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" 36 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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"Psssst. Hey guys!" Jim shouts.
"What's up?" Ian asks, in response to Alex and Phil wondering also, as the trio follows Jim's waving hand, as much as to say, come here', luring them into the free zone'.
Phil, whom came on duty at four, whips a white towel over his shoulder, then directs to Jim, "What's all the hush-hush about?"
"I overheard Billy-boy talking on the phone.. the reason he's been wearing a chip on his shoulder all day." After Jim does a quick `boss-search', he tells them, "Billy-boy thinks his job is on the line."
"What?" Alex says, meant to stir up interest.
"Yeah. Seems Billy-boy asked the owners for a raise. They didn't give. In fact, they feel his management isn't bringing in half the revenue The Coffee Bean is capable of producing."
"Not after today," Ian says, driving the point home with wiping his brow.
"Geesh," Alex intervenes, "no wonder Billy-boy has been on our cases all day."
Ian comes out with, "On your case, Alex? Yeah, right."
"Oh? How's that go?" Alex and Phil both question at once.
"Billy-boy, in one of his fits, asks me `Why can't the rest of you guys be as motivated as Alex'?'"
Perking up, Alex smiles, replying, "Oh wow! And I thought he was gunning for me too!"
"Of course," Jim confuses the issue, "he would say that to the only guy I ever knew who drew in a $200 tip offa one customer?"
Eyes just about popping out of their sockets, Phil shrieks, "Hell yeah, like I've been here six years and the highest I've ever picked up is a fifty!"
Alex corrects him, "Two customers."
"Big deal," Jim replies, "same table."
"What are we gonna do?"
"What do you mean Derek?" Jim asks.
"Well, we can't stand around and let him get fired. The guy's got a wife and kid at home."
"Yeah," Jim lays out, "a mansion in Jersey?" Then sarcastically, "I really feel sorry for the guy."
"That's not the point here," Alex defends Miller.
"Sure, he likes you!" Ian says to Alex.
Taking in a deep breath, Alex respectfully says, "I'm sure Mr. Miller likes all of us. Wouldn't you get on the edge if your job was on the line?"
Derek, who's been there the shortest, after Alex, tosses in, "Not really. There's plenty of cafes in New York."
"Oh yeah? You think it could be any different," Jim, the longest surviving employee states, "I started when The Coffee Bean opened. Before they had the profit to pay a cleaner I used to swab the jon floors, clean the sinks and toilets. I worked my way up to maitre'd, plus have a nice chunk in my paycheck. For sure I'm not going to give all that up."
Jim's ad-libbed speech went over well. Even Derek resolved to hang his head to his chest and brew in the heap of words.
"Up until now, Miller's been a decent guy," Phil says.
"So, he has one bad hair day," Ian says.
Alex adds, "That doesn't mean everyday is going to be like this one."
Derek puts forth, "I guess we could cut him some slack."
"And we can do better," Jim throws in.
"How?" Derek asks.
"By being more on top of things."
Alex then apologizes with, "Like I don't have to really cater to somebody just because they prefer me."
"No," Jim says, "That was good. You handled it well, Alex and it's not just the tips. The two customers hung in there for hours. They ran up a nice bill."
"Um, I get the idea you knew these customers?" Phil asks, not having been present at the time.
"Sort of. Well, one of them. Stephen Braddock," Alex filled them in.
Phil's eyes again opened as wide as saucers. "'The' Stephen Braddock of Braddock's Department stores?"
"Yeah," Derek tells him, "Ain't Alex a lucky guy?"
"It doesn't mean anything," Alex said humbly. "I met him through a friend. I hardly know the guy."
"Sure you don't," Ian replies. "$200 tip?"
"I swear," Alex says, crossing an `x' over his heart. "I just met him a couple of weeks ago."
Patting Alex on the shoulder, Jim said, "Some guys have all the luck."
Diverting the attention away from himself, Alex says, "I'll tell you one thing which will draw in more customers...."
The gang of waiters were all ears. It took Jim to dig the idea out of Alex, "If you've got something which will improve business, we could have Miller bring it to the owners' attention."
"Yeah," Ian adds, "if Miller came up with a great idea which increased business, he'd be back on top with the owners."
"Well," Alex started out slowly, not sure of his footing, "in my own opinion, I think the atmosphere of The Coffee Bean is degraded by the coffee bar."
"'My' coffee bar?" Jim defended his station in between seating patrons, his hand to his heart, plastered to his beefy pec.
"Sure," Alex trodded lightly on his idea, "think of it, `take out'. How much do we make on the coffee bar?"
"The line went outside today," Jim defended his position.
"Right, but over the last two weeks, there's been four or five people on line, tops. But it's not the point I'm making. What kind of profitability is turned over?"
Alex's question stimulated Jim into thinking, matching food with figures, in the air. "I guess on the average, we pull in about.... wow!" Suddenly Jim takes a look at the raw figures, spewing out, "Do we only take in forty or fifty bucks in a morning?"
"That's piddly-squat," Phil says, "When I was on the morning shift, a table I waited on brought in fifty bucks. Multiply that times ten."
They all figured it out in their minds. Feeling conquered, Jim steps over to the coffee bar, a long counter, the workings set back two feet behind it. "Holy cow! You're right, Alex. If this unproductive space could be converted to tables, we'd be pulling in a helluva lot more!"
Suddenly, they all stood tall, softly repeating in formation, "Uh-oh," when they heard Miller, right behind them question their idleness. Like they were on strike, three of the four pushed Alex in front of him, like they were using him for a shield.
"Okay. What's up guys? Don't give me any more hassles. It's been `a day'."
Jim stole away, to seat a couple, first to start off the late afternoon crush. Alex without Jim, seemed a little reluctant, but then figured `what the heck' and lay out his feelings to Miller. After all had been said, Miller simply put it, "Okay. Back to work." The trio broke up, walking away. "Except you, Alex," Miller said, beckoning him on back to the office.
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"Some place you've got here," Scott said, upon the two gaining entrance to Kyle's townhouse.
"Thanks." Noticing Scott's back pinned to the door, he offered, "You can come in!"
Entering the livingroom, Scott whistled, exclaiming, "Geesh! We could fit my mom's whole apartment into this one room!"
"Really?" Kyle replied, then changed the subject, "This is my brother's room over here if you want to stash your gear."
With one pack, sloped over his bare shoulder, the other in hand, scooped up with his shirt, Scott walked the distance to Knapp's bedroom. "Whoa! Wish I had a bedroom even half this size!" He stood there, turning around, as if on a carousel, eyeing the four walls up and down, taking in the distance between.
"You'll get over it," Kyle giggled. "The jon is through here."
"You mean I get my own private jon?" Scott said with bewilderment.
"Sure. Throw your bags on the chair. You can unpack later. There's plenty of towels and washcloths here and the shower is filled with all kinds of soaps, shampoos and conditioners. My brother was a `clean' freak."
Scott looked the place over, admiring how clean and spotless everything was, as if cleaned five minutes ago. He stood in the middle panel of the glass shower door, seeing himself, bare from waist up, a line down his right pec, where the backpack crisscrossed over his top half. Feeling his chest, he thought out loud, "Yeah, I guess I could use a shower."
"I'll be upstairs taking mine. Meet you in the kitchen."
Stuck in his reflection, he discovers, "Oh, where's the...."
But Kyle was gone. Shrugging it off, he figured he would do some exploring.
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"So, you going to clue us into what took place in there?" Jim asks Alex upon closing the office door behind him, advancing through the `free zone' to the front desk where Jim stood.
"Nothing much to say. He liked the idea. Right now he's pulling all the journals, doing some research into it and figuring out the pro's vs. the con's."
"Cool," Jim replied.
"I even got a compliment from him."
"Oh?" Jim wondered.
"He said if things proved out where a change became feasible, I could have a bright future in the restaurant management business."
"But I thought you were into designing menswear?" Jim questioned the motive.
"I am. It's what I told Billy-boy. Funny thing is, he looked a little disappointed I wasn't into pursuing the here and now," Alex filled Jim in.
"Who knows?" Jim turned his shoulders inwards, shrugging them, "maybe someday you can design us some snappier waiter outfits, other than the standard white shirt-black bowtie."
Alex remained silent for a second, smiling at Jim.
"What?"
Letting Jim get wise to his demeanor, Alex retorted, patting Jim on the shoulder as if congratulating him, "Now there's another idea to present to Billy-boy. Jim, I think you have a future in the restaurant business!"
"Do you think he will like my idea?"
Shrugging one shoulder, Alex, reported back, "I don't see where it could harm things to suggest."
Holding up his index finger, to make a directive, Jim states, "You know you're right, Alex. I'm going right back there now and suggest it to Billy-boy!"
From the back Jim looked like a football lineback, the wide shoulderblades moving in a rather tight shirt, seemingly caught between a size too big and one too small. Looking at the clock he had roughly an hour left to wait. A gentlemen waved, catching his attention. Alex reported to his table.
"The big-shouldered waiter was waiting on me, but I don't seem to see him around?"
Leaving Jim to being on cloud nine, Alex took over waiting for him. The whole time he stood there, leather ordering pad glued to his left palm, writing with his right hand, he got the idea this customer was reading his body like the front page of the New York Times.
"Are you a college student?" the guy asked Alex, in between making sure his bagel came with a double heap of cream cheese.
"Um, yes. Almost. I've been in New York for about two weeks."
"You've done alright for yourself, um...."
"Alex," Alex said, knowing the patron was looking for a name to attach to the bod he was checking out.
Offering his hand, the guy, seemingly between his late twenties, early thirties, introduced himself.
Speaking in a baritone voice, he offered, "The name's Jason Hovland. I'm director of customer services at Time magazine. We're always looking for polite individuals to enhance the services offered by our department. Interested?"
Thinking it a step down from working at a prestigious cafe, Alex didn't want to make it seem like the way he thought. Though, he did make extra effort to stare at his hand, still in Mr. Hovland's.
"Oh sorry there, Alex."
"No problem. Um, I'd like to thank you for the offer. I read Time all the time (a little fib). It's a great magazine, but I like my job here at The Coffee Bean."
Wanting to stay in touch, Hovland handed Alex his business card, after jotting down something on the back. Taking it, Alex flipped it over in his hand, seeing ten numbers, separated by two dashes.
"My number, in case you change your mind," Hovland said.
"Thanks," Alex replied, offering a smile. Then excusing himself, he said, "I better get on your order. I'm sure you are a very busy man."
An hour later, when he was supposed to leave, Alex spotted Jim hastening his step from the back office, a toothy smile on his face.
"I take it Billy-boy liked your idea?"
"Yup and guess what else?"
Signifying he hadn't a clue, by his actions, Alex asked, "What?"
"If Billy-boy passes by the idea with the owners and they like it, he said he'll mention one of our waiters is a designer!"
It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who that someone was.
"Hey, thanks!" Alex said cheerfully, adding, "By the way," he looks at his watch, "I'm supposed to be getting off shift, but one of my customers," then poking Jim in the ribs, with his pointer finger, "one of `your' customers has been sitting there, packing away the food for an hour. What do you want me to do?"
Looking over the divider wall, filled with robust live plants, Jim says, "Hovland?"
"You know him?"
Gently laughing, Jim fills Alex in, "Sort of. He comes in now and then checking out the young hirees, trying to wish a job on them for his customer service division at Time."
"So he says. What do you want me to do?"
"One question?" Jim asked.
Alex countered, "What?"
"When he popped the question to you, did you flat out refuse the offer?"
"Um, not exactly. I figured he had a prestigious position and was trying to sway me with a righteous offer. I figured he was being honest about it. I let him down easy."
"Good. Hang in there for awhile. You'll be one of the lucky ones."
Hands on hips, brows pressed together, his look questioned Jim's motives.
Slapping Alex in the stomach with the back of his hand, Jim translated, "Big tip!"
"Okay. If you say so."
Reporting back to the table, Alex asked, "Will that be all, Mr. Hovland?"
"I know I shouldn't, but I think I'll have one more cup of coffee and a sliver of your famous cheesecake."
"Right away. It'll be out in a minute, Mr. Hovland."
Then, grabbing the cuff of Alex's shirt, attached to his forearm, Hovland offered, "Please. Call me Jason."
Blushing a little, Alex did what he thought was right, acknowledging in the positive. When reporting back to the table, he set the cheesecake in front of him, adding, "A fresh pot of coffee is almost ready. I'll bring it right out, Mr.... ah, I mean, Jason."
Returning the smile offered, Alex lit out for the kitchen. Before he could enter, Jim was holding the carafe and a wide-mouthed coffee cup, smiling.
"How are you doing?" He asked Alex.
"I should be getting home. My boyfriend is preparing dinner for four. Other than that, we're on a first name basis."
"Well, just service him and I'll take care of the bill," Jim told him.
"Great!"
Reporting back to Hovland's table, Alex set the fresh cup on a saucer, pouring a fresh cup.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Hovland, but..."
"Jason, please," Hovland reminded Alex, with a smile.
"Yes. Um, Jason. Ah, I'm scheduled to leave, but it's been great meeting you."
This time, Alex offered the hand first, which Hovland amicably returned the gesture.
All he said, with the smile frozen in place, is, "You have my card."
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"Wow! I don't believe you threw that baked Alaska together so quickly, Scott!"
Smiling, shrugging his shoulders, Scott blushed slightly, saying, "Thanks. It's one of my best concoctions."
"It doesn't look any different from the basic recipe."
"You can see it with the creamy top, but underneath I use a thin layer of dusted cinnamon sugar."
"Mmmm," Kyle says, licking his lips. "I can't wait to try it."
"Do you have room in the freezer?"
Together, Scott taking the ceramic dish, topped with the whipped, browned eggwhites, followed Kyle to the fridge.
"Yep, right in here."
Holding the springy door in one hand, Kyle fixed a rectangular pound of butter falling over. The side of his body grazed Scott's ribcage. Neither made a big deal about it, lying the pie flat and closing up the freezer portion of the fridge.
Then, looking at the clock on the wall, Kyle states, "Alex is late. Subway must be slow." Just now, the buzzer rang. Kyle explains, "I don't have a key for Alex yet."
However, instead of Alex, Carlos stood there. Kyle and he exchanged a friendly hug. Walking past Kyle, Carlos holds his arms open wide, surrounding Scott and saying, "And you must be Derek!"
"Um, Carlos?" Kyle tried to stop the action before it got started.
But it was too late. Carlos had already flung his arms around Scott, given him a sweet kiss on the neck, due to Alex's instructions of not worrying about being over-friendly to Derek. Scott stood there, eyes as wide as saucers, jaw dropped open, arms out to his side, palms facing Kyle, as if to ask `what do I do?' Already knowing what he knew, Kyle placed his palms on his own biceps, making like he was hugging himself. But before he could do anything, Carlos had disengaged his actions. Scott stood there, looking at Carlos, as Carlos looked at him.
"I'm sorry," Carlos said out of the blue, still thinking this was Derek. "From what Alex said, I thought...."
Patting Carlos on the shoulder, pivoting him around, as if on an axis, Kyle says, "Carlos... this is `not' Derek."
"Huh?" Carlos said, looking from Kyle to Scott, then back again, adding, "But Alex called me today and said...."
"I know he did. He was supposed to call you back and tell you that Derek couldn't make it. This is Scott."
"Scott?" Carlos repeats.
All this time, Scott is standing there, taking in the whole conversation, not flinching a muscle, arms draped to his sides, head bobbing back and forth, following the words.
"Well," Carlos fake-coughed, "I guess I owe you a big apology.. um, Scott."
Kyle just smiled. Even in times of mishap, things don't always have to turn out so grim. He wondered if this was the first time Scott has been close to a man. Maybe he was in shock!
"I'm sooo, so sorry," the Latino offered, putting his hand out, his brown, puppy dog eyes asking for forgiveness.
Scott, taking it, didn't readily let it go, yet it provided less of a spark than when Carlos hugged him, played the soft kiss on the side of his neck, sending volts of electricity down his spine, throughout his whole system.
"It's okay," Scott slowly offered. "I..."
Looking over Carlos' shoulder, Kyle's gesture once again provoked Scott's thoughts, gesturing to hug him.
"Dammit!" Scott said, pulling on Carlos' arm, like forcing him into a swimming pool. But instead, moving forwards, their chests slapped together, Scott, rather harshly, hugged Carlos as if he was hugging his mother. Following Carlos' lead, Scott did what he did before, gave him a kiss on the side of the neck.
Breaking, unmolding their bods, Carlos blows out his breath, opinioned, "Well I've never been hugged like `that' before!"
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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.