The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons, in towns, cities, countries, nor governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most state and countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check with your local laws regarding such. % Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection.
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"For Sale By Owner" 34 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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Customers left, new ones filling the vacant tables, except for table five. It seemed like Stephen Braddock and Afon Hasteras would be there for the entire stretch of the morning hours.
"I think they're coffee-holics," Alex says to Ian and Derek, relaxing in the `free zone'.
"Talk-a-holics too!" Derek laughs, Ian adding, "What's it been? Your fourth time back to their table for a fillup, Alex?"
Just as Alex is headed back for a `warmup', carafe in hand, at the same time, Stephen Braddock waves his hand, saying, "Check please?" as Alex approaches. Ripping off a page from his leather order tablet, Alex decides to give it to Braddock, since he asked for it.
"No, no, no. My treat this time," Afon tries stealing it away.
Switching directions, Alex tries handing it to Afon, but Stephen, quick-on-the-draw, slides it from Alex's hand.
"Next time, it's my treat," Afon tells him, in an accent Alex can't decide whether it's of Spanish or French in origin.
Wandering away, Alex offers all the cordial greetings, of meeting Afon Hasteras and seeing Stephen Braddock again. After leaving, Alex reports back to the table, to clear. He just about whoops out loud, eyes widening like the saucers under the cups, as he takes up the green bill left on the table. To himself, lips moving, nothing coming out, he says, `A hundred dollar bill?' Calming, he goes about his job of taking plates away, until he stops short. Under Afon's plate he finds another green bill. Surprise number two came, picking up a second hundred dollar bill.
"What's up?" Jim asks, then seeing, his mouth forms an `O'.
Seeing Jim and Alex at table five, Ian and Derek find themselves there, checking it out as well.
Ian says, "Damn. Who's the one who shot down the idea of pooling tips?"
"Jim?" Derek mentions the twenty-one year old college student.
"Jim, you idiot!" Ian jokes.
"Don't yell at me. It was my girlfriend who told me it wasn't a good idea. Call her the idiot!"
The one thing registering from the conversation, was the word girlfriend'. Right away, Alex's mind slips from the unreal tip to thoughts of Kyle, his badgering about Derek's private life. Stashing the bills in the tip' pocket of his black dress pants, he continues placing items on the dirty dish platter. The powwow breaks up, Ian and Derek busting Jim for not making up his own mind. Right now, more important than the generous tip, Alex thoughts wonder about Derek's love life. Carrying the tray on his shoulder, he reports to the dirty dish depot. Turning around, Derek is coming at him from the cafe, into the free zone.
"You're one lucky dude, Alex," Derek said, patting him on the shoulder.
"Some guys have all the luck," Alex replied.
With a smirk, Derek replies, "Yeah, something I wish my love life had more of!"
With the lead-in in place, Alex embellished on the thought, asking, "What would your dream date be like?"
Momentarily Derek stood there silent, mulling something over, til he realized he trusted Alex, telling him, "I guess my dream date... would..."
Alex waited patiently, slapping a dish towel over his shoulder.
"You'll ruin those fine threads," Jim told Alex, passing by, ripping the towel off his shoulder as he entered the kitchen.
"So?" Alex pried deeper.
"If I had a choice... I guess my dream date would be somebody like you." Both stood there, Derek waiting for something to come from Alex. Before Alex could cut in, he elaborated, "But you're already taken, so..." he trailed off.
Placing his hand on Derek's shoulder like a father to him, relayed to the college freshman, "I appreciate the thought, but you know you're not the only guy out there still... I take it you're still in the closet?"
It didn't take long for Derek to say, "You're the first person I've ever told, Alex."
"And your secret will be safe between you and I," Alex replied, seeing Derek a little on edge, apparently about others finding out. "When you want to come out is up to you Derek."
Derek wanted to so much embrace Alex, but instead offered a hand, "Thanks Alex. You're a good friend."
"No problem," Alex responded, his right hand grabbing at Derek's. Then looking around, making sure none of the other guys were within earshot, he says, "When you feel like you might want to start meeting guys, let me know. I have someone who might interest you."
"If he's anything like you, then I want to," Derek said excitedly, then cooled down his bubbling over. "I mean... yeah sure."
Having mixed reaction, Alex took that as a yes', but also not sure'. Either way, he figured he leave the invitation as open as possible. "He's a friend. Really nice guy, not to mention he's around my age, tall, dark, handsome, intelligent, a smart, suave, sophisticated Latino."
"Wow! So uncanny!"
"Huh?" Alex asks.
"My dream date guy. You just described every perfect detail, Alex!"
"Wow! You're weren't asking for too much, were you?"
"Was I?" Derek asked, laughing along with Alex. "Did you think my expectations were too high?"
"Nah."
"So, you think this guy might like me?" he slaps Alex playfully, on the stomach with the back of his hand.
Shrugging his shoulders, Alex takes in a deep breath, before expelling, "I wouldn't lie to you Derek. I've been checking you out since day one."
A grin increased across Derek's face.
"I have to admit I thought you to be one hot stud... more, thinking of you as straight I sensed what a total waste," Alex lay it on thick.
Elated, Derek asks, "So you think this guy would like a guy like me?"
"Um, I think so."
"So, you said he's around your age, Alex?"
"Carlos is eighteen."
"Carlos? A Latino? Cool. Do you think he likes older guys?"
Alex replies, "Why? How old are you? Around twenty?"
"Nineteen."
"Big deal. A year older. I'm sure that wouldn't matter, plus he's around your height, I think."
"Nice. So. When do I get to meet him?"
"As soon as Kyle can plan a dinner for us."
Things were going Alex's way, having not to think up conniving means to find out different information about Derek's private life. Right now, Derek had offered all the pertinent facts on Alex's mental list.
Suddenly, from behind them came the remark, "Um, are you guys with us today?"
"Oh, hi Mr. Miller," Derek offered, with a smile.
Alex just replied a simple, "sure." Covering for both, he adds, "It's been a hectic morning."
Catching on, Derek interjects, "Yeah, we're taking a two minute break."
Smirking, Mr. Miller replies, "Break's over."
Going about their business, clearing tables, Derek says to Alex, a table away, "I wonder if he was timing us?"
"I wouldn't put it past Billy-boy," Alex answers Derek's comments about the thirty-one year old manager of the Coffee Bean.
As they headed back to the cafe, it seems the noonday crowd seeped in earlier than usual, having Ian run around, on solo, while Jim manned the cafe bar. Mr. Miller continued in the direction of his office, at the rear of the building.
"What's with the crowds, today?" Ian asks Alex, passing by, not stopping for an answer.
Out of the two weeks Alex has been employed by The Coffee Bean', it's been the busiest day he's seen. By Ian's remark, it seemed like a fluke, the cafe mobbed, a short cue forming. About three customers back, in the cue, Alex spots Kyle. He looks at his watch, it showing 12:45. Catching Kyle's face, Alex mouths, You're early', pointing to his wrist. Coming back at Alex, Kyle says, I know. No problem,' he shoos the time away. After a few minutes, Alex returns to see Kyle being led away to a table, tailing Ian. He offers a sorry', Kyle again mouthing back `it doesn't matter!'
After the constant reporting to tables, taking orders, delivering menu items, clearing tables, replacing them with new tablecovers, napkins and flatware, the process neverending, Alex takes a break. Coming over and sitting in the chair opposite Kyle, fifty minutes later.
"Whew!"
"So, I finally get to see you in action," Kyle tells him.
Whispering, Alex leans in, joking, "What do you call last night?"
"Don't get me excited!" Kyle lets on. "I meant your running around." Then, scanning the cafe, he asks Alex, "Which one is Derek?"
Head turning around, looking about, Alex says, "Heeeeee's... that one," his head nods, "over there."
"Nice tan," Kyle says, comparing his white skin.
"Yeah," Alex replies, "year round. Nice, isn't it?"
"Did you get to talk with him?"
"Rather," Alex says, "did he get to talk to me?"
"Huh?" Kyle acts perplexed.
"I didn't get a chance to. Rather, he was pouring out the facts before I could bring it up. You know what?"
"What?"
"Jim isn't even gay."
"What!" Kyle said, astounded from the previous conversational build-up.
"Yeah. He mentioned in front of us all he has a girlfriend."
"Cool. Then that frees up Derek!" Kyle says with excitement.
"Right. Have I got things to tell you, but..." Alex cases the cafe, "I've gotta keep going. Billy-boy," referring to William Miller, his employer, "is on the warpath today. For whatever reason, I don't know, but I gotta keep moving."
Kyle asks, a low-keyed nodding of his head past the `free zone', "Is that him?"
"Oh shit!" Alex says in a whispered tone, jumping out of the chair he's half sitting on.
"It's okay. I don't think he saw you. But I'm all filled up anyway. I'll catch you later." Not taking any chances of getting Alex in trouble, Kyle assertively asks in a moderate tone, "Bill please?"
Alex smiles, ripping the edited bill out of his leather pad casing, presenting it. He catches Mr. Miller watching his blond lover depart, a gaze lasting from the table to the front door of The Coffee Bean. Not having any previous knowledge of Mr. Miller's sexuality, Alex decides to break his balloon.
"Um, that's my boyfriend," Alex mentions to `Billy-boy'.
"Oh? So, what's `that' supposed to mean?"
Taken by surprise, obviously by Miller not being at all out' about his feelings, Alex changes the whole train of thought, saying, "I better clear." Breaking away from the converation piece, he reports back to table eight and begins clearing away Kyle's soiled dishes. To himself, he said, Whew! That was a close one,' taking in stride his blunder, I gotta watch myself.' However, when Alex started walking, the big round tray on his shoulder, to the dish depot, he saw Miller standing at his office door, beyond the free zone', eyeing him up. When Miller noticed Alex looking at him, he ducked inside his office.
Kyle had a few errands to run. One had been to report to the registrar's office at the International Cooking School. He couldn't believe the line, apparently students trying to get their first dibs on the summer courses. While waiting, there wasn't much to do but do a constant scanning of the line of students, watching people come and go. He was amazed at how the influx of perspective students comprised of not only high school grads, but those in their twenties and thirties. Two girls behind him talked about their first living experience in New York City, shacked up with four other girls. He thought about himself and Alex. Two guys on their own, in the townhouse. Then it dawned on him, he was dreading being shacked up with Knapp, for his brother's final year, when he returned from Asbury Park. Then, not panicking, he thought about getting through the summer first and deal with the fall when it arrives. Not intentionally eavesdropping, Kyle heard the two girls behind him getting frustrated, along with talking about hunger setting in. They made remarks, saying they would come back later. Two less people waited on line. However, as he waited there, something sharp stuck him in the back.
"Oh, I am terribly sorry."
Turning, Kyle had a mediocre look on his face, but instantly changed it to a smile, replying, "No problem," when he saw the pointy object as a corner of a hardcover book.
With his chest to the front of the line, advancing in steps, he looked back, slightly turning his shoulder to the glass-eyed guy reading. Apparently, when he stepped forward, Kyle got stabbed by the sharp corner of the text.
"What're you reading?"
"Soul Of A Chef," the dark-haired guy told him.
"Can't say I've heard of it," Kyle replied.
"I've had it for awhile. A... um... friend gave it to me, who dabbles in cooking, when he found out I was going here. It's an original edition. Now they only print it in paperback..."
Kyle didn't mean to pry, but the guy, seemingly the same age, eighteen, continued to spew forth information. Slowly, he turned to face the intellectually gifted guy, apparently starved to tell the information.
"It tells the story of different chefs, vying for the same Culinary Arts Institute awarding, based on.... oh, you better move up."
Again, the young soul apologized for the corner of his book, prodding Kyle onward. This time, instead of in the back, he got poked in the solar plexus.
"I suppose I better watch where I'm headed. Somebody could cut in," Kyle remarked.
Juggling the hardcover book in his hands, the teen managed to get a hand out, offering it to Kyle's free hand, gesturing an introduction. "I'm Scott Broyles."
"Nice to meet you", Kyle swung around, to meet the greeting hand, offering, "Kyle Dryfiss."
Another nod from Scott, indicated Kyle should keep track of the line.
"Seems like it's moving faster," Kyle states.
Being observant, Scott says, "Oh, that's because they added another registrar."
Kyle couldn't understand why he didn't observe things like that. Could it have been a distraction to stare at Scott's green eyes behind the steel-rimmed glasses, or the contour of his frame reflected in the tight fabric of the brown and cream-colored polo shirt? With the book closed, Scott and Kyle carried on the conversation until Kyle neared the registration desk.
"You're next," Scott said, smiling.
"Yeah, just think... if those two girls didn't vacate their space, I wouldn't have met somebody to chat with."
It was a good line. One for ending up a conversation, knowing after the registration was over, two people would turn back into ordinary strangers.
"Well, take it easy," Kyle offered, as the women at the desk called out, "Next?"
"You too," Scott replied, a loneliness to his voice.
Moving along the counter, each person had their job to do, slowly working each prospective student through the registration process. Often, Kyle, being left-handed, would accidentally nudge Scott's right elbow, as Scott tried to fill out some papers. The two batted back and forth apologies, smiling. Finally, Kyle reached the end of the line, shuffling his papers all together into one neat package. His last stop, a station all to itself, was the `pay-up' desk. When announced he owed $3,850.00, he whipped out his American Express card. However, when he turned to look at Scott, supposedly at the last registration point, he wasn't there. Scanning the room, Kyle noticed there was only one counter to pay at. Cutting through the original registration line, he noticed Scott, a long, sad demeanor to his facial composition.
"Hey Scott!" He yelled out, waiting for the cashier to check out his card and fill out endless forms. With all the noise in the room, Scott didn't apparently hear, heading for the exit. Not wanting to leave his Amex card in the hands of the cashier, but feeling something problemetic in Scott's registration, he said, "I'll be right back," to the cashier, before darting through the line and tapping Scott on the shoulder. He turned to see Kyle standing there. "What happened?" Kyle interjected. At the same time, Kyle heard the cashier call out, "Sir, your card!" Looking back and forth, between the cash station and Scott, he finally told him, "Wait. I gotta talk to you." Dashing back through the line, Scott followed at a slower pace. Thanking the cashier, he scribbled his fancy, left-handed signature on some carbon sheets and took his yellow copy, plus his plastic. Between the line and the last station of registration, they chatted.
"What happened?"
"Ah, nothing. I mean... it doesn't matter," Scott replied.
Kyle kind of got the feeling of prying, but in the short thirty minutes of their conversation, he felt he made a friendly connection with the guy.
"You registered, right?"
"Sure. Got all the way to the final..." Scott gulped. "station."
"What gives then? By the way you talked, I thought you were anxious to go to the International Cooking School?"
"I am..." then in a disappointed attitude, his eyes looking at the marble linoleum, "was, but..."
Kyle, bending his right shoulder over, tried to look under the locks of brown hair, hiding Scott's face, asking, "But what, Scott?"
"Look, it's my problem," Scott said, turning, saying, "See ya around."
The part about Scott's problem, Kyle figured was the true part of his statement, seeing him around', he figured was a brushoff response. Contrary to the second half of Scott's statement, Kyle didn't want to chance seeing Scott around'.
"Hey, wait up Scott!" Kyle called out, rushing out the front door of the cooking school, seeing the striped polo shirt depart with the close of the door. "Whew!" he sighed, when catching up to Scott among the mass of New Yorkers on the sidewalk.
"Where you headed?" Kyle asked.
Shrugging his shoulders, Scott replies, "Penn Station".
Walking a bit further they snake around a three-sided fence embedded in the sidewalk, at the corner.
Kyle says, "We just passed by the subway station," nodding over his shoulder with his head.
"Oh," Scott said, making an about face.
"You're not from the city, are you?"
Standing at the top of the stairway down, Scott begins rifling through his pockets, saying, "Where'd I put that damn Metrocard?"
Seeing Scott all riled up, Kyle figured it wasn't the misplacement of the Metrocard causing the disturbance in his attitude. Whatever the connection he was feeling, he now considered him something along the lines of a friendship, trying to help out a non-New Yorker.
"I think I lost it." Then, looking in his wallet, parting the leather back and forth, studying the bills, Scott replies, "I think I'll walk it or else... never mind.. my problem."
"I can hail a cab for you, if you'd like?" Kyle offers, trying to help him out.
"A cab?" Scott's eyes focus wide-opened. "I'll be lucky to have enough for fare back home!"
All through the accumulated information, Kyle senses the reality of Scott's situation getting murkier by the minute. His disposition has taken a nose-dive from the happy mood he was in an hour and half ago while they waited the registration line. Some people might have brushed him off, but Kyle wasn't that type of person.
"Are you hungry? I know a cafe a little ways from here," Kyle said.
"Look..." Scott began, but quit, due to the stress he seemed to have built up, again resorting to, "Never mind."
"Dammit, Scott, we're going to the cafe and that's it!" Kyle made up the eighteen year old's mind, as well as satisfying himself with digging deeper into Scott's dilemma, whatever it was.
Neither said much, other than Scott, asking every block, "Where are we?"
"Almost there," Kyle responded, seeing The Coffee Bean from three storefronts away, it's snappy red and yellow sign strutting out from the building's facade.
Walking in, they adjusted their eyes to the dim ambience of the place. He heard a male voice call out, "Your boyfriend's back!"
Being able to see, he saw Ian tap Alex on the shoulder, Alex twisting his bod around to gaze at the two figures in the doorway.
"Finished registering already?"
Alex's eyes darted between Kyle and the shaggy, brown-haired guy, a look on his face, signaling Kyle for an introduction.
"This is Scott," Kyle replied to `the look'.
"Alex Nouguet," Alex said, offering his hand to Scott.
It wasn't a hardy grip, but rather a soft handshake. Alex smiled, but Scott's smile seemed forced.
"So what's up?" Alex asks.
Looking around at the elegantly fashioned interiors of The Coffee Bean, as they sat at a table, first words out of Scott's mouth came, "I'll have a glass of water."
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Copyright 2007 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.