An Officer and His Gentleman (9 page)

He wasn't happy about the way his life was turning out.
A moment later, he sat up straight when he saw a television commercial about a recipe competition. It was the first time he'd seen this advertisement, probably because Dan always flipped channels during commercials. The Food Network was having a contest for the best original recipe, and the grand prize was fifty thousand dollars. And all you had to do was go to their Web site, submit the recipe, and be chosen as a finalist to appear on national television.
Chance scrambled for a pen and wrote down all the information. The deadline for entry was only two days away, and the actual competition was being aired in less than three weeks. He'd have to get Sarah to enter the contest for him because the old man didn't believe in computers—he still thought they were a waste of time and they'd never catch on. Chance knew there was only a remote chance of being selected at random, but for the first time in ages he had a feeling of hope. If he won this, he wouldn't need anyone—not Dan Pratta and certainly not some strange guy who was only in town to watch his mean mother die. He'd show them all.
He felt so good about the contest that before he went to bed that night, he pulled on a pair of jeans (he wasn't going to wear
Brody's
sweatpants ever again; he'd have Sarah give them back, washed and folded) and slipped downstairs. He went out the back door and crossed the yard to the barn. When he flipped on the lights and looked down at squirrel traps, all five cages were occupied by a fresh group of squirrels. He rubbed his hands together and smiled. Then he reached for a can of orange fluorescent spray paint Dan had left on the counter and sprayed all their tails orange. He couldn't wait to see the expression on Dan's face the next morning.
[Back to Table of Contents]

Chance had a very special recipe for lasagna with a bolognese sauce that he liked to prepare for customers about once a month. It had become his signature recipe. Regular customers would come into the market with their small grocery lists—Betty Shack, Mrs. Johnson from the library, Mrs. Dolan the widow, the nun from the Catholic Church across the street—and they would take one look at the wooden bowl loaded up with bolognese lasagna before throwing their arms up in the air and screaming, "There it is! I was wondering when you'd make that again. I've had
such
a craving." They would change all their original dinner plans on those days and reach for a container of lasagna instead. "No leftovers or dry pork chops tonight," they'd say. "This is a real treat!"

People were screaming with joy and grabbing lasagna all morning that midsummer Monday. On warm days, the smell of the lasagna alone permeated the market, which drove the customers directly to the wooden bowl. Though he was still preoccupied with what had happened with Brody the day before, Chance had gotten up extra early to prepare his famous lasagna recipe and to write it down very carefully so Sarah could enter it in the recipe competition that night on her computer.

When Sarah arrived for work at eight, she immediately pressed her palm against her stomach, raised her head and sniffed, then stared directly at Chance and said, "Save me two containers. I'll call my mother and tell her not to cook tonight."

Chance smiled and walked over to the cash register to make sure she had enough cash to make change—the old man kept the drawer low because he thought everyone was out to steal from him. "Can you do me two favors tonight?"

Her eyes grew wide and she dropped her purse on the counter. "Does it involve Brody? You want me to cover for you?"

He sighed and lowered his gaze for a moment. "Yes and no. The first favor is that I'd like you to return his
sweatpants. Just leave them at his front door. I washed them and wrapped them in a package." He pointed to a shelf below the counter, where there was a soft package neatly wrapped in white deli paper.

Sarah looked at the package and frowned. "I'll give them back. But are you sure this is over? He's such a great-looking guy."

"Yes," he said, "It's finished. I'm not going to get involved with another control freak. I've had enough for one lifetime." He pressed his lips together and clenched his teeth.

"What's the other favor?" She sighed like she was expecting him to ask her to toilet-paper Brody's front yard.
"It's about a recipe contest for the Food Network," he said. "I want to enter, but you can only enter online and I don't have access to a computer here." He decided not to mention anything about his fight with Brody. He knew she'd blame him for the whole thing, and then she'd harp on him all day about apologizing. He only wanted to focus on the recipe contest. He needed to plan for the future and that didn't include a bossy guy in the Navy who was just passing through town for the summer.
The recipe contest took Sarah's mind completely off Brody. She was only too thrilled to enter him in the contest. This was right up her alley: She'd been entering them both in contests and reality show competitions since the first season of "Survivor." She was a reality show addict. She could actually name almost every contestant from every season of "Big Brother," and she was a member of the Ryan Seacrest fan club for life. She once told Chance that her ultimate, all-time fantasy was to get into Ryan's pants someday.
After she took the recipe and placed it in her purse, a loud slam that came from the back of the market made them both jump. It sounded as if the back door had become unhinged. Then Dan came clomping in, waving his arms above his head, "I never saw such a thing in my life. They came all the way back from Newark!" He shook his head back and forth and his false teeth kept slipping forward. He pushed them back with his index finger. "The squirrels, they came all the way back from Newark."
Chance folded his arms across his chest and lowered his eyebrows. "What?"
"I drove all the way to Newark yesterday and let those fuckers go in the cemetery, and they came back last night," he shouted. His face was red and his eyes were two small slits.
Sarah just stepped back and concentrated on the cash register; she didn't get involved with Dan unless absolutely necessary, which worked out fine because he rarely looked at her twice in one day. Women, in general, did not interest old Dan Pratta.
"How do you know they're the same ones?" Chance asked. It took all the strength he had not to break out laughing.
"They all have orange tails," he shouted. "
Figlio di puttana
, the same squirrels!" He slapped his forehead and looked up at the ceiling. "I don't know how-a they did it, but this time, I'm-a taking them all out to Pennsylvania today, over the Delaware River Gap! I'm-a gonna take them so far they won't know which-a way to get back here" He crossed toward the front door, but as he was about to leave, he pointed at Chance and said, "
You,
start cleaning out the barn today when it gets slow in here. I want that place spotless by the end of the week. I think those orange-tailed
bastardos
like it dirty and that's why they keep coming back." He left.
Sarah raised her arms and shook her head, then popped a chunk of gum into her mouth. "Amazing. I can't believe they came all that way back from Newark. But I'm glad they did."
Chance just shrugged.
For the rest of that week, he worked hard on cleaning the barn. He got splinters in his knees from scrubbing the floors and blisters on his hands from scraping years of mold from the rafters. Each night, when the old man inspected what he'd cleaned, he found something wrong and made him re-clean it. No one knew that while he was cleaning the barn, he was leaving bits of bread to attract more squirrels, or that he woke up extra early every morning so he could go out and check the squirrel traps. On Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday the traps were empty, but on Friday there were four more new squirrels in the cages, and he sprayed their tails orange too. When Dan went into the barn and saw them, he came back into the market with his palms pressed to the sides of his face. "Holy mother of God. I can't believe it. It's a miracle. I'm taking them to upstate New York this time. And
you
, stop cleaning that barn. Maybe they like it clean in there and that's why they are coming back."
Saturday morning at daybreak, Chance baked his special vodka peach pies for the weekend crowd. Soft, delicate pastry with sweet, juicy peach filling and a hint of vodka, topped with two and a half inches of buttery crumb topping that melted in the mouth. Of course, all the vodka burned off during the baking process and you couldn't really taste it, but people who ate it thought they could, and Chance didn't correct them.
Dan loved this pie. Not because he actually ate it, but because Chance charged twenty-five dollars a pie and it was mostly profit. Dan smiled and greeted all the customers that day—he gave the nun from the Catholic Church a free soda. He was making money and the squirrels hadn't returned. By three in the afternoon, after all twenty-five pies had been sold, Dan put his hand down the back of Chance's pants when no one was looking and said, "
You,
you did good today with those pies. I like that. You know how to make-a the money good."
Chance froze and smiled. The old man's dirty hand felt cold and dry against his ass. "They like the vodka," he said. "They can't taste it, but they like the way it sounds." The old man hadn't washed in a few days, and his underarms smelled like burnt onions.
Dan squeezed a handful of ass and laughed. "
You
got such a sweet ass, just like those pies you make." He pulled his hand out of Chance's pants and headed to the back door so he could go upstairs for his nap.
"Is it okay if I go to The Island with Sarah tonight?" Chance asked. He was cleaning the slicing machine and he didn't look up.
Dan stopped walking and thought for a moment. Then he turned and said, "Just be back at twelve. No fucking around. I don't wanna hear anything about that other guy who was hanging around here."
Chance shook his head and looked Dan in the eye. "I'm only going with Sarah to walk around. I'm not interested in any other guy, or guys, and that's that." It was the truth, too. The only thing on his mind was being selected to be a finalist in the recipe competition.
The Island was crowded that night. They had to park way in the back and there was a line of about ten people at the entrance gate. It had been one of those warm, humid days when there's hardly a breeze and everything sounds louder than usual. The roller coaster sailed down the tracks clanking and squeaking with such intensity that Chance was tempted to cover his ears. The organ music from the carousel took on a frightening sound, as if they were walking through the middle of a horror film. Chance was acutely aware of the salty, sweet smells of popcorn and cotton candy. There were long lines to enter all the rides, but Sarah didn't push him to go on anything. When they passed by the Haunted House ride, she did ask, "Wanna try it again?" Chance gave her a dirty look and they continued walking toward the boat docks so they could sit at the bar on the pier and watch the people walk by.
Sarah wore a tight pair of jeans, black high heels, and a black tube top. Her tits looked hot and she got more than her fair share of stares from other guys. Her hair was puffed up and wild, unusually big even for her. Her makeup was heavy, too; there was such a bold, thick line around her lips, she could have passed as one of the clown's helpers, or a drag queen. Chance was wearing a loose white polo shirt, baggy tan shorts and black half boots. He looked fine, but he wasn't cruising or hoping to meet anyone. He just wanted to walk around, take in the sounds and smells of summer and get away from Dan's Market.
When they reached the bar at the pier, Sarah ordered a beer and he ordered a dirty martini. They weren't there longer than thirty minutes when a guy wearing a Mets cap sat down next to Sarah and started talking. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, but he was a bit out of shape so it was hard to tell. He wasn't obese, just a paunch and a bloated face from too much beer. But that didn't stop Sarah from turning her back to Chance and talking with the guy as if she'd known him all her life. She smiled and giggled, and she kept gently brushing her long red fingernails against the guy's shoulder. Chance was surprised she didn't actually curtsy for him. The music was loud and people were shouting so Chance couldn't hear anything they were saying. When the guy leaned forward to order another round of drinks for them—Chance declined, but he liked the gesture—Sarah turned and whispered, "I'm not letting go of this one. He's hot for me."
Chance smiled. He was glad she'd met someone. She needed the ego boost. Most of all, she needed dick. "Just be careful. You don't know this guy."
"Actually, I kind of do know him," she said, "It turns out that his father knows my father. And they live on the other side of the lake. His name is Mike."
He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "He's cute. I like him."
"Would you
do
him?" Sarah asked. She was always curious about Chance's taste in men, almost as if she were competing with him.
Chance leaned over and stared at Mike for a moment. He had good, strong muscular legs. His hands were large and his fingers were very thick. Chance sat back and said, "I like his hands. With hands like that, he probably has a big, thick dick. Yeah, I'd do him." He wasn't telling a lie. If he'd been in a better mood and hadn't been thinking about Brody, he probably would have flirted with Mike. In the back seat of a car, he probably would have sucked him off too.
Sarah screamed and threw her head back, pretending to be shocked. She loved to talk dirty with Chance, and she loved guys with big dicks. "I can't believe you just
said
that."
Chance knew she loved it. He spread his hands apart, about a foot wide, and said, "I'm telling you, there's a big fat dick down there. I would be on my knees in a second if I were alone with him. I'd make that boy's toes curl."
Sarah's new friend returned, and while they talked, Chance sipped his martini and listened to the music. He made sure he didn't make direct eye contact with anyone. He only wanted to sit there, swing his legs from the bar stool, and become numb. Then Sarah leaned back and poked him in the ribs, and the martini almost went all over his lap. "Omigod. Did you see who is over there?" she asked. She spoke quickly and her hands were moving as if she were waving to someone she hadn't seen in a long time.
He nodded no and shrugged his shoulders.
"Don't be obvious," she said, "but slowly turn around and look at who is standing against the window near the pool table, sipping a beer." She grabbed his knee hard. "He looks just like a bad little boy who is being punished."
Chance slowly turned and looked toward the window. He stopped breathing for a second and sat back. It was Brody, standing there all alone, sipping a beer, watching two women play pool. The moment Chance looked at him, he looked up too, and their eyes met. Then Brody quickly pressed his lips together and lowered his head. His fist clenched against his hip and it looked like he was ready to kick the pool table.
Chance took a deep breath and reached into his pocket for his car keys. "Ah, well, I'm getting the hell out of
here
. I didn't think we'd run into
him
tonight."
Sarah grabbed his knee harder, and leaned forward so she could press her lips closer to his ear. "Don't you
dare
move. We're not leaving until this guy offers to drive me home tonight. I'm going to get into his pants if it's the last thing I do. As a matter of fact..."
As Chance leaned forward and Sarah continued to ramble on about how much she needed a man, he didn't see Brody walk around the bar and right up to the back of his chair. Sarah saw him first. She looked up, blinked a few times and said, "Hey, how are you?"
Chance felt a push from behind, and his bar stool jerked forward a little. When he turned to find Brody, his stomach jumped a few times. "Ah, well ... hey," he said. Then he turned a little to the right so his back would not be in Brody's face.
"So are you going to ignore me all night or what?" Brody asked.
Sarah's eyes grew wide before she turned around slowly and resumed her conversation with Mike.
"I wasn't ignoring you," Chance said. This was all so high school; he really did want to leave. "I didn't even
see
you until Sarah did." He crossed his arms and rested them against his chest, his fists clenched beneath his armpits. That had been an awfully presumptuous thing for Brody to say, and he wasn't going to let him get away with it.
"Well, I've been standing there since you walked in. I thought for sure you'd at least wave or something," he said. His voice had become soft and calm, almost hurt. "I found the package on my front steps last week. Thanks for returning my sweats. They smelled really good."
"If I had seen you, I probably would have waved or something," Chance said. "But as it happens, I didn't see you." He refused to look him in the eye. He sat up straight and adjusted his shoulders. "I'm glad you found the sweatpants, though. I didn't want you to think I'd stolen them or anything."
Brody laughed, but he didn't have a chance to respond because Sarah tugged on Chance's arm and said, "Mike and I are leaving now. He'll drive me home."
Chance tilted his head and his eyes widened as he forced a smile and stared at her. He wanted to say,
Don't you dare leave me here with him
. But he couldn't say that aloud.
Brody smiled and placed his hands on Chance's shoulders. "You guys go on and have fun. I'll make sure he gets back to his car okay." He patted Chance on the shoulder a couple of times.
Mike and Sarah stood. She laughed and said, "Oh, I'll bet you will."
When they were gone, Brody leaned forward and whispered, "I'm sorry I freaked out last week, man. It's just that I really like you, is all. I can't stop thinking about you."
Chance took a deep breath. When he exhaled, his shoulders slumped forward. "I like you too," he said, "but I'm not in a great place right now, and it's not a good time to get serious with anyone." He looked up and stared into Brody's blue eyes, and his heart thumped a few times and he felt a jerk between his legs. Brody looked good that night: He wore faded jeans and a tight green T-shirt with a black snake imprint across the front.
Brody leaned back and smiled, then he raised his hands."That's cool, man. We can be friends." Then he leaned forward and whispered, "You want to take a walk back to the parking lot?"
Chance put his hand over his mouth and smiled. "I was just about to leave. You can walk me back to my car." Then he turned and pointed his index finger. "But that's it. I'm getting into my car and going home early tonight. Just friends."