for me. Buttermilk—with sausage.” He picked Edith up and headed toward the kitchen area, where he set Edith on a barstool at the counter that divided the kitchen from the rest of the apartment. He glanced back at the dog, who looked for all the world like a patron at a bar, waiting for her martini to be served. “And after that, we’re gonna head over to Discovery Park and take a nice, long hike. Maybe we’ll even see a few seals on the beach. Sound good?”

  Edith opened her mouth to pant. Thad could have sworn she was smiling.

  Chapter 4

  September

  ALL AROUND him he sees roads going nowhere. Huge ramps and posts holding them up that lead toward the sky, as if aliens had built them for takeoff strips. They almost glow, grayish in the shimmering light of the full moon. Surrounding them are trees, grasses, growing wild in a riot around a lily-pad-flecked canal. The wind, cold this September night, rustles through the treetops, making a sound like whispering and sending the weakest of the leaves, harbingers of fall, down to the ground.

  Even though he has dark-adapted eyes, it would be difficult to see were it not for the moon tonight, which is glorious, a pale-faced imitator of the sun. A veil of silver cloaks everything here in the Washington Park Arboretum. Night has become a kind of day, one that exists in black and white. The pale light and the ability to actually see along the path has brought out many wanderers in the woods. They—all of them men, all of them solitary—make restless circuits of the trails going through the woods and along the canal. They stop here and there, where a bent tree or a copse of bushes provides a kind of shelter, looking for another soul who will elevate them from their loneliness for a few minutes. Some have succeeded—condom wrappers and condoms themselves, used, litter the ground, and some even hang from branches.

  He also hunts… but not for the same thing. While they search for the warmth of sexual connection, hungry for the taste of cum, he looks for the coldness of destruction and the taste of blood. He lifts his snout to test the cool air and is rewarded with the smell of at least a dozen men, traversing the trails that cut through the woods of the park. He has slipped through the shadows, watching as the men exchange silent signals with one another, couple, then separate to wander back to the parking lot. Some of them hurry with their heads hung low, as if ashamed of what they have done. Others, shameless, walk jauntily back to their cars or their homes in the neighborhoods bordering the park, satisfied with their release.

  Disgusting.

  The creature pads along a trail, waiting for one of the men to break free of the others, to follow a trail perhaps down to the canal’s edge, to separate from the pack. It is the ones who stay by themselve
s, perhaps the ones too fearful to actually do what they came here for, that he wants. Vulnerable. Alone.

  He is quick and sure when he attacks. There will be no screams to alert the others. There won’t even be a scuffle. There will be only death and feasting, silent and sure, gliding in on one of these men, unsuspecting, like a shadow. The element of surprise has always been his trump and his calling card. His stealth and razor-sharp fangs will ensure a quick demise, painful for only a second or two, until blood and flesh is rendered and offered up to him like a gift.

  He revels in the anticipation of the kill. He will satisfy his own ferocious hunger, in his belly for certain, but also for the elusive taste of justice. These men deserve to have something bad happen to them. Look at them! In a public place, looking to sate their perverted desires, to connect with strangers in a way that should be reserved for private, for time alone with a creature one loves and bears some commitment to….

  He is an old-fashioned monster. He feels no remorse for what he is about to do. In its own way, he knows that his hunting and killing is for the common good, eradicating those who foul the world with heedless desire and warped attractions.

  He pads along a trail and hops jauntily along the wooden surface of a small bridge, making not a sound. Ahead, one has separated far enough from the pack that the beast thinks he may have a chance, especially if the man is foolish enough to duck into a cluster of foliage that will shield dark couplings from passersby as close as a few feet away. He knows his alfresco meal will be over within seconds. It’s not the length of the meal that defines its quality.

  From a few feet away, he pants, licking his chops, and watches the man. He is tall, clad in a pair of tight-fitting jeans, boots, and a dark T-shirt, much too lightweight for this chilly night but perfect for showing off biceps that have been pumped unnaturally large and a chest that spans superhero width. The creature is certain that such physical dimensions make the man a desirable candidate, a kind of trophy or reward. But his bulging muscles and cocky walk are all for show. He knows there is no strength to back them up. He will be just as easy to bring down as all the rest. And like all the rest, he will not even make a sound.

  He will go for the neck first.

  He trots along on his paws, heart rate increasing, his salivary glands working so hard that a line of drool drips from his mouth to glisten silver on the ground, like the trail of a slug. Embarrassed, he notes that he also has an erection and wishes it would go away. This isn’t about sex. It’s about food. And justice.

  The man does as he predicts: ducks into a kind of makeshift shelter of leaves and branches… and waits. Perhaps in the past, this protocol has been successful. He senses a confidence coming from the man as he loiters in the darkness, rubbing his crotch and waiting for someone to come along and drop to his knees before him to worship. Or to bend over in a sick display of surrender.

  But tonight the man’s fantasies will not be fulfilled. The beast enters the little cave of trees, and the man stiffens when he sees him. His mouth drops open. He steps back and turns to run, stumbling through briars and tree trunks. He falls.

  And the monster is upon him, going, as planned, for the throat first and ripping it open so the only sound that comes out is a slight gurgling. Contrary to what he thought, the man is strong, batting and punching at him even as the life ebbs out of him in scarlet spurts from his throat. The creature wants to yelp. These death-throe blows are brutal. They hurt. Just like any other natural animal, he experiences pain. The hurt heightens his rage, and his powerful jaws clamp down on the man’s face, his chest, the softer flesh of his belly, and finally through the denim and onto his cock, ripping it from the man’s body.

  A red haze rises up as the monster feeds, shredding the body until it is hardly even recognizable as a human being. The sharp metallic tang of blood hangs in the air, feeding his hunger and making him want more.

  He feeds far longer than usual, eating parts he would normally leave behind. But he is lost in a frenzy. So lost he does not hear the voices behind him right away. But when a scream pierces the darkness, the creature looks back to observe a trio of humans watching the carnage, stunned quiet by terror and awe.

  He has an urge to go after them but has enough presence of mind to know this would be dangerously foolhardy. Instead he turns, tail between his legs, to dash through the brush. He knows he is so fast, he will be nothing but a black/gray blur. Knows that, later, these witnesses may even question what their eyes showed them.

  Chapter 5

  THAD AWAKENED with the same feeling of anticipation as so many other days this past month, quickly quashed by loss. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and wondered if there would ever come a time when he would awaken and not think about Sam. He turned to look out the east-facing window to the sky, tinged with pink at the horizon, the trees and houses nearby silhouettes in the relentless creeping in of day. He sighed, glancing down at Edith, who still slept, curled into a tight ball at the foot of his bed.

  He wondered, for about the thirtieth time, how it could be that he was still waking up with Sam on his mind. For crying out loud, it had been only a one-night stand. Lord knew Thad had had plenty of those, and none of those men hung around like a traumatic memory, to poke and prod him upon waking each morning. Those previous one-nighters had been forgotten as quickly as dreams. More than once Thad had encountered one a few weeks later on the street and barely recognized him.

  So why had this Sam character gotten so under his skin? Sure, he was hot, one of the hottest men Thad had ever been with. Porn-star hot. And he seemed kind, to boot. And he could cook. Thad had to concede those were pretty good reasons for being unforgettable.

  Yet Sam had rejected him. That alone seemed good enough reason to put the man behind him, and not in a good way.

  This past month Thad had avoided passing in front of the Blue Moon Café, even if it meant abandoning his much-loved runs around the circumference of Green Lake. Now he would take a more urban path westward into the U District, or head over to Ravenna Park, where he could run along wooded trails. He knew it was silly, avoiding the beauty of the lake, with its still blue water, views of the Cascades, and even, sometimes, Mount Rainier, just to sidestep passing a restaurant.

  But he couldn’t help himself. He was still sore from the magic of that night. Not physically, of course, but emotionally. It felt like someone had placed magic in his hands and then ripped it away. He wondered if he would ever stop longing for the magic.

  He had tried to blot out Sam’s influence on his life with the usual weakling’s remedies: vodka and cheap sex. He had spent more nights and more money he didn’t really have at various Capitol Hill gay bars, searching for that one perfect drink, that one perfect man who would obliterate Sam from his memory. But all the vodka did was dull his senses and give him a headache the next day that made him useless. And he was never able to bring himself to find an answer to “my place or yours” with any response other than the age-old chestnut, “I have to get up early in the morning.”

  He left offers on the table that he would have—pre-Sam—snatched up with hot-blooded gratitude. He didn’t know what was wrong with him.

  Yes, he did.

  Sam.

  The hell with Sam, he thought, not really believing himself, and hoisted himself from a bed he would have preferred to spend the entire day in, feeling sorry for himself. He padded to the bathroom, where he pissed, and splashed water on his face. In the mirror he looked for signs of distress: rings under his eyes, paleness, a general slacking downward of his lips, and found nothing. At least his despair had not yet caught up with his youthful good looks! Small consolation, especially when those looks were squandered with too many lonely nights at home, pining for a man who clearly did not want him.

  Enough of this! Thad returned to the studio proper, where Edith had been roused by his movements and was now on the bed, wriggling around on her back, scratching. When she spied Thad out of the corner of her eye, she
flipped over, bounded out of bed, and went to sit and wait by the door.

  “Okay, okay. Just hold on… or hold it.” Thad hurried to dress in a pair of old jeans, University of Washington sweatshirt, and his Asics. The mornings of late had been chilly, and Thad damned himself by wishing for someone to snuggle up against to keep him warm. But not just anyone….

  Enough of this! Thad grabbed the leash from its hook by the door and stooped to attach it to Edith’s harness. Today would be different. Today he and Edith would not only go for a leisurely walk around the neighborhood, they would also stop for coffee at the little café on Latona. They would enjoy the scenery. They would race each other to the top of a hill.

  They would not think about Sam.

  And today Thad had employment of a sort to look forward to. Not paying, of course. That would have been too much to ask for. But at least he could feel he was doing something good in the world, something with purpose. Today Thad would begin a weekly volunteer shift at Lifelong AIDS Alliance, which provided food and all sorts of assistance to people living with AIDS and HIV. Thad figured, with all the free time on his hands, the least he could do was use some of it to give back to his community. And it was not lost on him that only by the grace of God was he not a beneficiary himself of LLA’s services.

  And although he wouldn’t admit this to anyone but himself—and maybe Edith—he thought such an organization would be chock full of homosexual men, one of whom might just have the ability to erase Sam from his mind.

  There I go again, thinking about Sam. Cut it out!

  Thad stopped to watch Edith as she sniffed at a fire hydrant—he called this practice “reading her p-mail”—and forced himself to think of the day ahead and what it might bring.

  THAD’S VOLUNTEER shift was in LLA’s warehouse, packing bags of food for weekly delivery to clients. The warehouse also housed the kitchen, which cooked hot meals for people in need.