*Winner* of The Goodman Fund Short Story Award at CCNY
Tate was comforted by the neat rows of books that stretched on and on, back into the store and around various corners, offering secret nooks to get lost in. He spent most of an hour just in the memoir section, looking either for someone whose life was more exciting than his, or more disastrous; he couldn’t decide which was the most enticing to read. With a few books tucked under his arm, Tate wound through the shelves looking for a new mystery novel to add to his already erroneously large collection. Turning a corner, he bowled into a man who was reaching up on tiptoe to restock a book on the top shelf. He reached out to steady the man, and gravity nearly toppled them both; books rained down around them. Awkwardly, the two men found themselves tangled in limbs and literature. For those who witnessed it from afar, it looked messy and laughable. For Tate, whose imagination was always obscuring reality, he and the man fell into slow motion, Tate catching the stranger effortlessly in his arms, creating a tableau as whimsical as the romance covers shelved around them. Blushing from the adrenaline of their kismet, and perhaps both shocked by the near disaster, they held fast in the strained position.
“Are you all right?” Tate asked.
The man smiled back queerly and started to straighten himself up. Tate reluctantly released him out of his arms. The man — whose name tag read David — fixed his skewed cardigan and sighed out a breath of exasperation.
“Well, that could have ended badly,” He said. “I’m so sorry about that.”
“No, my apologies,” Tate corrected. “I’m usually better at reading and walking.”
David smiled that queer smile again, his brow creasing and giving his face a questioning look. Perhaps they had met before? But Tate couldn’t place his face. They bent down to start picking up the mess they created. Tate’s grin was spreading from ear to ear. David stole a few glances at him as they collected the scattered books; nervous laughter broke the silence.
Tate couldn’t take his eyes off David. If they had met before, surely he would have remembered. David’s wheat-colored hair, golden-green eyes, and high cheekbones were in stark contrast to Tate’s slim angular face, black curly hair, and stone-gray irises. They were of similar height, but David’s frame looked wide and strong. His robust shoulders pulled the fabric tight across his chest and back, his torso tapering down to a thin waist and long longs; he had the body of a well-practiced swimmer. Tate’s slim frame was diminutive next to David’s, but for some reason the whimsical encounter had caused Tate to surge with a confidence he was almost always lacking, making him feel taller and stronger. David let out another nervous chuckle as they both stood with arms full of hassled tomes; one more furtive glance sent Tate’s way.
“Again, so sorry about that,” David resigned, a blush spreading across his strong face. “I assume you have some books mixed in here.” He gestured to the armful he carried. Tate simply nodded. “I’ll just take these all to the counter and sort through them. Let me know when you’re ready and we’ll get your books settled. Uh...”
He nodded toward the books in Tate’s hands. Tate delicately added them to the towering collection. David went to turn, but then opened his mouth and paused, the words getting caught up. Instead, he laughed once more and turned away. Watching him leave, the backside of David was just as impressive as the front. Tate felt himself grow hard in his pants, so he quickly turned to the shelf and feigned interest. But the many romance covers of shirtless hunks did little to distract his mind, so he made his way down to the end of the aisle and pretended to scrutinize a key-lime pie recipe.
Tate spent a few more minutes perusing the store, but really, he was stealing glances over to the register where David continued to work. It wasn’t unusual for him to find an attractive man and begin to romanticize their future together, but he rarely did anything about it. Perhaps because the ice had already been broken, he felt the courage building within to make a move. A few more acquisitions in hand, he waited for the counter to clear of customers and then bee-lined over to David before the compulsion and courage left him.
Seeing Tate’s approach, David let out a chuckle.
“Sorry about that. I hope you weren’t hurt,” David said, scratching his temple nervously.
“No, not at all. And again, it was my fault, no need to apologize.”
“As these were the only non-romance books in the pile, I assume they’re yours.” David slid the two memoirs onto the counter. “This one is great.” He pointed to the collection of coming-out stories Tate had been eager to read for years. “Helped some of my family quite a bit when I came out.”
So at least he was gay — that took some of the pressure out of what Tate was about to do. No need to humiliate himself on multiple fronts.
“Have we met before?” Tate asked.
“I’m sure I’ve helped you in the store before,” David responded, and then added in a quiet tone, “Although it would be hard to forget those eyes.”
He immediately flashed a dangerous shade of red and averted his gaze back to the cash register. The reaction endeared him even more in Tate’s mind. Biting his lip and taking a steadying breath for courage, Tate asked,
“I don’t suppose you would let me take you out for a cup of coffee, so I can properly apologize?”
A bolt of electricity shot through Tate’s body, his heart palpitating as he watched the shocked expression slide onto David’s face, thinking he had horribly misread the situation and just made himself a fool. David took a nervous swallow, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat.
“Oh...uh…” David stammered, “I, uh... sure. I mean, yes! Yes, I would like that.”
Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, he took the bag of books from David’s hand and gave him his phone number in return; plans of meeting the next day were already secured. Tate walked out of the store with a buoyant stride.
~ ~ ~
Three days later, Tate found himself sitting down early at the table he was meant to have his first date with David. The cafe was in a charming — yet obscure — part of the city he’d been to many times before, but somehow never took the opportunity to explore. The large plate-glass windows were haphazardly ensconced with fairy lights; the scant drizzle outside collected on the glass and fragmented the twinkles into spectral arcs. A fireplace dominated the farthest wall and added to the whimsical aura, as did the comforting heat of the flames and calming smell of charred wood. The snug room of mismatched furniture, filled with the sounds of light laughter and chattering cutlery, all worked to send Tate into the nostalgia of being a child home for Christmas; warm and safe. It seemed like it was going to be a good night. He was determined to make it a good night.
Tate wasn’t sure where all the confidence was coming from. At 34 years old, he was more comfortable with the idea of hanging on to his anxieties and misgivings than trying something new and growing from the stunted place he rested. And being the aggressor in a romantic situation, he should have had an ulcer by then from the thrill of it all. Yet there were some things he had learned in his life that he didn’t want to repeat. Tate only had 2 serious relationships before, both polar opposites of each other; one was an example of how to do a relationship right, and the other was a master class in what not to do; one he thought would last forever, the other he couldn’t remember why it even started. But in both, he listened, he watched, and he learned. He was bound and determined not to make the same mistakes twice.
Lost in his reveries, Tate was unaware that the server was standing over the table.
“Oh, I’m sorry… what?” Tate stammered, and the server chuckled.
“I was asking if I could get you anything. Maybe a little caffeine to kick you out of that daydream? Or I might have some cocaine in the back if you’re looking for something a bit stronger.”
Tate faltered a second at the casual drug offering and then smiled wryly at the young server as he conspiratorially slapped Tate’s arm with his notepad.
“There, got your attention. Now, what’s your poison?”
“Actually, I’m a bit early,” Tate said, looking at his watch and realizing more time had gone by than he noticed, “but I suppose I could get a mineral water.”
“You got it.” The server refrained from writing down the simple order. “You’re expecting someone else then? A date?”
“That seems presumptuous,” Tate said, amused.
“Oh come on, look around. Everyone here is on a date. It’s the most romantic spot in this neighborhood.”
Tate couldn't help but laugh. Leave it to him, forever the hopeless romantic, yet unable to see the obvious romance all around. The server stepped away and left him to slide back into his thoughts. At any moment David would walk through the door and Tate would have to be charismatic and entertaining. He barely had any time left to figure out exactly how to do that.
Eventually, the thought was no longer Tate’s main concern. David was 20 minutes late, and Tate was halfway through a chamomile tea. His nerves were nearly frayed with the building anticipation. But there was also the unfortunate possibility that he wasn't coming at all. So how was Tate to respond? But the server made his way back over to the table before he could process.
“At least it’s dry in here, and the tea is hot.” The man’s smile, not at all laced with pity, comforted Tate.
“Thank you for the concern. I’m sure he’s just running late. It seems everyone runs on their own internal clock these days.”
“Or he’s dead.” The waiter shrugged at Tate’s scornful, yet playful, glance. “Trust me, if he’s still not here in another 20 minutes, the idea will become a lot more appealing.”
Although, the waiter was wrong. When another 20 minutes had passed and David still hadn’t shown, Tate was starting to feel relief. The cafe had cleared a little in the passing time and it no longer had the stuffy air of a dinner rush. The sun had gone down and the darkness outside transformed the interior into a little sparkling jewelry box. Tate felt his shoulders ease down his back. His hands wrapped around the last few warm dregs of his second tea, and he let out a little sigh. The server, perhaps sensing Tate’s resignation, sidled up next to him.
“You’re a bundle of nerves, aren't you? Good thing you’re sticking to tea, the coffee here would have sent you jittering right out the door.”
“Oh yeah, caffeine is not my thing. One cup and I would be dancing on the tables.”
“Well in that case.” The server feigned signaling the barista behind the bar.
“Absolutely not!” Tate clamored while grabbing at his hand.
“Already finding your buttons to push, I think this is going well.” Something flashed across the server's face that Tate couldn’t quite place. “My name is Chris by the way.” He put his hand out to Tate, who gave it a soft squeeze in greeting, feeling the callused pad of his palm. “Doesn’t look like he’s going to show, huh?”
“Eh,” Tate shrugged, “honestly, I’m relieved. I’m not usually the best in moments of forced conversation.”
“Forced conversation? Sounds less like a date and more like a job interview.”
Chris stood with his hand propped on a hip, a pen behind his ear, and an apron overflowing with napkins and straws. Tate couldn’t help but see him as a side-of-the-road diner waitress, greeting customers with a big heart and a bigger bust line (despite Chris’s petite frame). Each patron getting the treatment of either a loving family member or a prospective husband. All that was missing was a coffee pot in hand and a southern drawl. Tate chuckled at the imagery.
“I know, I know,” Tate acquiesced. “It’s my fault. I asked him for coffee on a whim and a… ridiculous romantic notion. But honestly, truly, I’m just more pleased I found the courage to do so. I don’t usually have that much bravado.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Chris said in a hearty tone.
A moment passed wherein the two men stared at each other. Chris with half a grin creeping up his face, Tate going from quizzical, to confused, to uncomfortable.
“Listen, I’m taking my break in just a minute. I wouldn’t mind keeping you company for a little bit,” Chris said, his voice losing the edge of a cheery waiter and sounding more natural.
“Oh…” Was all Tate could manage.
“I don’t want to force you into a conversation. But look at us, our dialogue is already flowing so smoothly,” He said sarcastically. “And besides, as pleased as you may be with your jump into the land of the courageous, nobody likes being stood up. Perhaps I can keep your mind off it for a while.” Chris’s body language had changed from the cordial server to something else entirely, but Tate couldn’t place it.
“Sure, why not”.
“Way to make a man feel welcomed.” Chris rolled his eyes. “Give me a minute, I’ll be right back.”
Tate immediately felt that familiar wall begin to rise, the anxiety of having to hold a conversation and talk about god-knows-what with a stranger; he couldn’t stand small talk. But then again, Chris had been nothing but friendly with him since his arrival, and he had to admit, the conversation had been flowing easily. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea to let a stranger in behind his defenses every once and a while.
The bell on the door rang and Tate’s stomach did a little flip as he whipped his head around. It wasn’t David, of course, but for a second he thought maybe he would come sweeping in, short of breath and flush, smiling to see Tate and then rushing over to the table to share an incredulous story of why he was so late. Perhaps then the romantic story could continue, a small blip to remember in the future telling of how their relationship started. But no, that wasn’t how the story was going to play out for Tate that night. He let the small rush wash out over his nerves and then settled back into his chair.
The rest of the cafe’s guests continued their dance of courtship. Each little round table for two was adorned with a tiny vase and a single chrysanthemum, their varying colors glowing from the small accompanying votives; the flickering flames danced across each fervent lover's face. Some couples softly touched their fingertips together, testing the waters of intimacy. A more brazen woman in the opposite corner ran her barefoot up the leg of her date, both lost in a world of their own. Others were more formal in what was perhaps their first meeting, but even still, the electricity of their encounters ran freely, each more eager than the next to perhaps have found “the one”.
Although he was slow to admit it, Tate was jealous of everyone there. He thoroughly enjoyed the time he had alone to himself but would be lying if he said he didn’t wake up some mornings and wish his arms were wrapped around a partner, their heat radiating under the blankets, both loathe to leave the other’s embrace. Another sigh escaped from Tate’s lips.
“I pegged you for a carrot cake kind of guy,” Chris said, sliding a plate on the table, alongside a fresh cup of chamomile tea.
“You pegged me right.”
Tate grimaced right away, hearing the innuendo slipping out between his lips before he could bite it back. Chris guffawed quite loudly and it bounced off the walls of the small cafe, patrons turning around in their chairs, wanting to be in on the joke.
“I’ll let that one pass.” Chris continued laughing while sitting down at the table. “On the house, by the way.”
“Thank you.”
They sat in silence for a moment as Tate racked his brain for something normal to say, his social skills failing him per usual. He filled the moment with a large bite of carrot cake.
“Did you want to share?” Tate offered as he slid the plate to the middle of the table.
“Technically, it’s my dinner. So, you’re welcome.” Tate paused in putting another large forkful of cake in his mouth. “I’m kidding! Man, you are easy to play with.” Chris shook his head in amusement. “I like that about you.” He added, as he playfully stabbed his fork at Tate’s hand.
Not quite sure how to play off Chris’s flirtatious spirit, Tate carefully sipped at his tea, waiting for him to pick the conversation back up.
“So, tell me, why is a man like you ok with being stood up, and shy to make the first move?
“A man like me?”
“Yeah. You’re what, six foot? Slim, strong build. Mid-thirties? Full head of hair. Italian descent? You’re literally tall, dark, and handsome. Where’s the fault? You got a tail?”
Tate sat confused with the gracious - yet spot-on - assessment, his mouth agape and his cheeks burning from the flattery.
“Oh, worse than a tail…?”
“No, I don’t have a tail.”
“Ok, then what?”
“I don’t know,” Tate said, shrugging his shoulders. “I guess I’m just a shy person. I’ve never been great at holding a conversation with a stranger.”
“Well, that’s ridiculous. This is the single most entertaining conversation I’ve had all month.”
“It’s only the 8th,” Tate said dryly.
“And I’m calling it already. No way anyone can top you. Or can they? I’m asking for a friend.”
Tate couldn’t help but laugh at Chris’s salacious joke.
“Well, I appreciate your candor,” Tate said, swiping the last bite of cake before Chris could get to it. “And your hospitality. I admit, you have helped to take my mind off an otherwise failure of a night.”
“Well, honestly, I’m glad your date didn’t make it tonight. I never show this much attention to one customer. In fact, most of the customers here probably hate me at this point.”
“Oh.” Was all Tate could manage, pieces of the night coming together and creating a clearer image.
Chris raised his eyebrows at Tate, confirming his sudden realization that perhaps Chris was being more than just a friendly server, and the attention meant a little more than an attempt to get a big tip. It seemed that his break was over, though, as the barista was desperately trying to get his attention.
“Looks like the show must go on,” He said as he stood up, tying his apron back around his waist. “Listen, if I can tell you one thing in all seriousness: stop underestimating yourself. Just be comfortable being you, and I promise,” he ran his eyes up and down Tate, “you will do just fine.”
With a wink, he was gone from the table and back up at the counter mitigating a rush of orders.
Tate took the last swallow of his tepid tea and began counting out cash to pay his bill. Standing at the table with his coat hooked over his arm, he shook his head, amazed at how daft he was in this game. All this time he thought it was just a show, but now with the concept coming together, he looked after Chris and took him in for the first time. Perhaps because he was too thick-headed, too stuck in his stereotypical attraction to farm boys from the Midwest, or too concentrated on David’s arrival, but somehow Tate overlooked how handsome Chris was. Shorter than his usual type, and the same olive skin as Tate, yet with long lustrous hair pulled up into a tight bun, and green eyes that had been piercing through Tate since the moment they began talking. Although it felt like an unnecessary journey, it seemed that perhaps Tate was meant to end up in that moment; a serendipitous meeting of two people, facilitated by the choices made days prior. Tate was beginning to see the advantages of throwing caution to the wind and living off his instincts.
Feeling that same rush that overtook him before in the bookstore, Tate decided to let down his guard. So, as Chris turned around and began to walk out onto the floor, Tate gently grabbed him by the wrist.
"Hey, would you-”.
“Go on a date with you?” Chris interrupted. “Technically, I think we just did.” They grinned at each other and Chris gently poked Tate in the arm. “I’m off in an hour. You’ve waited this long, want to wait a little longer for me?”
Tate set his coat back down on the chair and settled in.
“Yes, but if it’s much longer than that, I’m going to need the cocaine.
Comments