Chiaroscuro (2 page)

"Ben, you have a visitor," his mother called back.

Ben paused for a moment, and quickly pulled on the clean t-shirt he'd left there that morning. He checked his hair and his teeth in the small mirror over the sink, rolled his eyes at himself and went down the short hall to the office where his mother was waiting.

His guest was not the English guy. Too much to hope for, he realized with a sigh, but bent to kiss his ex-wife's cheek anyway. "Hey, Tris."

"Hey, Ben," Tristan said. "I would have called, but this is something I'd rather tell you in person. Come for a walk with me?"

"Sure." He led her up the stairs and out into the rear parking lot of the bakery, and they began to walk up the block. "Just got back from a wedding," Ben said. "Over at the Marriott."

"How as it?"

"Fancy and crowded. Nice people, though."

"That's good." She looked at him with a faint smile, as if she knew what 'nice people' meant but wasn't going to call him on it. They'd known each other, it seemed like, forever--Ben's earliest memory was Tristan whacking him over the head with a doll.

Their relationship hadn't changed much in the last twenty-eight years.

"So, my news," Tristan said after they'd walked up the block for a while. "I'm getting married."

"Oh," Ben said, and then, "Oh! That's good. That's great. I'm glad for you."

"Thank you. It just happened a few days ago. We've been talking about it for a while, of course."

He hugged her and left his arm around her shoulders. "Who is he? Is he straight?"

She chuckled dryly. "Yes. I've had proof."

"Good."

"His name is Laird. Laird Marcus. A Nob Hill Marcus--his mother hates me, of course."

"Moving up in the world," he said, grinning.

"Right--can you see me as a society wife?"

"You're a lady. You'll do fine."

She laughed her quiet laugh. "Thanks, Benjie."

"You're still my favorite girl, Tris."

"Thanks," she said as she slipped an arm around his waist. "So how are you? True love on the horizon or is that not your thing?"

"It's not my thing. I think you're the closest I've ever gotten to love, honey."

She looked at him with keen brown eyes. "I hope it doesn't stay that way forever, Benjie. You should love somebody."

"I love my mom." He grinned again, cheerful--and maybe refusing to be serious on this subject. He'd thought he'd loved Tristan, but love hadn't been enough to keep their marriage together. They'd ended it before any real harm could be done to their friendship, to each other, and he knew she was happy with her life.

Tristan nudged him with her elbow. "You know what I mean. Having somebody to count on is a great feeling."

"I have lots of people I can count on. You, for one."

She gave him a frank look. "You mean in the last five years you've never met one guy you want to spend the rest of your life with?"

"I'm not even thirty yet--it's too soon to think about the rest of my life."

"We were twenty-one," she reminded him.

"And now we're old enough to know better." He stopped walking and kissed her forehead. "I'm happy for you, Tris. I really am. Marriage is the right thing for you--and I'm sure it's the right thing for this guy."

"Laird."

"Laird. Yes. The future mister." He added, "Promise me you don't want me making the cake."

"No, no--I want you to be a guest. You will come, won't you?"

"Yeah. I will."

She hugged him. "Thank you, Benjie."

"I'll come to all your weddings, honey," he said, hugging her back, and only ducked a little when she swatted him.

He saw her to her car, with more hugs and promises to call more often, and then went back into the bakery. One of his cousins was at the register; his brother Chris was busy in the kitchen. Ben avoided both of them--there was only one person he wanted to talk to now.

His mother was still in the basement office, doing the books. She glanced up when he flopped into the worn armchair they kept for catnaps.

"So how is Tristan?" she asked, copying sums into the ledger.

He debated the best way to put it and decided on, "Engaged."

Moira put down her pen to look at him. "Is she?"

"Yes. And yes, I'm fine."

"I should think so. If you wanted her to stay your wife, you should have stayed married to her."

"Thank you, Mother," said Ben with a sigh.

"I'm only saying that jealousy is a bit silly at this stage."

"I'm not jealous. I'm not even envious. I just--my ex-wife is getting married. I'm allowed to feel weird about it."

"Yes, you are," she relented. "Does she want us to do the cake?"

"Nope. This is one wedding where we'll just be guests."

"We should still do the cake." She turned pages in her ledger with one hand, leafing through receipts with the other. "As a wedding gift."

"She's marrying a Nob Hill Marcus. They can afford a cake."

Moira looked up at him again for a moment, then smiled. "I wonder if anyone ever refers to us as the Mission Street Gallaghers."

"Only if they know the bakery, I'm sure."

"Mm." She went back to adding, then said, "Becky from PFLAG called earlier. She wanted to know if we'd do the rainbow cookies for the pride parade again this year. I told her we would."

"Okay. Variety again?"

"Mm--with an emphasis on the chocolate chip. Those went fastest last year."

"Okay," Ben repeated, his eyes closed, and then said, "Hey, Ma? Thanks."

"You're welcome, dear," she said.

"I mean it. It means a lot that you don't freak out over this."

She paused again. "I've had a few years to get used to it. I may adopt any children Tristan and the Nob Hill Marcuses have as my grandchildren, though."

"You have half a dozen grandkids already, Ma."

"And I'd love half a dozen more."

"Mikey's young yet."

"Mm." There was no sound but the scratching of Moira's pen for a few minutes. "Any plans for tomorrow?"

"Sleeping late. Lunch with Leo."

"Your neighbor Leo? Or is this a different Leo?"

"Neighbor Leo. I don't know too many other Leos." His mother had no need to know the extent of his social life, he reasoned. She'd only worry more. He got to his feet and kissed the top of her head. "I'm going home. See you Monday."

"Good night, dear."

On the drive home, he debated. Go home, go to bed, sleep his usual hours? Or go out, go dancing, meet someone? Do something to not spend tonight alone?

Going out, he felt, would be futile: he wouldn't meet anyone as interesting as the English guy at the wedding. He could kick himself. He'd been so eager to get his tongue in the guy's mouth he hadn't even asked his name.

***

Dinner was good: the chicken tender, the vegetables thoroughly cooked. The toasts were interminable: everybody in the wedding party, it seemed, was going to make a speech, and Carla had an enormous family. The cake, as Jamie knew it would be, was beautiful, bringing "Oohs!" and "Ahs!" from the guests, and Jim and Carla had the grace not to do the shoving-cake-in-the-face trick when they cut the first slice.

Finally, it was time to dance again, but while Dune went out onto the floor as soon as the music started, Jamie stayed at the table. He had an itch to draw: he took out the small sketchbook that he brought with him everywhere from the inner pocket of his jacket, and sketched a face: high forehead, long jaw, square cheekbones, thick dark hair, amused dark eyes.

The caterer. Wedding-cake-guy.

That's who I should be with, he thought. A bloke like that. Somebody who's just real.

Micah was ambling around, hands in his pockets, smiling shy hellos to everyone he passed. He walked past Dune and Jamie's table a few times, and then finally flopped into the empty chair next to Jamie with a loud sigh. "Hello."

"Hey. Having fun?"

"It's okay," Micah said with a teenaged shrug. He leaned over and looked at the sketch. "Nice face."

"Yeah. Not bad."

"Somebody you know?"

"No. Just a face." Jamie turned to a blank page. "Shall I draw you?"

Micah posed, his chin on his hand like he was sitting for his senior portrait. "Like this?"

"No," Jamie said with a laugh. "No--just natural. Like if you went out to dance and you moved a certain way that struck me. Or if we just talked a bit and you hold your head a certain way. Sometimes it's all about shadows. You see?"

Micah blinked at him a time or two. "This is why you're an artist and I'm not. None of that makes sense to me."

Jamie laughed again. "I'll show you when it happens." He glanced out at the dance floor--Dune had found a friend, or at least someone he danced close to, arms around his neck. "Are you going to dance?"

"Maybe," Micah said, his shoulders twitching. "I danced with one of the bridesmaids. Carla's sister. Um. Miriam? I think? She was nice. I might ask her again."

"Yeah," Jamie said.

"I saw you. Um. Dancing. With that guy."

"My friend Dune."

"Dune," Micah said, drawing out the U. "Is he your boyfriend?"

Jamie shook his head. "Just a friend. My stand-by date for things like this."

Micah nodded, watching the dancers. "I don't have a stand-by date. I should. It'd be weird to dance with somebody from work and have to talk to them again on Monday."

"It's just dancing," said Jamie.

Micah shrugged again. "Still be weird."

"Hmm. Hey, I was surprised to see you. I thought you'd be with your family in Tahoe."

"Yeah, no. They went up without me. I wanted to come to the wedding, and there's all the stuff at work to deal with. I'll go on vacation by myself later in the summer or something, maybe. Disneyland, maybe." He glanced at Jamie. "I bet you go places like Paris."

"Why go to Paris when I live here?" Jamie said. "Besides, I've been--I lived in France in the summers during university, to see the museums."

"Wow," Micah said. "You just--lived there? By yourself? Do you speak French?"

"A little." He fidgeted with his pencil a moment, wondering how to answer the first part of the question, and decided just to say the truth. "I wasn't alone. My boyfriend at the time had a chateau about thirty kilometers away from Paris--spending the summer there was his idea, in fact. He was very--well--enthusiastic about my career."

"Oh, wow," Micah said in awe. "A boyfriend with a house in France. I'd be happy to date somebody who just has a car."

Jamie laughed, and was still laughing when Dune came off the dance floor and draped himself over Jamie's shoulders. He gave Jamie's cheek a noisy kiss. "Get up and dance with me already."

"I will. Imminently. Dune, this is Micah. Micah works in the programming department," he told Dune, who nodded and smiled at him.

"Nice to meet you. Jamie's told me a lot about you."

"Oh," said Micah and blushed. "Hi."

Jamie looked at Dune, eyebrows raised, and Dune smiled back, looking innocent. "Come dance with me."

"If you're going to be insistent." He put his notebook away in his pocket and got up to follow Dune onto the dance floor. It was yet another slow song, and they danced with arms around each other's necks.

"My gaydar is pinging for that kid," Dune said after a few minutes of swaying.

"So does mine but I suspect it's just wishful thinking."

"Nope. He's just waiting for somebody to lead him down the path." He paused a moment. "I don't think it should be you, though."

"Well, aside from the awkwardness of dating a co-worker--"

"I'm serious, Jamie. He's not the guy for you."

"You said five words to him," Jamie said, not sure if he should take this seriously or not. "Not even that."

"There's also the stuff you've told me. And--and he's just not the guy for you."

Jamie sighed and frowned. "I think you're wrong. If he just needs to be--like you said, shown the way, who better than me? Somebody who cares about him, who likes him, who'd be gentle. Who better than me."

"I think you're setting yourself up for heartache--but that's all I'm going to say about it, if you're so determined." He started to move his arms from Jamie's waist, and Jamie sighed and pulled him close.

"I know you're just looking out for me." He kissed Dune's cheek. "And nothing may come of it, you know? I'm not going to seduce him with dildos and porn."

"Porn's a good idea, actually," said Dune. "You show him the right movie; you'll get all your questions answered."

Jamie shook his head. "Now I know you're just being silly." He laid his head on Dune's shoulder, moving his embrace to around Dune's waist. "I do like it when you're silly."

Dune chuckled and hugged him tight, and kissed the top of his head. "I live to please you."

***

Back at the table, Micah hadn't moved much. He still watched the dancers, his expression bored, his head resting on his crossed arms on the table top. As Jamie watched several of their coworkers stopped to talk to him, but moved on after a few words. Micah was not feeling social, apparently, and Jamie really felt for him. He was so much younger than everyone else, wanted different things, had different interests.

"I think I should talk to Micah for a bit," he said to Dune.

Dune looked at the boy at the table and sighed, nodding. "Yeah, let's sit. Unless you want me to vamoose."

"No need for that." He led Dune back to their table, holding his hand, and flopped into his seat. Dune sat too, picking up a champagne flute and taking a swig. "You look bored, Micah," Jamie said.

 "Nah, just watching people. I don't get out much."

"You should ask somebody to dance."

"There isn't anybody I want to ask." He glanced at Jamie and then looked away.

"Dance with me," said Dune, leaning his elbow on the table.

"Um." Micah blushed.

"Or not." He leaned back again, long legs crossed at the ankle.

Micah smiled at him uncomfortably and said to Jamie, "Hey. I took BART up. Do you know if anybody lives down by me to drive me home? I don't like it at night. Too many strange people."

"I'll drive you." Dune raised an eyebrow at him, and Jamie just smiled a little and shrugged. Sure, it was forty miles out of his way. But that meant an extra half-hour he could spend with Micah and that was okay with him.