‘You were the first great gay man I ever met.’
‘That’s such a lovely thing to say. I’m flattered, of course, but Fergal and Fintan? They’ve only just met! My God, it’s almost like...’ Alfredo’s voice trailed off.
‘Like what?’
‘It’s like seeing what could have happened, all those years ago, had you been cut from the same cloth as me. God, I feel so envious.’ ‘Well, we both know what it’s like to be head over heels in love. I’d say they’re both feeling very vulnerable and pretending they’re not. We’re leaving for the UK soon and they’re trying to spend every spare minute with each other - and I gather there aren’t many, given Fergal’s schedule - and that makes it all the more romantic, in a sense.’
‘Yes, I see.’
‘I remember physically aching if I was apart from Amelia for more than a couple of hours, and I hadn’t even known her a week. Talk about history repeating itself.’
Alfredo dropped his head.
‘I hope I haven’t upset you, Alfredo? I know I probably shouldn’t have said that - but look how many years of our friendship are gone, and we can never get them back. I refuse to waste what precious time we have with lies.’
Alfredo looked away for a moment, then back at his friend. ‘I understand what you’re saying. You know, I never planned to fall in love with you, Brendan, and I remember that pain of separation all too well. But I can honestly say that seeing you again was exactly what I needed, even though at one point in my life that would have been unimaginable. It becomes clearer each time we meet.’ He sighed. ‘I wonder when, if at all, Fergal will tell me. I feel so responsible for him, like a surrogate father, I suppose, even though I hope I bear not the slightest resemblance to his natural father, who was quite a piece of work. Fergal did tell me he was gay, though, so he does trust me.’
‘Alfredo, forgive me, but I don’t think we should say anything to either of them. I shouldn’t have told you, but I’m a bit drunk and it’s too late now. And I trust you wholeheartedly. Promise me you won’t say a word to Fergal at our farewell dinner?’
‘Of course not. It’s just amazing that you seem to know much more about his life than I do.’
‘That’s not true, Alfredo. Naturally, we saw a lot of each other when I was working at the Teatro, but our conversations were mostly about you, and I know almost nothing about his life in Ireland. He always changed the subject when it came up, so I didn’t push it. I feel close to him because of his voice and the fact that he’s my son’s age, but Fintan was the one who told me about this. And, of course, I’ve already broken my promise not to tell anyone. You’re an exception, though.’
That made Alfredo smile.
They spent the rest of the afternoon wandering slowly past Rome’s finest vast sculptures and monuments. Alfredo was only too delighted to gossip about which ones were said to have been created by Da Vinci’s apprentices, although they were attributed to the great man himself.
‘You mean he subcontracted?’
‘That’s what they say!’
The only time he alluded to the coming dinner was to ask Brendan what his favourite food of all time was.
‘Pasta, of course. What else would I say in Italy?’
‘Perfect. Our family has the best sauce recipe in all of Italy - all prejudices aside. My sister will come. She treats Fergal like a son too. You know he used to live at her restaurant until he moved in with me? I suppose we have become his new family, really. I’m glad you told me about him and Fintan. You Fiscetti boys are certainly fast workers! I’m just a bit sad he didn’t tell me himself.’
‘Alfredo, it’s only been a week. Give the boy a chance. He probably can’t believe what’s happening either. Let’s wish them well and stand back. What do you say to another drink?’
They found a bar and spent what little was left of the afternoon drinking, until Alfredo realised he was late for a lesson with Salvatore. As he was leaving, Brendan pulled him closer and whispered drunkenly, ‘We have to find someone for you, Alfredo. You’re too special and too smart to be on your own. There must be someone out there right now, thinking exactly the same thing, wondering where you are.’
Alfredo went forty shades of tomato. ‘Look, I’ll see you for dinner tomorrow at my house - eight o’clock.’ With that, he was out of the bar and hailing a taxi.
Salvatore was just leaving when Alfredo came panting up the path, shouting apologies, promising he’d make it up to him and trying not to appear too drunk. As Alfredo fished in his pocket for his front door key, he wondered whether it was the wine or whether his carcass-chopping pupil was far more attractive than he had ever realised. He opened the front door, glancing quickly at the butcher’s chunky, pristinely scrubbed left hand, and thought to himself, Well, no wedding ring - that’s a good start.
After he clocked out at the stage door, Fergal did as he had promised and dialled Fintan’s hotel. When the receptionist connected him to the room, Fintan picked up immediately.
‘I knew it was you, Fergal. Are you tired?’
‘I’m wrecked, to be honest. Looking forward to getting to bed.’
They both laughed, and Fintan said, ‘I know you have to go home, but I just wish you were here and I could kiss you goodnight.’
A few of the stagehands passed Fergal in the corridor, clapping him on the back, and the night watchman rustled his newspaper. ‘Look, I can’t really talk here. How about a late breakfast tomorrow morning?’
‘Yes, great idea. Why don’t you come over here? The food is brilliant - and we could have room service...’
Fergal felt himself hardening at the very thought, and he quickly agreed.
‘Goodnight, then, Fergal. Consider yourself kissed.’
‘Night, Fintan. Same to you.’
On his walk home, Fergal thought about Father Mac. He had truly believed that nobody could ever take Father Mac’s place in his heart, but then Fintan had appeared and done just that. But Fergal wondered what was going to happen to their fragile new relationship. In a couple of days, Fintan would be gone. There were no guarantees. He also wondered what Father Mac would do. Would he find another lover, in time? Fergal knew how strong his faith was - but he also knew what a great kisser he was.
Distracted by the discussion in his head, he had reached Alfredo’s front gate without realising it. He saw the lights on and pictured Alfredo sipping red wine and listening to music. Fergal wondered what would become of him - would he ever have a lover?
He opened the front door and, sure enough, there was Alfredo, with a new album in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, dancing around the floor in his socks with his eyes closed. He didn’t even hear Fergal come in. When he opened his eyes, he nearly spat out his mouthful of wine.
‘Fergal! Here, have some of this red, it’s unbelievable. Look, there’s a glass waiting for you, and I had an extra one, just in case we needed it.’
‘Is someone else coming over?’
‘No, it’s just that you and Fintan seem to be seeing so much of each other that I thought he might be with you.’
Fergal panicked for a moment, then he realised that Alfredo must know or suspect something, so he decided to come clean. He felt he owed him that much.
‘Alfredo, there’s something I need to tell you.’
‘You’re falling in love with Fiscetti Junior.’
‘How did you—’
‘I’m not blind. And I told you his father had much the same effect on me when I was around your age. Those Fiscettis -they’re unbelievable. At least Fintan is gay and you’re not wasting your time.’
‘I don’t know. I hope he feels the way I do. He says he does, but—’
‘Fergal, do you ever relax? Why wouldn’t he feel the same?’
‘You saw where I grew up, Alfredo. Sometimes I feel, well, that I’m not good enough, you know? Look at the life he leads with Brendan and Amelia. I can’t compete. He went to public school and all—’
‘Fergal, Fe
rgal, when will you wake up? This is directly linked to your singing, too. Let go of the past. Let it go. It’s only holding you back.’
Fergal nodded and drank more wine. He knew Alfredo was right, but he wished he could be sure what was in Fintan’s heart.
Alfredo refilled their glasses, turned up the music and pulled him up to dance. ‘Come on! We have our lives to live, while we still can - especially you, young Fergal!’
And they did the tango across the front room, throwing their heads back and laughing as if God had told them the dirtiest joke in the world.
28
The next morning, Fergal woke early, a bit dehydrated from the red wine. Alfredo had insisted that they finish it, because the ancient bottle had waited a long time to be opened. Surprisingly, it hadn’t made him feel asthmatic, as red wine often did. Typical, he thought - the only red wine that didn’t give him asthma was the most expensive kind.
The house was still quiet when he left, and he was glad of the walk to Fintan’s hotel. He still felt a little intimidated by the grandeur of the lobby, and he walked nervously towards the reception desk, feeling as if one of the security guards might grab him by the scruff of the neck at any moment and land him on his arse in the street for not looking rich enough.
He was about to ask the receptionist to ring Fintan’s room when he heard a familiar voice boom at him across the lobby, ‘Fergal Flynn, is that you?’
He turned around to see Brendan at the door of the conservatory,
with only a newspaper for company. ‘Brendan, how are you?’ he said, trying not to stammer.
‘Starving, actually - and they do the most fantastic breakfast here. Are you waiting to see Fintan?’
‘Well, yes, I was about to ring his room, because the lifts don’t work without a room key - but of course you know that...’ Dickhead, he said to himself, stop babbling!
‘Yes, indeed.’
‘He invited me over for breakfast.’
‘Wonderful! We’ll get a table and call him from the restaurant. How about that?’
‘Yeah, great,’ Fergal said reluctantly, and he followed Brendan in the direction of the conservatory, which was beautifully laid out for buffet breakfast.
Brendan had been a guest at the hotel for long enough to know the first names of the staff they encountered, and they treated him like visiting royalty. Fergal found a house phone and rang Fintan. He picked up, sounding sleepy but sexy.
‘Fergal? Is it breakfast time already? Are you downstairs? God, I was just dreaming about you.’
Brendan had chosen a table not far from the phone, so Fergal tried to sound as delighted as possible. ‘Fintan, guess what! I just bumped into your dad at reception, and he’s invited us to breakfast. Isn’t that lovely?’
He smiled over at Brendan and lowered his voice. ‘I’m sorry, he just dragged me into the conservatory and said I could ring you from here.’
Fintan was laughing. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get dressed and come right down. It’s not a problem - even though I’m dying to kiss you! Anyway, it’s not as if we have anything to hide from him.’
Fergal hung up and went back to his seat. ‘You mean he’s awake?’ Brendan laughed. ‘You’re obviously a good influence. Usually it’s impossible to get him out of bed in the morning.’ Fergal would have preferred to get him into bed, but he kept that to himself, although he blushed badly enough that Brendan asked if he needed a window opened.
Fintan found them at their corner table and kissed them both good morning. Fergal couldn’t get over how handsome he looked when he was sleepy and dishevelled. They took their plates and queued at the huge buffet. Brendan hadn’t been lying about the breakfast - there was every kind of food imaginable, and Fergal could only stare at some of the combinations of things that the other guests were piling on their plates, like pancakes with fresh cream and bacon on top. He settled for scrambled eggs and tiny sausages, croissants and coffee. Fintan and Brendan had identical enormous appetites and kept going up for more bacon or more toast. The waitress hovered with constant coffee refills, and by the end of the meal the caffeine was sending a strange current through Fergal’s blood and making him talk faster than normal. Every now and then Fintan would smile apologetically and say, ‘Sorry, Fergal, my brain is still in neutral - say that again?’
Brendan was the first to leave, folding his paper under his arm and saying he was off to read it in a nearby park. They both watched him leave. When they were on their own, Fintan turned back to Fergal and said, ‘Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?’
‘No, I suppose not. It’s funny, though, he’s not like your da at all, is he?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He seems more like a mate or something. I can’t believe how well youse get on.’
‘There isn’t much that man doesn’t know about me. We have our moments - I told you I yelled at him yesterday - but it always blows over. And there’s nothing like a hug from my dad.’
‘Sounds great. My da only ever punched me, and sometimes I felt like that was better than nothing. At least he touched me for a second.’
‘God, Fergal, don’t say that! It’s not the same thing at all.’
‘I know, I’m just saying.’
‘Dad is so fond of you, you know. He thinks you have an incredible voice, and I can tell you, he’s fiercely critical. I could get jealous if he’s not careful.’
‘Yeah, right! You jealous of me?’
‘Why not? I think he’d secretly have loved me to follow in his operatic footsteps, but I haven’t a note in my head.’
‘Really?’ Fergal had gone red in the face again, and Fintan laughed. He reached for his hand under the tablecloth, but Fergal felt too self-conscious; he pulled away.
‘Hey, you don’t regret the other night already, do you?’
‘What? No! Are you joking? Jesus, I love being with you. I’m just not comfortable...you know, in front of people.’
Fintan tilted his head and looked at him sleepily, then he said in a fake American accent, ‘So you wanna go upstairs and fool around?’
Fergal didn’t need to be asked twice.
They put the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door handle and hardly had time to close the door before they grabbed each other and fell to the floor, heated hands undoing layers of clothes until they were naked again. Without a word, they covered every area of the room with their lovemaking - Fintan knocked over a lamp and they howled with laughter - before finally settling, breathless, on the unmade bed. Fintan pushed Fergal onto his back and straddled him, and Fergal watched, drunk at the sight of this beautiful man above him, as Fintan took hold of his thickness and lowered himself onto it, eyes shut tight. They exhaled loudly as their bodies met, then, with slow, sure movements, they found a rhythm that made them both arch their backs and call to each other in soft moans.
The thrusting grew harder and harder. They rolled over and Fintan gripped Fergal’s lower back with his legs and looked him straight in the eyes. ‘Oh, Fergal - oh God, yes - feels so good...’ Sweat was dripping off both of them, and Fergal thrust more and more wildly. He knew he couldn’t hold out much longer. He managed to say, ‘Fintan, I’m close, I’m really close. Are you close?’
‘Keep going - I’m nearly there...’
Fergal slid out of him and they took hold of each other, stealing kisses, until there was no going back. With one final thrust:, their bodies stiffened, and Fergal collapsed on top of his lover.
After a moment he started to move off, but Fintan stopped him, murmuring, ‘Don’t...’ So they lay there, breathless and conjoined in those blissful, vulnerable seconds. As Fergal drifted off, he felt Fintan nuzzle his ear, and he could have sworn he heard him whisper, ‘I love you, Fergal,’ but he wasn’t sure if it was a dream.
They woke with a start to a loud knock and a call of ‘Housekeeping! You want your room made up?’ Fintan shouted, ‘Not today!’ just in time, before the maid used her key.
Fergal rolled off instin
ctively, to the other side of the bed, and Fintan stretched out and yawned, rolling over onto his stomach. The room was hot, and they let their arms coil around each other loosely. They must have drifted off again, for the next time they woke it was because a cold breeze was blowing over them from the open window The room was almost in darkness.
‘God, what time is it?’
Fintan flicked on the lamp. Fergal jumped up - he was dying to go to the toilet - but his nakedness embarrassed him. He grabbed a T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts from the pile on the floor and put them on behind the closed door of the bathroom. When he came out, Fintan burst out laughing and fell back on the bed. Fergal was about to ask him what he was laughing at when he looked down and saw he was wearing Fintan’s underwear, back to front. He laughed and jumped onto the bed, and they kissed themselves properly awake. It wasn’t long before the shorts were flung back to the pile on the floor, to tell the other clothes it was a false alarm.
‘Shall we get into the shower?’ Fintan suggested. Although Fergal was a bit shy because it was so bright in there, it didn’t take him long to start enjoying it once they were under the water. They touched each other slowly under the hot jets, kissing and washing each other’s chests. Once they were spent for the second time, they sat in the bath and let the water wash over them like a welcome shower of rain. With his face pressed against Fintan’s, Fergal finally found the courage to ask, in a whisper, ‘Fintan, did I hear you right earlier?’
‘What?’
‘Did you say...did you say that you loved me?’
Fintan unlocked himself from his dripping lover and looked into his eyes. ‘You heard me right.’ He kissed Fergal on both eyelids.
‘I thought I was only dreaming. Just so as you know - I love you too, Fintan.’
They kissed, as the water cascaded down and baptised their union, and it was impossible to tell the tears from the torrent of clean, clear water.
As they were getting dried together, Fintan looked more closely at Fergal’s face. ‘I’ve only just noticed that scar on your cheek. Where’d you get it?’
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