Femme (5 page)

I almost didn’t notice the old guy sitting there because I was wondering if I should just not show up for dinner with Lionel. That wouldn’t be very nice. He’d think I was an incredible asshole. But maybe that would be good. If he thought I was an asshole it would be over. I couldn’t change my mind and he could blame the whole thing on me. The problem was, I didn’t want Lionel thinking I was an asshole.

The old guy cleared his throat. I glanced at my watch, but before I could really focus he said, “I’m early. Sorry.”

“No problem.”

The guy was in his sixties, his skin pale and chalky, his lips a bit blue. Heart patients were funny. They either looked just fine and the problems going on inside were a big surprise or they were like this guy. He obviously had problems. I knew from experience that his test wasn’t going to go so well. Whatever result we got would lead to something. Best case, he’d have to have a relatively simple procedure like an angio. Worst case, he was in for some open-heart surgery. Either way, his stress test was a step toward making things better.

And then I remembered Lionel saying that I helped save lives. He was right. I did. I guess I needed someone to remind of that.

Chapter Five

The rest of Monday was a complete disaster. When Carlos and I arrived at the front of the store to check out, a manager swooped down on us, pulled us aside and said, “Look, I’m sorry to have to say this, but you’re very loud and very inappropriate and you’ve upset the other customers. If you don’t learn to behave when you’re in the store we’ll have to ask you not to come back.”

I stared at him for a moment. He wasn’t much older than me. He tried to dress with authority, but his scraggly mustache and the extra weight he carried below the belt—making him look like a ripe pear—undermined any authority he mustered.

‘The problem is, loud and inappropriate are two of my best qualities. I’m not sure I can do without them.”

Carlos’ mouth fell open. “Oh no, you didn’t…Lynette, just tell the man you’re sorry.”

“
I’m
sorry? You’re the one who was talking about your ex-boyfriend’s penis.”

“We were still in the car when I said that.”

“Were we? Really? Shit.”

“Out. Both of you. Now,” the manager said.

We had to walk away from our groceries. As we did, I noticed the woman with her elderly mother checking out at the end of the line of registers. She had to be the one who’d reported us to the manager, since there was barely anyone else in the store. Which was ridiculous since we’d hardly done anything. Except be obviously gay.

When we got outside, Carlos said, “I can’t believe you got us thrown out of Ron’s.”

I decided not to argue about which of us was more responsible. Obviously, it was Carlos, but I didn’t want to make him feel bad.

“I should have said something about your outfit before we left,” he continued.

“What’s wrong with my outfit?”

“Those heels with those shorts? Really, Lynette.”

“These are boy shoes.”

I was wearing a pair of three-inch platform saddle shoes from the late seventies that I’d found at Out of the Closet. They were ah-mazing. I paired them with tube socks—new but still very period—denim shorts and a pink Hello Kitty tee that almost covered my belly button. The shirt wasn’t exactly my size.

“Still,” Carlos said. “You look like Jodie Foster in
Taxi Driver
.”

“Are you trying to say I’m butch?”

“I’m trying to say the way you dress got us thrown out of Ron’s.”

We climbed back into Frida the Fiesta and Carlos asked, “Where do you want to go?”

“TJ’s? Albert’s?” Both were likely to be more expensive but we didn’t have a lot of options.

“Can we get that far?”

“Maybe.”

Then it took ten minutes to get Frida started, and that only happened when I got out and pushed her across the parking lot so Carlos could pop the clutch. After that he was afraid to turn her off, so we went to the 7-Eleven and took turns going in and grabbing the barest of necessities, while Frida coughed and sputtered in the parking lot.

So, that was why on Tuesday when I was showering for my dinner date with Dog I had no shampoo and had to wash my hair with hand soap. Which meant my hair was clean but not soft or silky. It was course and uncomfortable. A terrible way to go on a date. And a first date, too.

Fucking never counts as an actual date, by the way.

And then, to make matters worse, I cut myself shaving. I had this nice, leaking, half-inch cut on my Adam’s apple. I spent a good ten minutes trying to staunch the flow of blood before I gave up and slathered my neck in aftershave. I let out a bloodcurdling scream as the alcohol in the aftershave closed the cut and was relieved that my neighbors were too indolent (or possibly drugged) to call the police.

Of course, none of this was as problematic as deciding what to wear. Carlos had drawn my wardrobe choices into question and I really did want things to go well with Dog, so I decided to tone it down a little. Well, okay, a lot. I was absolutely sure I could do toned-down and subtle. No problem.

So, I started with a pair of jeans. Jeans are simple, easy, they don’t draw much attention, everyone wears them. I even had a pair that didn’t have any slits near the crotch or fancy stitching or rhinestones on the back pocket. So, I had one toned-down, subtle item of clothing all picked out. And it wouldn’t matter at all if I wore my fluorescent pink boxer briefs underneath.

Since it was dinner, I thought maybe I should get a little dressed up and I happened to have the perfect sports jacket. It was a velvet aubergine that looked black in most lights. A lot of people think aubergine and eggplant are the same color. They’re not. They’re completely different. My bedroom walls were eggplant; my jacket was aubergine. The best way to understand the difference is to imagine that you’re holding an actual eggplant under a light. The part of the vegetable that attracts light, that’s eggplant; while the part that doesn’t attract light and is almost black, that’s aubergine. Subtle, right?

With the jeans and aubergine sports jacket I decided to wear a simple, pink oxford shirt. Such a pale pink it was almost white. I had an old pair of black penny loafers that I decided to wear without sox. I don’t know why, but wearing shoes without sox always seems classier, as though you’re saying to the world, ‘Of course, I can afford sox, but I simply can’t be bothered. I’m too busy yachting and drinking champagne to spend time buying silly sox.’

Assembled, the outfit was classy—a practically black jacket with a practically white shirt, how much more toned down can you get? But it lacked something. That’s when I remembered the yellow Hermes scarf my grandmother had left to my mother and I had borrowed out of her things when I left home. My father would have said stolen, but really I know she would have left it to me if she’d known she was going to die—and if she’d known I was the sort of boy who could rock an Hermes scarf. Anyway, I folded it carefully and put it into my breast pocket, letting it just peak out. There, I was done.

I went into my living room and sat down to wait for Dog.

###

I sat in my truck wondering what to do. I was there, so obviously I was going on the date. But, should I tell Lionel about Chuckie’s email to the team? Just because Chuckie was trying to get Lionel fired didn’t mean it would work. Bob wasn’t a bad guy. He’d gotten drunk with the team one time and he actually seemed like a good guy. Maybe he’d just give Lionel a different shift. The team came in on Sundays, so maybe Lionel could have Sundays off. Of course, I was pretty sure Chuckie was a regular every day after work. Usually, I went to The Bird only on Sundays, but any other time I stopped in Chuckie was there. So, maybe changing Lionel’s shift wouldn’t work.

Well. Bob might not do anything. He could always tell the team no and not fire Lionel. Maybe this would all work out and nothing would happen. Which meant I shouldn’t tell Lionel. It would hurt his feelings. Not that he’d show it. I’d already figured out that much about him. He’d act like it didn’t matter, but I couldn’t see how it wouldn’t. It would matter to me.

I got out of the truck and walked up to his apartment, wondering on the way if he’d called the landlord yet about the broken security gate. When he answered the door he wore a very purple jacket, a pink shirt and a crazy yellow scarf flopping out of his pocket. I had to blink my eyes a couple times.

“Wow, you dressed up,” I said, thinking I was lucky he wasn’t wearing red plaid pants.

“No, honey, you should see me when I dress up.”

“Oh, well, you look nice.” Mostly I said it so he wouldn’t go change. I’d been planning to take him to a Mexican place, but as soon as I saw him changed my mind. I knew a lot of guys who went there. I tried to think of a place we could go where we’d never run into anyone I knew. I drew a blank for a minute and then I remembered this old-timey restaurant my parents went to once a year for their anniversary. Massie’s.

“You look…nice, too.” He wasn’t being any more truthful than I was. I guess it’s true that I looked a lot more casual. I had my brown California T-shirt on—the one with the state animal drawn on it, a grizzly bear—jeans and an old pair of Vans. It was also true that I really didn’t get much more dressed up than that. I had a dark suit somewhere for job interviews and funerals, and since this wasn’t either of those I hadn’t bothered to find it.

“I guess, we should go,” I said. Then we walked out to my truck.

I love my truck. It’s a six month-old Ford F-150, gray, sports package with custom rims I had put on that make it a good six inches further off the ground than standard. I hit my fob to unlock the passenger door and hurried ahead to open it for Lionel.

“Oh my, a gentleman.”

Using the step bar he climbed up into the cab. I walked around and got in, made myself comfortable behind the wheel.

“Everything’s so clean. Is it brand new?” he asked, as I pushed the button to start the truck.

“I’ve had it for about six months.”

“It looks like you’ve never used it.”

“I like to take care of my things.” That wasn’t exactly true. I liked to take care of my truck, though sooner or later I’d give up and it would get filled with take-out containers and receipts and handwritten directions, just like the six year-old Explorer I traded in.

Lionel glanced at my T-shirt, which was a bit worn but didn’t say anything. The shirt was clean, though. I think that counts.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Massie’s, downtown.” Downtown was only three-quarters of a mile. Just far enough not to walk.

“Oh my. That is nice. If I’d known, I really would have dressed up.” I gave him a panicked glance and he smiled at me. “Of course, it’s California. Everyone’s so casual. I could wear a tiara and flip-flops and no one would bat an eye.”

I didn’t think that was entirely true. “The flip-flops wouldn’t get you much attention.”

“No, you’re right. People would have a conniption over the tiara. Isn’t that weird though? You can run around practically naked and nobody cares, but you put some rhinestones on your head and they freak out.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I acted like the road needed my attention. It didn’t, there were only a few more blocks to the restaurant and practically no traffic. Lionel mumbled something beside me.

“What?”

“I always like to find new places to wear diamonds.”

“Okay.”

“It’s something Marilyn Monroe says in
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
. She’d just discovered what a tiara is.”

“How could she not know what a tiara was?”

“This was before TV. People barely knew anything before TV. Cultural illiteracy was rampant.”

I turned onto Cedar and almost immediately pulled into the parking garage next to Massie’s. I took the parking ticket from the machine, hoping the restaurant validated. I found a spot near the elevator, then we got out and I hit the fob to lock my truck. We weren’t saying much. I was nervous, and when Lionel did say things, a little lost. I wondered if he was nervous, too. I didn’t think he would be. It seemed out of character. But still…

“I haven’t been here since my parents brought me for my high school graduation,” I said.

“I got a GED so we skipped the whole family dinner thing. Or we would have if we were speaking.”

“I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t talk about my family.”

“Oh Gawd, don’t edit yourself. You have a happy family. That’s nice.”

I didn’t remind him that I wasn’t out to my mom and dad. Once in a while I’d wonder how things would go if I did come out to them. That would give me nightmares for a week.

Massie’s is a storefront off the lobby of a fifteen-story building built in 1928. I know that because there’s a plaque as you come in the revolving door. It’s some kind of historical landmark and the architect was famous—or at least, locally famous. The restaurant itself feels very open with plate glass windows looking into the lobby and also out to the street on two other sides. The only wall without windows had doors to the kitchen and a tiny bar.

The host led us to a small table next to the window looking out at Ocean Boulevard. Before we’d had a chance to open the menus, our waiter was there.

“Hi, my name is Trevin and I’ll be your waiter this evening.” Trevin was in his mid-forties with dyed hair and puffy pink skin. He was immediately too friendly. “How about I get you two something from the bar?”

“What kind of beer do you have?” I asked.

“Okay,” Trevin said. “We have forty-eight kinds of beer. So in the interest of getting you a drink sometime this evening, let’s narrow it down. Domestic, foreign or artisan?”

“Domestic.”

Trevin squinted at me. “Sam Adams.”

“Um, okay.”

Trevin looked at Lionel, asking, “And what would you like? I have the feeling it’s going to be interesting.”

“Sapphire martini, straight up, four olives, whisper vermouth but not very close to the glass.”

“A man after my own heart,” Trevin said with a smile. Then he walked away.

“Do you know him?” I asked.

“Never saw him before in my life.”

“He’s awfully friendly.”

“He can tell we’re on a date.”

“Oh, okay.” I worried that everyone in the restaurant could tell we were on a date. I mean, I knew I should be okay with things like that, but I wasn’t really. I didn’t like people knowing my business. I mean, I didn’t know things about them, why did they get to know things about me?

Lionel looked over the menu while I looked over the restaurant. It was nearly full. A lot of the people there were middle-aged or older. Most were more dressed up than Lionel. There were a couple of families, a lot of couples, and a few tables with just two guys. The couples were probably on dates, and so were the guys. If I could figure out what they were doing, then they could figure out—

I stuck my nose into the menu. Don’t think about what other people are thinking, I told myself. Think about what to have for dinner. They looked like they had a nice New York Steak. They had chicken in a puff pastry that could be good. And salmon. A nice piece of salmon in beurre blanc might be best.

Lionel was still reading his menu so I took a good look at him. His jaw was square and there was a light brown bristle on his chin and cheeks—like no matter how often he shaved he still needed to shave. His hair was highlighted with blond streaks. I guessed somewhere underneath it was dishwater blond. His cheeks were high and his eyes were a piercing dark blue. It took me a moment to realize he was staring at me.