She winked at him, gave Landry an appraising look, and then scurried off after her wife, who had a long salt-and-pepper braid down her back and was wearing a motorcycle club vest.
“That’s cool she came to see you,” Landry said, attempting to break the awkward silence.
“I owe her a lot. My mom died right before I started high school. Mrs. Ramirez’s art classes were the only thing that kept me in school.”
“I’m so sorry,” Landry said, feeling that maybe he finally had a clue as to what made Dover so serious. “Was it unexpected?”
Dover looked down at the display in front of him and straightened some pens. “She had a stroke. It was totally out of the blue.”
His voice faltered a little on the last bit, and Landry wished they knew each other a little more so he could give him a hug. Landry was a hugger, an all-around affectionate guy, but Dover didn’t give any indication that he was okay with the physical, except for the hug from his teacher and longtime mentor.
“Strokes are so scary,” Landry said. “There’s just no way of knowing.”
Dover cleared his throat. “So, you here as a vendor?”
Landry smiled so wide he was sure his eyes nearly disappeared. “I am! I bought an antique trailer and renovated it into a little pop-up shop. I’ve been experimenting with some new designs, reusing clothing and turning it into something new and fresh. The trailer has a little dressing room and racks in it. It’s been a huge hit. This is my first weekend here at Treasure Island, but I took it out to the Alameda County Fair for the run, and it was a smash! I sold out of everything. Have you ever worked the county fair?”
Dover shook his head. “I can only do weekends. I work during the week.”
“Oh yeah? What do you do?”
“Tech for the school district. Basically, I fix Chromebooks and hook up teacher computers to the printers every time they get kicked off the system.”
“Oh, wow, computers, too?”
“Yeah.” Dover’s cheeks reddened faintly. He seemed resistant to talking about himself.
“Is there anything you don’t do?”
“I can’t cook very well. I hate it, actually.”
Now he was getting somewhere. Landry had learned more about Dover in this exchange than in the months they’d prepared for Dickens, and he really liked what he saw. “Cooking is tough, especially when you’re trying to fit it in between work and art. Do you at least have a shop where you live, or are you renting space?”
Dover shook his head, and a breeze caught his long locks, blowing them in his face. As he spoke, he pulled a hair tie from his wrist and tied it back. Landry was so fascinated with the movements, he almost lost what Dover said.
“Yeah, no. I live in a town house, and the neighbors complained about the noise. I rented a space in a warehouse, but then after the Ghost Ship fire, the manager kicked a bunch of us out, said we were a fire hazard. I ended up renting Miranda’s garage. Her husband is my best friend. They had a two-car detached garage in their backyard in Castro Valley, so he said I could move my shit over there. It’s a little out of the way, but it’s better than what I had.” He chuckled. “Pissed Miranda off, though. We had to move our band equipment into the house to make room for my studio. Now we practice in the living room and she has no place to hide.”
“Man,” Landry said, hating that Dover couldn’t pursue his art without obstacles. “I’m glad you found a place, though. That’s tough. But wait. A band too?”
“Yeah. Prog rock cover band. I play guitar.” Dover shrugged and busied himself tidying up his space.
“That’s so cool. I don’t know much of that music. Like, Rush?”
“Yeah. Rush is the main one people think of. We play some Pink Floyd, Yes, and Dream Theater. Some newer stuff like Baroness and Coheed and Cambria.”
“I’ll have to check them out,” Landry said, trying to mentally record the names he’d never heard before. “I sing in a choir, but mostly we sing show tunes or the classics. Do you guys play anyplace local?”
“Yeah. A few bars around the East Bay. Nothing major. We mostly do it for fun and because we love the music.”
Landry tried to work up the nerve to ask him out, thinking maybe, just maybe, they’d turned a corner. He decided to stick with a safe topic. Or rather, one he thought was safe. “Hey, so I want to bring back the windows this year, at Dickens. Some of the cast said they thought they were so much fun and assured me they’d be a draw.”
The “windows” consisted of a booth with plexiglass that resembled a store front display. Throughout the day actors performed short vignettes in the booth through a series of choreographed movements similar to a live-action mannequin display at a department store. When the previous corset maker left, the fair was without the windows for a couple of seasons. Landry thought bringing back this favorite attraction would be a great idea.
Dover scoffed. “The windows? Yeah, they’re a draw. They’re also a pain in the ass.”
“Really? Why do you think so?”
Dover exhaled and moved around to the other side of his display, fiddling with the wine stoppers in a bowl, making sure the designs were all visible. They were all different colors and textures of wood. So elegant.
“They sort of bring an element to that part of the fair that is distracting.”
Did he really feel that way? “They do draw in more customers for all of the vendors in that bay, though. Don’t you think?”
Dover didn’t answer. Shit. Obviously, this was not the way to get Dover to loosen up.
“I was going to ask some of the cast to model for me.” It’s now or never.
Dover nodded, but he didn’t look up. “Good luck with that. You’ll probably find plenty. The actors who do the Naughty French Postcards show would do it. Probably a lot of customers, too.”
His words were encouraging, but this didn’t seem to be the time to ask him if he would model. Truthfully, Landry didn’t know how well he’d handle dressing Dover. He’d developed such a crush on the guy at this point, he was perilously close to embarrassing himself. “I’m really looking forward to it. I put in for Mr. Williams’s booth. At least that way I’ll be out of your hair. I know some of my customers got a little overzealous.”
This time, Dover did look at him. Pointedly. “I put in for it too.”
“Oh,” Landry said, inwardly cursing. The last thing he needed was one more reason for Dover to dislike him. “Well, either way, I’ll do my best to keep my patrons under control.”
“Yeah. I’d like to not lose any more merchandise.” He turned away and busied himself with his inventory, his eyebrows nearly meeting in the middle. Landry took that as his wish to end the conversation, and that made him incredibly sad.
“I’m sorry about that. I should have offered to pay. I’ll, um, let you get back to work. I just wanted to say hello.”
“Yeah. Thanks for coming by.” At least he made eye contact this time, but there was nothing welcoming in his tone.
“See you, soon, I hope.”
Dover nodded and turned back around, leaving Landry to walk away like a wounded puppy.
Ugh. He hated feeling that way, but he’d so gotten his hopes up when he’d seen Dover’s booth. Somehow, someway, Landry hoped he and Dover could at least be friends. He wanted more than that, but he’d settle for civility with the mysterious man.
Chapter Three
October
Dover
“GOD, I really hope we get that booth.”
Dover was anxious as he and Miranda rode in her Prius to the all-hands meeting. Dover’s truck was in the shop. Again. It had been a frustrating couple of weeks as his truck broke down, his lathe had given up the ghost, and his last order of acrylics was late, meaning he was going to be behind in finishing the pens he was making for Dickens.
“It would be nice to have that extra space,” Miranda said. “I love the new speakers and amplifiers you’re bringing. What a great idea.”
“Yeah,
they’re super easy to build, and I know there are plenty of music enthusiasts who swing through Dickens. I sold as many as I brought to each of the shows this summer.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry I couldn’t go with you.” Miranda rubbed a hand over her growing belly.
“You had more important things to work on, like taking care of you and the baby.”
Miranda found out in April that she was expecting, and it had been a rough first trimester for her. She’d had to take leave from work for a few weeks as she battled twenty-four-hour morning sickness.
“Yeah, well, I’m just glad that part’s over. Although things are getting quite uncomfortable.”
She wasn’t due until January, so she’d worked diligently on her jewelry, determined to work Dickens Fair with him in spite of her condition.
“If you keep growing, we’re going to absolutely need the bigger booth or else we won’t fit.”
“Thanks a lot,” she said, elbowing him, though she laughed. She’d had a great sense of humor about the whole thing. Darwish was in awe of how strong and brave she was. Dover was ecstatic for his best friends.
“If we don’t get the bigger booth, it’ll be okay. We did great last year! We made more money than the last two years.”
“Yeah, but if I can’t get the damn lathe fixed, I’m going to have to make enough to buy a new one.”
“I’m so sorry, Dover. I know it’s been frustrating for you. Can’t your dad loan you the money?”
“There’s no way I would ask him. I can’t afford to overextend myself, and if I couldn’t pay him back, I’d be devastated. He and Hillary have a good thing going in the desert and need all of their investments to carry them through retirement.”
Miranda reached over and patted his knee. “You’re a good son, Charlie Brown. I totally borrowed money from my mom to buy new tools this year. She considers herself a silent partner in my business.”
Dover chuckled. Miranda was younger than Dover and Darwish by about eight years, and her mother was a bit of a trophy wife to Miranda’s CEO stepfather. “She’s also a walking advertisement. I’ve seen her wearing not only your earrings and necklace combos, but also rings on, like, all of her fingers and bracelets on both wrists…plus your screen-printed T-shirts.”
“Yeah, she gets carried away sometimes, but it’s nice having your mom be your biggest fan. Oh, shit, Dover. I’m so sorry.”
Dover smiled. “It’s okay. My mom was my biggest fan. My dad’s a close second.”
Miranda turned to face him at the next red light. “And she’s smiling down on you now. Everything is going to come together for you, I promise.”
They parked as close to the restaurant as they could get and walked over. Others from the cast of Dickens Fair arrived at the same time, and there were hugs all around. Miranda took off with some of the women who were actors in Dickens Family Parlor, and Dover found a seat off in a corner so he could watch everyone else. He wasn’t exactly antisocial, but he didn’t know how to play the game, so he didn’t try. If people thought he was rude, so be it. There were enough people in the Dickens regulars who he’d known for years and who he knew were friends. They respected him.
A server came by, and he ordered an old-fashioned for him and a Shirley Temple for Miranda. He waved to a few friends, and several came by to give him hugs.
A raucous burst of laughter echoed across the restaurant. Dover scanned the room and wasn’t surprised to find Landry and the two women who’d worked the booth with him last year, Gwen and Trudy, seated beside him. He was dressed in a three-piece suit complete with spats. Dover glanced down at his flannel shirt and black skinny jeans and sighed. Even if he wanted to dress nice, he didn’t have the funds for a wardrobe like Landry’s. Of course, he probably made all his own suits, but still.
Landry. Damn. Dover had been thrown when Landry came to visit his booth at the Treasure Island festival over the summer. It was strange to see people from Dickens in other places, although there were a few other vendors he saw at events, especially the Scottish Games at the end of the summer. But Landry had been so nice to him, and Dover had been, well… he’d kind of been a jerk. He was shocked when Landry mentioned he’d put in for the bigger booth as well, but it made sense. Landry’s booth did so much business during fair last year, he’d been the talk of the Cow Palace back barns, where Dickens was held every year. But unlike Dover, who depended on his sales at fair to keep his art in business, Landry was doing pretty damn well, from what he’d heard.
Yeah, he’d snooped. He’d asked Miranda about Landry’s shop after she went to be fitted for her corset. She was so pissed she wouldn’t be able to wear it this year now that she had a baby belly. She’d modeled it for him, and Darwish and Dover had been incredibly impressed by the beautiful garment. Landry had promised her he’d make her something amazing, and he’d delivered. Dover had even driven by his shop near the Rockridge BART station in Oakland and had been impressed. He didn’t dare go inside, though, especially after how he’d spoken to Landry during the summer. It was just as well. A guy like Landry wouldn’t ever give someone like Dover a second glance. He was being nice; that was the only reason he’d come by over the summer, although at one point, Dover had thought maybe he was flirting. Not that Dover was really good at picking up those kind of things. He wasn’t the guy people flirted with, unless it was his female friends. They knew he was safe, and their overtures were harmless.
“All right, all right, pipe down everyone. Welcome to the 2019 Dickens Family Christmas Fair Season. Belinda will be coming around to hand you your information packet, complete with a map and schedule for the season. If there are questions, you can speak to us after the meeting. Now, a few announcements….”
Dover tuned out as soon as he saw Belinda coming around with the packets.
Please let me have the Williams booth. Please let me have the Williams booth.
Belinda started on the other side of the room, and Dover watched as Landry received his. The two women he was with both looked over his shoulder and squealed at the contents of the packet. Landry smiled and exhaled as though he was relieved. None of this boded well for Dover.
“Whatever happens, it’s going to be fine.” Miranda slid into the seat next to his with a little difficulty. “Oooo! A Shirley Temple? I love Shirley Temples!”
Dover couldn’t stop staring in Landry’s direction, as though he could somehow, through telepathy, find out what had Landry smiling like that.
And then Landry caught his eye.
His smile seemed to convey sympathy.
“Fuck,” Dover growled under his breath. Well, at least they wouldn’t be right next to each other again. If he got Williams’s old booth, he’d be in the center of the bay, smack-dab in the center of all the action.
If Dover took his own interests out of the equation, it really made the most sense for Landry to have that booth. It would be the easiest place to set up the windows, like he’d mentioned he’d wanted to do when they met up in the summer. It just stung. Depending on which booth he received, he may or may not have the space to add some new merchandise. Depending on where his booth was located, he might be forced to watch the windows—and Landry—the entire run of the season.
Dover had worked his father’s booth in high school and college for extra cash and to spend time with the man who was his everything. He’d wandered past the windows several times a day and stopped to gaze at the actors. Most of the time there would be women posed in various stages of undress. He’d been fascinated by their garments, and lack thereof. But it had been the men he’d gone back to see again and again.
One of the actors back then actually reminded him a lot of Landry: blond, handsome, well-dressed, and well-mannered. Exactly Dover’s cup of tea. The last weekend of the show—it must have been Dover’s sophomore or junior year in high school—he’d gone by the windows several times during the day, his excuse being that it was the fastest way to the bathrooms, even though that wasn’t exactly true. The b
lond man, probably in his twenties, had been in the booth each time, and with a different man or woman. As Dover walked by that last time, the man made eye contact with him… and winked. Dover had been so shocked he’d stopped walking and stared. The man’s wickedly handsome smile had done things to his insides, things he had only recently begun to understand. He’d been close to fifteen before he started to have the stirrings of sexuality, and they’d been solely in the presence of men. Seeing this particularly handsome man clad only in trousers and a corset vest while smoking a pipe took his breath away and was the source of his fantasies for months after the season ended. The next season, the man hadn’t returned. Dover eventually developed a habit of bedding pretty men, which never proved wise in the morning light.
Belinda finally made it to his table, and Miranda reached for the packet. She immediately flipped to the map, then sighed.
“I already know,” he said when she started chewing on her lip.
“I’m sorry, Dover.”
“It’s fine. Really. We’ll make it work. Where are we?”
She pointed on the map to the booth directly across from the booth he’d wanted. The booth Landry had had the year prior.
“We’ll have more room than we did, at least,” she said, trying to make the situation better.
“I know, but I had plans. Hey, take good notes for me.”
She smiled at him as he stood from the table and headed toward the men’s room, probably hoping he wasn’t going off to sulk. He wasn’t. Not totally. He simply needed a minute to breathe.
He was washing his hands at the sink and trying to regain his composure when the door opened.
Landry.
“Oh, hey. Dover, I’m sorry—”
He held up a hand. “It’s fine.” If he said it enough times, he might actually believe it.
“I’m okay with what I had last year. Maybe they’ll let us switch.”
Dover shook his head as he dried his hands on a towel. “Don’t do that. You need the bigger space. It’s fine.”
A Peace Offering Page 2