QColumn: A Gay In The Life – Dinner For Two

QColumn: A Gay In The Life - Dinner For Two
Dinner for Two
By Steve Prince

“Lunch for one?” the waiter asked.
“Actually, no,” I said. I paused and grinned, “Two.”
He looked at me a bit oddly then he sashayed away like a contestant from RuPaul’s Drag Race. Admittedly I was bit too excited, but it had been a looooooong time since I could say that I was having lunch for two. And today I was, with Peter.
Peter should be here any minute, I thought to myself. As I sat there waiting for him, I couldn’t help but notice the oddity of the moment. Normally, I wouldn’t be nervous waiting for one of my best friends, yet now I was waiting for my best friend… that I was dating. My knee bounced with excitement.
Even though, we had been fucking for almost four weeks, this was really our first date. Yeah, it seemed a bit slow for me, but I was giving Peter time. I had to keep reminding myself that I’d been out of the closet for over ten years now, and Peter had not even been out a month. I didn’t want to rush him.
The glass door of the restaurant opened, tingling the bell and allowing sunlight to stream onto the dark concrete floor.
It was Peter.


Goddamn, he was handsome and judging from the restaurant, I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. Eyes from across room (mostly men) lasered in on Peter. Peter looked at me and smiled, but I could tell by the tightening in his mouth that he noticed the stares. It seemed to make him uncomfortable; he wasn’t used to this type of attention. Anticipating his awkwardness, I purposefully picked lunch place that wasn’t anywhere close to West Hollywood; I thought such a place would be too gay for Peter right now.
Instead I chose The Kitchen, a small café with excellent food located in Silverlake and sat next door to Akbar, my favorite gay bar in Los Angeles. The vibe was very gay friendly, but the crowd was more mixed, nothing too overwhelming.
“Hey,” I said rising to give Peter a hug.
“What’s up kid?” he said, hugging me and patting me on the back. It seemed a bit stand-offish. Was something up with him, I thought. I decided to push my doubts from my mind. Just enjoy yourself, Steve… for once!
I looked down at the table.
Of fuck… where should I sit? The table sat four people, which meant we had options for our seating arrangements. I mean, do I sit across from him, or is that want friends do? Maybe I should sit beside him? Ugh, but that seems so awkward because you’re not looking at one another. I would then have to turn to talk to him. But is that how couples sit? Fuck fuck fuck! I didn’t know what to do. Damn the host, for seating as a four top. I told him I was waiting for two. TWO, MOTHERFUCKER! You should have sat us for a table for TWO!
“Sit down,” Peter said motioning to the chair beside him.
I hadn’t noticed that he had already sat down; I was too busy screaming in my head.
“Oh,” I stammered. I sat down beside him. “Thanks.”
Silence.
“Well, this is nice,” I lied. I mean it was nice to be with Peter, but I hated sitting beside him instead of across from him. It seemed like we were on a date in middle school.
Immediately, I was taken by to my eighth grade year of school. I was fourteen-years-old and I was with my then girlfriend, Stacey Smithers. We went to the cinema to see the Bodyguard, with Whitney Houston.
It was agony. The whole time all I wanted to do was sing along with Whitney, but I knew I couldn’t. Instead I decided to fingerbang Stacey. I didn’t even know if I’d put it in the right hole. When the movie got out, I practically ran out of the theatre and jumped in our minivan so my Mom could drive me home. I kept my hand in my pocket the whole time, and when I got home I ran to my bathroom and washed my hands fiercely, like Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest. Ugh, I hated feeling that uncomfortable in my own skin.
And I hated that I felt a bit like that right now. Things seemed a bit forced.
“Thanks for meeting me.” I uncurled my napkin and placed it on my lap.
Peter smiled. A genuine smile, which put me more at ease, “Of course,” he said, “I hope you have enough time to get back to work.”
“Oh yeah I’m fine.” I smiled back at him.
“Well, now there are two of you.” The over-exuberant waiter had returned and he was eyeing Peter like a lion eyeing fresh meat.
“Um, yes,” I said.
“Well,” he said, “what can I get you… both?” He paused before saying “both,” as if asking Peter if we were together.
“Water for me,” I said.
“I’ll have a Stella, on tap,” Peter said glancing down at his menu.
The waiter smiled. “Okay, a water for the missus and a beer for the big man.”
What a bitch. I could feel Peter’s body tense as the waiter sauntered away. I didn’t look at Peter; afraid I might say something uncomfortable.
Why was this so weird? I mean, we both had been fucking for the past month and things had been great. Now that we were out in public it seemed like we were under a microscope.
I glanced at the other couples. A lesbian couple sat across from one another their hands across the table, fingers webbed together. A male couple beside them sat across from one another and I could see them playing footsie under the table. Suddenly, I felt as if I was sitting by Stacey Smithers. I needed to make a move.
I placed my hand on the inner thigh of Peter and looked at him.
His chair shot back.
“I have to go,” he said standing.
“What do you mean?” I asked looking up at him.
“Steve,” he said, “I… just… I can’t.” His face looked balled up with anxiety.
“No,” I said, “I’m sorry… I just… I was nervous. I mean I am nervous.”
“It’s not you,” Peter said, “It’s me. I can’t.”
Why do people say that? It’s so fucking cliché. It’s not you, it’s me? Everyone says that. Say something original, dammit. If you’re dumping me then say something fucking original! I’m not everybody; don’t give me the same bullshit!
Instead of saying what I wanted to say, I just sat there stunned as Peter walked out the door into the blistering sunlight. My napkin fell to the floor.
“Where’s your boyfriend going?” the waiter asked holding a beer and water.
Without a word I threw a ten on the table and left, going back to work.
***
The drive home from work that afternoon seemed like a second; my mind kept replaying the events of lunch over and over. Dammit, Steve! Why did you rush him? Thankfully the afternoon at work had been busy, thus keeping my mind somewhat occupied. I actually worked much later than I’d expected; the sun began its descent as I approached my house.
Earlier that day, I decided I was not going to cry. You don’t cry over someone you’ve been with for less than a month, Steve, I told myself. I don’t know where that precedent came from, but for some reason, it gave me resolve to believe it.
I was dumb to think that things between Peter and I would work out. We both were so different and he still wasn’t comfortable with himself as a gay man. It also saddened me to think that I had lost our friendship completely. I reminded myself that I wasn’t going to cry.
With a sigh, I pulled up my driveway. As I got out of my car, the sound of jazz greeted my ears; Billie Holiday to be exact. Where I live the garage is not joined to the house; it stands on the other side of the driveway as a separate building. Behind the garage is a courtyard that my roommate and I never use. The music seemed to be coming from the courtyard.
Curiously, I picked up my messenger bag and inched my way around the corner. Golden light glowed from around the corner.
As I rounded the corner, I dropped my bag at what I saw.
There stood Peter beaming at me, glowing under a string of Christmas lights that had been hung over the courtyard. He stood behind a table that was set for two flanked by two lawn chairs. In the middle of the table a bottle of white wine sat chilling in a cheap looking plastic bucket.
I looked back at Peter and it was then I noticed he was holding a sign. Actually, it was a piece of cardboard that looked as if it had been ripped from a box. “I’M AN ASSHOLE,” it read. He smiled weakly.
“Pete,” I began to say.
“Wait!” He tossed the sign down and walked towards me. He grabbed my hand.
“There is no talk of past stupid behaviors,” he said, leading me to one of the chairs. “Tonight is about good wine, good conversation, and…” he looked me in the eyes, “… fresh starts.”
Peter stood over me as I sat down, he then leaned down and kissed me softly.
I couldn’t stop smiling as Peter sat in the other seat across from me.
“Where did you get all this?” I asked indicating the lights, tables, and lawn chairs.
Peter grinned. “You really should lock your garage door.”
“You’re crazy,” I said.
We smiled at one another.
“Steve”, Peter said, his face becoming sorrowful, “it really wasn’t you today. I just need time to feel comfortable with us.” He backtracked, “us that’s what I want… what I really want. It’s just… a lot of change, ya know?”
“I know,” I said, trying to sound understanding.
Peter continued, “Like, did you see the way those guys looked at me in there? I’m not used to that. And that waiter was such…”
“A bitch,” I said flatly.
“Yeah,” he continued, “a bitch. Hell, I didn’t even know where to fucking sit. Do I sit across from you or beside you? It was a fucking mess. And then—”
“Hey,” I interrupted, “I thought we weren’t going to talk about stupid past behaviors tonight…”
“You’re right,” Peter sighed, “you’re right.”
He began to pour my glass of wine.
“So, how was your day?” he asked sarcastically.
“Well,” I paused taking a sip of wine. “I met this really hot guy for lunch,” I quipped.
Peter set down the wine bottle and grabbed my hand, our fingers webbed together.
“Lucky guy,” he said. “I should meet him sometime.”
We both looked one another in the eye and grinned. At that moment, I realized the feelings I had for Peter were much deeper than I thought. Was I falling in love? I thought. I pushed the thought from my mind. Just enjoy the moment, Steve.
We both continued to talk under the glowing Christmas lights, while the scratchy caramel of Billie Holiday’s voice wrapped around us, making us oblivious to the urban sounds of the Los Angeles night.
————————————-
Years after moving from Oklahoma, Steve Prince is still acclimating to the gay scene in Los Angeles—he’s a slow learner. By trial and error and a lot of sex, his mission is to make the uncomfortable, comfortable. Also it should be known that he is gayer than butt sex.
————————————-
Previously, on A Gay In The Life:
The Birds and The Birds
Lyin’, & Twinks, & Bears—Oh My!
Going Public
Christmas in July
Luck Be A Lady Tonight
I Left My Heart In Oklahoma
As Luck Would Have It
Shock & Awe
Blame It On Britney
The Unending Journey
Makin’ Copies
Bullets and Bracelets… and Lube
To Tell The Truth…
Stars Aren’t Blind
The Dark Knight
Come As You Are
A Date?
A Happy Ending
Better Than Nothing
A Man With A Slow Hand
Taking The Long Way
Everybody Knows
Wake Me Up, Before Ya Go-Go
Definition
The Best
The Upper Hand
Hit Me With Your Best Shot
2000-Date
Dick The Halls
The Queer Dear
A Night At The Museum
A Conversation
I’m Just A Girl Who Can’t Say No
Change The Way You Feel
Kissing A Fool
Leo The Lamb
The Elephant In The Room
Zuckerman’s Famous Pig
A Birthday Surprise
The Sleepover-er
SP Phone Home
Out of the Frying Pan and into the Closet
What If…
Just Beat It
Intimate Portrait
Intimate Portrait (Part Deux)
Intimate Portrait (Part Trois)
State of Mind
The Age of Disbelief
A Man For All Seasons
Summer Lovin’
A-Men
The Urge
Gettin’ It Done
Here You Cum Again
Eye Of The Beholder
The Present
A Minute’s Pause
Brotherly Love
Ladies Who Lunch
Here Cums The Rain Again

Aug 15, 2009 By paperbagwriter 19 Comments