Husband Hunters

by Rick R. Reed

  “That’s not fair,” Cody said.

  Martha rolled her eyes.

  Now, as they settled into wing-backed chairs, Cody was glad they had changed into khakis and sport coats. He surveyed the room and half expected to see the Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall sitting down nearby. The room was imbued with old world, perhaps even fussy, elegance. Everything was dark, hand-carved wood and tastefully vintage, harkening back to more elegant and refined times. The room appeared as though it had been lifted from Victorian days. Adding to its charm were the windows facing the inner harbor.

  Before they could even settle in, their waiter, a tall, reedlike man with blond hair, wearing a white shirt and black pants that screamed the word “crisp,” appeared at their table. “Good afternoon and welcome to tea. Is this your first time with us?”

  Both men nodded, and Cody noticed the cameras moving silently into position. Cody had a feeling that the spiel on its way was for the home audience’s benefit as much as it was for theirs. After all, this portion of the show could be looked upon cynically as a tourism ad for Victoria and the Empress.

  “Let me tell you a little bit about the service. My name’s Walter, and I have been serving here since 1994.”

  “Wow,” Chappy marveled. “You must have been five when you started.”

  Walter gave him a pained smile. “Right.” He had been thrown off; Cody could see that in his eyes. But he pressed on. “The custom of afternoon tea was started in the eighteenth century by the Duchess of Bedford.” He smiled and leaned closer as if he were confiding a secret. “When they did the renovation in 2008, they took up the floors and used the wood to make the tables before you.” He winked. “So you could say you’re literally eating off the floor.”

  As if on cue, both men chuckled.

  “Now, one thing I want to set you guys straight on before we get started is that this is not high tea; it’s afternoon tea. High tea, contrary to popular belief, is more of a working-class custom, and usually hot savory items are included. It’s more like an early supper. What you fellows will enjoy today is afternoon tea. Let me whet your appetites a bit. Today we’re serving fresh seasonal fruit topped with Chantilly cream. That’s followed by four tea sandwiches. The first is filled with cucumber, smoked British Columbia salmon, and cream cheese. Then we have carrot and ginger with cream cheese, then pesto egg salad on focaccia, and finally, curry mango chicken salad.

  “For your sweet tooth, we also have on tap English raisin scones served with clotted cream and strawberry preserves. And…petite pastries, including Valrhona caramel chocolate truffles in a chocolate cup, lemon curd tarts with glazed berries, choux pastries filled with green tea white chocolate cream, sour cherry almond pound cakes, and traditional shortbread cookies.”

  “Oh my God,” Cody exclaimed. “I am about to drool all over my shirt.”

  Chappy shook his head. “You’re all class.” He looked up at Walter. “So, how about the tea?”

  Walter nodded, giving his first genuine smile, and Cody knew Chappy had asked the perfect question, leading Walter seamlessly into the next portion of his talk. “You’ll enjoy a selection of the best teas, created exclusively for The Fairmont Empress. With components from Assam (thick malty and full bodied), Kenya (floral-like flavor and a golden coppery infusion), South India (superb fruity and sprightly flavor), Ceylon (airy, almost piquant flavor), and China (burgundy depth with light oaky notes), you’ll find our Empress tea to be one of the finest blends in the world.”

  “Wow. I don’t know if I’m qualified to drink it,” Chappy said.

  Walter smiled with what Cody thought of as indulgence. “Now, shall I be Mother?” He stepped away to grab a cart and began setting out the tea service.

  After they had finished, Cody said, “I’m stuffed.”

  “Me too. Who would have thought tiny sandwiches and sweets would be so filling.”

  “I’m ready for a nap,” Cody said.

  “Can’t. We have mineral rubs and massages next in the spa.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Cody imagined the experience would be telling and pleasurable. Not only would he get rubbed the right way, by what he hoped would be a very handsome masseur, but he’d get the chance to see Chappy naked. Maybe the basket he bragged about earlier to Martha would live up to its name.

  * * * *

  They were led by one of the spa employees, a young woman named Ginger, to a locker room where they could change into Empress-provided robes and slippers. Ginger told them, “First, we’ll have the two of you take a soak in the hot tub just through this door.” She pointed to the exit door. “It’ll get you nice and relaxed for your massages and mineral scrubs.” She started out. “Don’t forget your trunks! The producers have left yours in the lockers to your right. The hot tub is co-ed!”

  Cody waited until she was gone to say, “Well, damn.”

  Chappy laughed. He took his shirt off right away, revealing a muscled chest hanging above an ever-so-slightly protruding belly, all covered with dark brown fur. Cody was enchanted.

  But then Chappy hesitated, his hand on the waistband of his khakis. He finally met Cody’s eyes, looking a little helpless. Cody wondered what was wrong. He had already shed all his clothes and stood proudly before Chappy, wearing nothing but a grin and a half hard-on. Chappy said, “Dude, you’re staring.”

  Heat rose to Cody’s cheeks. “Sorry,” he mumbled, turning around reluctantly to grope for the pair of bright orange Andrew Christian trunks thoughtfully left behind by the Husband Hunters wardrobe department. Cody was tempted to take a peek over his shoulder as he heard Chappy’s belt buckle hit the tile floor but thought that would be rude. If he wanted you to look, he wouldn’t have said that, Cody admonished himself. Still, he was a little surprised at the man’s modesty, which he wouldn’t have predicted.

  Once they were ready, they stepped out into the tiled room that housed the hot tub. Already two middle-aged matrons were lounging in its bubbling waters, one complaining to the other, “We came all this way, and all he wants to do is watch ESPN in the room. The sad thing is, that’s probably the liveliest activity those four walls will see while we’re staying there!” The woman barked out a laugh, and her friend nudged her. They both looked up as the two men entered.

  Cody and Chappy both greeted their fellow bathers as they slid into the hot water. It felt wonderful. The women continued their conversation, their voices low, heads close together like conspirators. Every once in a while, one or both of them would snatch a look at Cody or Chappy and then giggle.

  Cody whispered to Chappy, “I feel like we’re in fourth grade again.”

  “Exactly.”

  Finally the pair was called away, and Cody hoped, for the complaining woman’s sake, that she got a large, muscular brute to massage her and reduce her to a quivering mass.

  “Maybe she’ll get a happy ending,” Cody whispered, laughing, to Chappy.

  “You’re a bad boy.” He swirled the water around in front of him.

  What was that look on his face, Cody wondered. Worry?

  “You think they do that here?” Chappy asked.

  “I doubt it. This isn’t that kind of place.” Cody sighed. “But people being people, I wouldn’t rule it out. I’m sure that kind of thing has happened on occasion.”

  Chappy shook his head.

  Cody poked him. “You’re modest! I never would have guessed it. A big strong man like you.”

  Chappy grinned, chuckling. “Not so much modest as romantic. I like to take things slow.”

  “Duly noted,” Cody said. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about being attacked in his plush room tonight. Cody wasn’t sure he was happy about that. What’s wrong with you? You were all traumatized last weekend when Diesel forced himself on you. Yeah, but I didn’t want Diesel, and therein all the difference lies…”

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Chappy said.

  “Oh, it’ll cost you more than a penny,” Cody said.

 
; Chappy remained silent.

  “I was just wondering if we’d have male or female massage therapists.”

  As it turned out, their massage therapists and scrubbers were both women—two cute young things in their twenties. One was a brunette, the other a blond, both adorable and perky in a way that probably kept their straight male clientele in a regular state of fantasy and, well, tumescence. One was named Ashley, the other Tani, and Cody had to wonder if the names were made up.

  Cody’s hopes to get a look at Chappy’s family jewels were dashed once more as the girls had them lie down on respective massage tables and then discreetly draped sheets over each of them. Only then did they give them the go-ahead to remove their robes.

  The mineral scrubs and massages, in spite of being administered by female hands, were almost life changing. Cody had to admit that his therapist, Tani, knew exactly what she was doing, hitting the right points with perfect pressure and causing his taut muscles to relax like butter under her surprisingly strong and nimble fingers.

  Chappy must have enjoyed what Ashley did to him too, because by the end of their session he was asleep, letting out a gentle snore.

  The cameraman in the room with him, Cody noticed, moved in for a close-up of Chappy’s face.

  * * * *

  Later, much later, Cody said good night to Chappy in front of the door to Cody’s room. They had had a full and exhausting day—a tour of the stunning Butchart Gardens with its gorgeous flowers, looking almost like something lifted right out of a Matisse painting, a long walk around the inner harbor, and a fabulous French dinner at a place on Government Street called Brasserie L’école.

  Cody smiled up at Chappy, thinking how much he liked the man. There had never been an awkward moment between them throughout the day—their conversation and laughter flowed freely, easily, as though they had known each other for years instead of mere hours.

  And Cody couldn’t deny the physical attraction he felt for Chappy. He was like a big, burly man blanket Cody wanted only to have spread over himself, luxuriating in the heat and gentle touch.

  Cody looked around once more, making sure there were no cameras around before asking shyly, “Want me to come in for a bit?”

  Chappy smiled, and it seemed to Cody that something like disappointment flickered across his features. “I’m really tired,” he said.

  Cody held up a hand. “Say no more. Me too.” He got his card key out and turned toward his door.

  “Cody?”

  He turned back. “Yeah?”

  “I really, really like you, which is why I’d like to take things slow. Can you get that? I know it’s not standard operating procedure for our people, hell, usually not even for me, but I want to get to know you better first, if that doesn’t sound horribly prudish and old-fashioned.”

  Cody took a few steps back, put a hand on Chappy’s chest, and leaned in to kiss him on the lips, gently and with no tongue. “I think it’s sweet,” he said, pulling away. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Cody was too tired, he thought, to examine more closely why the main thing he was feeling right now was relief.

  * * * *

  “I had a wonderful time,” Chappy said, the wind from the Sound lifting his dark brown hair. Behind him was the ferry terminal and to the north of him Seattle’s iconic Ferris wheel, its lights just winking on in the dusky lavender light.

  Cody smiled. “Me too.” He thought if he put together qualities for the perfect man, that man would be standing before him. Not only was Chappy Whelan handsome, he was solid—a good guy, someone you just knew you could instinctively trust. He was kind and nurturing. (That he owned three rescue cats and two rescue dogs attested to that fact.) He was literate. (His reading tastes were not only eclectic and smart but also fun.) He was sexy. (With just a look, he could inspire filthy fantasies.)

  In short, Cody thought if there was a picture next to the term “marriage material” in his own personal life dictionary, it would be of Chappy.

  “So I’m not gonna ask if you’ll pick me, because I know you will. Hey, what’s not to like?” Chappy chuckled. “And yes, that’s a big ‘maybe’ and ‘we’ll see’ if you do propose. Right now, though, I’m wondering if you’d want to get together later this week, let me fix you supper at my place. I make a mean gazpacho—at least for an Irish guy. You can meet my furry kids. They’ll love you.”

  Cody looked out at the water. All around him, Seattle’s waterfront was bustling with tourists. The sculpture park was just down the street, and shops and restaurants beckoned from nearby piers. He felt separated from the revelers, and a kind of melancholy came over him.

  He needed to be alone.

  He didn’t want to hurt Chappy’s feelings. If ever a guy existed who deserved never to have his feelings hurt, it was Chappy. And maybe that was the problem.

  Cody forced himself to smile, hoping that the expression looked more genuine than he felt. “I’d love that. And I’ll bring the stuff for margaritas.”

  “Friday?” Chappy looked hopeful.

  “That sounds good. We can work out the details later. You can text me, okay?”

  “Sure.” Chappy looked a little taken aback. Cody guessed he wasn’t expecting to be brushed off so quickly.

  But the truth was, Cody was desperate to be by himself, to get off somewhere and just think. The weekend, wonderful as it was, had brought up in him lots of feelings, doubts, and questions, and he felt like he just couldn’t pretend to be carefree and happy one minute more. He touched Chappy’s shoulder gently. “I’m just dog tired. You know? This weekend, with all the takes and retakes and the hours of shooting, well, it’s taken its toll. I just want to get home and sink into a nice bath with an Entertainment Weekly.”

  “I get it.” Chappy smiled. “My car’s parked in the lot across the street. Remember, I’m giving you a lift home.”

  How to get out of this gracefully? They had told the producers that Chappy would drop Cody off. Otherwise, the show would have taken care of his transport back. And the truth was, it would have been convenient. He needed to pick up Ryder, and the whole mission would be accomplished much more quickly if Chappy drove him.

  “I’m good, really.”

  Chappy cocked his head. “You don’t want a ride?”

  Think fast, Cody. He assumed what he hoped looked like a sheepish grin. “Actually, I planned on meeting my friend Matt for a beer at Paddy Coyne’s.” Cody pulled the name out of his ass. He had heard someone talking about it as they waited to board the Clipper to Victoria yesterday morning. But an Irish bar? When he was standing here with an Irish guy? Wouldn’t the next words to come out of the Irishman’s mouth be, “Can I join you?” To circumvent this, Cody quickly added, “Matt’s been going through some rough times. He needs a shoulder…”

  “Ah.” Chappy clapped him on the back. “You’re a good man. We’ll see each other soon.”

  “You bet.” Cody let himself be hugged and then watched Chappy cross Alaskan Way and disappear into the increasing shadows. He knew he’d never see him again. Sure as the sun would rise in the morning, he would text Chappy later in the week—a shitty thing to do and he hated himself for it—and cancel their Friday night plans.

  He waited long enough to let Chappy drive away and then pulled out his iPhone and hit the Uber car app. It was a splurge to have a Lincoln Town Car come chauffeur him home, but he felt like he deserved it. The thought of a bus crowded with strangers was anathema to him.

  The black car glided to the curb in only minutes, and Cody slipped gratefully inside. The silence of the car was just what he needed.

  He gave the driver his address and tuned him out. He had expected to shake a whole box of mental puzzle pieces out to examine one by one but found, once he was alone, only one issue rose to the surface.

  Why am I not wild about Chappy? He’s perfect. We have a ton of things in common, he’s sexy as hell, he seems to really, really like me, so what’s t
he problem? Cody thought of that song from A Chorus Line, which had stuck with him since his grandmother had taken him to see a revival of the show when he was a teenager. There was a song in it called “Nothing,” and Cody remembered how the girl who sang it described how everyone around her was feeling something and she felt nothing, not even when she reached down to the bottom of her soul.

  That’s how it was with him and Chappy. Even though his head told him he should feel something, that Chappy was the one, that he couldn’t ask for—nay, pray for—a more perfect specimen of man, he felt nothing.

  Nice as he was, handsome as he was, sexy as he was, smart as he was, Chappy Whalen did not possess the one thing Cody needed to foresee a future with him: a spark.

  Was a spark important? Did he really need one? Or was that stuff put in his head by chick flicks and romance novels, stories where the star-crossed lovers rushed after one another in an airport/train station/bus depot to stop them from taking a life-altering course that would take them away from the one?

  He was thinking how life had finally thrown him a bone—a genuinely nice, decent man, sexy as hell, and he didn’t want him.

  As the car glided silently toward home, Cody mumbled to himself, “This bullshit is absurd.”

  Chapter 11

  Matt was getting ready to turn in for the night. He had to get up early the next day for his summer job with the park district, where he oversaw a day camp. He thought he should tidy up a little before crawling under the sheets. He could at least throw away the Pagliacci pizza box on his coffee table and put the Mac & Jack’s ale bottles lined up next to it in his recycling bin before allowing himself the luxury of slumber, but he was too tired—and maybe a little too drunk—for even that much effort.

  “Fuck you all,” he said to the box and bottles littering his table, as though they had ears. “You’ll still be here in the morning. That’s the thing about trash. It always sticks around.” He took a few steps toward his bedroom and then snorted. He completed the thought with, “Unless it heads on over to Victoria, BC.”